Daniel Gleeson:

All right, ladies and gentlemen, I hope they're not panicking up in the bio box. Good evening everyone and a very warm welcome to the National Library of Australia. My name is Daniel Gleeson. I am the Director of Community Engagement here at the Library, which on nights like this feels like the best job in the world.

Before we begin, can I ask that you make sure your mobile phones are switched off or set to silent? And that also goes for any reminders you may have set to remind yourself of something at a certain time tonight.

To begin, I would like to acknowledge and pay my respects to the traditional owners and custodians of this land and through them to all Australian Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander people. The Library sits on the beautiful lands of the Ngunnawal and Ngambri people. I acknowledge their enduring connection to this place.

It's so wonderful to see the theatre full again tonight. We're very excited to be hosting this special event, celebrating the 70th anniversary of the Library's custodianship of Australia's folksong heritage and oral history. I'm sure that many of you have Folk Festival tickets in your pockets, and tonight's event is a great way to jump into those festivities. The Library has an incredible collection of songs, music, and oral histories collected from around the country, performed by folklorists and everyday Australians. To dive into these treasures, we have a fantastic and expert lineup for you tonight.

Mr Martyn Wyndham-Read, an amazing English and Australian folklorist who has released over 30 solo albums over his career.

Mr Warren Fahey is one of Australia's leading musicians in the folk music scene and a proponent of the bush tradition of singing and yarning. His distinguished career includes work as a historian, author, record producer, and actor. In 1996, his contributions to music earned him Australia's highest honour, the Order of Australia.

Marcus Holden, specialising in string instruments with an affinity for the fiddle, mandolin, and banjo. His work can be heard on albums, commercials, and films.

Garry Steele, an accordion wizard and master of the piano, who has performed with artists such as Jimmy Barnes and John Farnham.

And Bill Gammage, academic historian, widely known for his work on military history and First Nations land management. He is Emeritus Professor at the Humanities Research Centre at the ANU.

Ladies and gentlemen, please join me in welcoming them for Echoes of the long paddock: A folksong celebration.

Bill Gammage:

Thank you, Daniel. And welcome everyone. You're all distinguished guests. So in the folk tradition, we welcome you all equally, except that we wish at least one distinguished guest a happy birthday today.

Our concert celebrates the National Library's wonderful collection of Australian folk songs and stories and memories, as Daniel said. For nearly 70 years now, the Library has been the chief custodians of our folk heritage, and we tap that rich load tonight.

The performers have been introduced. I just want to point out Martyn, especially who's come from England, he's doing a Melba tonight, and he's obviously come a long way for this concert and for the National Folk Festival.

And I should point out that I'm no musician. I just talk, and as you can see, I have even trouble with that.

Australian folk songs are mostly anonymous, often have several versions of both words and music, and put local words to music from Ireland or Britain. Elsewhere in the world, most folk songs are about love, but until recently, most here were about work. Australian work, convicts, whalers, bush rangers, miners, shearers, drovers, stockman, and bushman and so on.

Of course, such work and its music is no longer typical. By 1900, Australia's population was the most urban on earth, and today we're even more urban. Yet, the bush is still what most obviously distinguishes from the rest of the world, and our concert is based on that.

First, the convicts. Nowadays, it's pleasant to have an ancestral convict stain, isn't it? Innocent citizens way laid by the law. So here are a couple about our ancestors.

Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

Come all you wild and wicked youths, whersomever you may be,I pray you pay attention and listen unto me,The fate of us poor transports, as you shall understand. The hardships that we do undergo upon Van Diemen's Land.

My parents raised me tenderly, good learning they gave to me. Until my bad companions beguiled my home from me. I was brought up in Worcestershire near to the town did dwell. My name it is Henry Harper to many knows me well.

Me and three more went out one night to Squire Dunhill’s farm. For to catch some game twas our intent as the night cam tumbling down. But to our sad misfortune they took us there with ease. And led us off to warrick jail, which made out hearts do bleed.

It was at the marcher's [unclear] at the court we did appear. Like fools we paid attention to hear a sentence there. And bid some old offenders it made out case go hard. A sentence was for 14 years and we were sent abroad.

