Who will Sing Their Praises?

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thestoryteller
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Who will Sing Their Praises?

Post by thestoryteller » Tue Jul 05, 2016 7:13 am

WHO WILL SING THEIR PRAISES?

It was when I paused a moment from my workload’s pressing call
that I gazed upon the picture frames which lined my office wall
and I sensed a strange sensation and was soon to be beguiled
by the host of beaming faces as six generations smiled.

Though I laud the pioneering skills my grandfathers had showed,
my thoughts drifted to the women-folk who also walked that road
and it dawned that all our chronicles, our ballads, poems too
failed to sing the women’s praises in the way they ought to do.

From the dreamtime of our nation and the Aborigine,
long before the new white visitor arrived from ‘cross the sea,
the indigenous black mothers would seek out bush tucker food
in an effort to give sustenance to her nomadic brood.

And the wretched convict woman with her love-child by her side
forced to labour in the work house - and in vain as her child died –
how she struggled for existence in the infant colony
with the hope of serving out her time and one day being free.

Loyal wives of military men who too were forced to dwell
far away from native England and to live here quite a spell;
also women of free settlers proud to stand beside their men
in a land of sweat and sorrow and rebuild their lives again.

When the question of imbalance of the genders raised its head,
many women sought to emigrate and hoped that they would wed;
but the immigration policy developed many flaws
till the Chisholm of the century took up the women’s cause.

Once the mountains to the west were crossed the steadfast settler's wife
looked to find a piece of country where she might live out her life.
Far from comforts of the cities to some isolated run
where she fought a running battle with the searing summer sun.

Where a slab hut was her castle - where a white ant bed the floor –
where she always had a handout for the traveller at the door.
Though she bore a swag of youngsters with the aid of her black friend,
sadly some would battle whooping cough: it won out in the end.

Too, the wives of shearers, drovers and the teamsters of the day
fought the months of isolation while their husbands were away.
Still they kept the home-fires burning and would do the many chores,
just to keep at bay the hunger that came knocking at their doors.

Scalpers, miners, railway wives who lived their lives in canvas tents;
wives of pearlers, fishermen who feared the seas’ cruel elements;
nuns and missionaries’ wives – a source of comfort to lost souls;
and no mothers in suburban streets played rudimentary roles.

Social stigma thrived: saw all these tasks as simply ‘women’s work’,
till the feminist reformers bargained freedom from such murk.
Working women formed trade unions in the clothing industry
and their wages and conditions were put under scrutiny.

Nursing women rose to prominence, establishing their worth,
seen by many in the nation as God’s angels here on earth.
Women took on roles as teachers and in offices as well,
filled the posts of budding journalists, then proved they could excel.

With the growth of towns and cities came more opportunities,
shop assistants and pub workers were now women employees.
But indigenous black women found it hard to understand
why the white boss took their children and had cast them off their land.

Some would serve the boss’s missus as domestics, shy and coy,
or perhaps wet-nursed her suckling child or played the drover’s ‘boy’.
And indentured women slaved long hours with children in the fields,
clearing scrub and trees with men-folk to increase the sugar yields.

The Victorian moral codes kept women in subjective roles,
dressed in clothes from neck to toe as modesty would guard their souls.
Movements like the suffragettes sought out the right to gain the vote
and one by one the states succumbed; a turning point of note.

When the nation lost its young men to the call of two world wars,
many women took the challenge on to do the country’s chores;
whether it was on the land or back in city factories
proudly they performed the work for all our lads gone overseas.

Though Australia opened up its doors and migrant families came,
still the struggle to assimilate was tough, though, just the same.
Exploitation in the work-force would be sadly forced on some,
while for others isolation was the thing to overcome.

Subtle changes were forthcoming and throughout the post-war years
opportunities would rise for women to pursue careers.
The old stigma still hung on that ‘women’s work’ stayed in the house:
just a ‘someone’ who was always there to tend her young and spouse.

Then the Germaine Greers arose to liberate all female souls
and our nation came of age as women now fill many roles
in careers, on sporting fields, out in the bush or scientist,
law and order, politics and more fill up an endless list.

Yet, the moulding of this country, through the many, many years
saw the men-folk, not the women take the glory and the cheers.
But at last the Aussie women-folk can stand and take a bow
as they’re worthy of the accolades - we rocognize that now.

I am certain that my forefathers would proudly stand with me
and we’ll sing those women’s praises in our solidarity.
So perhaps you’d like to join us and express how much you care
and applaud the working women who Advanced Australia Fair.


This poem was written specifically for the opening ceremony of Stage 1 of the Working Women in Australia Project at the Workers Heritage Centre at Barcaldine in central Queensland on July the 20th, 2002. I had the privilege to present the recorded poem that evening in the presence of Mrs Margaret Whitlam, The Premier of Queensland, Mr Peter Beattie and other dignitaries; my tribute to the wonderful role that many of our women played in making this great country our home. This poem is available on our CD, “Blacklisted.”

© Merv Webster

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F4C4hV-J720

From the book Keeping the Culture.
Some days your the pidgeon and other days the statue.

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