Mallee Song (1930)
Here's a song of farming,Toiling on the land ;
Rolling down the timber,
Walking through the sand
Snagging in the paddocks
Plying with your axe ;
Roots appear like magic !
One must not relax. Then it's time for seeding,
Drill you needs must clean;
Cogs to oil and loosen,
Can't see where you've been.
Super to be carted,
Harness to prepare ;
Lonely Mallee cockies
Get of toil their share. Follow weeks of torture--
Fear of spells and drought,
Or of wheat dry-pickled
That might fail to sprout.
Waiting, ever watching,
Getting little rest,
Brings out all that's finest
In a man--and best. Now it's time for fallow,
Turning up the soil.
Early in the morning,
Sees the cocky toil.
Wet and dreary weather,
Cold and driving sleet :
Not a little wonder.
Cockies get cold feet. Days seem never ending,
Toil is slowly done
Huddled on a plough seat,
Isn't wondrous fun
But at last it's over.
Horses must be spelled ;
Roots and snags and fencing--
Timber to be felled. But when week has ended.
Toil is put to rest ;
And the Mallee cocky
Needs must look his best.
There's a big dance coming,
At the Woop Woop Hall,
And the Mallee cocky
Trips into the ball. Such a splash of colour,
Such a splendid throng ;
Everything in order
Nothing going wrong.
Gay and merry hearted,
Light fantastic feet ;
Folks grow merry hearted
In this land of wheat. --P.A.R. Circle Valley. Notes From the Western Austrlian Newspaper The Western Argus 8 Jul 1930 p. 5..