Mutt is a long-forgotten bluewater bush poet from a hundred years ago. We've dug up some of his poems and will present them on this new Page. He claims he was the well-hand of the 18-footer ARIEL, but no-one seems to know much about him. Read them aloud for best effect.
Mutt's Ode to Balmain
I’ve only ever lived in one place, and even though I was keen
To go to war the whole thing stopped before I turned eighteen.
I’ve holidayed and gone to other places on a train
But I’ve never stayed too long away from my birthplace in Balmain.
Still live with me Ma on Grove Street near the oval on Snails Bay,
Not half a mile from the boatshed where I labour every day.
I fancy catching fish between the flotsam and the jetsam
And the dead dogs floating by until the dog boat comes and gets ‘em.
It’s a long way up the hill when you want to catch a tram,
And your tools all rust if you don’t paint ‘em with Silver Frost from a can.
So the toffs live on the ridges where the air is fresh and clean,
And leave us poor folks by the water, sometimes turned a shade of green.
But there’s heaps of consolations from the fishing to the boats
And the sailing every Saturday is sure to get my vote.
Most 18’s sail out of Balmain and the crews are mostly locals,
Though one fella comes from Gladesville in the sticks with all the yokels.
I’m with the mighty ARIEL and our skipper Roy McGill.
Our mob will always back our skipper up in good or ill.
Stick together as a bunch of mates, fit in like bricks and mortar.
We look forward to each Summer Saturday out on the water.
And we love our footy, Balmain Tigers really are the best,
Five premierships, with blokes like Pony Halloway and the rest,
Wee Georgie Robinson, Chook Fraser, Junker, Latta, Kelly, Latchem.
Once the Balmain boys can get the ball it’s really hard to catch ‘em.
And there’s characters all ‘round the town like butcher Jack MacGrath,
And mechanic Ernie Malley if you’re rich and have a car.
Lady publicans like Mrs Halliday at Shipwrights Arms,
Ellen Burrill at Sir William Wally, the pub’s just one of her charms.
So while others sing the praises of New York or Gay Paree,
Or of country lanes and hedgerows none of that’s the place for me.
Some sing of open skies or mountains, or waving fields of grain,
I’m a city boy, you’ll never find me far from old Balmain.
To go to war the whole thing stopped before I turned eighteen.
I’ve holidayed and gone to other places on a train
But I’ve never stayed too long away from my birthplace in Balmain.
Still live with me Ma on Grove Street near the oval on Snails Bay,
Not half a mile from the boatshed where I labour every day.
I fancy catching fish between the flotsam and the jetsam
And the dead dogs floating by until the dog boat comes and gets ‘em.
It’s a long way up the hill when you want to catch a tram,
And your tools all rust if you don’t paint ‘em with Silver Frost from a can.
So the toffs live on the ridges where the air is fresh and clean,
And leave us poor folks by the water, sometimes turned a shade of green.
But there’s heaps of consolations from the fishing to the boats
And the sailing every Saturday is sure to get my vote.
Most 18’s sail out of Balmain and the crews are mostly locals,
Though one fella comes from Gladesville in the sticks with all the yokels.
I’m with the mighty ARIEL and our skipper Roy McGill.
Our mob will always back our skipper up in good or ill.
Stick together as a bunch of mates, fit in like bricks and mortar.
We look forward to each Summer Saturday out on the water.
And we love our footy, Balmain Tigers really are the best,
Five premierships, with blokes like Pony Halloway and the rest,
Wee Georgie Robinson, Chook Fraser, Junker, Latta, Kelly, Latchem.
Once the Balmain boys can get the ball it’s really hard to catch ‘em.
And there’s characters all ‘round the town like butcher Jack MacGrath,
And mechanic Ernie Malley if you’re rich and have a car.
Lady publicans like Mrs Halliday at Shipwrights Arms,
Ellen Burrill at Sir William Wally, the pub’s just one of her charms.
So while others sing the praises of New York or Gay Paree,
Or of country lanes and hedgerows none of that’s the place for me.
Some sing of open skies or mountains, or waving fields of grain,
I’m a city boy, you’ll never find me far from old Balmain.
"The New Sensation"
A new way’s been found to sink an eighteen that the mob’s not considered before.
We’ve gone down by the nose, by the tuck, by the lee, to windward, by pitch and by yaw.
Sometimes it’s because the daft skipper’s a dill. Sometimes it’s the fault of the crew...
Not enough on the rail or too many when the sail spills the wind in a lull, then we’re through.
Sheet held on too long or just way too much blow, we’ve done ‘em all, but this here one’s new...
Bound to cause a sensation when the skip leaves his station and goes for’d to thump one of the crew.
Now our skipper McGill was not a bad bloke, ran a tight little ship called the “Ariel”.
We worked, played and drank up with nary a blue but this matter near led to a burial.
McGill had no sons but his daughter Irene was the light of his life, and quite pretty.
(For details of her charms put a quid in my palm for an extended version of this fair ditty).
Charlie Ross was a new boy, helped Fred in the bows, a rising young gun it was true.
He could climb up a mast to free halyards stuck fast, he’d be welcome in any boat’s crew.
Charlie fancied Irene and she returned his advances with glee and with girlish delight,
And sooner than not the young gun fired a shot, and she started to grow from that night.
We’ve gone down by the nose, by the tuck, by the lee, to windward, by pitch and by yaw.
Sometimes it’s because the daft skipper’s a dill. Sometimes it’s the fault of the crew...
Not enough on the rail or too many when the sail spills the wind in a lull, then we’re through.
Sheet held on too long or just way too much blow, we’ve done ‘em all, but this here one’s new...
Bound to cause a sensation when the skip leaves his station and goes for’d to thump one of the crew.
Now our skipper McGill was not a bad bloke, ran a tight little ship called the “Ariel”.
We worked, played and drank up with nary a blue but this matter near led to a burial.
McGill had no sons but his daughter Irene was the light of his life, and quite pretty.
