Song of the Ringer (1883)
A South Australian correspondent who has caught the real colour of the subject has sent the following "Song of the Ringer"
I'm the ringer. Down the streetThe women turn to look at me in dresses trim and neat,
I'm the hero of the youngsters, the the dogs forget to growl
When the ringer of Teraras' in the township on the proud. Squatters pass me wide enough,
And mutter, "Bloomin' Shearer that, and blanky bloomin' rough
And swear by al the gods above and half the gods below
That blanky man will never get another blanky show." Tar, boy ! Sheep ho ! Broom !
I'm the ringer, give me room. Mates don't like my name put down,
And watch the blessed monkeys fill my count pen with a frown ;
I know the bloomin' half of 'em would sooner I was dead ;
For the blanky, blanky ringer takes the cream off every shed A sweeping cut does the trick,
Not too high and pretty level, or the boss will shift you quick;
If now and then you see a scar the half-length of the sheep.
Well— Something must go whipping when the ringer's shearing deep Tar, boy ! Sheep ho ! Broom !
I'm the ringer ; give me room. Slow my mate is, too for one.
You can see my sheep and his sheep glisten in the sun,
See we stoop and catch together, and together lift the shears-
Mine is sliding down the gangway when he's fiddling with the ears. Now then, yarder, watch my pen. When my mate has caught the "cobbler," for the ringer's racing then.
The big white fleece goes rolling down, for tallies must be tall.
All right along the shearing board you hear the ringer's Tar, boy ! Sheep ho ! Broom !
I'm the ringer ; give me room. Wide I travel, east and west.
And I'm always far the fastest if I'm never quite the best.
When the other coves are shearing nice and clean to suit the boss
I'm going late and early for a tally on the cross
I've been sacked from fifty sheds,
And broke a stirrup-iron over two shed-bosses' heads.
While there's fifteen bob a hundred, ewes and lambs, and British beers.
I'm the the blanky ringer while my hand can hold the shears. Tar, boy ! Sheep ho ! Broom !
I'm the ringer, give me room. Notes From the Victorian Newspaper The Australasian 30 Dec 1893, p. 21. This song was also published in the Queensland Newspaper The Capricornian 13 Jan 1894 p. 9. A song from the Squatters point of view ? Ringers were more often painted as heroes in shearing songs.