Poems Extracted From

Poems Extracted from

SIMPLY WILLING TO HAVE A GO

Encompassing Life and Times in the Laidley Area

By R. A. Scanlan

ISBN Not Allocated

Presented by Paul Clacher Bush Idyll

From ranges walled, through gates ajar On a free Selector's homestead, at the time of which I speak Stood a rude and humble dwelling, on a knoll beside a creek The creek was dry but happiness went flowing by each week

By mutual arrangement first suggested by my wife We came to a decision to divorce domestic strife As custom is with pioneers we led the strenuous life

Our first attempt at gardening was a peach tree near the door And when a smiling infant came a crop of fruit it bore With wild birds nesting on its boughs our joy was brimming o'er

Their tiny backs were plumaged in a somber grayish hue The feathers on their breasts appeared faded jaded blue Their rank in ornithology alas we never knew

A gentle pianissimo describes their merry tune Its ever-changing melody was ended all too soon Our liveliest entertainment we considered it a boon

So gentle was their minstrelsy at mornings peeping ray It ne'er disturbed the baby in the cradle where she lay But gave us ample warning of the duties of the day

The peach tree and the old slab hut are mouldering in decay Our early years are vanished with the songsters we can say In all the world no other birds sing sweeter songs than they

The birdies ode to nature still makes music in our ears It stimulates our gladness and evaporates our tears Reminding us of youthful days in our declining years

James Scanlan (Senior) 1930 The Tollbar at Dawn, After the Storm

Toowoomba is one of our principal towns In regal position fair Queen of the Downs Green plains and broad spaces her populace see A peerless dominion progressive and free

When sweltering summer is flooding the pores Her privileged citizens sleep out of doors Without the annoyance of mosquito bites Or danger of Typhoid on hot summer nights

Away to the Tollbar to witness the dawn Ere invisible night has her curtain withdrawn Where a pleasing aroma ascends from below Which primeval nature alone can bestow

As we peer through the gloom down those valleys and Where defunct Aboriginals held their revels An eerie impression strange fancies suggest Their ancient spirits may there be at rest

Each chirp of a robin with bright yellow breast Is a call for the light from a bough near its nest And in hurried confusion each vale and crevasse Re-echoes the laughter of Kookaburras

An opossum is calling as harsh as can be In response to his mate in an old hollow tree And the whistling curlews with whirring wings pass To their place of concealment among the tall grass

An eastern twilight has challenged the night And the ranges to Northward gleam spectral and white And the fog is transfused with long streamers of grey Compelling the shadows to vanish away

As we vision the vapour a vast spraying sea And mountains as islands with slopes on their lee The first beams of morning are keeping their tryst With a notable speck just emerged from the mist

Tis a house on the highway's declivitous side Where George Essex Evans preferred to reside Our townsman whose work as a poet we claim Is as popular now as the day that he came

And whose genius in art May have woven as well A crown of renown For the town, who can tell

James Scanlan (Sr) 1930 A Story of the Lockyer

The valley was wide, the valley was long To stake your claim you couldn't go wrong So out they came from bonnie Ireland From Britain's shores and the Fatherland To own their land and a cottage too Would be for them a dream come true They applied themselves with a will to win For them to shirk would only be sin They selected land where the soil seemed best Cleared some, tenced some and built their nest Paid their duties to that Government of old To accomplish their dream and make it freehold This of course was only the start For they needs must have a horse and cart A plough and harrows and scuffler too To hope to achieve what they had to do With maul and wedges and cross cut saw They went to work like soldiers of war And applied their newly acquired skill Equalled only by their indomitable will As they ploughed the land on the open plain They looked to the south again and again At the scrub covered gullies and mountain sides And wondered what wealth may there abide With brush hook and axe they by degrees Made their attack and brought down the trees The ground was found to be nitrogen rich And planting proceeded without a hitch But times were hard with floods and drought And many a pest was around about Wallabies and parrots and cheeky crows Stole all the profit from under their nose Then when they near had reached desperation An industry came that would save the nation The humble cow with her milk and butter Helped keep the farmer out of the gutter A new century came as time rolled by And many a stout heart was destined to die On the battlefields of a far distant land Where they gave their all in service grand When the war was over many returned To their own country for which they yearned Not knowing what for them was in store For some were settled on land that was poor Droughts prevailed and prices were down Jobs were scarce on the farm and in town And so it was with no work in hand Depression settled upon our great land After many a business had gone to the wall All of a sudden there was work for them all As horror of horrors another war Had come to threaten our fair shore The boys then went with courage grand To defend this country, our native land In the air, on the sea, in battlefield Our safety and way of life was sealed Many failed to return but a good number did Some had even managed to save a few quid Which they invested in a house and land With the hope it would be their Rancho Grande As they worked very hard to fulfil all their hopes Creek flats were farmed and so were the slopes Cows were milked and their product supplied To ready markets that were far and wide When rain from the skies was very poor Water was found 'neath the Valley floor As fodder and grain and vegies were nourished Farming on creek flats really flourished At the same time with courage internal And abiding hope that springs eternal The dry farmer tried so hard to compete But his crops were destroyed by the searing heat By damming the run off for irrigation It was felt this would help save the nation But problems prevailed with the summer heat With naught to replenish the fount's of the deep In a land of drought and floods and worse It never rains but pours of course And that was how on many an occasion The soil was washed away by erosion As a consequence then and in desperation Our thoughts were turned to conservation Committees were formed and action taken To protect the resources of this great nation