(For details of her charms put a quid in my palm for an extended version of this fair ditty).
Charlie Ross was a new boy, helped Fred in the bows, a rising young gun it was true.
He could climb up a mast to free halyards stuck fast, he’d be welcome in any boat’s crew.
Charlie fancied Irene and she returned his advances with glee and with girlish delight,
And sooner than not the young gun fired a shot, and she started to grow from that night.
The whole of Balmain had the gossip as soon as she started to show.
Our skipper McGill had never thought ill of Irene, he’s the last one to know.
It’s still not quite clear how he found out and it certainly beggars belief,
But somehow some dill let the news spill on the leg to the Sow and Pigs reef.
The skipper was mostly a thoughtful bloke but in considering young Charlie’s error
He ran up the boat, veins bulging in his throat, filling Charlie with justified terror.
“I’ll kill you yer little bastard” was the skipper’s mad cry as he lunged and the crew dodged him fast.
But Charlie Ross dodged him to loo’ard and proceeded to climb up the mast.
Now eighteens are a boat that will only stay afloat by full attention of every hand,
But sheethand Crunch Miller had been left with the tiller and two jobs are too much for one man.
With all eyes up the mast or on purple-faced skipper the boat received little attention.
No-one on the rail and one man up the sail we rolled into the drink (as I mentioned).
Our skipper McGill had never thought ill of Irene, he’s the last one to know.
It’s still not quite clear how he found out and it certainly beggars belief,
But somehow some dill let the news spill on the leg to the Sow and Pigs reef.
The skipper was mostly a thoughtful bloke but in considering young Charlie’s error
He ran up the boat, veins bulging in his throat, filling Charlie with justified terror.
“I’ll kill you yer little bastard” was the skipper’s mad cry as he lunged and the crew dodged him fast.
But Charlie Ross dodged him to loo’ard and proceeded to climb up the mast.
Now eighteens are a boat that will only stay afloat by full attention of every hand,
But sheethand Crunch Miller had been left with the tiller and two jobs are too much for one man.
With all eyes up the mast or on purple-faced skipper the boat received little attention.
No-one on the rail and one man up the sail we rolled into the drink (as I mentioned).
The few times before that “Ariel’s” swum the crew was mostly in good heart,
But this time with the jawing and yelling and roaring it took all of us to keep them apart.
Didn’t look like the bracing cold saltwater bath would calm the skipper down anymore,
So with weighing his chances ‘tween sharks and the rants of the skipper, Charlie swam for the shore.
He made it by the time a boat took us in tow and the skipper had cooled down a lot.
But young Charlie Ross will have several weeks off till the minister ties up the knot.
He’s in no danger you see when the cold light of day makes skipper MacGill have to hack it,
Because young Charlie’s kin run a book and the sin of capsizing that day cost a packet.
So the clans of Ross and MacGill will be joined and morale in the boat will be clear again,
And MacGill will get used to the set-up even though he’s a strict Presbyterian.
And though it’s not the way that they wanted it (as I’m sure that the skipper assumes),
I’m happy to say, at the end of the day that the smile of a baby heals all wounds.
**************************************************************
But this time with the jawing and yelling and roaring it took all of us to keep them apart.
Didn’t look like the bracing cold saltwater bath would calm the skipper down anymore,
So with weighing his chances ‘tween sharks and the rants of the skipper, Charlie swam for the shore.
He made it by the time a boat took us in tow and the skipper had cooled down a lot.
But young Charlie Ross will have several weeks off till the minister ties up the knot.
He’s in no danger you see when the cold light of day makes skipper MacGill have to hack it,
Because young Charlie’s kin run a book and the sin of capsizing that day cost a packet.
So the clans of Ross and MacGill will be joined and morale in the boat will be clear again,
And MacGill will get used to the set-up even though he’s a strict Presbyterian.
And though it’s not the way that they wanted it (as I’m sure that the skipper assumes),
I’m happy to say, at the end of the day that the smile of a baby heals all wounds.
**************************************************************
"The Salvation Navy"
When not on the water we feel that we oughta not linger too long after five
‘Cause the pubs shut at six and there’s barely enough time to sink some and feel you’re alive.
So most of the boys from the yards in Snail’s Bay head up to the Sir William Wally,
Just a hop step and jump up the road from the Bay leaving plenty of time to get jolly.
They serve a good drop, Tooth’s Old Brown Ale and put on a bloody good nosh,
A pie and pea floater or taters and gravy or sausage rolls, nothing too posh.
So bach’lers like me can get fed and half squiffy, I know it’s a pretty good life.
And the married men soak up a schooner or two and head off back home to the wife.
The Sallys are there on a Friday, you’ll be sure they’ll be there on the day
‘Cause they’re selling their “War Cry” and rattling their box and for most of the boys it’s pay day.
But nobody minds and I think you will find we prefer the Salvation Army
To the C of E, tykes, presos, methos and such and the Baptists are plain bloody barmy!
Now their Hall up on Palmer Street has a new boss, a young bloke called Captain Dalziel,
And for several weeks now he’s come down to the Wally, has a chat while we’re having a meal.
He’s a fit-looking bloke with a deep booming voice, in spite of his sweet baby face,
And it seems that he grew up around Gosford way and sailed in a regular race.
So one Friday night our skipper McGill had turned up, though he’s not often here,
‘Cause he’s sort of a Presbyterian, only occasionally sips on a beer.
Seems he liked the young Captain and heard that he’d sailed as a youth in the not distant past,
So he asked him to join us on ‘Ariel’ ‘cause we expected a Southerly blast.
And though there was barely a puff on Snail’s Bay early on (I was up’t sparrow fart),
It started to blow and in spite of our tiniest rig only just made the start.
Out of twenty-three boats only nine made the start, four squibbed it and stayed under Clark.
And the five of us set out downwind to the reef, only four made it past Nielsen Park!
‘Cause the pubs shut at six and there’s barely enough time to sink some and feel you’re alive.
