ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

I was looking for the poem I wrote about plough horses when I found this one that my Dad wrote, he is well into his eighties now and still remembers the horses with a great deal of affection.

“Draft Horses”

© Earle Magnay 28/6/06

I used to drive a team of three,
but sometimes two or one,
but no matter what the number,
at twelve I thought it fun.

With three abreast I’d plough all day’
on an old sun twin disc plough,
with gentle blossom furrow horse
I still can see them now.

Monty was the flighty one so
centre spot old mate,
and on his left to keep him quiet;
we put old lazy Kate.

Dad showed me how to harness them,
on go the winkers first,
Then the collar next the hames,
with bot flies at their worst.

“Inside the legs you’ll find their eggs,
there see them all down there?
Just get a piece of kero rag,
and wipe it down the hair.”

“Now this is how to work the plough,,
that lever keeps it straight,
so do a round, I’ll watch awhile,”
and then “You’re going great.”

If we ploughed an acre,
we’d had a real good day,
a bit extra in the nosebags,
“You’ve all done well today!”

When harrowing, Kate got a rest,
Just two were needed then,
That job I reckon, looking back,
was harder on the men!

Now if carting water,
from the well across the flat,
old lazy Kate got harnessed up,
‘cause she could handle that.


The draught horse friend, has had its day,
A pity but it’s true,
But I’ll always remember;
what the staunch old horse could do.

But the tractor’s taken over,
though I think it lacks the charm,
back then the good old draft horse,
was the engine of the farm.

morning Ross,

I think you have posted this one some time back. I love the easy way it 'sits on the page'. I can see the hand that drove the horses had no trouble guiding, not only the horses, but also the boy and the pen. And he can be proud of the result in both cases. Some of the old timers surprise us with their writing. There is a myth that the Assie bloke has not one poetic bone in his body. This has been proven wrong many times. Even the toughtst bushie can have a poetic side.
Thanks for sharing this poem, which shows a great fondness for pals, even if they were 'flamin horses'.

G'day Ross - what a wonderful poem - your Dad too was an artist with words and it obviously rubbed off....why don't you see if this could be published in our Magazine - I think it would make the grade Do you have more of your dad's work?

This is like a little time capsule and I enjoyed reading it very much. Please thank your Dad for sharing it.

Cheers

Maureen

A delightful journey to the past Ross. Thanks for sharing with us.

Heather

G'day Ross;


Wonderful poem.

Very easy reading full of love and feeling.


John

I love that Ross, I’m Just old enough to remember these teams on some of the farms I worked on as a boy still had bits and pieces of teams left, most of them retired but would still pull a cart and do a few jobs, we would get them now and again and give them a good currying a feed of oats and turn them out again, good memories mate.

TTFN

Thank you all for your kind remarks, I am going south later this week as a matter of fact, and will be catching up with Mum and Dad, I will print this off and give it to him so you will be thanking and complimenting him yourselves! He and mum still live in their own place and look after themselves, thay have just sold their house and downsized to a unit but they are still going pretty well.
I do have a few more of Dads poems, one in particular that he wrote about an old mate, who I don't remember, but he apparently died suddenly. I always found the poem a great piece of work and that is when I realised that Dad not only was a fan of reading bush poetry but was also pretty handy with a pen........as far as putting poetry together anyway! I will dig some up and post them. Just as a matter of interest, Dad decided to write this poem about draft horses because I wanted to write one, I had been quizzing him on a few things about it and he said "Bugger it, I might write one too" 'course he had the wood on me because he had actually worked them! I will post my effort too just for fun, even though I have posted it before.

PS, They won't get a computer so I still have to do everything on paper for them!

Yeah this is the poem Ross. I remember you talking about your dad when you posted it. Kero for bot fly eggs huh? That would be a lot quicker than these damn comb things. I'll keep that in mind. I like how he talks about the different personalities of the horses - lazy Kate, flighty Monty. Tell your dad that I love his poems too.

Martyboy, I believe the old bloke talking about the soil talking to him. My grandad said the same sort of thing. As the plough blade cuts through the dirt it makes different sounds. If it's dry and cloddy, you can hear the clods tumbling and thumping against each other. If it's hit a hard pan, the blade squeals as it skids, but if it's good moist friable soil, the soil is smooth and whispers as it rolls up from the blades.

The smell of freshly turned earth is wonderful. My dad grew peanuts and the machine cuts completely under the bushes, pulls them up and flips them upside down so the peanuts can dry for a few days before harvesting. I used to love the smell of moist dirt and new peanuts ... ahh even the thought takes me back to my childhood running around barefoot in the paddocks. Give a kid a dog, a stick and space to run around and you have a happy child. Farm kids are so lucky.

Wonderful animals.



Merv.