The ship that bore us from the land, the Speedwell was her name. For 4 months and a half we ploughed across that raging main. No land nor harbour could we see, believe it is no lie. Around us one black ocean, above us one blue sky.

I often looked behind me, towards my native shore. And that cottage of contentment that I shall see more. Likewise my aged father who taught me all he knew. Also my tender mother whose [unclear] she once did bore.

It was on the fourth day of July that we did make to land, At 4 o’clock we went ashore in chains and hand in hand. To see our fellow-sufferers to feel I can’t tell how. Some chained unto a harrow, and some unto a plough.

We were marched off into the town without no more delay, And there a gentleman took me. A keeper for [unclear]. I took me occupation, me master liked me well. My joys are out of measure I'm sure no tongue can tell. He kept a female servant there. Rosanna was her name. For 14 years a convict from Worcestershire she came. We oftimes tell our love tales of at home where we used to be. But now it [unclear] of our chains in foreign lands to be.

Warren Fahey (singing):

I was bought up in London town, a place you all know well. Bought up by honest parents, oh the truth to you, I'll tell. Bought up by honest parents and raised most tenderly. Till I became a rambling youth at the age of 23. My character [unclear] and I was placed in jail. My friends, they tried to get me out and to get me out on bail. But the jury found me guilty, the judge to me did say, "We're sending you for 7 long years to that place called Botany Bay." To see my poor old father standing at the docks. Likewise, my poor old mother, a tearing of a grey locks. A tearing of her old grey locks, these words to me did say, "Oh son, oh son, what have you done to be bound for Bontany Bay?"

They put me on a sailings ship, one cold December morn. I never will forget the day we passed around Cape Horn. The captain as he passed me by these words to me did say. "You rue your transportation land to that place called Botany Bay."

There is a girl in London town, a girl I know full well. And when I gain my liberty it's along with her I'll dwell. And when I've gained my freedom it's married, we will be. I'll bid farewell to New South Wales, farewell to Botany Bay.

"Oh son, oh son, what have you done to be bound for Bontany Bay?"

Bill Gammage:

So there are convicts working. And most of those who came free also had to work hard, making do with what little the bush could offer them. Wattle [unclear] instead of cement, stringy bark and green hide instead of nails and tin.

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read:

Stringbark will light your fire. Greenhide will never fail. Stringy bark and greenhide are the mainstays of Australia.

Warren Fahey:

Cooee!

Bill Gammage:

Someone worked out that a good cooee travelled about a mile. So it was a pretty accurate way of measuring the distance and the size of a property. How big was your farm, Martyn?

Martyn Wyndham-Read:

Well, it was about 28 cooees, give an inch or two.

Bill Gammage:

Yeah. Up country, the bush had challenges. There's flood, drought, fire, all 3 at once, as we know, snakes and banks. When things were tough, old timers would say," Laugh. It's going to get worse." One old cocky beat by the bush said he was battling along okay until the grasshoppers started bringing their own lunch to his farm.

Warren Fahey:

Bill Jones, he had a mountain block down kosciuszko way. Farmed at night of death, the neighbours used to say. He scarified its surface with his double furrowed plough and he ate its bleeding heart out with his sheep and milk and cows. He stuffed up its intestines with his agricultural pipes, limes and super phosphates fit to give the land the gripes.

Till one day this land worn out with Jones's thrift, reckon that the time had come up and make a shift. So one morning the mountain shook itself and gave an almighty groan. The neighbours, they were more afraid than they were game to own. Their eyes upon their jaws they fell. Their eyes, they opened wide to see Bill's farm up end itself and down the mountain slide. It slithered down the mountainside, majestic like and slow and entered in the riverbed a thousand feet below.

Well, Jones was on the southern end of this long suffering farm. He'd just been tested out of plough. It was working like a [unclear]. He was just screwing up a nut when he heard an almighty crack. And 50 acres, more or less, came down on Jones's back. He'd just been standing there owning all that land. Next is in eternity, a spanner in his hand. They never dug up no remains nor scraps of William Jones. The super phosphates got the lot. High bottoms, boots, and bones. So all you city coves are saving up your screws to get upon the land. Watch out. The land don't get on yous.