So most of the boys from the yards in Snail’s Bay head up to the Sir William Wally,
Just a hop step and jump up the road from the Bay leaving plenty of time to get jolly.
They serve a good drop, Tooth’s Old Brown Ale and put on a bloody good nosh,
A pie and pea floater or taters and gravy or sausage rolls, nothing too posh.
So bach’lers like me can get fed and half squiffy, I know it’s a pretty good life.
And the married men soak up a schooner or two and head off back home to the wife.
The Sallys are there on a Friday, you’ll be sure they’ll be there on the day
‘Cause they’re selling their “War Cry” and rattling their box and for most of the boys it’s pay day.
But nobody minds and I think you will find we prefer the Salvation Army
To the C of E, tykes, presos, methos and such and the Baptists are plain bloody barmy!
Now their Hall up on Palmer Street has a new boss, a young bloke called Captain Dalziel,
And for several weeks now he’s come down to the Wally, has a chat while we’re having a meal.
He’s a fit-looking bloke with a deep booming voice, in spite of his sweet baby face,
And it seems that he grew up around Gosford way and sailed in a regular race.
So one Friday night our skipper McGill had turned up, though he’s not often here,
‘Cause he’s sort of a Presbyterian, only occasionally sips on a beer.
Seems he liked the young Captain and heard that he’d sailed as a youth in the not distant past,
So he asked him to join us on ‘Ariel’ ‘cause we expected a Southerly blast.
And though there was barely a puff on Snail’s Bay early on (I was up’t sparrow fart),
It started to blow and in spite of our tiniest rig only just made the start.
Out of twenty-three boats only nine made the start, four squibbed it and stayed under Clark.
And the five of us set out downwind to the reef, only four made it past Nielsen Park!
No extras were set by any boat’s crew on the way to the Sow and Pigs Reef.
McGill’s handy-bill on the tiller helped counter the helm and saved us from grief.
But he still needed someone to lean on the tiller from loo’ard, ‘twas Captain Dalziel,
And the rest of us moved like a mad lot of dancers to keep ‘Ariel’ on even keel.
We rounded the mark and set off for Shark, slowly hardened the sheets in quite tight,
And the rest of us moved in a bunch to the rail and swung out with all of our might.
It blew dogs of their chains (I saw one flying by!), huge waves rolled out of Rose Bay.
Captain Dalziel said “What can I do now, McGill?”, McGill said “Perhaps you could pray”.
Well perhaps they were praying on our fleet mate the Scot, only us and them got ‘round the Pigs.
We crossed tacks about twice on the tough work to Shark, them in front on a couple of digs.
But their prayers were not heard when an almighty gust just flattened the struggling Scot.
She filled up and rolled in and we all believed that we’d join them sooner than not.
But “Crunch” Miller played on that sheet like a beaut, “Fossil” Diamond did the same with the jib,
And us swingers swung brilliant, any body who says otherwise would be telling a fib.
We tacked for the mark at the pile light at Shark but a gust hit just after we tacked,
And the Harbour came over the lee cloth but our “Crunch” was ready, and the mainsheet went slack.
Well the water was up to the thwarts and our bailer boy Billy was already spent,
So I grabbed the spare dish and I started to put all that salt water back where it went.
“Like this Billy!” I said as I dug in the dish “Copy me and I’ll show how you oughta
Have one in the dish and one in the air and the other one hitting the water!”
We just cleared the pile and in a short while we had most water out of the boat.
And reached down to Clark t’wards our next turning mark praying that we could keep her afloat.
Then the umpire’s launch came by to windward, told us that they were calling it quits.
As the only boat left they declared us the winner which thrilled all us fellas to bits!
We pulled under G.I., dropped the main from the sky and went for home just under heady.
‘Twas a reach all the way with the wind on that day and it kept the old ‘Ariel’ steady.
We were all full of smiles for the last coupla miles, we were filled with a sense of relief,
We three-cheered the Salvationist Captain, whose prayers may have saved us from grief.
The next Friday evening we got to the pub for a couple of beers and a meal.
Us ‘Ariel’ fellas arrived in a bunch and walked in with Captain Dalziel.
A mate of McGill, Wally Nock from Mort’s Dock looked up from his taters and gravy.
“Hey look!” he said loudly to quiet the room, “Hey look! It’s the Salvation Navy!”
The whole of Balmain had been talking about the miracle of last Saturday,
Of how close to strife we were battling the waves till McGill asked the Captain to pray.
So we’re stuck with the name of the Salvation Navy, I’m sure it will stick for a while.
So many coins went in the box on that night that the Captain had made quite a pile.
Now I know that God works in mysterious ways to get some important things done,
But to think that he’d bother to save us from a swim I reckon is jumping the gun.
If it ends up that Captain Dalziel has more money to do his good works ‘round Balmain,
We’ll get the young Captain aboard in a flash, and let him start praying again.
*************************************************
(Photo of the fleet in a blow from the Harry Thompson Collection, Sydney Flying Squadron).
McGill’s handy-bill on the tiller helped counter the helm and saved us from grief.
But he still needed someone to lean on the tiller from loo’ard, ‘twas Captain Dalziel,
And the rest of us moved like a mad lot of dancers to keep ‘Ariel’ on even keel.
We rounded the mark and set off for Shark, slowly hardened the sheets in quite tight,
And the rest of us moved in a bunch to the rail and swung out with all of our might.
It blew dogs of their chains (I saw one flying by!), huge waves rolled out of Rose Bay.
Captain Dalziel said “What can I do now, McGill?”, McGill said “Perhaps you could pray”.
Well perhaps they were praying on our fleet mate the Scot, only us and them got ‘round the Pigs.
We crossed tacks about twice on the tough work to Shark, them in front on a couple of digs.
But their prayers were not heard when an almighty gust just flattened the struggling Scot.
She filled up and rolled in and we all believed that we’d join them sooner than not.
But “Crunch” Miller played on that sheet like a beaut, “Fossil” Diamond did the same with the jib,
And us swingers swung brilliant, any body who says otherwise would be telling a fib.
