Australian Folk Songs
songs | books | records | articles | glossary | links | search | responses | home
Sundowner's Lament (1938) By "Den" [C. J. Dennis.] Outback isolation is losing much of its dread losing much of its dread the gradual extension of radio.
The wireless network is now almost complete, with a pedal "transceiver" in the remotest places and
improved planes for flying doctors. By our last camp-fire we sit an' grieve,
Me dawg an' me," said Sundown Steve,
For the. ways o' men, you'd scarce believe,
They'd growed so darn confusin'.
We've 'ad a talk an' we agree
As the game's played out for the fancy-free;
An' we've growed lonely, 'im an' me,
For the loneliness we're losin'. For the planes 'ave pinched our privit skies
Where the carrion crow with cold, white eyes
Went watchln' for the flesh that dies
Out on the long, dry stages.
An' the wireless waves goes reachln' out
Over the land of dust and drought
Till a man's fair deafened near about,
An' the motor snorts an' rages. "Twas different far in the olden days
When we rolled the swag an' went our ways
Over the rise where the far heat-haze
Above the sand hills dances
An' we never knowed wot luck we'd strike,
For no man warned 'em thro' a 'mike ;'
But, darn it ! That's the life we like-
Light out, an' take yer chances. "But now they're all for safety first.
An' a man ain't free to die o' thirst
If 'e feels that way when he's 'ad a burst
For a week, at the old bush shanty.
An' there ain't no place by a dried-up stream
Where me an' me dawg can reign supreme ;
And the spots where a bloke can sit an' dream
Grows far between an' scanty. "YOU bet we're glad for the lives they save
An' the sick they heal thro' the wireless wave,
For we're wise to many a lonely grave,
An' It's sad-like when you strike it.
But the gain they win ain't all they say
When they change the style of an olden day;
For they've gone an' filched our rights away:
To be alone 'an like it. BUT there ain't no place by land or sea
That's left for my ole dawg an' me ;
For the voices come where e'er we be
Out o' the trem'lin' ether.
An' the air's one great big babbtin' mouth
O'er the land o' the sand and the sun an' the drouth ;
So we're goln' to look for a job down south . . .
That ain't no picnic, neether" Notes From the Victorian Newspaper The Herald 16 Feb 1938 p. 6.
australian traditional songs . . . a selection by mark gregory