THE OLD HAND.
I'm forty years in New South Wales,
And knows a thing or two;
Can build a hut, and train a slut,
And chaff a "Jackeroo." *
* See reference b.
I chiefly sticks to splittin' rails—
It's contract work, d'ye see;
I hates to ave a station-boss
A-overlookin' me.
I left my country for its good,
But not my own, I fear;
I makes big cheques a splittin' wood,
And knocks 'em down in beer.
I knows the Murrumbidgee's bends,
Though not a "whaler" * now,
And many a score of sheep I've shore
For good old Jacky Dow.
I used to knock about on farms,
And plough a "land" or two;
But now for me that has no charms—
I hates a "Cockatoo." **
* Murrumbidgee whalers are a class of loafers who work for
about six months in the year—i.e. during shearing and
harvest, and camp the rest of the time in bends of rivers,
and live by fishing and begging.
** A small farmer.
I'm splittin' for a squatter now
Down here upon the creek;
He often says as how I've got
A sight too much o' cheek.
They've got a new-chum over there—
I hates new-chums, I do;
I often tries to take a rise
Out of that Jackeroo.
One day when we was in the yard
A draftin' out some ewes,
We axed him for to lend a hand,
He couldn't well refuse.
I watched 'un for a minute just
To see what he would do;
Bless'd if he warn't a chuckin' out
A lot o' wethers too!
He keeps the store and sarves the "dust"—*
I only wish he'd slope;
I knows he often books to me
Too many bars o' soap.
In them it ain't no sort o' use
Instruction to infuse;
There ain t a gleam o' intellect
In new-chum Jackeroos.
As soon as July fogs is gone
I chucks my axe up there,
And gets a stock of Ward and Payne's*
At six and six a pair.
I've been a shearin' off an' on
For such a precious while,
I knows most every shearin' shed,
And each partickler style.
I'm able for to shear 'em clean,
And level as a die;
But I prefers to 'tommy-hawk,"
And make the "daggers" fly.
They mostly says that to the skin
They means to have 'em shore;
I alius knocks off skin an' all
When they begins to jawr.
* Ward and Payne's sheep-shears.
My tally's eighty-five a day—
A hundred I could go,
If coves would let me "open out"
And take a bigger "blow."
I allus roughs 'em when the boss
Ain't on the shearin' floor;
It wouldn't pay to shear 'em clean
For three and six a score.
But when I see the super come
Paradin' down the "board,"
I looks as meek as any lamb
That ever yet was shored.
For, though by knockin' sheep about
You're causin' him a loss,
It's 'ard to have a squatter come
And mark 'em with a cross. *
They say us shearers sulks and growls—
I'm swearing half the day,
Because them blasted "pickers-up"
Won't take the wool away.
* Sheep badly shorn are marked with a cross in red chalk,
and are not paid for
At sundown to the hut we goes;
The young 'uns lark and fun;
The cook and I exchanges blows
If supper isn't done.
And when the tea and mutton's gone,
And each has had enough,
We shoves the plates and pints away,
And has a game o' "bluff." *
I works a little "on the cross,"
I never trusts to luck;
I hates to have to "ante-up,"
And likes to "pass the buck."
I've got a way of dealin' cards
As ain't exactly square;
I does some things with jacks and kings
As makes the young 'uns stare.
I've mostly got four aces though,
Or else a "routine flush
I wins their cash and 'bacca, and
They pays for all my lush.
* "Poker."
I likes to get 'em in my debt
For what their cheque '11 clear;
I've got a sort o' interest then
In every sheep they shear.
I'm cunnin', and my little games
They never does detect;
But I never was partickler green
As I can recollect.