(By Jack Ritchie, Dubbo.)
Beneath the searching summer sun,
'Mid heat and dust and flies,
Remote from all that's sweet in life
The poor old "Cockie" plies
To till the land, to sow and reap.
And glean the scanty yield ;
From Jackass to the Mopoke's call
He's toiling in the field.
The "Cockle" slaves from morn till night
With little joy in life ;
His children have much work to do
And haggard grows his wife,
From hoping on, with little hope,
As season's rise and fall,
She shares their hopes, their sorrows and,
She has to care for all.
In time of drought in solitude
Out 'neath the glaring skies ;
When grass is gone, and water's scarce.
Then crow and eagle flies
To maim and blind the stock that fall
And banquet on the dead ;
The "Cockie's: hearts with sorrow filled,
And hope has nearly fled.
The land produces all the wealth
For many in every way,
Yet they who till the soil and reap,
Can rarely make it pay ;
For they're sweated and swindled by
The cunning middleman,
Who thimble rigs in Sussex Street,
And curtly lays his plan.
If 'twere not for the middleman
Their lives would be serene,
For they would save sufficient from
The good years for the lean ;
It they had all they earned, and work
With worth went hand in hand,
They would then surely be the pride
And boast of every land.
The "Cockles" joined in conference with
The tolling mass they feed,
To force to work the parasite
Who's only god is greed ;
But as of old, the crucified
By Judas were betrayed,
Though Judas Loughlin of to day
Was not in silver paid.
14/12/26.
Notes
From the NSW Newspaper The National Advocate 22 Dec 1926 p. 1.