the old swaggie
Posted: Mon Nov 15, 2010 4:43 pm
it was in 1962 when I meet him. He was curled up camped under the bridge at Willcania.
all I ever knewwas he was called Digger. A harmless old chap and this is what I remembered
of him
The Old Swaggie ©
The old swagman lay beneath the bridge snuggled deep inside his threadbare bedroll
His meagre possessions lay beside him, pipe, tobacco, and matches
A change of clothes much patched and worn, a bit of soap,
A ragged towel, knife fork an spoon, a frying pan, an old black billy,
Battered tin plate, a pannikin plus a tuckerbag with not much in it.
There was tea, sugar, salt, flour, a bit of bread, and some tins of tucker
Not much, when one thinks about it, for sixty plus years of his life
That was until you talked to him and listened to what he had to say.
I sat down and quietly listened, while I stoked the fire into life
He told about his youth, of limited schooling and bad teachers
A drunken father and a mother that died when he was young
His father dragged him off to work as a rouseabout at shearing time
And then I stacked up mallee root stumps along with any other work that a lad could do.
Well the few bob that came to light the old man took from me for booze,
So I ended up clearing out when I was old enough, and left him to his grog.
Later I joined the army to see the world they said, and I believed them like a fool,
For I was full of ambition then, well, I should have known better, but I didn’t.
So I did me best and followed orders, and some of them were flammin stupid
And they cost some mates their lives and caused many problems for others. as well
When it ended, I vowed never to trust the words of so-called leaders again.
Well I survived and I suppose that’s all that matters in that day and age.
Now, well I’ve battled on for years and lived life as best I could
Through drought and flooding rain, an my oath I’ve faced feast and famine too
I done a bit of ploughing, here and there, and some rabbit trapping as well
He paused, while lit his pipe and quietly sucked on it,
Then, reaching into his threadbare coat pocket, he pulled out a tattered pouch,
A shining war medal slid from it, and he passed it to me to read the inscription
It was a medal of bravery, presented by the King to him for what he did
I returned it, and as he grasped it with pride, he remarked
It ain’t much to remember your mates with you know.
But I can still remember me mates, you know, the ones that lost their lives.
With that he slid back down into his bedroll,
And with eyes shining with tears he remembered his mates.
all I ever knewwas he was called Digger. A harmless old chap and this is what I remembered
of him
The Old Swaggie ©
The old swagman lay beneath the bridge snuggled deep inside his threadbare bedroll
His meagre possessions lay beside him, pipe, tobacco, and matches
A change of clothes much patched and worn, a bit of soap,
A ragged towel, knife fork an spoon, a frying pan, an old black billy,
Battered tin plate, a pannikin plus a tuckerbag with not much in it.
There was tea, sugar, salt, flour, a bit of bread, and some tins of tucker
Not much, when one thinks about it, for sixty plus years of his life
That was until you talked to him and listened to what he had to say.
I sat down and quietly listened, while I stoked the fire into life
He told about his youth, of limited schooling and bad teachers
A drunken father and a mother that died when he was young
His father dragged him off to work as a rouseabout at shearing time
And then I stacked up mallee root stumps along with any other work that a lad could do.
Well the few bob that came to light the old man took from me for booze,
So I ended up clearing out when I was old enough, and left him to his grog.
Later I joined the army to see the world they said, and I believed them like a fool,
For I was full of ambition then, well, I should have known better, but I didn’t.
So I did me best and followed orders, and some of them were flammin stupid
And they cost some mates their lives and caused many problems for others. as well
When it ended, I vowed never to trust the words of so-called leaders again.
Well I survived and I suppose that’s all that matters in that day and age.
Now, well I’ve battled on for years and lived life as best I could
Through drought and flooding rain, an my oath I’ve faced feast and famine too
I done a bit of ploughing, here and there, and some rabbit trapping as well
He paused, while lit his pipe and quietly sucked on it,
Then, reaching into his threadbare coat pocket, he pulled out a tattered pouch,
A shining war medal slid from it, and he passed it to me to read the inscription
It was a medal of bravery, presented by the King to him for what he did
I returned it, and as he grasped it with pride, he remarked
It ain’t much to remember your mates with you know.
But I can still remember me mates, you know, the ones that lost their lives.
With that he slid back down into his bedroll,
And with eyes shining with tears he remembered his mates.