Selected Stories By Henry Lawson Part 14

The Low Lands! The Low Lands!"- The old bark kitchen is a-going now. Heels drumming on gin-cases under stools; hands, knuckles, pipe-bowls, and pannikins keeping time on the table.

And we sewed him in his hammock, And we slipped him o'er the side, And we sunk him in the Low Lands, Low!

The Low Lands! The Low Lands!

And we sunk him in the Low Lands, Low!

Old Boozer Smith-a dirty gin-sodden bundle of rags on the floor in the corner with its head on a candlebox, and covered by a horse rug-old Boozer Smith is supposed to have been dead to the universe for hours past, but the chorus must have disturbed his torpor; for, with a suddenness and unexpectedness that makes the next man jump, there comes a bellow from under the horse rug: Wot though!-I wear!-a rag!-ged coat!

I'll wear it like a man!

and ceases as suddenly as it commenced. He struggles to bring his ruined head and bloated face above the surface, glares round; then, no one questioning his manhood, he sinks back and dies to creation; and subsequent proceedings are only interrupted by a snore, as far as he is concerned.

Little Jimmy Nowlett, the bullock-driver, is inspired. "Go on, Jimmy! Give us a song!"

In the days when we were hard up For want of wood and wire- Jimmy always blunders; it should have been "food and fire"- We used ter tie our boots up With lit-tle bits-er wire; and- I'm sitting in my lit-tle room, It measures six by six; The work-house wall is opposite, I've counted all the bricks!

"Give us a chorus; Jimmy!"

Jimmy does, giving his head a short, jerky nod for nearly every word, and describing a circle round his crown-as if he were stirring a pint of hot tea-with his forefinger, at the end of every line: Hall!-Round!-Me-Hat!

I wore a weepin' willer!

Jimmy is a c.o.c.kney.

"Now then, boys!"

Hall-round-me hat!

How many old diggers remember it?

And: A butcher, and a baker, and a quiet-looking Quaker, All a-courting pretty Jessie at the Railway Bar.

I used to wonder as a child what the "railway bar" meant.

And:.

I would, I would, I would in vain That I were single once again! But ah, alas, that will not be Till apples grow on the willow tree.

Adrunken gambler's young wife used to sing that song to herself.

Astir at the kitchen door, and a cry of "Pinter", and old Poynton, Ballarat digger, appears and is shoved in; he has several drinks aboard, and they proceed to "git Pinter on the singin' lay", and at last talk him round. He has a good voice, but no "theory", and blunders worse than Jimmy Nowlett with the words. He starts with a howl: Hoh!

Way down in Covent Gar-ar-r-dings.

A-strolling I did go, To see the sweetest flow-ow-wers That e'er in gardings grow.

He saw the rose and lily-the red and white and blue-and he saw the sweetest flow-ow-ers that e'er in gardings grew; for he saw two lovely maidens (Pinter calls 'em "virgings") "underneath (he must have meant on top, of) a garding chair".

Sings Pinter:.

And one was lovely Jessie, With the jet black eyes and hair,

Roars Pinter:.

And the other was a vir-ir-ging' I solemn-lye declare!

" 'Maiden', Pinter!" interjects Mr Nowlett.

"Well, it's all the same," retorts Pinter. "Amaiden is a virging, Jimmy. If you're singing, Jimmy, and not me, I'll leave off!" Chorus of "Order! Shut up, Jimmy!"

I quicklye step-ped up to her, And unto her did sa-a-y: Do you belong to any young man Hoh, tell me that, I pra-a-y?

Her answer, according to Pinter, was surprisingly prompt and unconventional; also full and concise: No; I belong to no young man-I solemnlye declare! I mean to live a virging And still my laurels wear!

Jimmy Nowlett attempts to move an amendment in favour of "maiden", but is promptly suppressed. It seems that Pinter's suit has a happy termination, for he is supposed to sing in the character of a "Sailor Bold", and as he turns to pursue his stroll in "Covent Gar-ar-dings": "Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!" she cried, "I love a Sailior Bold!"

