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Generations...........
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Heidy



Joined: 28 Apr 2009
Posts: 969


Location: North o th' river

PostPosted: Sat May 23, 2009 3:34 pm    Post subject: Generations...........  Reply with quote

Me faither was a baillie frae a wee farm at Caithlie
He worked on the land all the days of his life
By the time he made second, he aye said he reckoned
He'd ploughed near on half of the east nook of Fife
He's feed on at Randerston, Crawhill and Clephinton
Cambo and Carnbee and big Rennie Hill
At Kingsbarn he's married, at Boarhills he's buried,
But man, had he lived, he'd be ploughing on still.


For those days were his days, those ways were his ways
To follow the ploo while his back was still strong
But those days have passed and the time come at last
For the weakness of age to make way for the young

I wasnae for plooin', to the sea I was going
To follow the fish and the fisherman's ways
In rain, hail and sunshine I'd watch the lang run line
Nae man mare contented his hale working day
I've lang lined the Flodden ground, the Dutch and the Dogger Bank
Pulled the great fish from the deep Devil's Hole
I've side trawled of Shetland, the Faroes and Iceland
In weather much worse than a body could thole

For that day was my day, that way was my way
To follow this fish while my back was still strong
But that day has passed and the time come at last
For the weakness of age to make way for the young

My sons they have grown, and away they have gone
To search for black oil on the far Northern Sea
Like oilmen they walk, and like Yankees they talk
There's no much in common between my sons and me
They've rough rigged on Josephine, Forties, and Ninian
Claymore and Dunlin, Fisher and Awk
They've made fortunes for sure, for in one run ashore
They spend more than I earned in a hale seasons W***

For this day is their day, this way is their way
To ride the rough rigs while their backs are still strong
But this day will pass and the time come at last
For the weakness of age to make way for the young

My grandsons are growing, to the school they're soon going
The long weeks of summer they spend here wi' me
We walk through the warm days, talk of the old ways
The cornfields, the cod fish, the land and the sea
We walk through the fields that my father once tilled
Talk wi' the old men who once sailed wi' me
Man, it's been awfae good, I've shown them all I could
Of the past and the present, what they're future might be

For the morn will be their day, what will be their way
What will they make of their land, sea, and sky
Man, I've seen awfae' change, but it still seems so strange
To look at my world through a young laddie's eyes
For this day is your day, what will be your way
What will you make of your land sea and sky
The future is yours to make, so for your children's sake
Take a look at your world through a young laddie's eyes
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SengaMcp
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Joined: 28 Apr 2009
Posts: 904



PostPosted: Sat May 23, 2009 3:53 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Ah luv that Heidy.
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notanimby



Joined: 21 May 2009
Posts: 575


Location: South Of The River, Doon Inverclyde Way

PostPosted: Sat May 23, 2009 7:46 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Wurr did ye playjarise that frae heedy, they've no went and opened a library in DUMBarton again huv they
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Boudleaux C Merkin



Joined: 07 May 2009
Posts: 294


Location: Meresig

PostPosted: Sat May 23, 2009 7:47 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

It cannae be real poetry , it scans and rhymes and makes sense and huz emotion. But Ah dae like it.  Very Happy
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Heidy



Joined: 28 Apr 2009
Posts: 969


Location: North o th' river

PostPosted: Sat May 23, 2009 9:16 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Lissin Nota real greenok man,ats thon nota in case yer wurryin Boo,Ah nevuur claimed ah did it Ah fun it in ma auld hard drive.... Razz
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Last edited by Heidy on Sun May 24, 2009 6:32 am; edited 1 time in total
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notascot



Joined: 06 May 2009
Posts: 145



PostPosted: Sun May 24, 2009 3:02 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

The London lights are far abeam
  Behind a bank of cloud,
Along the shore the gaslights gleam,
  The gale is piping loud;
And down the Channel, groping blind,
  We drive her through the haze
Towards the land we left behind --
The good old land of `never mind',
  And old Australian ways.


The narrow ways of English folk
  Are not for such as we;
They bear the long-accustomed yoke
  Of staid conservancy:
But all our roads are new and strange,
  And through our blood there runs
The vagabonding love of change
That drove us westward of the range
  And westward of the suns.


The city folk go to and fro
  Behind a prison's bars,
They never feel the breezes blow
  And never see the stars;
They never hear in blossomed trees
  The music low and sweet
Of wild birds making melodies,
Nor catch the little laughing breeze
  That whispers in the wheat.


Our fathers came of roving stock
  That could not fixed abide:
And we have followed field and flock
  Since e'er we learnt to ride;
By miner's camp and shearing shed,
  In land of heat and drought,
We followed where our fortunes led,
With fortune always on ahead
  And always further out.


The wind is in the barley-grass,
  The wattles are in bloom;
The breezes greet us as they pass
  With honey-sweet perfume;
The parakeets go screaming by
  With flash of golden wing,
And from the swamp the wild-ducks cry
Their long-drawn note of revelry,
  Rejoicing at the Spring.