Bill Gammage:

In 1851, came the momentous discovery of alluvial gold. People flocked in from all over the world and our population multiplied by 10 in a decade. It was a multicultural society, but the least urban that Australia ever was. Many who came were Chinese from Canton province, sent by landlords to ship gold home. That was resented here and most colonies passed laws or imposed taxes to stop the Chinese coming.

Warren Fahey (singing):

Oh, what's the use of talking? They won't let the white man live. For if there's any work to do to a Chinese bloke out here. So come on you straight head natives. Take my advice and plan, and turn your skin the right side in to become the China man. Oh, goodbye, Mrs Dulan. Tata Mrs Doyle. No more I'll roam around Ireland or [unclear] your emerald isle. I am off the China. It's there I will be found. I'm off to join the Chinese men, for Hong Kong I am bound.

First ever I put my foot upon this flowery shore, I'll scour the whiskers from my face they won't grow anymore. My eyebrows upside down, I'll turn my skin old yellow tan, and I'll eat my rice with chopsticks like a new Chum China man.

Oh goodbye Mrs Dulan. Oh tata Mrs Doyle. No more I'll roam around Ireland or plague your emerald isle. I am bound for China. It's there I will be found. I'm off to join the Chinese men, for Hong Kong I am bound.

I'll wear a pigtail 6-foot long. I'll [unclear] around. I'll wear a pair of Chinese pants with the bottoms neat and grand. And I will call meself [unclear] though me name is Pat Mcain. And back to Queensland I will come like a new chum China man.

Oh goodbye Mrs Dulan. Oh tata Mrs Doyle. No more I'll roam around Ireland or plague your emerald isle. I am bound for China. It's there I will be found. I'm off to join the Chinese men, for Hong Kong I am bound.

I'll learn to carry baskets. I'll carry them on me back and I'll pick up the lumps of gold that I find on the track. And when I make my fortune back home, I'm coming back and marry the girl I left behind the name is [unclear] Black.

Oh goodbye Mrs Dulan. Oh tata Mrs Doyle. No more I'll roam around Ireland or plague your emerald isle. I am bound for China. It's there I will be found. I'm off to join the Chinese men, for Hong Kong I am bound.

Bill Gammage:

Of course, there's still a lot of gold in Australia, but it's mixed up with a lot of Australia. A few made a fortune from it, a few more from selling grog or food, and a few by stealing it.

Close on the digger's rush, rush away, came the bush rangers bail up. There were bush rangers in New South Wales almost from 1788, but business took a distinct turn for the better after 1851, as gangs held up gold escorts, coaches, stations, and even towns like Canoundra, Bathurst, and Gerildree. These wild colonial boys were often seen as heroes, as victims of injustice, and the people's friends. That's a legacy of the convict days when authority was not offering.

Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

'Tis of a wild Colonial Boy, Jack Doolan was his name. Of poor but honest parents he was born in Castlemaine. He was his mother's only pride, father's only joy. And dearly did his parents love the wild Colonial Boy.

He was scarcely 16 years of age when he left his native home. And to Australia's sunny clime a bushranger did roam. He robbed the wealthy squatters, their stock he did destroy. A terror to Australia was the wild Colonial Boy.

In '61 this daring youth commenced his wild career. A heart that knew no danger, no foeman did he fear. He stuck up the Beechworth mail-coach, and robbed Judge MacEvoy, who trembled, and gave up his gold to the wild Colonial Boy.

Warren Fahey (singing):

Come away my hearties, we'll roam the mountainsides. Together we will plunder, and together we will ride. We'll cross those wild blue mountains and we'll scale those [unclear] plains. And scorn to live in slavery, born down with iron chains.

Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

One day as he was riding the mountainside along, a-listening to the mockingbird, their happy laughing song, when up rode 3 troopers: Kelly, Davis and FitzRoy. They thought that they would capture him, the wild Colonial Boy.

"Surrender now, Jack Doolan, for you see there's 3 to one. Surrender in the Queen's name, you are a pludering son." Jack drew a pistol from his belt, and shook the little toy, "I'll fight, but not surrender," cried the wild Colonial Boy.

He fired a shot at Kelly, he fell then to the ground. He fired one black ar Davis who [unclear]. All shattered through the jaws he lay still firing at FitzRoy. And so they never captured him – the wild Colonial Boy.

