ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

A new forum = a new poem . . from an old (true) story from an old stack of Walkabout magazines from my old late Pa

Tumble Down
(c) Martin Pattie 2010.

Twas late in spring back in the year of 1886
when three young men with gold dust fever, packed their pans and picks
the rush was on and times were good, they yearned to find their fix
beyond the wide horizon; bare and brown.

Mackay and Craigie; fearless Scots, and Kelly from Kildare
with eyes and dreams fixed hard upon their golden fortunes share
all men of strength, with not a whim of what may lay out there
where stronger men before had tumbled down.

They left Newcastle Waters, headed west towards Halls Creek
sea shanties sang, their spirits high for riches they did seek
their black boys silence deafening - the words he'd only speak
repeatedly he muttered "tumble down".

The second day his mutterings they got to Craigies head
"Just guide us on in silence or I'll fill you full 'o lead!"
that second night and onward not a word from him was said,
but spinifex; it rustled "tumble down".

Then four days in, and from the soak still thirty miles to ride
when as they reached the soak they lost one horse; from thirst it died.
Their spirits lifted at the soak, until they found it dried.
Those spirits seemed to start to tumble down.

In two days time their tongues had swelled, delirious and ill,
as Dave Mackay went Never Never searching for a hill.
Found dead, his leggings charcoal scratched; the words his final will
the toughest teamster took a tumble down.

Then Craigie carried Kelly 'til he dropped him with a thud,
and all that they could scratch at was just dried out hardened mud.
Without a choice, they cut their final horse and drank its blood,
through sandy blight mirages tumbled down.

Malvola was the place which was so close to where they fell.
The peeling of that Condamine; that clear distinctive bell
was three days late as Craigie and his mate had both left hell.
The boy was dreaming 'tumble tumble down'.

The boy hung on and shut his eyes to distant darkened force
as wasted corpses followed on one healthy bareback horse.
They made their way with peeling bell, by dried up water course
where rains would soon send torrents tumbling down.

G/day Marty,
I hadn't heard that story before, but I have had a prospect at Halls Creek (I presume it's the same one). I found some gold there too.
There have been some good finds there in recent years. I like the story of one group who were treating one of their number with contempt on the way to the field, he'd stagger into camp at days end hours after the main group got there. Then as they approached the field he picked up a huge nugget lying on the track that countless groups had walked over without seeing it. They say his status improved considerably there after.
A good story and well done mate,

Cheers Terry

Wow Marty, that is excellent! Very much enjoyed. Thanks.

Heather

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Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take,
but by the moments that take our breath away!

Thanks Marty, I think this sort of thing happened a few times.

A good reminder, some people still go out in the bush wearing thongs and no hat and not enough water and no proper preparation for navigation.
I know I have had to go and find them.



Neville

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Neville
Singleton Bush Poets.

Glad you enjoyed it, Neville. Thanks for a glowing endorsement, Heather. I thought you'd be savvy as to where the pay-dirt was 'round Halls Ck, Terry . A true story . . those men never did get to Halls Creek, and I guess it's all conjecture as to why their black boy was obviously scared/reluctant muttering "tumble down". Did he know it was too hot and dry for that journey? Were they passing through tribal lands where he was not meant to be? Cultural sensitivity wasn't high on anyones agenda in 1886.

Marty