So throw the weary pen aside
  And let the papers rest,
For we must saddle up and ride
  Towards the blue hill's breast;
And we must travel far and fast
  Across their rugged maze,
To find the Spring of Youth at last,
And call back from the buried past
  The old Australian ways.


When Clancy took the drover's track
  In years of long ago,
He drifted to the outer back
  Beyond the Overflow;
By rolling plain and rocky shelf,
  With stockwhip in his hand,
He reached at last, oh lucky elf,
The Town of Come-and-help-yourself
  In Rough-and-ready Land.


And if it be that you would know
  The tracks he used to ride,
Then you must saddle up and go
  Beyond the Queensland side --
Beyond the reach of rule or law,
  To ride the long day through,
In Nature's homestead -- filled with awe
You then might see what Clancy saw
  And know what Clancy knew.
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dosser



Joined: 28 Apr 2009
Posts: 676



PostPosted: Sun May 24, 2009 10:35 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Zat by "Banjo" Patterson - or jist sumbdie bein' nostalgic aboot him?
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dosser



Joined: 28 Apr 2009
Posts: 676



PostPosted: Sun May 24, 2009 10:47 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

dosser wrote:
Zat by "Banjo" Patterson - or jist sumbdie bein' nostalgic aboot him?


Whit a bluidy silly question!

Like they hud flights fae London in Paterson's day......

(It wiz a' the stuff abooy Clancy of the Overflow whit confused me...... That and mah hangover.)
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Neil



Joined: 28 Apr 2009
Posts: 483



PostPosted: Sun May 24, 2009 11:19 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Flights? Wi gaslights? Ah think they were sailing awaa under canvas.
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dosser



Joined: 28 Apr 2009
Posts: 676



PostPosted: Sun May 24, 2009 11:25 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Telt ye Ah wiz confused.......

It's London lights, no' London flights.

All will become clearer as mah heid clears, Ah'm sure.


Last edited by dosser on Sun May 24, 2009 11:32 am; edited 1 time in total
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dosser



Joined: 28 Apr 2009
Posts: 676



PostPosted: Sun May 24, 2009 11:31 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Hooever, it turns oot that it is indeed by A B "Banjo" Paterson. It was called The Old Australian Ways and wiz wrote in 1901.
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notascot



Joined: 06 May 2009
Posts: 145



PostPosted: Sun May 24, 2009 9:53 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

dosser wrote:
Hooever, it turns oot that it is indeed by A B "Banjo" Paterson. It was called The Old Australian Ways and wiz wrote in 1901.


sright!
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notascot



Joined: 06 May 2009
Posts: 145



PostPosted: Sun May 24, 2009 9:59 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
  Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,
He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,
  Just "on spec", addressed as follows: "Clancy, of The Overflow".


And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,
  (And I think the same was written in a thumbnail dipped in tar)
'Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:
  "Clancy's gone to Queensland droving, and we don't know where he are."


In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy
  Gone a-droving "down the Cooper" where the western drovers go;
As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,
  For the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.


And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him
  In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,
And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,
 And at night the wondrous glory of the everlasting stars.


I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy
   Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,
And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city
  Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all.


And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle
  Of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street,
And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,
  Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.


And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me
 As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,
With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,
  For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.


And I somehow fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy,
  Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,
While he faced the round eternal of the cashbook and the journal -
  But I doubt he'd suit the office, Clancy, of "The Overflow".
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dosser



Joined: 28 Apr 2009
Posts: 676



PostPosted: Sun May 24, 2009 11:28 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Aye guid auld Banjo. He wisnae really much o' a poet (though, Nobel Laureate, Rudyard Kipling thocht highly o' him) but Ah huv tae confess a affekshun fur him and his stuff.

Ah luv Come-By-Chance; the wan aboot a place sae remote that the postal service only makes wan delivery a year and where the bills and bad news just get chucked in he creek.

Ah but he shuild ae ca'ed it Paradise Lost.
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notascot



Joined: 06 May 2009
Posts: 145



PostPosted: Sun May 24, 2009 11:49 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Yeah I like him too. He was not one of your  "High -faluting" poets but wrote about ordinary things as he saw them at the time.

I know exactly how he felt. Many a time Ive looked out the office window & thought "what the feck am I doing here" even though my job took me all over NSW & Queensland.


Last edited by notascot on Mon May 25, 2009 1:51 am; edited 1 time in total
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notascot



Joined: 06 May 2009
Posts: 145



PostPosted: Mon May 25, 2009 12:06 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

As I pondered very weary o'er a volume long and dreary --
For the plot was void of interest; 'twas the Postal Guide, in fact --
There I learnt the true location, distance, size and population
Of each township, town, and village in the radius of the Act.
And I learnt that Puckawidgee stands beside the Murrumbidgee,
And the Booleroi and Bumble get their letters twice a year,
Also that the post inspector, when he visited Collector,
Closed the office up instanter, and re-opened Dungalear.

