JUST THE TWO OF US
Posted: Fri Mar 15, 2013 4:22 pm
Just the two of us
‘twas two young blokes who tramped the roads bowed by adversity
and one of them his name was Tom the other bloke was me.
two young coves far away from home who from life had been tossed
no family, no loving arms, two souls wandering and lost.
We’d met whilst in the orphanage, a dark and dreary place
where there was no love ever lost, nor smiles on any face.
They fed and clothed us true enough, but beatings there were many
and some deserved, I will not lie – but they were ten a penny.
Tom was only a little lad and always was in strife
he’d not the strength to face them down, they slowly sapped his life
He cried a lot and ran away, they always bought him back
the life spark faded as red weals on his skin snaked a track.
The day that I turned fifteen was the day they saw me gone
and at my side and sticking close was my mate little Tom
He was about fourteen by then, but skinny and not tall
and looked as if he’d never do a fair days work at all.
And I was just the opposite – well over 6 feet tall
and there were few who’d mess with me I ‘d take on one and all
and though we seemed a motley pair, we rubbed along quite well
became best mates, still are today. Arguments none to tell.
We’d rescued a small pup one day some bastard had thrown out.
Tied up inside a hessian sack and terrified no doubt.
They’d tossed her from the trestle bridge into the muddy creek,
pure luck that young Tom fetching water heard her tiny squeak.
So now ‘twas just the two of us plus one tramping the road
the little kelpie Foo-Loorey was not a heavy load.
She bought such joy into our lives and love. She made us weak
from laughing at her antics, far too breathless then to speak.
She chased her tail and shadows and most every bird that flew
and then behind us trotted on, small red tail held askew.
At night when Boobooks called and glided by on silent wings
she raced to Tom a’tremble , scared by these mysterious things.
But as she grew and as we grew our courage we did muster
and soon we realized that none were scared of bluff and bluster.
We earnt our reputation as two blokes who didn’t shirk
and Foo-Loorey’s good genes kicked in, she excelled at sheep work.
And there is much I could expose that happened o’er the years.
We both donned uniform for king and fought despite our fears.
We both survived though God knows how, and returned to this shore.
Both married, both raised families, weren’t rich but never poor.
And Foo dogs – well there’s been a few and each one held a place
within our hearts, but Foo-Loorey’s no longer in the race.
I miss hearing her strident yap – when telling her to speak
when pushing wethers up the race. Around their heels she’d sneak.
And now there’s just the two of us and we’re hitting the track
though not on old Shanks pony we’ve a serviceable hack.
A worn and battered Land Rover who ain’t no speed machine
but neither a show pony so I doubt we’ll keep her clean.
And Tom and I are retracing some roads travelled before
our kids are grown, and wives have flown we’re neither quite done for.
We’ve had a hankering to sit before a flickering fire
and there is no time now to waste fulfilling that desire.
We’ll camp down by the river where the yellow belly lurk
and just enjoy the solitude and bugger doing work..
We’ll raise a tin to Foo-Loorey and sleep beneath the gums
and thank the Lord he had the sense to make us two blokes chums.
Maureen Clifford © 03/13
‘twas two young blokes who tramped the roads bowed by adversity
and one of them his name was Tom the other bloke was me.
two young coves far away from home who from life had been tossed
no family, no loving arms, two souls wandering and lost.
We’d met whilst in the orphanage, a dark and dreary place
where there was no love ever lost, nor smiles on any face.
They fed and clothed us true enough, but beatings there were many
and some deserved, I will not lie – but they were ten a penny.
Tom was only a little lad and always was in strife
he’d not the strength to face them down, they slowly sapped his life
He cried a lot and ran away, they always bought him back
the life spark faded as red weals on his skin snaked a track.
The day that I turned fifteen was the day they saw me gone
and at my side and sticking close was my mate little Tom
He was about fourteen by then, but skinny and not tall
and looked as if he’d never do a fair days work at all.
And I was just the opposite – well over 6 feet tall
and there were few who’d mess with me I ‘d take on one and all
and though we seemed a motley pair, we rubbed along quite well
became best mates, still are today. Arguments none to tell.
We’d rescued a small pup one day some bastard had thrown out.
Tied up inside a hessian sack and terrified no doubt.
They’d tossed her from the trestle bridge into the muddy creek,
pure luck that young Tom fetching water heard her tiny squeak.
So now ‘twas just the two of us plus one tramping the road
the little kelpie Foo-Loorey was not a heavy load.
She bought such joy into our lives and love. She made us weak
from laughing at her antics, far too breathless then to speak.
She chased her tail and shadows and most every bird that flew
and then behind us trotted on, small red tail held askew.
At night when Boobooks called and glided by on silent wings
she raced to Tom a’tremble , scared by these mysterious things.
But as she grew and as we grew our courage we did muster
and soon we realized that none were scared of bluff and bluster.
We earnt our reputation as two blokes who didn’t shirk
and Foo-Loorey’s good genes kicked in, she excelled at sheep work.
And there is much I could expose that happened o’er the years.
We both donned uniform for king and fought despite our fears.
We both survived though God knows how, and returned to this shore.
Both married, both raised families, weren’t rich but never poor.
And Foo dogs – well there’s been a few and each one held a place
within our hearts, but Foo-Loorey’s no longer in the race.
I miss hearing her strident yap – when telling her to speak
when pushing wethers up the race. Around their heels she’d sneak.
And now there’s just the two of us and we’re hitting the track
though not on old Shanks pony we’ve a serviceable hack.
A worn and battered Land Rover who ain’t no speed machine
but neither a show pony so I doubt we’ll keep her clean.
And Tom and I are retracing some roads travelled before
our kids are grown, and wives have flown we’re neither quite done for.
We’ve had a hankering to sit before a flickering fire
and there is no time now to waste fulfilling that desire.
We’ll camp down by the river where the yellow belly lurk
and just enjoy the solitude and bugger doing work..
We’ll raise a tin to Foo-Loorey and sleep beneath the gums
and thank the Lord he had the sense to make us two blokes chums.
Maureen Clifford © 03/13