Warren Fahey (singing):

So come away my hearties, we'll cross the mountainsides. Together we will plunder, and together we will ride. We'll cross them wild blue mountains and we'll scale those [unclear] plains. And we'll scorn to live in slavery, born down with iron chains.

Bill Gammage:

As the [uncear] petered out, land became the new gold and 'unlock the lands,' the new cry. The pastoral industry grew rapidly, especially with wheat and wool inside and cattle further out. The pastoral boom was serviced by an army of travelling swagmans, shearers, drovers, and the like, looking for any work. They made their own tradition, and again, work was at the centre of it.

Warren Fahey (singing):

There's 16 shearers sharing in a row. The whistle toots and away they go. With siding blows and second cuts and half the buggers sewing up guts.

At each gate, the shearer stood at the whistle, loudly blew. With eyebrows fixed and lips compressed, the tigers all felt too hard to the clicking of the shears as through the fleece they fly. Oh, look at our winger. He is on the whipping side.

I mean to have that belly off and top knocks off likewise. Oh, do be quick. Money it tricks her away, you go like flies. Along the board, the contractor walks, is never on our side, but shearers decent table that you know I've always tried.

[unclear].

Oh the scene it is a lively one that ought to be admired. There's never been a better board since Jackie Howe expired. Along the board, the gaffer is face all in the frown and says to us shearers as I keep your place well down.

[unclear].

Well, I have a pair of warden [unclear] a shiny, bright and new. I'll rig them up and I will show what I can really do. For I've shorn in New Zealand and out on the Peru, but such a [unclear] I never see before.

[unclear].

Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

[unclear]. Before the shearing was over, I wished I was back again. And the [unclear] on the one tree plane.

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

All among the wall, boys, all among the wall. Keep your blades full boys. Keep your blades full. I can do a respectable telling yourself whenever I like to try. And they know me around the country as [unclear] from Gundagai.

Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

Oh, [unclear]. But I was always glad to get back again on the one tree plane.

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

All among the wall, boys, all among the wall. Keep your blades full boys. Keep your blades full. I can do a respectable telling yourself whenever I like to try. And they know me around the country as [unclear] from Gundagai.

Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

Oh, [unclear].

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

All among the wall, boys, all among the wall. Keep your blades full boys. Keep your blades full. I can do a respectable telling yourself whenever I like to try. And they know me around the country as [unclear] from Gundagai.

Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

I've been wailing up the Lochland, Dustin, Coopers Creek and once a [unclear] And when Gabriel Brows is trumpet, I catch the morning train and a push for older parson on the one tree plane.

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

All among the wall, boys, all among the wall. Keep your blades full boys. Keep your blades full. I can do a respectable telling yourself whenever I like to try. And they know me around the country as [unclear] from Gundagai.

Bill Gammage:

I think there's a couple of people not singing out there. I hope that doesn't keep up. I mean, I can't sing, so I've got an excuse, but none of you have. So I hope I can hear some more voices. Okay. Those last two songs and notice no women, no women in them. 'Ducks on the pond' was the cry if women came into the sheds, but they were there all right. Battling the bush and the man's world, working to keep home and family going, or to make their way in life.

Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

Now the harvest times come, gentle [unclear] round the field. You'll be anxious to know [unclear] you little [unclear] is going to yield.

Now your mutton's very sweet, gentle and [unclear]. And I'm sure it can't be packed in New South Wales. And you better put the fence round those cabbage or they'll get eaten up by the snails. And you take my advice gentle [unclear] going away. With his backpack hung over his saddle. And he stole the knives and forks the other day.

[unclear] and you know that you can no longer stay. So I'll bid you farewell gentle Annie and I'll meet you on another [unclear] day. I will say farwell gentle Annie for [unclear] yes I bid you adeiu gentle Annie. You're the little [unclear] that I adore.

Bill Gammage:

That was one lucky man. Often women were really scarce in the bush. There's about one woman to every 13 men in New South Wales in the 1820s. So men took to joking about attractive sheep.

Warren Fahey (singing):

Hold on here! Come on! Ah!

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

Oh, who hasn't heard of you [unclear]? The lads of the Lachlan, the great and the small come bent on diversion from far and from near, to shake off their troubles for just once a year.