We tacked for the mark at the pile light at Shark but a gust hit just after we tacked,
And the Harbour came over the lee cloth but our “Crunch” was ready, and the mainsheet went slack.
Well the water was up to the thwarts and our bailer boy Billy was already spent,
So I grabbed the spare dish and I started to put all that salt water back where it went.
“Like this Billy!” I said as I dug in the dish “Copy me and I’ll show how you oughta
Have one in the dish and one in the air and the other one hitting the water!”
We just cleared the pile and in a short while we had most water out of the boat.
And reached down to Clark t’wards our next turning mark praying that we could keep her afloat.
Then the umpire’s launch came by to windward, told us that they were calling it quits.
As the only boat left they declared us the winner which thrilled all us fellas to bits!
We pulled under G.I., dropped the main from the sky and went for home just under heady.
‘Twas a reach all the way with the wind on that day and it kept the old ‘Ariel’ steady.
We were all full of smiles for the last coupla miles, we were filled with a sense of relief,
We three-cheered the Salvationist Captain, whose prayers may have saved us from grief.
The next Friday evening we got to the pub for a couple of beers and a meal.
Us ‘Ariel’ fellas arrived in a bunch and walked in with Captain Dalziel.
A mate of McGill, Wally Nock from Mort’s Dock looked up from his taters and gravy.
“Hey look!” he said loudly to quiet the room, “Hey look! It’s the Salvation Navy!”
The whole of Balmain had been talking about the miracle of last Saturday,
Of how close to strife we were battling the waves till McGill asked the Captain to pray.
So we’re stuck with the name of the Salvation Navy, I’m sure it will stick for a while.
So many coins went in the box on that night that the Captain had made quite a pile.
Now I know that God works in mysterious ways to get some important things done,
But to think that he’d bother to save us from a swim I reckon is jumping the gun.
If it ends up that Captain Dalziel has more money to do his good works ‘round Balmain,
We’ll get the young Captain aboard in a flash, and let him start praying again.
*************************************************
(Photo of the fleet in a blow from the Harry Thompson Collection, Sydney Flying Squadron).
"Burying Bluey"
We’re not the kinda blokes who like to dress up to the nines,
We’d rather be in overalls than suits.
But this day we had to put our starched white shirts and collars on,
And Ma said “Put some Kiwi on those boots!”
See our old mate Bluey Ryan had just cashed his chips all in,
Lost his battle with that bloody cancer curse.
He’d been fighting it for years since he came back from the War
And just recently he took a turn for worse.
Now our skipper Roy McGill and Bluey were a close-knit pair,
Friends since old enough to learn to ride a bike.
But they went to different schools because McGill was Presbyterian
And his companion Bluey was a tyke.
But they hung around together after school and on weekends
And they built their own 6-footer, then a 10.
Went to War together when the Kaiser tried to strut his stuff.
Both survived and came back home to start again.
Built the Ariel together, joined the eighteens racing fleet,
Bluey took the sheet and Skipper took the tiller.
Only one full season passed and then Bluey got real crook
And he handed the mainsheet to Big Crunch Miller.
So the mob have found ourselves up at that St Augustine’s,
A place that none of us had ever been before.
Not a single tyke amongst us, we were well beyond our depth
But our respect for Bluey got us through the door.
Blue’s family knew that he and Skipper were the best of mates
So they asked him would he like to take some part,
And stand up before the mob and deliver the eulogy.
“I’d be happy to” said Roy “With all my heart”.
So we took our pew, the Ariel crew, Crunch Miller and the rest,
Fossil Diamond, Nuts and Bolts and Charlie Ross.
But none of us knew when to stand, or sit, or when to kneel
And singing hymns we were completely at a loss.
Well the priest he just droned on and our arses got real sore.
The pews were Cedar but they were as hard as Teak.
We swapped some looks as if to say How long can this go on?
But eventually he asked McGill to speak.
“My mate Bluey was a battler” said McGill, “he was tough.
He battled all his life and then this cancer thing.
He tried to carry on and just live his normal life
But each day was just like six rounds in the ring”.
We’d rather be in overalls than suits.
But this day we had to put our starched white shirts and collars on,
And Ma said “Put some Kiwi on those boots!”
See our old mate Bluey Ryan had just cashed his chips all in,
Lost his battle with that bloody cancer curse.
He’d been fighting it for years since he came back from the War
And just recently he took a turn for worse.
Now our skipper Roy McGill and Bluey were a close-knit pair,
Friends since old enough to learn to ride a bike.
But they went to different schools because McGill was Presbyterian
And his companion Bluey was a tyke.
But they hung around together after school and on weekends
And they built their own 6-footer, then a 10.
Went to War together when the Kaiser tried to strut his stuff.
Both survived and came back home to start again.
Built the Ariel together, joined the eighteens racing fleet,
Bluey took the sheet and Skipper took the tiller.
Only one full season passed and then Bluey got real crook
And he handed the mainsheet to Big Crunch Miller.
So the mob have found ourselves up at that St Augustine’s,
A place that none of us had ever been before.
Not a single tyke amongst us, we were well beyond our depth
But our respect for Bluey got us through the door.
Blue’s family knew that he and Skipper were the best of mates
So they asked him would he like to take some part,
And stand up before the mob and deliver the eulogy.
“I’d be happy to” said Roy “With all my heart”.
So we took our pew, the Ariel crew, Crunch Miller and the rest,
Fossil Diamond, Nuts and Bolts and Charlie Ross.
But none of us knew when to stand, or sit, or when to kneel
And singing hymns we were completely at a loss.
Well the priest he just droned on and our arses got real sore.
The pews were Cedar but they were as hard as Teak.
We swapped some looks as if to say How long can this go on?
But eventually he asked McGill to speak.
“My mate Bluey was a battler” said McGill, “he was tough.
He battled all his life and then this cancer thing.
He tried to carry on and just live his normal life
But each day was just like six rounds in the ring”.