Dick Scanlan, 2000 The Round Up

We saddled our horses with movement spry, As the sun rose high in the Eastern sky; It was round up day at good Mount Bee, For Arty and Harry and me.

Away we went in a cloud of dust, When ticks are bad, then muster we must; Two grey geldings, a little brown mare, And one lame dog the work would share.

Harry took the flat and Arty the hill, As off we rode with an iron will; Through the Brigalow and oak and ironbark trees, To fossick them out in their twos and threes.

As we hurried along, it was our plan, To get them together and meet at the dam; And so it was with whistle and shout, We let them know what 'twas all about.

But our plans went astray, as plans often will, The fence was down on the brow of the hill; The Angus bull with conquest in view, Had used his weight and blustered through.

Angus was found 'neath a shady tree, With ears all bruised, a swollen knee; While a Santa nearby was saying his bit, "You asked for it, you asked for it".

We took him back up a wallaby track, Sorted the strays and drove them back; Tied up the fence, and according to plan, As soon as we could, we met at the dam.

We rounded the herd with a "Ho" and a "Hoy", To the three legged dog, "Go fetch 'em boy"; With the drive now started and moving along, We strained every nerve to hurry them on.

We watched the leaders that they didn't break, And dropped one cow for her baby's sake; To keep them moving down the slope, Jogging was our only hope.

The crack of the whip, the barking dog, A cloud of dust and the bawling mob; Moved slowly down the mountain side, Down to the gully, grassy and wide.

Our horses, though covered in a lather of sweat, Never failed nor faltered, never missed a step; "Push 'em", "Turn 'cm", we drove them hard, At last the herd was in the yard.

Mother was there with a cup of tea, For the tired and thirsty stockmen three; Down we sat 'neath the old fig tree, And munched our lunch contentedly.

Our legs were sore from many scratches, Picked up on the way from lantana patches; But the muster was good, we did agree, We'd only been beaten by two or three.

The calves were branded, with irons red hot, Earmarked and needled, coming ready or not; The heifers near bawled at what they got, But the poor little bulls, they copped the lot.

The cattle for sure, were covered with ticks, And so by the use of prodder and sticks; By many a yell and a crack of the whip, One by one they went through the dip. Our job now completed we headed back, And jogging along the homeward track; We felt as though a battle had been won, We knew for sure, 'twas a job well done.

Dick Scanlan, 1970 This Wonderful Laidley Shire

(Good Counsel)

I have not the resources of Ari Nor can I afford a Ferrari But what I have is what I desire It's a home in the Laidley Shire

Though pitfalls abound and sadness is found And my strength peters out as I till the ground When evening falls and the moon shines down There's seldom a frown in Laidley town

We've CWA and the Red Cross too Homes for the aged, the girls in blue A medical centre, with doctors three If I'm III I can be in hospital free

We've cops to guard us, and preachers who guide You'll come to no harm if you law abide There's fruit mart in town and shops by the score All waiting for you with bargains galore

The folk on the land are a loyal band Eager keen with a helping hand They work all day in the vegies and hay These sons of the soil, they make it pay

If you have ills and a stack of bills Throw them away and head for the hills For it's here you will find the peace of mind You hoped to find as you wined and dined

As you stroll through the bush you'll re-create The strength and drive you've lost of late If you have a gun, then pull up your socks You may get your sights on dingo or fox And so I could praise to the end of my days This shire so small, and yet it has all The things you desire, when you retire This wonderful, wonderful Laidley Shire

Dick Scanlan-1972 Reminiscence

While life is great at seventy-eight I realise it's getting late And time for me to anticipate How I'll achieve what's on my plate

