But what is there In droving ?
You know the subject's getting stale
Like aerocraft or shoving. I took a lob with Broadrman, and
We had to start from Flinders ;
Track ran through the basalt land
Where all the grass was cinders. The brumbies threw me every day,
I never was good looking,
But being broken In the fray
They put one on to cooking. Now cooks must drive the ration cart,
I drove two days in tandem ;
They struck a boulder at the start,
I couldn't hold or hand 'em. The shafts "went snap, the axle broke,
The reins got round my shoulders,
And like a rainbow every spoke
Splintered against the boulders. And then it rained a tropic rain.
The dough I set was spewing,
I cursed the luck for I was vain
Of yeast, all my own brewing. One arm was broke, my legs were numb.
The dough plastered all o'er me,
It filled my mouth so I was dumb
As on a dray they bore me. As I prostrate beneath the heat
Felt all my soul a-driftlng,
My heart beat high with vain conceit
To know the dough was lifting. And when I saw the doctor bloke
In Richmond town, he swore,
Says he, "He's right there's nothing broke,
Just dip him in the bore. Duchess. C. Newton. Notes From the Queensland Newspaper The Northern Miner 21 Jan 1931 p. 3.