“It was like when we were younger, in the 10-foot dinghy fleet
When a South’ly Buster’d catch us unprepared.
Too much rag up and with only body weight to move around
Our reactions would determine how we fared”.
“The nose would dive, we’d all lunge aft to keep us from a spill,
Then the bow would rise and down would go the tuck.
And we’d all lunge for’d then to keep the stern above the waves,
Lots of skill was needed plus a bit of luck”.
“But there were some days when fitness or pure skill was not enough
And the dinghy would be simply overwhelmed.
And there ain’t no shame in that, sometimes there’s just to much to bear,
No-one’s fault, not the crew or how she’s helmed”.
“Bluey’s battle was like that, he fought the good fight to the end,
But the weight of wind was more than could be bore,
And Bluey’s rig came down, and his hull went on its side.
We miss you Bluey, see you on that shore!”
We coulda cheered the Skipper for those words to send our Bluey off
And if not in church we’d all break into song.
If a Northern Irish Preso can speak in a Catholic church
It might show us how we all might get along.
And I’ve got another hope, this bloody cancer thing’s a scourge,
And people just like Bluey should survive.
The doctors will have found a cure in another fifty years,
They’ll have it licked by 1975!
When a South’ly Buster’d catch us unprepared.
Too much rag up and with only body weight to move around
Our reactions would determine how we fared”.
“The nose would dive, we’d all lunge aft to keep us from a spill,
Then the bow would rise and down would go the tuck.
And we’d all lunge for’d then to keep the stern above the waves,
Lots of skill was needed plus a bit of luck”.
“But there were some days when fitness or pure skill was not enough
And the dinghy would be simply overwhelmed.
And there ain’t no shame in that, sometimes there’s just to much to bear,
No-one’s fault, not the crew or how she’s helmed”.
“Bluey’s battle was like that, he fought the good fight to the end,
But the weight of wind was more than could be bore,
And Bluey’s rig came down, and his hull went on its side.
We miss you Bluey, see you on that shore!”
We coulda cheered the Skipper for those words to send our Bluey off
And if not in church we’d all break into song.
If a Northern Irish Preso can speak in a Catholic church
It might show us how we all might get along.
And I’ve got another hope, this bloody cancer thing’s a scourge,
And people just like Bluey should survive.
The doctors will have found a cure in another fifty years,
They’ll have it licked by 1975!
"Smokey's Tale"
On Saturday morning we go to the shed to get ‘Ariel’ ready to race.
There’s a bumpkin to fit and a mast to be raised and sails to get ready to lace.
One morning the chatter was all round the matter of news of an audacious crime:
Some crooks had nicked the Cockatoo pay, and gotten away in good time.
They’d held up the truck that delivered the dough, got away with eight thousand quid!
So the talk was all about having that moolah and what we would do if we did.
Some wanted a house, or a car or a pub and gamble and drink up the rest.
But skipper McGill said he’d buy a new mains’l for ‘Ariel’ from young Harry West.
Now one of the crew had got crook bad enough that he he knew he couldn’t make it that day,
So he sent along one of his old mates from Melbourne who he said used to race on the Bay.
‘Crunch’ Miller said “No-one from Melbourne can sail, they’ve never even seen an eighteen!”
But this bloke had sailed on coutas and net boats and seemed like he was pretty keen.
He called himself Smokey and showed that he knew that the net boats laced sails the same way,
So McGill said “You’re welcome to join us”, so he made up the numbers that day.
And the talk went back to the robbery, and how we’d spend it all up in a whirl,
And our hopes that McGill could see his way through to buy a new main for our girl.
Well the race was a long course that finished at Clark in a moderate breeze from the East,
So to try for a share of the prizes, on the last run we put up ‘The Beast’.
Thirty-nine feet of poles, and slung from the peak of the tops’l the big kite helped our chances,
And as soon as she breaks with the tack line the ‘Ariel’ lifts up her skirts and she dances!
There’s a bumpkin to fit and a mast to be raised and sails to get ready to lace.
One morning the chatter was all round the matter of news of an audacious crime:
Some crooks had nicked the Cockatoo pay, and gotten away in good time.
They’d held up the truck that delivered the dough, got away with eight thousand quid!
So the talk was all about having that moolah and what we would do if we did.
Some wanted a house, or a car or a pub and gamble and drink up the rest.
But skipper McGill said he’d buy a new mains’l for ‘Ariel’ from young Harry West.
Now one of the crew had got crook bad enough that he he knew he couldn’t make it that day,
So he sent along one of his old mates from Melbourne who he said used to race on the Bay.
‘Crunch’ Miller said “No-one from Melbourne can sail, they’ve never even seen an eighteen!”
But this bloke had sailed on coutas and net boats and seemed like he was pretty keen.
He called himself Smokey and showed that he knew that the net boats laced sails the same way,
So McGill said “You’re welcome to join us”, so he made up the numbers that day.
And the talk went back to the robbery, and how we’d spend it all up in a whirl,
And our hopes that McGill could see his way through to buy a new main for our girl.
Well the race was a long course that finished at Clark in a moderate breeze from the East,
So to try for a share of the prizes, on the last run we put up ‘The Beast’.
Thirty-nine feet of poles, and slung from the peak of the tops’l the big kite helped our chances,
And as soon as she breaks with the tack line the ‘Ariel’ lifts up her skirts and she dances!
A big kite like "The Beast" slung from the tops'l, this one on HC Press. Harry Thompson Collection, SFS.
Now we had right of way but this yacht on Port tack proceeded to go ‘cross our bows,
And his forestay got hooked on the end of the poles, pulled them out of the loop where they’re housed,
Pulled them out like a giant crossbow, we were lucky to keep it afloat.
Then the yacht freed, the poles like a giant arrow, came spearing back into the boat.
Smokey from Melbourne had not done much spinnaker work, didn’t dodge like the rest
And the heel of the pole was aimed dead straight at him, and it clobbered him fair in the chest.
