Sunday Poetry - The Overlander

I've nearly finished listening to the audio book of Mary Durack's Kings in Grass Castles, the story of her pioneering grandfather & his amazing life in 19th century Queensland & the Kimberley. I already have the sequel, Sons in the Saddle, ready to download & I also have Brenda Niall's biography of Mary Durack & her sister, Elizabeth, True North, on the tbr pile. I feel a bit of an Australian pioneering history tangent coming on.
The Duracks were great drovers & moved cattle across vast distances between properties or to market. This is a traditional folk song about the drovers or overlanders. If you'd like to hear how it sounds sung by a traditional bush band, here's the Sundowners version.


Oh there's a trade you all know well it's bringing cattle over
I'll tell you all about the time that I became a drover
I wanted stock for Queensland to Kempsey I did wander
And bought a mob of duffers there and began as an overlander

Chorus
So pass the bottle round boys and don't you leave it stand there
For tonight we'll drink the health of every overlander

Well when the cattle were counted and the outfit ready to start
The lads were all well mounted with their swags left in the cart
I saw I had all sorts of men from Germany France and Flanders
Lawyers doctors good and bad in the mob of overlanders

The very next morning I fed up where the grass was green and young
And the squatter said he'd break my snout if I didn't push along
Says I my lad you're very hard but dont you raise my dander
For I'm a regular knowing card I'm a Queensland overlander

If ever our horses get done up of course we turn 'em free
And you can't expect a drover to walk if a pony he can see
So now and then we bone a prad and believe me it's no slander
To say there's many a clever trick done by an overlander

In town we drain the whiskey glass and go to see the play
We never think of being hard up nor how to spend the day
We shear up to them pretty girls that rig themselves with grandeur
And as long as we spend our cheque my lads they love the overlander

A little girl on Sydney side, she said dont leave me lonely
I said it's sad but my old prad has room for one man only
And now my lads we're jogging back this pony she's a goer
We'll pick up a job with a crawling mob along the Maranoa

Sunday Poetry - Death & Destruction

One last folk song from the Penguin anthology &, appropriately, it's about death. The Unquiet Grave is one of my favourite ballads, I remember reading it in the poetry anthology I used at school. It's always appealed to me because the ghost speaks such good sense to the poor fool sitting on her grave, preventing her from resting in peace. I can imagine the woman in life using just that loving but exasperated tone to her lover when he was mooning around instead of doing something useful with his life. Here's a version of the song by the Dubliners.

“The wind doth blow today, my love,        
    And a few small drops of rain;        
I never had but one true-love,        
    In cold grave she was lain.        

“I’ll do as much for my true-love
    As any young man may;        
I’ll sit and mourn all at her grave        
    For a twelvemonth and a day.”

The twelvemonth and a day being up,        
    The dead began to speak:           
“Oh who sits weeping on my grave,
    And will not let me sleep?”

“’T is I, my love, sits on your grave,        
    And will not let you sleep;        
For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips,
    And that is all I seek.”

“You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips,        
    But my breath smells earthy strong;        
If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips,        
    Your time will not be long.

“’T is down in yonder garden green,        
    Love, where we used to walk,        
The finest flower that e’re was seen        
    Is withered to a stalk.        

“The stalk is withered dry, my love,
    So will our hearts decay;        
So make yourself content, my love,        
    Till God calls you away.”

Sunday Poetry - Unhappy Love

After last week's happy love, we have to go to the other extreme this week with an unhappy love story. Green Grow the Laurels tells the story of a young man in love with a girl who no longer loves him.The origins of the song seem to be in 17th century Scotland but there are versions from all over Britain & America. I'm not sure how contented the young man is as he keeps haunting his old love's window. She seems pretty fed up with him as she gives him scornful looks & sends back his letters. A sad love story indeed.

I once had a sweetheart but now I've got none
She's gone and she's left me alone all alone.
She's gone and she's left me, contented I'll be
For she loves another one better than me.

Chorus
Green grows the laurel and so does the yew
And it's sorry I'll be at the parting of you
But at our next meeting I'll hope you'll prove true
And exchange your green laurels for the red, white and blue.

I wrote my love a letter in red rosy leaves
She wrote me one back that was twisted and twined
Saying 'Keep your love letters and I will keep mine
You can write to your true love and I'll write to mine.'

I passed my love's window both early and late
And the looks that she gave me my poor heart did ache
And the looks that she gave me ten thousand would kill
She's the heart of an innocent, she's the one I love still.

Sunday Poetry - Happy Relationships

I was drawn to the title of this song, Madam, Will You Walk? by the almost-reference to Mary Stewart's book, Madam, Will You Talk? The folk song is quoted as an epigraph to one of the chapters but I was disconcerted to realise that there are many versions of the song & the version in my book doesn't have that line in it at all! I've been thinking about Mary Stewart this week & wanting to reread some of her books. There have been many lovely appreciations of her life & work on some of my favourite blogs. You can read a couple of them here (read the comments too) and here. This obituary in the Telegraph includes a link to a TV interview with her.
Anyway, I'm posting the song anyway because I like the non-mercenary character of the young lady. All she wants is the key to his heart, not gold, silver or fine silk caps.

