The Shearer's Cook (1845)
(By Arthur J. Hare, late Under-Secretary for Lands, N.S.W.) Mr. Hare lets has a vast experience of country life, and this poem, written in his leisure moments, shows that he has assimilated what he has seen.)
The cook in any shearing shedMust be a man of parts ;
Well versed in culinary lore,
And e'en prepared to shed his gore.
To turn his critics' darts. A new cook came to "Warren Downs."
A scrapper, stout and tall.
With smiling face but trenchant eyes.
A hero more in fights and pies,
He meant to stand or fall. The dinner first he served the shed
Was certainly a dud ;
He carried on with cheerful face,
But long before they said their grace,
A shearer "slung him mud." A little wiry chap was he,
But with a bitter tongue.
He turned his helping o'er and o'er,
Then, rising from his seat, he swore ;
His plate aside he flung. "What do you call this bally muck !
Say, Cookie, you come here."
With stately step the cook approached,
His fists were clenched, his,shoulders roached,
His voice was, low and clear. He first replaced the shearer's plate,
Then held him with his eye ;
The shearer bold sat cowed and mild,
And listened like a three year child;
He oft has wondered why. "That's stoo, my bloke," said, Mr Cook,
"I'll stand no bloomin' rot;
If you don't think it's stoo,"said he.
"Just come outside, and you will see
If it is stoo or not." The shearer would not take it on ;
A fighter, strong and tried,
Pushed back his plate right manfully,
"Blowed if I think it's stoo," said he,
And slowly walked outside. He then was followed, by the cook,
And many an eager eye,
Ten minutes' interval there sped,
The mill was willing, gore was shed,
The moments soon sped by. The shearer to the shed returned,
An object sad to see ;
He dabbed a bleeding nose and eye,
But to the shed spoke manfully,
"It's stoo. all right," said he. Notes From the Victorian Newspaper The Horsham Times 28 Aug 1928 p. 4.