Singing Love Songs to My Cows

[Heather]

Maureen is free!

[Maureen K Clifford]

true - but I'm not cheap

[Ian A]

‘Day John,
Would you mind if I put some music to your song and sang it to our poetry group?
Let me first emphasise that I am not (at my age) a recording artist or a busker. Last Sunday at our Port Macquarie meeting, my partner and I did a rendition of Days of old Khancoban. We got a nice round of applause and later over a cup of tea two ladies remarked what a beautiful tone my guitar had - nothing was said about our singing.
A few years ago Maureen printed a song called ‘Come With Me Matilda We’ll Go Waltzing’. I asked for and received permission to sing that one – thank you Maureen. I bring it out for the Christmas party, one chap with a strong voice reads out the verse in Square Dance style and tempo then we all join in the chorus and it’s a lot of fun. I would like to dream up a melody for your cow song and sing it and again I say that it strictly an in-house thing.
Ian.

[Maureen K Clifford]

Wow - fancy you trotting that old one out Ian - I had no idea

Here is the updated version of it if you are interested

DANCE WITH ME MATILDA – DANCE WITH ME

Maureen Clifford © The Scribbly Bark Poet

An old shearing shed built from mismatched grey iron,
corrugations now reddened with rust,
its race made from flitches and Cobb and Co. twitches,
yellowed grass well coated with dust.
A snake lurks beneath the shed, red belly, sleeping.
Coiled up on a bearer well worn.
All’s quiet inside, no Sunbeams, no shearers.
The two thousand head have been shorn.
But hang about, inside some people are gathering,
the reason will soon become clear,
this shed’s got the best floor for dancing which is
why folks travel miles to dance here.
A slab of red ironbark - rough sawn is the bar,
which they’ve set up out-back near the race.
Alongside the wool press the string band holds sway
with the fiddler setting the pace.

Matilda, come let me waltz you round the floor.
Dance with me Matilda.
Dance with me.

You just look oh so cute in your pink pinafore.
Sweet Matilda... come waltzing with me.


The bloke on the fiddle plays with heart and soul;
he is cheeky and raunchy and bold.
The Ladies are glowing; the breezes are warm,
the beer though is icy and cold.
Two young blades play banjo and both strum along
and they match the fiddler note for note
the bloke on the lagerphone calls out the steps
and it seems he has learnt them by rote.
“Come on boys and girls take your partner’s hands
and let us see those ladies swing.
Now step to the middle, and boys bow, girls’ curtsy,
then promenade round in a ring.
Now twirl your girl, twirl your girl, twirl her again
then waltz her quickly round the floor.
Then gentlemen, bow, pass your lady along
and all promenade around once more.”

Matilda, come let me waltz you round once more.
Dance with me Matilda.
Dance with me.

For you know you’re the only girl that I adore
Sweet Matilda… come waltzing with me.


Those folks who are too old to dance sit and watch,
tapping feet, clapping hands, calling ‘More!’
The young folks and others all join in the dance
there is scarcely room left on the floor.
Some young blokes are gathered shyly at the bar,
each one of them scrubbed up and neat,
all watching as young Jack twirls Matty around,
spinning her, swinging her off her feet.
The loud noise and laughter echoes round the shed,
escaping from under the roof.
Five long trestles tables groan with the home cooking
awaiting those good on the tooth.
The local ladies all came bearing a plate –
submitting their cuisine to share.
Delicious, fresh, nutritious homemade and grown
local produce. The best country fare.

Matilda, lets dance here closer to the door.
Dance with me Matilda.
Dance with me.

I might steal a kiss and hope you ask for more.
Sweet Matilda… come waltzing with me.

All soft drinks lay nestled in ice laden tubs
big eskies dispense golden ale.
Young babies lay cradled in fine micron nests
of wool that has not yet been baled.
The young children race around noisy and loud
with their frantic feet kicking up dust,
As ewes, just off shears, from dry paddocks look on –
gentle white faces full of distrust.
The band has played ‘Nellie Gray’ and ‘Duelling Banjos’,
the favourite - 'Click go the Shears'
and coming in fast are many requests –
‘Danny Boy’ is music to their ears.
Around the clock face metal hands progress slowly.
The last tune one all loved to hear,
traditionally the last song of the night.
Soft, the young bloke whispers in her ear.

Matilda, Matilda let’s waltz round once more.
Dance with me Matilda.
Dance with me.

For you know you’re my love, the girl I adore
So Matilda... won't you come waltzing?

Do you know Matilda we’ll marry one day?
And then in my arms is the place you will stay.
So come with me now girl, dance the night away.

Come Waltzing Matilda.
Waltz with me.

[Peely]

G'day Ian

You are welcome to give it a run with some music.

Regards


John Peel

[Ian A]

Thanks John, I will give it careful thought.

'Morning Maureen, Thanks for showing me the new Matilda, its surely in waltz time but I think that I prefer the original.

All the best,
Ian.

[Peely]

Just a little update on this one,

I have found a country singer that is interested in putting it to music and recording it. I will let you all know more in the future if it ends up making its way onto CD.

Regards


John

[Bob Pacey]

The wheels turn slowly John but they do turn. Keep at it mate.

I reread all the posts on this one and we need to get back to the funny little comments that we posted then.

" Where have all the comments gone "
" Long time passing "
" Where have all the comments gone "
" Long time agoooo "

Mmmmmm might be a song in that ?

Bob

[Neville Briggs]

Peely I got all excited for you when I read " I have found a country singer who is interested.. " then....oh bad luck ! only interested in writing music

[Heather]

Good on you John.

There's something in the air at Singleton this week I think.