Out from Yass to Adelaide,
Through an unknown land to battle
Where no droving roads were made,
With the "gentle Annies" clearing,
..As it seemed, the slopes of Hell,
They found easement in the clearing
By the slab and bark hotel. Just a bush pub and a station,
Past the "glue pots" on the route.
For a week it was salvation
In the spell for man and brute.
Drovers slept of clothes divested,
For an unaccustomed change,
While the cattle fed and rested
'Neath the cool breeze from the range. They were tough, the overlanders,
in their spurs and sweaty shirt.
With a hide like salamanders,
And a strap around them girt.
Sloven-shaved or whiskers flowing,
Crudely-patched and spragged attire,
They could keep the cattle going
Over scarp and through the mire. Some were ignorant and wicked.
Some had known the Oxford halls,
Only few might get a ticket
When on Peter they made calls.
Still Australia owes them plenty
That they never will collect--
Yea, to seventy times and seventy,
Where they mostly got neglect. They were care-free pioneers
Of our civilised Today,
Seekers-out and scrutineers
Where Australia's future lay.
Resolute and ail undaunted,
With the saddle for their home,
Not by them their deeds were vaunted,
Living still, or in the loam. Where they passed the farmer planted,
Where they camped the cities stand.
Politicians hokum chanted,
Reapers of their risks expand.
Yet I seem to hear them singing
Rough-hewn songs they knew so well,
Where around the bar they're ringing
In some stab and bark hotel. Comrades of the height and valley,
Guardians of herd and flock,
How the whiplash rang the rally
In the rush of bolting stock.
When men made their overlanding
Out of Yass to Adelaide,
Flood and parching notwithstanding,
Where no droving roads were made. --JOHN BAR. Notes From the NSW Newspaper The World's News 28 Oct 1944 p. 18.