"Hong-kore, Pinter! Give us the 'Golden Glove', Pinter!"

Thus warmed up, Pinter starts with an explanatory "spoken" to the effect that the song he is about to sing ill.u.s.trates some of the little ways of woman, and how, no matter what you say or do, she is bound to have her own way in the end; and how, in one instance, she set about getting it.

Hoh!

Now, it's of a young squoire near Timworth did dwell, Who courted a n.o.bleman's daughter so well- The song has little or nothing to do with the "squire", except so far as "all friends and relations had given consent", and-

The troo-soo was ordered-appointed the day, And a farmier were appointed for to give her away-

which last seemed a most unusual proceeding, considering the wedding was a toney affair; but perhaps there were personal interests-the n.o.bleman might have been hard up, and the farmer backing him. But there was an extraordinary scene in the church, and things got mixed.

For as soon as this maiding this farmier espied: "Hoh, my heart! Hoh, my heart! Hoh, my heart!" then she cried.

Hysterics? Anyway, instead of being wed- This maiding took sick and she went to her bed.

(N.B.-Pinter sticks to "virging".) Whereupon friends and relations and guests left the house in a body (a strange but perhaps a wise proceeding, after all-maybe they smelt a rat) and left her to recover alone, which she did promptly. And then: s.h.i.+rt, breeches, and waistcoat this maiding put on, And a-hunting she went with her dog and her gun; She hunted all round where this farmier did dwell, Because in her own heart she love-ed him well.

The cat's out of the bag now: And often she fired, but no game she killed- which was not surprising- Till at last the young farmier came into the field- No wonder. She put it to him straight:

"Oh, why are you not at the wedding?" she cried. "For to wait on the squoire, and to give him his bride."

He was as prompt and as delightfully unconventional in his reply as the young lady in Covent Gardings:

"Oh, no! and oh, no! For the truth I must sa-a-y, I love her too well for to give her a-w-a-a-y!"

which was satisfactory to the disguised "virging".

"...and I'd take sword in hand, And by honour I'd win her if she would command."

Which was still more satisfactory.

Now this virging being- (Jimmy Nowlett: "Maiden, Pinter--" Jimmy is thrown on a stool and sat on by several diggers.)

Now this maiding, being please-ed to see him so bold, She gave him her glove that was flowered with gold,

and explained that she found it in his field while hunting around with her dog and her gun. It is understood that he promised to look up the owner. Then she went home and put an advertis.e.m.e.nt in the local Herald; and that ad. must have caused considerable sensation. She stated that she had lost her golden glove, and

The young man that finds it and brings it to me, Hoh! that very young man my husband shall be!

She had a saving clause in case the young farmer mislaid the glove before he saw the ad., and an old bloke got holt of it and fetched it along. But everything went all right. The young farmer turned up with the glove. He was a very respectable young farmer, and expressed his grat.i.tude to her for having "honour-ed him with her love". They were married, and the song ends with a picture of the young farmeress milking the cow, and the young farmer going whistling to plough. The fact that they lived and grafted on the selection proves that I hit the right nail on the head when I guessed, in the first place, that the old n.o.bleman was "stony".

In after years, ...she told him of the fun, How she hunted him up with her dog and her gun.

But whether he was pleased or otherwise to hear it, after years of matrimonial experiences, the old song doesn't say, for it ends there.

Flash Jack is more successful with "Saint Patrick's Day".

I come to the river, I jumped it quite clever!

Me wife tumbled in, and I lost her for ever, St Patrick's own day in the mornin'!

This is greatly appreciated by Jimmy Nowlett, who is suspected, especially by his wife, of being more cheerful when on the roads than when at home.

"Sam Holt" was a great favourite with Jimmy Nowlett in after years.

Oh, do you remember Black Alice, Sam Holt?

Black Alice so dirty and dark- Who'd a nose on her face-I forget how it goes- And teeth like a Moreton Bay shark.