ABPA - Australian Bush Poets Association

To the memory of my father, William James Daniel, blacksmith, tinkerer, mechanic, all-rounder.
He was one of twelve kids born at Bungendore, son of a blacksmith, farrier and wagon builder (Joe "Tuckey" Daniel).
It was always said that they could make anything from a piece of wire.
Grandpa was smithing at the Cobar mines when Ma got crook.
Someone bought dad, then twelve years old, a train ticket to go and bring his father home.
Which he did, two years later.
GoodonyaBill.


FENCING WIRE © Frank Daniel Canowindra 21.11.95

Big Bill was not the creator, he was just an innovator
changing things around as need desired.
He was capable of shaping anything that needed making,
just from a length of good old fencing wire.

When his old Ford broke down - fourteen miles from town,
there was no way to summon help required.
It was do the best you can, for big Bill was a handyman
and he fixed it with a length of fencing wire.

Troubles on his farm never saw him lose his calm,
you’d never see his temper flare with ire.
He could mend a broken rake, or kill a snarly Tiger Snake,
with just a length of good old fencing wire.

He could modify inventions far beyond MacKays intentions.
his skill by all was very much admired.
He could swing a sagging gate, or mend a broken fire-grate,
with dextrous use of a length of fencing wire.

He’d repair the beaters on his Binder, lace a belt up on the grinder
or sow a crack up in his tractor tyre.
He was as skilful as could be, and everywhere you’d see
where Bill had been with bits of fencing wire.

Travellers passing by sometimes laughed and sometimes cried,
and very rarely did they not enquire
as to the whereabouts of Bill, the man with all the skill,
and the flare for making things from fencing wire.

There’d be logs tied to his shed roof, to make the iron more weatherproof,
no maintenance was left to be desired
and the lean-to by the shed, and the forky horse-drawn sled
were all bound up with lots of fencing wire.

His farm was rough and ready and his manner pretty steady,
then through illness, as a young man he retired .
Though he never once complained, whether there be drought or rains
his farm was well secured with fencing wire.

He used it ’til he died, and though his kids all wailed and cried,
it was observed by all when he expired
that his coffin sleek and tan had been made by a handy-man,
and the lid was tied on with fencing wire.


Miss ya Dad.

A lovely tribute to your dear ol' Dad, Frank. The last line brought a smile to my dial.

Heather

Lovely tribute to your Dad - lots of old properties even today are still held together with fencing wire - I reckon your dad might have taught my ex

Loved this poem and reckon a lot of country folk will too.

Cheers

Maureen

..G'day Joe, I reckon this place would fall to bits if it wasn't for all the old blokes and their use of the good ol' fencing wire!

I once tied the front gate up with baler twine. In the morning, four very pregnant cows had disappeared. The buggers had chewed through the twine. Finally found them on another property and had to herd them home along the road. Always used fencing wire since that day!

Heather

G'day Frank...
Great poem. And, as Grahame Watt says..."the patches made us stronger".

Cheers, Will.

It never ceases to amaze me what some people will throw away. I have several chairs that I have repaired and I do not know how many fishing rods that i have put new runner on and keep for the grandkids to use. Oh my front yard sprinkler is top half sprinkler and bottom half was the base of a christmas tree.

Always keep old bit of timber and wire you never know when you will need them and if they do not take up much room there is no problem.


Great poem Frank

G'day Joe,

These days they use 'Gaffer tape'.

I'm pleased with your comments on 'Fencing Wire'. I know Dad would have appreciated this poem, he loved a yarn even better if it was about himself. He would no doubt have suggested a line or two himself.
Dad used to own a Ford Zephyr Mk1 sedan which during its lifetime could go like the clappers.
But Dad's went better. ('By cripes it did' - you only had to ask him.)

He invented a gimmick which extended the length of the spark thrown from the spark plug leads to the spark plugs which gave the engine more boost. Don't ask me how this worked, the leads were not directly connected to the plugs as per normal, but a small spacer held the plug lead and the plug head at exactly the 'Billy Daniel' distance to do the job; each lead throwing the right amount of spark across the gap to the spark plug.
He reckoned it could go up 'Brooke's Hill' in top gear, a marvellous feat for any car in its day, and saved petrol as well. Jim and I never knew. We weren't allowed to drive it.

Joe

G'day Joe,

If your Dad was the one who used fencing wire for 'everything' then he must have been the inspiration for that lovely poem 'Her Bit of Number Eight'. I'll have to go and look up who wrote it .... I'll get back to you shortly.