He went down in a heap but no scream did he make, his face was the colour of death.
Just some grunts and some wheezing showed us that the bloke was alive as he struggled for breath.
It took us a fair time to tidy it up, get the kite down and stow poles away.
With the wind up the clacker we all settled down, and headed down home to Snail’s Bay.
Smokey eventually got back his breath, propped his head up from where he was lyin’
And struggled to talk and the first words we caught were the poor bugger thought he was dyin’.
“The money!” he said “From the job, from the heist, it’s no good to me if I’m dead.
There’s a bag at the blue house up on Rowntree Street, I shoved my share in the back shed.
Youse can have it, I’m done for but promise me this, my sister’s kid needs a big op.
Make sure that she gets enough dough for the kid, what’s left over’s a pretty good cop”.
McGill went all solemn and promised the bloke, and he smiled in spite of the pain,
And McGill said we weren’t far from home and we’d get him to hospital up in Balmain.
Well I didn’t think he was dyin’, but truly he’d had a fair clout
And he let out a long painful moan, dropped his head on the thwart and passed out.
“Is he dead?” said our Fred, and then young Charlie Ross grabbed his wrist, felt his pulse for a beat.
“Nah, he’s breathin’” said Charlie “and got a strong pulse, we’ll soon have him back on his feet”.
No truer words had been spoken…..Charlie’s prediction couldn’t be faulted
‘Cause as soon as the ‘Ariel’ touched the pontoon Smokey woke, jumped up and he bolted!
It was only because we’re a disciplined mob that we didn’t all scoot and de-camp.
But we slid the boat into the cradle, and pulled the lot up the ramp.
“Better follow that bloke” said McGill,”and make sure he can gather his load”.
So the rest of us ran up the long wooden stairs, and proceeded up Louisa Road.
“I know that blue house” said our mate ‘Fossil’ Diamond. “It’s just up the road from the Wally”.
And by that he meant Sir William Wallace Hotel, our chosen place to get jolly.
So we ran into Rose Street, Grove Street and then Cameron and found the blue house up on Rowntree,
And me being the lightest they hoisted me over the fence to go look for the bounty.
There was no sign of Smokey so maybe he’d been, and then disappeared with his stash.
But under a dirty old blanket was an old Gladstone bag full of cash.
I grabbed it and as I went back to the fence I yelled “Jesus, look what I found!”
And I hoiked the old bag to the top of the fence, where it toppled and fell on the ground.
Now the sight of a big mob of damp-looking blokes all with footy jumpers, shorts and bare feet
Is something you’ll see on a boat or in a park, but not usual up the main street.
So when P’lice Sergeant Cummings saw the mob running he followed them, using his nouse,
Caught the mob hanging round when the bag hit the ground from the fence outside the blue house.
And McGill arrived just at that moment, as the ‘Ariel’ crew pondered our fates,
But lucky for us as it happened…the cop and McGill were good mates.
Cummings knew that McGill’s mob were not stick-up men, so the Sergeant said with a big grin
“Looks to me like you found it under the boatshed and are on your way up to hand it in”.
So we nodded and said that’s the way it transpired, it was legal and all above board.
And we brightened up somewhat when Cummings announced that there’d probably be a reward.
But our dreams had been dashed, though with plenty of cash we’d prob’ly get through it real fast,
So we slowly walked back to the boatshed, stripped the sails and lowered the mast.
That Smokey had run up the wrong street, fell flat on his face and went dark,
And an ambulance took him to casualty at Balmain Hospital up on the Park.
McGill and I went up to visit, and told the whole story to him.
“Now my sister’s kid will never get well, but thanks for not dobbing me in”.
Cummings was right, there was a reward, we agreed it should go to McGill.
And the first thing he did was go up to the Park and pay Smokey’s hospital bill.
He left him the rest for his sister’s kid, the best use for the reward.
And Smokey said thanks, and pissed off to Melbourne as soon as he got out of the ward.
It was only a few weeks later that we heard of another big job.
This time it was down in Melbourne and the Police thought it was the same mob.
‘Twas the talk of the town for another few weeks, it was bandied about all the time.
Then one day I answered the phone at the shed, it was young Harry West on the line.
“Your new mains’l is ready, McGill” said young Harry, “What mains’l?” said a puzzled McGill.
Said Harry “Some Melbourne bloke ordered the sail, wired the money to cover the bill”.
“Bugger me!” said McGill, “That’s one for the books!” and his face broke into a broad smile.
It seems that sometimes things will work out, if you’ll go the extra mile.
And his forestay got hooked on the end of the poles, pulled them out of the loop where they’re housed,
Pulled them out like a giant crossbow, we were lucky to keep it afloat.
Then the yacht freed, the poles like a giant arrow, came spearing back into the boat.
Smokey from Melbourne had not done much spinnaker work, didn’t dodge like the rest
And the heel of the pole was aimed dead straight at him, and it clobbered him fair in the chest.
He went down in a heap but no scream did he make, his face was the colour of death.
Just some grunts and some wheezing showed us that the bloke was alive as he struggled for breath.
It took us a fair time to tidy it up, get the kite down and stow poles away.
With the wind up the clacker we all settled down, and headed down home to Snail’s Bay.
Smokey eventually got back his breath, propped his head up from where he was lyin’
And struggled to talk and the first words we caught were the poor bugger thought he was dyin’.
“The money!” he said “From the job, from the heist, it’s no good to me if I’m dead.
There’s a bag at the blue house up on Rowntree Street, I shoved my share in the back shed.
Youse can have it, I’m done for but promise me this, my sister’s kid needs a big op.
Make sure that she gets enough dough for the kid, what’s left over’s a pretty good cop”.
McGill went all solemn and promised the bloke, and he smiled in spite of the pain,
And McGill said we weren’t far from home and we’d get him to hospital up in Balmain.
Well I didn’t think he was dyin’, but truly he’d had a fair clout
And he let out a long painful moan, dropped his head on the thwart and passed out.