But my languid mood forsook me, when I found a name that took me;
Quite by chance I came across it -- "Come-by-Chance" was what I read;
No location was assigned it, not a thing to help one find it,
Just an N which stood for northward, and the rest was all unsaid.

I shall leave my home, and forthward wander stoutly to the northward
Till I come by chance across it, and I'll straightway settle down;
For there can't be any hurry, nor the slightest cause for worry
Where the telegraph don't reach you nor the railways run to town.

And one's letters and exchanges come by chance across the ranges,
Where a wiry young Australian leads a packhorse once a week,
And the good news grows by keeping, and you're spared the pain of weeping
Over bad news when the mailman drops the letters in a creek.

But I fear, and more's the pity, that there's really no such city,
For there's not a man can find it of the shrewdest folk I know;
"Come-by-Chance", be sure it never means a land of fierce endeavour --
It is just the careless country where the dreamers only go.

* * * * * * *

Though we W*** and toil and hustle in our life of haste and bustle,
All that makes our life worth living comes unstriven for and free;
Man may weary and importune, but the fickle goddess Fortune
Deals him out his pain or pleasure, careless what his worth may be.

All the happy times entrancing, days of sport and nights of dancing,
Moonlit rides and stolen kisses, pouting lips and loving glance:
When you think of these be certain you have looked behind the curtain,
You have had the luck to linger just a while in "Come-by-Chance".



(NOTE
Come-by-Chance is a district in ranges up by Walgett  in Northern NSW. Notascot)
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Fey Hag



Joined: 29 Apr 2009
Posts: 749


Location: Sealainn Nuadh Dawn's Birth Place

PostPosted: Mon May 25, 2009 6:58 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Generations of Change
Matt Armour (additional lyrics M. W. Loescher)


Me faither was a baillie frae a wee farm at Caithlie
He worked on the land all the days of his life
By the time he made second, he aye said he reckoned
He'd ploughed near on half of the east nook of Fife
He's feed on at Randerston, Crawhill and Clephinton
Cambo and Carnbee and big Rennie Hill
At Kingsbarn he's married, at Boarhills he's buried,
But man, had he lived, he'd be ploughing on still.

     For those days were his days, those ways were his ways
     To follow the ploo while his back was still strong
     But those days have passed and the time come at last
     For the weakness of age to make way for the young

I wasnae for plooin', to the sea I was going
To follow the fish and the fisherman's ways
In rain, hail and sunshine I'd watch the lang run line
Nae man mare contented his hale working day
I've lang lined the Flodden ground, the Dutch and the Dogger Bank
Pulled the great fish from the deep Devil's Hole
I've side trawled of Shetland, the Faroes and Iceland
In weather much worse than a body could thole

     For that day was my day, that way was my way
     To follow this fish while my back was still strong
     But that day has passed and the time come at last
     For the weakness of age to make way for the young

My sons they have grown, and away they have gone
To search for black oil on the far Northern Sea
Like oilmen they walk, and like Yankees they talk
There's no much in common between my sons and me
They've rough rigged on Josephine, Forties, and Ninian
Claymore and Dunlin, Fisher and Awk
They've made fortunes for sure, for in one run ashore
They spend more than I earned in a hale seasons W***

     For this day is their day, this way is their way
     To ride the rough rigs while their backs are still strong
     But this day will pass and the time come at last
     For the weakness of age to make way for the young

My grandsons are growing, to the school they're soon going
The long weeks of summer they spend here wi' me
We walk through the warm days, talk of the old ways
The cornfields, the cod fish, the land and the sea
We walk through the fields that my father once tilled
Talk wi' the old men who once sailed wi' me
Man, it's been awfae good, I've shown them all I could
Of the past and the present, what they're future might be

   For the morn will be their day, what will be their way
   What will they make of their land, sea, and sky
   Man, I've seen awfae' change, but it still seems so strange
   To look at my world through a young laddie's eyes

   For this day is your day, what will be your way
   What will you make of your land sea and sky
   The future is yours to make, so for your children's sake
   Take a look at your world through a young laddie's eyes

Anders - acoustic guitar
Frances - mandolin, harmony vocal
Maggie - fiddle, harmony vocal
Wolf - lead vocal


Yir doin ra tealeef fer oos ur yea Heidy? Shocked
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Heidy



Joined: 28 Apr 2009
Posts: 969


Location: North o th' river

PostPosted: Mon May 25, 2009 11:13 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Sigh whit issit wi some o youse,kin yese no read?Ah sais Ah fun itin auld files whit wis recued frae ma hard drive whit if yer doatterie heid kin mind went tits up ages ago................ Confused
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Neil



Joined: 28 Apr 2009
Posts: 483



PostPosted: Mon May 25, 2009 11:39 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

That'll be "aye", wull it?
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Saxy



Joined: 02 May 2009
Posts: 79



PostPosted: Mon May 25, 2009 2:43 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Eh recommend Ewen Sutherland's version, he's a braw singer. Matt Armour did some good stuff, and some proper shite annol


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