Some jobs I will always hate While others will simply irritate Much to the annoyance of my mate My room is in a shocking state

Untidiness is a common trait However it does aggravate And poor old me she will berate First of all I must try to collate What needs must go and what can wait

At seventy-eight it would be great To know if I'll live to eighty-eight 'Cause then I'd have time to generate The enthusiasm needed to initiate A program that would get it straight

Now I don't want to sound like a skite But there are booklets I've chosen to write A diary that I write each night Stacks of music, some classy, some light Poems I've written but cannot recite History books, family trees, enough to excite And religious instruction that makes me contrite

Dick Scanlan 2002 Our Mate

Bouquets today for the Man of the Year Within his class without a peer Forty years he's worked for the DPI Those forty years for you and I

He speaks a language that's understood By country lad or city hood He communicates with apparent ease And ever does his best to please

He is a man with a vision splendid Who wants to keep things as nature intended But land must produce, be put to good use While no one must be offended

So to that end he continually bends And gives his advice quite freely It's a well known fact he has plenty of tact And guides us along quite serenely

He keeps on working at incredible rate He's seldom early and never late He keeps very fit and has a keen wit But best of all he's our mate

Dick Scanlan, 1998 Written in honour of Max Roberts Department of Primary Industries Extension Officer Ode to the Tree Planters

Did you ever think of planting a tree? Then join up with the VPSC You don't have to pay a membership fee Just come along to a working bee

We do our best for this great nation By preserving our vegetation The trees and the shrubs that grow in our scrubs Have moved me to make this oration

Our plans are made with precision When we gather to make a decision The choice of trees - we plant as we please No thought of conflict has arisen

You'll find us planting trees and shrubs On the borders of surviving scrubs Like Welk and Nelson and Paradise And anywhere else that will suffice

We usually start around about nine But if you're late you're still in time To follow one of the usual roles Of chipping weeds or digging holes

As we proceed with the work in hand We're known to be a happy band As we share a joke would you believe There's the echo of laughter in the trees

There's bagging to do and mulch to lay But it's not just work for the whole of the day When we stop for a snack and a bit of a yack The fellowship is really okay

When work for the day is finished and done A bit of a stroll is part of the fun As we walk in the trees and just as we please We recreate what we've lost of late

The more I see of our beautiful land Methinks I can see the Creator's hand The trees, the flowers, the birds and bees All speak to me of a lasting peace.

By Richard Scanlan Family Poems

A Bushman’s Tale

By Ken Scanlan On the occasion of Dick and Doris' 50'" wedding anniversary

"Twas Bushman Dick from Stockyard Creek That sought himself a mats But all the women round his way Were kin or did not rate

So off he went down Gatton way Unto a church that's there Where they were having fun and games Such as the young folks share

And there he found a Mountain Maid From out the Southern Wild Old Wiley Harold's daughter fair She was his only child

Now Dick he was quite took with her Whose name was Doris Grace He liked the way here hair flowed down The smile upon her face

He gamely did her ribbon loose And tied it to a pew So when she smiled at him he knew That one and one made two

Returning home his eyes were glazed A smirk was on his face The curlews all broke forth in song Because of Doris Grace He tossed and turned the whole night through He sweated in his bed Of Mother Martha sought advice And this is what she said

"Things round this place are pretty cramped It's always beds we lack You never know when I might go A baby to bring back

For Ailsa will not be the last I know you boys want more Just Terry's being slow to come To even up the score"

And so it was that Dick resolved To climb that mountain high To win fair Doris to himself With all his heart to try

Then on his mighty steed he leapt And gave the horse its head But Mousy was a cunning beast And went to graze instead

And so unto his bike he turned For it knew what to do He pushed and peddled hard until The mountain came in view

There high above him in the south Was Hiproof Mountain steep Encircled all in cloud and fog Far from the valley heat

Many eyes were on him now As he came up the track The eagle eyed on lookout were At each and every shack

Wal-Pop's place was built beside A rushing gushing stream And there Young Gwenda looked out to The carter of the cream

While at Old Hoary Henry's house As general rule of thumb Young Johnno took the early watch To wait for Dawn to come

For Henry'd built upon the heights Up on a rocky pile Along a track that reached the sky One climbed there single file

Near Hiproof's summit smoke arose An old fig tree caressed The home of Wiley Harold, there The object of Dick's Quest

And there it was the Mountain Queen Made fiery embers glow She stoked the fire with ironbark And cursed the brigalow

Dick bounded o'er that raging stream And headed for the smoke Forward to encounter with That Wiley Harold bloke