“Is he dead?” said our Fred, and then young Charlie Ross grabbed his wrist, felt his pulse for a beat.
“Nah, he’s breathin’” said Charlie “and got a strong pulse, we’ll soon have him back on his feet”.
No truer words had been spoken…..Charlie’s prediction couldn’t be faulted
‘Cause as soon as the ‘Ariel’ touched the pontoon Smokey woke, jumped up and he bolted!
It was only because we’re a disciplined mob that we didn’t all scoot and de-camp.
But we slid the boat into the cradle, and pulled the lot up the ramp.
“Better follow that bloke” said McGill,”and make sure he can gather his load”.
So the rest of us ran up the long wooden stairs, and proceeded up Louisa Road.
“I know that blue house” said our mate ‘Fossil’ Diamond. “It’s just up the road from the Wally”.
And by that he meant Sir William Wallace Hotel, our chosen place to get jolly.
So we ran into Rose Street, Grove Street and then Cameron and found the blue house up on Rowntree,
And me being the lightest they hoisted me over the fence to go look for the bounty.
There was no sign of Smokey so maybe he’d been, and then disappeared with his stash.
But under a dirty old blanket was an old Gladstone bag full of cash.
I grabbed it and as I went back to the fence I yelled “Jesus, look what I found!”
And I hoiked the old bag to the top of the fence, where it toppled and fell on the ground.
Now the sight of a big mob of damp-looking blokes all with footy jumpers, shorts and bare feet
Is something you’ll see on a boat or in a park, but not usual up the main street.
So when P’lice Sergeant Cummings saw the mob running he followed them, using his nouse,
Caught the mob hanging round when the bag hit the ground from the fence outside the blue house.
And McGill arrived just at that moment, as the ‘Ariel’ crew pondered our fates,
But lucky for us as it happened…the cop and McGill were good mates.
Cummings knew that McGill’s mob were not stick-up men, so the Sergeant said with a big grin
“Looks to me like you found it under the boatshed and are on your way up to hand it in”.
So we nodded and said that’s the way it transpired, it was legal and all above board.
And we brightened up somewhat when Cummings announced that there’d probably be a reward.
But our dreams had been dashed, though with plenty of cash we’d prob’ly get through it real fast,
So we slowly walked back to the boatshed, stripped the sails and lowered the mast.
That Smokey had run up the wrong street, fell flat on his face and went dark,
And an ambulance took him to casualty at Balmain Hospital up on the Park.
McGill and I went up to visit, and told the whole story to him.
“Now my sister’s kid will never get well, but thanks for not dobbing me in”.
Cummings was right, there was a reward, we agreed it should go to McGill.
And the first thing he did was go up to the Park and pay Smokey’s hospital bill.
He left him the rest for his sister’s kid, the best use for the reward.
And Smokey said thanks, and pissed off to Melbourne as soon as he got out of the ward.
It was only a few weeks later that we heard of another big job.
This time it was down in Melbourne and the Police thought it was the same mob.
‘Twas the talk of the town for another few weeks, it was bandied about all the time.
Then one day I answered the phone at the shed, it was young Harry West on the line.
“Your new mains’l is ready, McGill” said young Harry, “What mains’l?” said a puzzled McGill.
Said Harry “Some Melbourne bloke ordered the sail, wired the money to cover the bill”.
“Bugger me!” said McGill, “That’s one for the books!” and his face broke into a broad smile.
It seems that sometimes things will work out, if you’ll go the extra mile.
"The Sculler"
There was movement at the boatshed for the word had passed around
That the bloke who bought the scull refused to pay.
‘Twas the first McGill had built since some time before the War
His sculls were legend’ry before he went away.
Built as light as light could be from a leafy Cedar tree
It had everything that rowers think that matter.
And the bloke who had it built was a champion at sculls
And had entered in this year’s Balmain Regatta.
Though a champion at sculls he was not a champion bloke
But McGill knew boat and man were in the hunt.
So he let him take the scull for a test row on Snail’s Bay
Even though he knew the bloke was just a (not very nice person).
He didn’t come back to the shed at the end of his row
But was seen disappearing ‘round the Point.
McGill jumped in the launch, and set off to chase the bloke,
And called to me “Mutt, stay and mind the joint!”
“Balmain two-nine” I said into the new-fangled telephone
When it rang (McGill had just had it installed).
“I’m not paying for that boat, it can barely stay afloat”.
I said “He’s not here but I’ll tell him that you called”.
I relayed the fateful message when the skipper moored the launch
And his face went black as if he’d dug up coal.
“The mob’ll back you Skip, whatever you decide, I promise you”
I said, we’d never leave our skipper in a hole.
“Can’t afford a lawyer, Mutt, that bloke has got me by the nuts!”
Was the skipper’s sad lament and it was true.
That sculler bloke’s a lawyer-type himself with plenty dough
And to take him on would be a major blue.
So we plotted and we planned but nothing legal came to mind
And it seemed as if McGill became resigned.
But I knew he was a battler and would think of something soon
And he’d get the bloke to rights I think you’ll find.
Now in those days eighteens sailed two races on Balmain’s big day
In the morning and again just after lunch.
So quite early in the day the mighty ‘Ariel’ left Snail’s Bay
And off Long Nose found some scullers in a bunch.
See the scullers like the water to be smooth and bloody flat
And are usually gone before we’re on the water.
But this day an early South’ly had disrupted all their plans
So us eighteens met the sculls before we oughta.
They were spread out up ahead in an almost solid line
And as sail gives way to oar they had the right.
But a solid nasty gust put ‘Ariel’ almost on the plane
And to find a gap was gonna be real tight.
Now we’ll never know what thoughts were running through the skipper’s brain,
But the closest to a gap was just off right.
So the skipper bore off slightly and the speed picked up a tad,
And he said “We’re gonna give this bloke a fright!”
That the bloke who bought the scull refused to pay.
‘Twas the first McGill had built since some time before the War
His sculls were legend’ry before he went away.
