Poet and Brewer: Ernest Throgemorton

[Jasper Brush]

Poet and Brewer: Ernest Throgemorton

Now Ernest Throgemorton ancestors were aristocracy, his Great Grandfather was Viscount Vickery of the great English Empire gin distilling business in Dumbleton, a city nestled in the Juniper dales of Yorkshire, they also had great Apple orchards for the brewing of cider. Ernie’s father was however cut off from the family fortune when he opened a brewery in Liverpool; he was seen to have lowered the Vickery family status and was banished to Australia.

Which actually, was very fortunate, in a way, because Ernie and his family ended up in Ballarat, Victoria. And even more fortunate was the fact that the family arrived, slap bang in the middle of the gold rush. An aside, Ernie (his father, all first born sons were called Ernest), his father opened a brewery named ‘Ernest Throgemorton’s Alcoholic Ginger Beer.’ The brew was an instant success because the alcoholic content of the beer was 47% per volume. What the public did not realise is, Throgemortons beer was brewed with malt and hops, there was no root ginger in the brew at all; the ‘gin’ part in the name referred to ‘Juniper’ the basic ingredient of the, spirit gin’ and it was gin that was added to the vat after the brewing process had been completed. The secret of course was, and the was joke on them, his family back in the old dart thought that Ernie’s father had a victualing spirits business, and they were exporting hogsheads of semi-refined gin (the gin was a yellowish colour not clear) at three shillings a barrel. You ask why not sell gin and forget about brewing beer? The answer is simple: excise. The excise on a gallon of gin was one shilling and eight pence, in contrast, the excise on two gallons of beer was a half-penny. Though, to make a killing, Throgemorton built a distillery at the back of the brewery and re-refined some gin, with an additive, clothes washing ‘blue-o’ that changed the colour of the spirit to silvery blue. Throgemortons Gin was a favourite in the shanties, a nip was called, a threepenny ‘Sky Blue.’ Though, nothing sold as well as ‘T,s’ ginger beer.

Now I’ll let you into a secret. Who do you think’s beverages were an inducement for miners rights— the Eureka Stockade.’ Yep! You have picked it in one—‘Throgemortons.’

Anyway, the family that were kicked out of England became very rich Australians. The demise, (the passing) of Ernest senior was a stroke of bad luck. One evening after a prolonged session on, sky blues, an inebriated Ernie senior donned fingerless mittens and opened, Throgemorton’s bank vault. After entering the vault; he was in highly elated mental state. He started waltzing, turning, and raising his arms, spun around and around singing at the top of his voice, ‘all mine, all mine.’ When he crashed very heavily into a row of shelves; inadvertently upending a three hundred weight bag full of gold bars that caved in the top of his head.

From thereon in the world, so to speak, was Ernie junior’s oyster.
The year was 1907, and Ernie had amassed, millions and millions of pounds. Ernie was so rich he could have bought with cash Liechtenstein. Then one day, Ernie in a droll mood, all alone, in the great-dining room, of his property ‘Thogemore Hall,’ drinking with the flies, mused whilst starting a fire with a couple of tenners and fivers in the great fire-place ‘how can I waste my fortune.’

Then it came to him ‘like a stampede in a stable.’

I’ll write poetry.

Ernie’s girlfriend, was a good looker, Nellie Niechenhouser, of the well connected, Niechenhouser’s.

A first verse of Ernie’s My Love for Nellie Returns as a Fly Blown Boomerang

My love is true to you sweet Nellie.
My love is pure, sincere, and neat.
And falls down as a boomerang at your feet.
Though, sorrow fills me heart and belly;
when you return it with maggoty meat.

Needless to say, Ernest Throgemorton, was declared bankrupt in 1909.


John Macleod©


Not to be produced in any form without permission. ©

[Neville Briggs]

Needless to say Ernest Throgmorton was declared the worst poet since McGonagall, or maybe John Mcleod, the worst historian since Baron Münchausen

[Jasper Brush]

G'day Neville.

Well, this story is sad. Here was Ernie. Ernie, who had everything at his feet, so to speak.

So what does he do.

He falls flat on his face.


Yes, Neville,you have quoted a string of literary failures.

And thank you for including me in respectable society.

Yes I'm afraid Throgemorton through his own stupidity has been lost, NAY BURRIED in the archives of Australian history.

I'm so glad...No honoured that I can resurrect the lesser known Australian history for the benifit of members of ABPA.



Remember. Junior Ford will always be remembered the Edsel.


Regards,

John

[warooa]

Ahh the beauty and the romance amidst the tragedy that flows from young Ernies nib . . .

Oh Nellie what hath doth yoth?
my bottom's so bare and bright
brings down flying objects at night
my love for you climbs like a sloth
or a pole-dancer flying a kite

avante gard (arty farty) and before his time I'm sure . . and the good folk of Ballaarat would attest I'm sure, as the Bridge St bogans still thrive on a 47% proof quaff.

Marty

[Jasper Brush]

G'day, Marty.

Yeah the GB was a potent, rabble rousing, mighty MANS drink. If you wern't 47 per cent/er yo werea weakling.


My love is true to you sweet Nellie.
My love is pure, sincere, and neat.
And falls down as a boomerang at your feet.
Though, sorrow fills me heart and belly;
when you return it with maggoty meat.

Mate, what terrible poetry. The middle line is as flat as a pancake. No wonder Ernie went broke He had his own printing press printed eight million copies of his poetry. There was only one and a half million people in the State. And didn't sell one copy.

Oh Nellie what hath doth yoth?
my bottom's so bare and bright
brings down flying objects at night
my love for you climbs like a sloth
or a pole-dancer flying a kite

Mate if Ernie had you guidence to point him in the right direction he wouldn't have lost his millions.

Your verse is very good.

Regards,

John

[Jasper Brush]

A few years ago at a K-Mart sale, I bought a copy of Throgemorton’s poems. The poetry book was titled: ‘Beer and Skittles: How I Got Skittled’
This is one of my favourites.


Nellie Sweet Nellie
By Ernest Throgemorton

Nellie, me sweet, Nellie I love you, I do avow
you are on me mind whilst I’m milkin me cow
and while I’m starin at hairy bovine rumps
my minds, a-thinking, on your curves n’ bumps.

Memories of our first kiss in the fertilizer shed
and how we ponged as we slipped into bed;
our love’s, pure, and good as full cream milk
my love for you, like your body, smooth as silk.

Remember that Sunday we romped in the hay,
we ran n’ leaped in boots-and-all didn’t we aye;
then the happy days swimming down in the creek,
you were a lovely mermaid, tailless, but all cheek.

As I sit here a cow-tail swishen flies from me ear
I can’t say how much me heart is bursten me dear.
I know, for us, some-day weddin bells will chime
I lookin forward to when you’ll be mine all mine.

Ernest Throgemorton 1896©

[Dave Smith]

I wonder how come I never heard of this bloke. I'll bet Banjo and Henry were just so jealous.

TTFN