Warren Fahey (singing):

The boundary riders was bound and about. The well sinkers seemed to be feeling the drought. The water was scarce, there was whiskey gore. What you couldn't swallow you rubbed in your hair.

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

Oh, who hasn't heard of you [unclear]? The lads of the Lachlan, the great and the small come bent on diversion from far and from near, to shake off their troubles for just once a year.

Warren Fahey (singing):

There were [unclear] in plenty, some two or three score. Some [unclear], some tutus, some rather more, with the fleeces of fluffy or fluffy and clean of the smartest young shelans you ever did see.

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

Oh, who hasn't heard of you [unclear]? The lads of the Lachlan, the great and the small come bent on diversion from far and from near, to shake off their troubles for just once a year.

Warren Fahey (singing):

Oh the music struck up and it set us apace. Some went at a canter and some tried to race while [unclear], the manager cursed when some mongrel whacked him a jab with his [ucnlear].

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

Oh, who hasn't heard of you [unclear]? The lads of the Lachlan, the great and the small come bent on diversion from far and from near, to shake off their troubles for just once a year.

Warren Fahey (singing):

There was kissing and hugging, of course, on the sly. And gender emotion [unclear] what each man he swore he was right as a [unclear]. As he got down his [unclear].

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

Oh, who hasn't heard of you [unclear]? The lads of the Lachlan, the great and the small come bent on diversion from far and from near, to shake off their troubles for just once a year.

Bill Gammage:

The campfire holds an iconic place in Australia. In our mind's eye, we see it, we hear it, we smell it, as gum leaves crackle and the Billy hisses its song. All will welcome and equal around the campfire, although late arrivals might have to sit down smoke. There's a place for strong black tea and song, story, and news. Everyone taking a turn.

Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

Oh the spring time it brings on the [unclear]. And it's then you will see them in droves to the West Country Station [unclear] to find them a job off the coast.

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

With a ragged all swag on the shoulder. And the [unclear]. Oh I tell you [unclear] to see how we travel the land.

Warren Fahey (singing):

From the purple Murrary [unclear] to the far [unclear] and back. Oh the mountains and plains are well-trodden by the men on the [unclear].

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

With a ragged all swag on the shoulder. And the [unclear]. Oh I tell you [unclear] to see how we travel the land.

Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

There are many [unclear] and shoulder the swags on their back. For the rest of the year, they'll be steering and they will [unclear].

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

With a ragged all swag on the shoulder. And the [unclear]. Oh I tell you [unclear] to see how we travel the land.

Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

And after the shearing is over and the wool season's all at an end, well it's then you will see those [unclear] making johnny cakes round on the bend.

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

With a ragged all swag on the shoulder. And the [unclear]. Oh I tell you [unclear] to see how we travel the land.

Warren Fahey (singing):

I've been many years a shearer and fancied I could shear. I could always give my 20 at the end of every run. I used the old trade union shears when the blades were bogging full. As I pushed them through the knockers and I clipped away the wool.

I shore at [unclear] and never got the sack. From [unclear] I always could go back. And though I am a truthful man, I find when in a bar that my tally seems to double and I never calls for tar. Well, shearing on the western plains where the fleece is full of grass and the burly bur and the bindi eye are the things to try your hand. Wear the sheep are tall and wiry that live on the Mitchell grass and every second one of them is close to the cobbler class.

And a shed that's full of cobblers is a shearer's dream of hell. So wild and lurid are their cries when they hit ones on the bell. But when I'm pouring down the grog, you'll hear no call for tar. For the shearer necker nicks 'em when he's shearing in a bar.

At [unclear] I got the bell sheep, a wrinkled tough old brute, who never stopped his kickin' until I pushed him down the chute. My wrists were aching badly, but I fought him all the way. Oh I couldn't afford to miss a pen, I must earn my pound a day. And if I took a piece of skin, I'd hide it with me knee, turn the sheep around a bit so the right bower couldn't see. And quickly get the [unclear] eye and softly whisper "ta", but it doesn't seem to happen when I'm shearing in a bar.

"Oh, I've taken off the belly wall. I've trimmed the crutch and [unclear] and down along the shoulder while the [unclear] swept the locks and quickly turned the sheep around and land him on his rear. Two clips to take away the wig I also took an ear.

