THE BALLAD OF SWEET ABIGAIL

[Vic Jefferies]

THE BALLAD OF SWEET ABIGAIL


“Some ask me why it is that I drink neither sweetened coffee nor tea,
well if you have time, I’ll tell you in rhyme, how my aversion came to be
and of all the stories you may hear, you shall not hear one much stranger,
than the sad tale of Sweet Abigail and her love for a wild bushranger!”


Up on the Queensland border, near the town from where I hail,
a farmer had a daughter whom he called Sweet Abigail
and they say she was an angel, with blonde hair and eyes of blue,
till she ran off with a bushranger, the worst thing she could do!

For though ‘tis said some goodness in the least of us can be found,
this scoundrel was purely badness and for hell was surely bound,
but what made a girl like Abigail fall for this devil’s son
still remains a mystery - well - to almost everyone.

Although she broke her father’s heart and filled his life with grief,
none could persuade her to depart from nor leave that evil thief,
for she believed he loved her and would love her ever more,
the sad part of this story is: she had never loved before!

Then one day they caught that feller, when a safe went off with a bang
and because he’d shot the teller the judge decreed he’d hang,
but just before his debt he paid by departing this mortal coil,
Sweet Abigail rode to his aid, but alas her plan was foiled.

For as they fled a bullet sped and struck Abbie in the back
and though she pleaded for his help, he left her wounded on the track!
The troopers came and captured her and cast her into gaol
and for five long years she languished there - poor Sweet Abigail.

Though as she served her sentence, in her cold grey prison cell,
Abbie met other women who had similar tales to tell
of how that same evil man had deserted them in the past
and as she quietly listened, she began to see at last.

Soon within her shattered heart a desire for vengeance grew
and she planned to the finest part precisely what she’d do,
so when at last they freed her, and unlocked that prison gate,
out stepped five feet seven of blonde haired, blue eyed, hate!

(Now listen well you gentlemen who have ladies as your friends,
there’s a lesson in this story and especially how it ends.)

Sweet Abigail remembered well the outlaw’s mountain lair
from whence he’d descend at night causing terror everywhere,
so saddling a horse she bravely rode that secret mountain track
and when at last she arrived why, he foolishly took her back!

For of her plan she gave that man not the slightest indication;
he poor fool believed that she accepted his explanation:
that she truly forgave him for her five long years in gaol
and he was sure that once again he had duped Sweet Abigail.

But... during the night as he slept, leaving her to guard the pass,
Abbie took from her saddle bags two ounces of powdered glass!
This she mixed with the sugar, she knew he loved in his tea,
then quietly she crept back to her swag to gloat on his destiny.

It was early in the morning when the badman he awoke
and as if he understood her plan the first words that he spoke
were, “ Oh my darling Abbie, if you’d care to, and just for me,
rustle up the campfire Love, and make me a billy of tea.”

Well what was Abbie to do? As a woman she knew her place,
so she made his billy of tea with a smile upon her face
and settling back with the barest hint of a satisfied grin,
watched the outlaw drink the tea and swallow the glass within!

Just as Abbie had been taught, by the murderess who’d shared her cell,
the glass at first caused no distress and slid down his throat quite well,
but as it travelled slowly, through his liver, kidneys and...’things,’
the glass commenced to cut and slice and inflict its fatal stings!

As he died, she knelt by his side watching him twitch and shake,
feeling less than if she’d been killing a deadly poisonous snake;
as he expired she inquired if he’d ever loved her true,
with his dying gasp he replied, “What! Me love a fool like you?”

Then Abigail sweetly whispered into the outlaw’s ear,
“The ladies from Long Bay Gaol sadly regret they can’t be here,
though they send their love and wish you the best for eternity
they will all be glad to hear how much you enjoyed their tea!”

In the cave she dug his grave and buried him with his gold
and once again she became the sweet Abigail of old,
and still from that misty mountain, where the hawks and eagles fly,
some folks say that to this day there comes a mournful cry.

If any of you doubt my story, I assure you it is true,
for I wed that girl Sweet Abigail, with blonde hair and eyes of blue,
and years ago before she died she recounted her tale to me
and from that day hence you may be sure - ‘twas I who made the tea!


Vic Jefferies (©)

[Zondrae]

G'day Vic,

Well not quite as good as seeing you and Helen at Illawarra FF but, as I have good recall (the old timers is not knocking yet) , I can read this beaut poem and hear you reciting it in my mind... Even better!! I can get up and pop in the CD and listen to it. That way I just have to remember the image of your face reciting. (it has been so long, I think I still remember what you look like.) Check the CD cover,,, Yep that's him.

I look forward to seeing you both at one of the festivals this year. Hope you both are travelling a little better with each passing month. We stay well (so far). I'm in for Cobargo and The National.

[Heather]

Vic, that was fantastic and I was engrossed from beginning to end.

Heather

[David J Delaney]

This is a fantastic & great yarn Vic, I hung on every word mate.

[Vic Jefferies]

G'day Zondrae, Heather and David,
Glad you enjoyed the story. As Zondrae says it is an old one of mine that is also the title of my cd.
It hasn't seen the light of day for a while so I thought I might just put it up as something different.
Congratulations Zondrae on being selected for the Illawarra, Cobargo and National Folk Festivals, you are doing very well indeed.
Helen is very much better and we are looking forward to getting back on the festival scene later this year with any luck.
Glad to see that both you and Wayne are well and all the best for the new year.

[Jasper Brush]

G'day Vic;


Good yarn, mate.

Wonderful.

I enjoyed every line.


John

[Vic Jefferies]

Good On You John,

Glad you enjoyed the story. Wrote this years ago as a performance piece but haven't doe it anywhere for a couple of years. Used to be a fellow that would specifically ask me not to perform it and I found out later it was because the story reminded him of his first wife (whatevert that meant!)
Coincidentally the year I appeared at the Cygnet folk festival in Tasmania a woman in Launceston(?) was charged with attempting to murder her husband by putting broken glass in his food. Gotta wonder don't you?

Vic

[Jasper Brush]

Well, Vic.

You put a lot of detail into TBOSA.


John

[Vic Jefferies]

Gee whiz John I never intended it to be an instruction in murder!
The poem actually comes from the threat my mother used to make to my father when he misbehaved that she would put ground glass in his sugar. It was a bit of an urban myth at the time. Hate to think anyone took this seriously though it is always interesting to not the reaction of the ladies in the audience and the response of the men sitting beside them.
It always seems the poem hits a few more spots than I envisaged!

[Jasper Brush]

G'day, Vic.

No of course. You brought up two scenario's that weren't associated to you personally.

Like thousands of others I enjoyed your well crafted poem.


Perhaps, Manfred/Moderator could delete my remarks.

My apology.

John