My Expensive Education

He was making a lot of noise ,
In the bar of the hotel Federation..
He was telling every one,
About his fancy education.

He had diplomas and degrees,
From business to guitar strumming.
But the most useful lesson he had learnt,
Was how to spot a sucker coming.

He then produced some fancy papers,
Just to prove that he was smart.
They said that he was a genius,
And a patron of the arts.

But (he said) all his education,
Hadn’t helped him for a day.
Like the ability to spot a sucker,
From a mile away.

And I must say I was jealous,
Because I’d never been to school.
And almost everyone in town,
Considered me a fool.

But this bloke came right up to me,
And he said I looked deflated.
He could tell straight away,
I’d never been educated.

When he asked if we could talk alone,
I was a little apprehensive.
But he was only explaining,
How an education was expensive.

And he said he felt sorry for me,
In my brainless situation.
And he said that for a small price,
I could have his education.

It was the chance I had been dreaming of,
I couldn’t believe my luck.
So I bought his education off him
For seven thousand bucks.

So now I’ve got all his brains,
And all he’s got today,
Is the ability to spot a sucker,
From a mile away.

© Andrew Hull

Station cook tales

I was ratting through some old family papers the other day and came  across this letter, which is a reply to a vacancy for a station cook position that my mother had advertised and is full of character.  My mother and father managed Eurella Station, Mitchell, Qld, for 25 years.  As a kid growing up on a station, I can still recall the dramas that evolved around the station cook.

They were a bit of a breed of their own and there were good cooks, bad cooks, cranky cooks, temperamental cooks, lemon essence-swilling cooks and then the ones who thought they owned the place.  The nice friendly ones that could really cook were few and far between and when you got one, they were God.

After leaving school, I also went out jackaroo-ing for a few years and there was one golden rule: "don't stir the cook up" because if you did and they left, who replaced them on a temporary basis? - the bosses wife.  Some took it in their stride, but others, it was the last thing they wanted, which was generally reflected in the 'good morning' greeting.

My mother is now in her 80s and can still hold a room with her stories about station cooks.

July 15th, 1964

Mrs Page,

I feel you should know my particulars in advance.  Am 37 on 16th July and have had a lifetime of cooking experience.   Can do anything with mutton, but slightly cautious with beef.  My father was Jack Steward (white) from Cunnumulla. My sister, Darby Lands's wife, has just lost one of her sons (Michael).  He died in Brisbane last week.  Perhaps you may know me now.  Now to come to my problems.  I have my own car, but one 15 year-old son, three de-sexed cats, one working bitch and the old dog I spoke of and six chooks.  Had my leg amputated at the knee in Cunnamulla when I was 16 years but it never has been in my way.  Have cooked, to name a couple, at the following.  Bush Children's Home, Yeppoon, Caves Hotel, Rocky, on a station outside Bluff, Highway Motel, Gladstone, Strand Hotel, Monto and just about every state home in Brisbane as a casual cook.  Also Tinnenburra many years ago and for a Miss Grahame at Montrose, Wyandra.  Last two happened before I was married at approx 18 to 19 years of age.  I haven't worked on a stations since I've been on my own, but before, my husband Les used to take a cowboy job, myself cook and when he'd get tired we'd all have to go because one couldn't work there alone.  Outside Bluff, where we worked together, he was working four hours per day, myself 12 hours, and we both got the same pay.  I don't know where he is now as he is a bit like Clancy of the Overflow, "we don't know where he are".  I do not drink and, as far as I know, my only vices are my animals.  Why I haven't worked on a station since being on own is that I broke my leg some months ago and it took a while to recover.  Sorry about the phone call reverse charges.  It said ring after 1900 hours.  Not being a sea-going person I had to find out what time that meant. My son tells me 7 PM.  But I'm still not sure.  If I don't receive word from you I won't come, but if you still want us I'll come next weekend.

Yours faithfully

Lorna McDonald

Mulgildie, via Monto, QLD

SAID HANRAHAN by John O'Brien
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
 In accents most forlorn,
Outside the church, ere Mass began,
 One frosty Sunday morn.

The congregation stood about,
 Coat-collars to the ears,
And talked of stock, and crops, and drought,
 As it had done for years.

"It's looking crook," said Daniel Croke;
 "Bedad, it's cruke, me lad,
For never since the banks went broke
 Has seasons been so bad."

"It's dry, all right," said young O'Neil,
 With which astute remark
He squatted down upon his heel
 And chewed a piece of bark.

And so around the chorus ran
 "It's keepin' dry, no doubt."
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
 "Before the year is out."

"The crops are done; ye'll have your work
 To save one bag of grain;
From here way out to Back-o'-Bourke
 They're singin' out for rain.

"They're singin' out for rain," he said,
 "And all the tanks are dry."
The congregation scratched its head,
 And gazed around the sky.

"There won't be grass, in any case,
 Enough to feed an ass;
There's not a blade on Casey's place
 As I came down to Mass."

"If rain don't come this month," said Dan,
 And cleared his throat to speak -
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
 "If rain don't come this week."

A heavy silence seemed to steal
 On all at this remark;
And each man squatted on his heel,
 And chewed a piece of bark.

"We want an inch of rain, we do,"
 O'Neil observed at last;
But Croke "maintained" we wanted two
 To put the danger past.

"If we don't get three inches, man,
 Or four to break this drought,
We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
 "Before the year is out."