And down along the shoulder, my blades were open wide as I went for the long blow and down the whipping side. And when I threw the fleece upon the board, it was nearly black with tar, but it doesn't seem to happen when I'm shearing in a bar.

Well, when the season's over, my friends, they all come back in their [unclear] and their [unclear]. Well, they were always on the track. They come and take me into town and fill me up with beer and I sit on a corner stool and listen to them shear. Oh, there's not a lot of difference. It must make the angels weep to hear a mob of young shearers in a bar room shearing sheep.

But memories are clouding. They wipe away the years, but I feel my wrist is stiffening and I think I feel the shears. I want to tell the sheds that I've shorn for many years, for 50 years or more, but the beer has started working and I'm knobbly at the knees, so I better not start shearing. I'd be sure to call for tar and be treated like a black leg when I'm shearing in a bar.

Bill Gammage:

Duke Triton's great poem. As sheers age, naturally their tallies fell, but no one wanted to be a has-been.

Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

I'm one of the has-beens, a shearer I mean. I once was a ringer and used the shear clean. I could make the wool fall off easy, like the soil from the plough, but you may not believe me, I can't do it now.

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

I'm as awkward as a new chump and I'm used to the frown that the boss [unclear] saying 'keep them blades down.'

Warren Fahey (singing):

I've shorn with Pat Hogan, Bill Bright and Jack Dunn, Charlie Fergus, Tommy Layton and the great [unclear]. Oh, they bought from the [unclear] the best they could find, but there wasn't a shearer could leave me behind.

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

I'm as awkward as a new chump and I'm used to the frown that the boss often chose me saying 'keep them blades down.'

Well there's no use complaining. We'll never say die. For the days of fast shearing for us have gone by. Now take the wall nice and easy, shear slowly and clean. And we really have told you just what we have been.

I'm as awkward as a new chump and I'm used to the frown that the boss often chose me saying 'keep them blades down.'

Bill Gammage:

Of course, shearing was a skill and it brought together large groups of men. Some sheds might have hundred shearers and shed hands in the season, and those numbers formed a strong union. Then in the 1890s, the squatters dropped the shearing rate because the price of wool fell. And naturally the shearers sympathised with squatters reduced to 2 trips to London a year, but they pointed out that the work was just as hard, no matter the price of wool, and the conditions were just as tough.

Warren Fahey:

This song names all the big shearing sheds. Some of them were as big they had 40 cooks just to cook for the cooks.

Warren Fahey (singing):

I've been many years a shearer, fancied I could shear. [unclear] and always miss the sphere. I've shorn for [unclear]. I'll relate to you that on his pure Marino sheep I could always cut a few, but.

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

Oh my, I never saw before the way we had to knuckle down [unclear].

Warren Fahey (singing):

I've been shearing down the [unclear] as far as [unclear]. I've often cut a few. [unclear] I could close my shears at six o'clock with a quiet century.

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

Oh my, I never saw before the way we had to knuckle down [unclear].

Warren Fahey (singing):

I've been shearing down the Goulburn side as far as Douglas Park where every day was wool away and Toby left his mark. Gerlfer General Stewart. Tomb is on the mount and the fights I've had with Scrammy Jack are more than I can count.

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

Oh my, I never saw before the way we had to knuckle down [unclear].

Warren Fahey (singing):

I've been shearing at you [unclear]. I'll never forget that name where Gardner Robby escorted down the lot and came. Ashore terror monger minor on the tailbreaker ran McDermott for the cobbler and [unclear].

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

Oh my, I never saw before the way we had to knuckle down [unclear].

Warren Fahey (singing):

But that was in the good old days. You might have heard them say how [unclear] from [unclear] down to Sydney in one day. But now I'm broken mouth and me shearin's at an end and though they call me Whalebone, I was never known to bend.

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

So spare me flaming days I never saw before the way we had to knuckle down at [unclear].

Bill Gammage:

I mentioned 'inside' earlier, that's a drover's word, still used for where most of us live, as opposed to 'outback'. Of course, not all swaggies came from so far out. They started from Central Station in Sydney or Roma Street in Brisbane and by rail, coach, horse, bicycle, and foot, they spread over the land. They had rules. Close the gate. Put out your fire. Don't ask for too much. Arrive about sunset so you didn't work too hard for your tucker. Mark the gate post to show if the squatter was or was not stingy. Probably still use some of those.