I should like to buy thee a fine lace cap
With five yards of ribbon to hang down thy back
If thou wilt walk with me.

I will not accept of the fine lace cap
With five yards of ribbon to hang down thy back
Nor I will not walk with thee.

I will buy thee a fine silken gown
With nine yards of ribbon to trail upon the ground
If thou wilt walk with me.

I will not accept of the  fine silken gown
With nine yards of ribbon to trail upon the ground 
Nor I won't walk with thee.

I'll buy thee a fine golden chair
To sit in the garden and to take the pleasant air
If thou wilt walk with me.

I will not accept of thy fine golden chair
To sit in the garden and to take the pleasant air
Nor I will not walk with thee.

It's I will give thee the keys of my chest
To take gold and silver when thou art distressed
If thou wilt walk with me.

I will not accept of the keys of your chest
To take gold and silver when I am distressed 
Nor I will not walk with thee.

I'll give thee the key, O the key of my heart
And thy heart and my heart shall never depart
If thou wilt walk with me.

I will accept of the key of your heart
And thy heart and my heart shall never depart 
and I will walk with thee.

Sunday Poetry - Soldiers and Sailors

Another folk song about a soldier but this time a drummer & a female at that. There were several women who disguised themselves as men & joined the army or navy. The most famous is probably James Miranda Barry, who joined the army as a surgeon. This young girl wanted a life of adventure & seems to have enjoyed the life until she was betrayed. It's called The Female Drummer.

When I was a young girl, the age of sixteen
I from my parents ran away and went to serve the queen
I enlisted in the army like another private man
And very soon they learnt me for to beat upon the drum
For to beat upon the drum, for to beat upon the drum
And very soon they learnt me for to beat upon the drum.

They sent me to my quarters, they sent me to my bed
And lying by a soldier's side I did not feel afraid
For in taking off my red coat I oftentimes did smile
To think myself a drummer but a maiden all the while
But a maiden all the while, but a maiden all the while
To think myself a drummer but a maiden all the while.

They sent me up to London for there to mind the Tower
And there I might have been until this very day and hour
Till a young girl fell in love with me, I told her I was a maid
She went unto my officer, my secret she betrayed
My secret she betrayed, my secret she betrayed
She went unto my officer, my secret she betrayed.

My officer sent for me to see if it was true
I smiled, O I smiled, I told him it was true
He looked upon me kindly, and these are the words he said
"It's a pity we should lose you, such a drummer as you made"
Such a drummer as you made, such a drummer as you made
"It's a pity we should lose you, such a drummer as you made."

O fare you well, dear officer, you have been kind to me
And fare you well, dear colonel, will you please remember me
If the war it should break out again and you are short of men
I'll put on my hat and feathers and I'll beat the drum again
And I'll beat the drum again, and I'll beat the drum again
I'll put on my hat and feathers and I'll beat the drum again.

Sunday Poetry - Soldiers & Sailors

Moving on from WWI to folk song. Not really poetry, I suppose, but this new anthology of English folk song is full of lovely stories so I'll be choosing a song or two from each of the themed chapters over the next few weeks. The first chapters is about soldiers & sailors, so it's a link from the last anthology to this one, Faithful Sailor Boy.

It was a stormy winter's night, the snow laid on the ground.
The sailor boy stood on the quay, his ship was outward bound.
His sweetheart standing by his side shed many a silent tear,
And as he pressed her to his breast, he whispered in her ear:

Chorus:
    Farewell, farewell my own true love
    This parting gives me pain.
    I'll be your own true guiding star,
    When I return again.
    My thoughts shall be of you, of you,
    When the storms are raging high.
    So fare ye well, remember me,
    Your faithful sailor boy.

Without a gale the ship set sail, he kissed his love goodbye.
She watched the craft till out of sight, and a tear bedimmed her eye.
She prayed for him in Heaven above to guide him on his way.
His last and loving words that night re-echoed o'er the bay.

Chorus:
    Farewell, farewell my own true love
    This parting gives me pain.
    I'll be your own true guiding star,
    When I return again.
    My thoughts shall be of you, of you,
    When the storms are raging high.
    So fare ye well, remember me,
    Your faithful sailor boy.


But sad to say the ship returned without her sailor boy;
He died whilst on the voyage back, the flag t'was half-mast high.
And when his comrades came on shore they told her he was dead
A letter he had sent to her, and the last line sadly read:

Final Chorus:
    Farewell farewell my own true love,
    On earth we meet no more.
    I soon shall be from storm and sea
    On that eternal shore.
    I hope to meet you in that land,
    That land beyond the sky,
    Where you shall not be parted from
    Your faithful sailor boy.