In God's good time down came the rain;
 And all the afternoon
On iron roof and window-pane
 It drummed a homely tune.

And through the night it pattered still,
 And lightsome, gladsome elves
On dripping spout and window-sill
 Kept talking to themselves.

It pelted, pelted all day long,
 A-singing at its work,
Till every heart took up the song
 Way out to Back-o'-Bourke.

And every creek a banker ran,
 And dams filled overtop;
"We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
 "If this rain doesn't stop."

And stop it did, in God's good time;
 And spring came in to fold
A mantle o'er the hills sublime
 Of green and pink and gold.

And days went by on dancing feet,
 With harvest-hopes immense,
And laughing eyes beheld the wheat
 Nid-nodding o'er the fence.

And, oh, the smiles on every face,
 As happy lad and lass
Through grass knee-deep on Casey's place
 Went riding down to Mass.

While round the church in clothes genteel
 Discoursed the men of mark,
And each man squatted on his heel,
 And chewed his piece of bark.

"There'll be bush-fires for sure, me man,
 There will, without a doubt;
We'll all be rooned," said Hanrahan,
 "Before the year is out."

Around the Boree Log and Other Verses, 1921

I enjoyed these thanks for sharing  [smiley=thumbsup.gif]

Thanks  for sharing Pearlie

Bush Olympian
I wonder how many others out there qualify for this title.    ;D

My legs were too long for cycling,
And my arms were too short for weights.
I’m no good at running or jumping,
And my boxing skills aren’t great.

Me hair was too short for tennis,
But I gave badminton a bash.
My hair was too long for golf,
And cricket pads give me a rash.

I can’t stay afloat in the water,
And I’m too scared of heights to dive.
I haven’t the balance for motorbikes,
And I haven’t a licence to drive.

But I have developed a tendon,
Between my elbow and my wrist.
And it allows a stubby bottle,
To fit perfectly in my fist.

I can roll a smoke one handed
(No handed if I try).
And my mouth is perfectly suited,
To swallowing whole a meat pie.

If you take me on at yarn spinning,
Then you are a bloody fool.
And I’ve tuned my body perfectly,
To sitting on a barstool.

I know I’ll never be recognised,
For the athlete that I am.
But these are skills I can use every day,
I’m a bush Olympian.

© Andrew Hull

Not ME!!! But I enjoyed reading it.

pearlie wrote on Nov 26^th, 2009 at 12:37am:

Station cook tales I was ratting through some old family papers the other day and came  across this letter, which is a reply to a vacancy for a station cook position that my mother had advertised and is full of character.  My mother and father managed Eurella Station, Mitchell, Qld, for 25 years.  As a kid growing up on a station, I can still recall the dramas that evolved around the station cook. They were a bit of a breed of their own and there were good cooks, bad cooks, cranky cooks, temperamental cooks, lemon essence-swilling cooks and then the ones who thought they owned the place.  The nice friendly ones that could really cook were few and far between and when you got one, they were God. After leaving school, I also went out jackaroo-ing for a few years and there was one golden rule: "don't stir the cook up" because if you did and they left, who replaced them on a temporary basis? - the bosses wife.  Some took it in their stride, but others, it was the last thing they wanted, which was generally reflected in the 'good morning' greeting. My mother is now in her 80s and can still hold a room with her stories about station cooks. July 15th, 1964 Mrs Page, I feel you should know my particulars in advance.  Am 37 on 16th July and have had a lifetime of cooking experience.   Can do anything with mutton, but slightly cautious with beef.  My father was Jack Steward (white) from Cunnumulla. My sister, Darby Lands's wife, has just lost one of her sons (Michael).  He died in Brisbane last week.  Perhaps you may know me now.  Now to come to my problems.  I have my own car, but one 15 year-old son, three de-sexed cats, one working bitch and the old dog I spoke of and six chooks.  Had my leg amputated at the knee in Cunnamulla when I was 16 years but it never has been in my way.  Have cooked, to name a couple, at the following.  Bush Children's Home, Yeppoon, Caves Hotel, Rocky, on a station outside Bluff, Highway Motel, Gladstone, Strand Hotel, Monto and just about every state home in Brisbane as a casual cook.  Also Tinnenburra many years ago and for a Miss Grahame at Montrose, Wyandra.  Last two happened before I was married at approx 18 to 19 years of age.  I haven't worked on a stations since I've been on my own, but before, my husband Les used to take a cowboy job, myself cook and when he'd get tired we'd all have to go because one couldn't work there alone.  Outside Bluff, where we worked together, he was working four hours per day, myself 12 hours, and we both got the same pay.  I don't know where he is now as he is a bit like Clancy of the Overflow, "we don't know where he are".  I do not drink and, as far as I know, my only vices are my animals.  Why I haven't worked on a station since being on own is that I broke my leg some months ago and it took a while to recover.  Sorry about the phone call reverse charges.  It said ring after 1900 hours.  Not being a sea-going person I had to find out what time that meant. My son tells me 7 PM.  But I'm still not sure.  If I don't receive word from you I won't come, but if you still want us I'll come next weekend. Yours faithfully Lorna McDonald Mulgildie, via Monto, QLD

Read this story yesterday, bloody beautiful.

Problem is I have woken at 2am this morning and thought to myself......I wonder if that Lorna McDonald did get that job, she wrote a pretty good resume I thought!!!

So Pearlie, if you can answer that I sure may be able to sleep.  :)

Thanks

Paul