Squatters at station owners had rules too. Typically, they gave swagman 10, 10, 2 and a half. That is, 10 pounds of beef or mutton, a hindquarter if you could get it, 10 of flour, 2 of sugar, and half of tea. Something matching the old convict weekly ration.

'Then he kept to this bush coat. No one left my station with an empty belly,' the squatter Frank Jenkins one supposedly.

But others drove Swagman away. There, 10, 10, 2 and a half meant 10 minutes to get off the station, 10 yards starting the dog. Two reasons why you could be charged with trespass and half a chance to explain yourself.

Warren Fahey (singing):

That was it. Shortest musical sting in the history of the National Library.

Bill Gammage:

Well, certainly stung me.

Except possibly at Christmas, what the squatters didn't give out was drink. You went to a pub or a sly grab shop for that. And there, many a bushmen knocked down a check which might have taken him 4 or 5 months to earn. So there was work and there was drink.

Warren Fahey:

The Frenchman likes his sparkling wine. The German likes his beer. The Pommy likes his half and half because it brings good cheer. The Scotsman, he likes his tot. The Irishman likes his hot. The bushman has no favourite drink. He drinks the bloody lot. Now, do you remember the terrible summer of 1923? The year the sun melted the rocks in the back country. The year the sand fused to glass and burnt that strip down [unclear] Pass. Well, I was there in that terrible heat where the borders of South and West Australia meet about 200 miles [unclear]. Yeah. That was the time I met Ned Kelly.

Out of this terrible hell heat fog, strode Kelly. His arms laden with grog. "I'm Kelly, all right," he said to me, "And I'm twice as dead as you'll ever be. For a hundred years, I've wondered this place. Looking for a suitable drinking mate." "Oh, you found him now?" I quickly said, "How about we put some of those bottles to bed?"

Well, we sat in the sun and we talked for days how men wore guts where they now wear stays. Then came the sound of marching feet and a line of men fractured the desert heat. It was [unclear]. Well, spare me days followed by Ben Hall. Saltbush Bill and [unclear]. Well, next came Henry Lawson and Ludwig Vicart who said, "Lassiter is coming, but it's okay to start." Well, we sat in the sun and we drank for a week with the finest men that you'd ever would meet.

Next came a blue coloured kangaroo and an overweight dingo that did a soft shoe and a wallaby with performing fleas and a soprano galah that sang off key. And a big black snake that sang old [unclear] while a masupial mouse with its nose [unclear].

Yes. We sat in the sun and we drank for a week with the finest blokes you ever would meet. I danced me a jig for comic relief and disturbing the dust I found, [unclear]. There were diamonds and rubies and sapphires galore and a knob of gold as big as that knob on the door. Yeah. So rubies and sapphires, a wonderful haul and a bucket of gold for every shovel fall.

But despite all that fabulous wealth, each man was content unto himself. The party broke up in a month and a day and all of us, well, we went our own way. I went south to the [unclear] and in about two weeks, I was back home again. And I never did talk at the places I'd been. I never did talk of the people I'd seen. But I learned one important fact, never get drunk in the sun without wearing a hat.

Bill Gammage:

But by 1900, most Australians were drinking in city or country town pubs and the old shanties you still see by our roadsides were mostly abandoned. Yet as the bush retreated, the city reached out to depict it. Sometimes with awe, sometimes with pride, painters like Streeton and Roberts and writers like Lawson and Patterson stepped up. Here's a Henry Lawson poem set to music.

Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

Ten miles down Reedy River a pool of water lies, and all the year it mirrors the changes in the skies. And in that pool’s broad bosom is room for all the stars. Its bed of sand has drifted o'er countless rocky bars.

And down along the edges, the waves a bed of reeds. where water rats lie hidden and where the wild duck breeds. Grassy slopes rise gently to ridges long and low. Where groves of wattle flourish and native bluebells grow.

Beneath the granite ridges the eye can just discern where Rocky Creek emerges from deep green banks of fern. And standing tall between them, the grassy she-oaks cool, the hard, blue-tinted waters before they reach the pool.