He onward pressed toward his prize He passed by Hermit Jack Who to all animals did speak They each one answered back

Then at last he came unto The home of Doris Grace And to the man that he must ask He met him face to face

Now Harold was a cunning chap And most uncommon bright He only had one daughter so He had to get it right

He knew how oft in Bible times You laboured half your life To get the woman of your dreams And take her for your wife

And so he said, "Now Dick, look here There's some things I can't do At my age, if you want her, son I guess it's up to you

The burr is pretty bad right now They all need cutting soon And while koalas I've shot out There's possums there to moon

The peas are ready to be picked My back it ain't so good And by the way the firewood's low You'll need to cut some wood

Lantana's growing lush this year You'll have to grub it out And if you've still got time, well then There's fencing all about

And milking cows, and chopping scrub Clean dams out if you can See if a strong young valley bloke Will make a Mountain Man" Dick went to work with might and main Stuck at it with a will Till all was done, except, except...... Lantana's hard to kill

But Harold said, "These Redheads here Give them a little scratch And you will find it won't be long Lantana's met its match

But you have done right well my son So you may claim your bride Now go and hitch the sulky up And off to church you ride"

For all did come from miles around And gathered on that day Frank, the Living Legend strong Had early come to pray

The Jolly Woodsman came along To view the marriage rite And checkout Doris Grace's choice Said he, "He seems just right"

Albert in his tunny came By crikey, blowing smoke Some of those wild Jackwitz boys Had fiddled with the choke

Old Harem brought his clan along 'Twas all his kin and kith For all the Stockyard crew came down A force to reckon with

So Dick stood upright in the church His brother by his side The Taxman with the Axeman stood And waited for the bride

But she was late, she had to wait While Harold milked the cows, And fed the pigs, and chopped the wool Before she took her vows

Then at long last the knot was tied In sight of God and man All at the wedding breakfast ate As only farmers can

Then Harold up and made a speech Said, "Men, the moon is right The creek is running, I've got bait I'm sure the fish will bite."

The men rose up and all marched out But Dick bade them good-bye "We're off to Redcliffe now," he said "I've better fish to fry."

This made the Jolly Woodsman smile He grinned from ear to ear He knew that Dick would catch no fish Down there that time of year Through a Son's Eyes

By Ken Scanlan, 2004

Dad Dick Richard Alfred Scanlan Bushman Farmer In my mind's eye I see you Grandad, Jeff Rounding up cattle at the scrub (Dams dry, drought) Droving them home and back Every two days

Sitting in the bails Changing the cups Milking by hand Running you fingers Down the teats Like a scale on a piano Dodging When the cow lifts its tail

Singing at the piano While Mum plays "The Holy City" "Serenade" "How Great Thou Art" Yodelling when we asked Yodelling in the paddock When we hadn't

Strong muscles Bag of corn on the shoulder Four gallon drum of milk in hand Down to the pigsty Tow cream cans Up to the cream carter (Fresh bread in the returning cans)

Fighting boys Around and around the table "If I have to go outside Fora pepperina switch I'LL USE IT" It hurt

Land Rover High sides Figs and calves

Squealing and bellowing Off to the sale Shorts and short socks Jack said, "Long socks are following fashion" Who wears long socks these days You were ahead of your time

Dipping cattle (Horseback, dogs) Into the yard they go Brands, needles, earmarks Poor little bull calves Lose their bullhood Then shoving them up the race Pushing them into the dip Splash over everyone Out they swim

Books, meetings Involvement Driving around the district Collecting Aged Home, Blue Nurses Resting your eyes After tea Second wind Working late into the night

Wet weather Cyclonic rain Grubber in hand Knee boots (Too wet for blucher boots) Corn bag over shoulders Fastened with a four inch nail Lantana Scourge of the farmer Digs out easily When ground is soft

Sitting on the tractor Ploughing, breaking the clods, Harrowing Broadcasting the seed Watching for rain Seeing the seed shoot, grow Harvesting

Family gatherings Stockyard Numbers growing, babies Men playing cricket Sitting on the veranda Talking, telling jokes, drinking Boyce with a bottle and glass (No stubbies tor him) Granny organising the food

Ambulance Mum "One very sick lady" Laidley, Ipswich Waiting, waiting Talking, answering questions On the phone Silences, praying Alarms, people rushing Called Home, The End Agony, resignation, helplessness

Dad Dick Richard Alfred Scanlan Bushman Farmer Son Husband Father Grandfather Voluntary worker, citizen Servant child of God, Jesus' friend

Scanlan R. A., ‘ Simply Willing to Have a Go ’, McLean Images, 2005.