Ten miles down Reedy River, one Sunday afternoon. I rode with Mary Campbell to that to that broad bright lagoon. We left our horses grazing while shadows climb the peak. Strolled beneath the she-oaks on the banks of Rocky Creek.

Then home along the river that night we rode a race. The moonlight lent a glory to Mary Campbell's face. I pleaded for our future all through that moonlight ride. Until our weary horses drew closer side by side.

Ten miles from [unclear] Crossing, 5 below the creek, I built a little homestead on the banks of Rocky Creek. I cleared the land and fenced it and ploughed the rich red [unclear]. And my first crop was golden when I brought my Mary home.

Now still down Reedy River, the grassy she-oaks lie. The water holds still mirrors, the changes in the sky. The bed of sand has shifted across the rocky bars. [unclear].

And of the hut I builded, there are no traces now for many rains have levelled the furrows of the plough. My glad right days are vanished, for some the branches wave. And wattle's golden above my Mary's grave.

Bill Gammage:

Isn't that typical Henry Lawson? There's no Hollywood endings for him. 'Waltzing Matilda', written 131 years ago, is our unofficial national anthem. Here's a version that Warren collected in Brisbane 53 years ago.

Warren Fahey (singing):

[unclear]

Bill Gammage:

Well, most of us are far from that Australia now. We're another country. Though we have in common that we still don't respect the Aboriginal achievement for what it was. Our past shapes are still though, and we salute the National Library for conserving those long ago voices and memories and for its wider service to Australia. We salute too the men and women who collected and collect our unique voice as a people. And to conclude, we offer a modern way of seeing Australia, Eric Bogle's 'Shelter'.

Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

I'm drowning in the sunshine as it pours down from the skies. Something stirring in my heart, bright colour fills my eyes. As from here to the far horizon your beauty does unfold. And oh you look so lovely dressed in green and gold.

I can almost touch the ocean, shimmering in the distant haze. As I stand here on this mountain, on this loveliest day of days. Round half the world I've drifted, left no wild oats unsown, but now my view has shifted for I think I've just come home.

To the homeless and the hungry, may you always open doors. May the restless and the weary find safe harbour on your shores. May you always be my Dreamtime place. Our spirit's glad release. May you always be our shelter. May we always live in peace.

Warren Fahey and Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

I'm drowning in the sunshine as it pours down from the skies. Something stirring in my heart, bright colour fills my eyes. As from here to the far horizon your beauty does unfold. And oh you look so lovely dressed in green and gold.

Martyn Wyndham-Read (singing):

And oh you look so lovely dressed in green and gold.

Martyn Wyndham-Read:

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Warren Fahey:

We could do one tune for you if you'd like that.

Martyn Wyndham-Read:

Yeah.

Warren Fahey:

I like this tune because in the 1840s, there was a fad, a craze for the dance, The Polka. And right across the world, people were polkering everywhere and there was one star called Jenny Lind. She was called the Swedish Nightingale. Even Barnum and Bailey took her to America to tour and over 200,000 people turned up at the docks to greet her. She did a tour of America, made over a million dollars in today's money and gave it all to charity.

In Australia, she was famous too. They named a soup after her. Sweetie soup. Hotels were named The Jenny Lind and the miners who were shifting the illuvial gold called their cradle The Jenny Lind.

There was a second tune there. The second tune is called 'The Black Cat Piddled in the White Cat's Eye and the Black Cat Said [unclear]'.

That's probably an appropriate end. Thank Bill Gammage for the rating tonight. Thanks the National Library event staff that made this happen tonight. And thank Adam, our sound man up in the booth. But especially thank you for coming.

Martyn Wyndham-Read:

Absolutely. Thank you.

Warren Fahey:

Thank you. And don't forget, when God knocked off one night, he said this earth's a rotten failure. How to improve it? Now let me see. Next day he made Australia.

Bill Gammage:

Marcus Holden, the fiddle king. Garry Steele. Warren Fahey, the man who did most to put our concert together. And the golden voice Jakaroo Martyn Wyndham-Read. Thank you. Thank you everyone.

Martyn Wyndham-Read:

Thanks very much. Thank you. Drinks on the house.