Built as light as light could be from a leafy Cedar tree
It had everything that rowers think that matter.
And the bloke who had it built was a champion at sculls
And had entered in this year’s Balmain Regatta.
Though a champion at sculls he was not a champion bloke
But McGill knew boat and man were in the hunt.
So he let him take the scull for a test row on Snail’s Bay
Even though he knew the bloke was just a (not very nice person).
He didn’t come back to the shed at the end of his row
But was seen disappearing ‘round the Point.
McGill jumped in the launch, and set off to chase the bloke,
And called to me “Mutt, stay and mind the joint!”
“Balmain two-nine” I said into the new-fangled telephone
When it rang (McGill had just had it installed).
“I’m not paying for that boat, it can barely stay afloat”.
I said “He’s not here but I’ll tell him that you called”.
I relayed the fateful message when the skipper moored the launch
And his face went black as if he’d dug up coal.
“The mob’ll back you Skip, whatever you decide, I promise you”
I said, we’d never leave our skipper in a hole.
“Can’t afford a lawyer, Mutt, that bloke has got me by the nuts!”
Was the skipper’s sad lament and it was true.
That sculler bloke’s a lawyer-type himself with plenty dough
And to take him on would be a major blue.
So we plotted and we planned but nothing legal came to mind
And it seemed as if McGill became resigned.
But I knew he was a battler and would think of something soon
And he’d get the bloke to rights I think you’ll find.
Now in those days eighteens sailed two races on Balmain’s big day
In the morning and again just after lunch.
So quite early in the day the mighty ‘Ariel’ left Snail’s Bay
And off Long Nose found some scullers in a bunch.
See the scullers like the water to be smooth and bloody flat
And are usually gone before we’re on the water.
But this day an early South’ly had disrupted all their plans
So us eighteens met the sculls before we oughta.
They were spread out up ahead in an almost solid line
And as sail gives way to oar they had the right.
But a solid nasty gust put ‘Ariel’ almost on the plane
And to find a gap was gonna be real tight.
Now we’ll never know what thoughts were running through the skipper’s brain,
But the closest to a gap was just off right.
So the skipper bore off slightly and the speed picked up a tad,
And he said “We’re gonna give this bloke a fright!”
The view from the scull
Well the bloke that I just mentioned wasn’t sure of our intention
And I realised it was that lawyer bloke.
We figured just when he did we were on collision course.
The lawyer gulped and tried his fastest stroke.
If he hadn’t strived our bumpkin would have hit him in the throat
But his effort put his body out of view.
But the scull was long and narrow and still right across our bows
And the ‘Ariel’ simply cut the the scull in two.
“That’ll cost me” said McGill “but it was worth a little thrill
Just to see the look of fear on that bloke’s face”.
But we rounded up and tacked back to the mess we left behind
And offered help before we joined our race.
But the rowing launch was close and they had picked up bits of scull
And had plucked the lawyer from a deadly fate.
So we bore away to join our fleet near the flagship up the way,
Hoping that we wouldn’t be too late.
Well we won that morning’s race because the skipper was on fire,
And we all felt pretty cheery as we raced.
But the mood began to drop as the racing day went on.
In the arvo race result we were unplaced.
Skipper’s smile became a frown the more he thought about his deed,
He got glummer as the afternoon wore on.
True the lawyer bloke had clearly said he wasn’t gonna pay,
But to sink the scull was clearly in the wrong.
In the next few weeks the skipper didn’t seem his normal self,
While the sculler bragged to everyone in town
That he’d see McGill was ruined and he’d never work again.
McGill said “It’s a shame he didn’t drown.”
So we waited for a court date, seemed like months we had to wait,
And the lawyer bastard still refused to pay.
But we finally got a notice that McGill was brought to court
To see what really happened on that day.
Well to hear that lawyer rant about the day we ran him down
You’d think that we had sunk the Royal Yacht.
He barely mentioned that he took the scull and then refused to pay,
But his story was that he just plain forgot.
Now the magistrate had whiskers like Ned Kelly’s famous face,
But in grey and white on his distinguished jaw.
So we trusted that his rule would give McGill a good fair go,
And would keep his verdict well within the law.
He announced the lawyer bloke would pay the eighty quid he owed,
And McGill would have to build another boat.
And as well the skipper had to pay a fine of twenty quid
For the crime of not allowing the bloke to float.
But McGill said that he’d never build another for that bloke,
He’d done his dash as far as he’s concerned.
And he’d happily give up the eighty quid that he was owed,
And another scull would mean he’s doubly burned.
The beak said “There’s the matter of the fine of twenty pounds,
Mr McGill” he said “Do you need time to pay?”
“I do, your Honour” said McGill and he looked a little ill,
“Twenty quid’s a lot to round up in one day”.
Now I hadn’t thought to mention that the trial had drawn a crowd,
Lots of people in Balmain had stood in line.
And Jack MacGrath the butcher called out in his booming voice
“Here’s two quid of mine to go towards the fine”.
No sooner had he stood and waved his pound notes in the air
Than three publicans joined in with matching shouts.
And soon the crowd was on its feet holding notes and coins aloft
And it seemed no-one could see themselves left out.
Ten bob here, two bob there, sixpence from a bloke I’d never seen!
The fine was covered in what seemed just half-a-mo.
From labourers to shop owners, brickies, chippies, Mums and Dads,
The whole of Balmain felt McGill deserved a go.
McGill looked rather sheepish as he thanked the gen’rous throng.
The magistrate he couldn’t help but grin.
The sculler looked around as if he couldn’t trust his eyes,
And he knew they they wouldn’t do the same for him.
It’s not the money, not the house, not the cars that make a life.
All that’s good stuff but it simply ain’t enough.
You’re a poor man, even poorer than you you think, if you don’t
Have friends that will stand by you when it’s rough.
****************************************************************
And I realised it was that lawyer bloke.
We figured just when he did we were on collision course.
The lawyer gulped and tried his fastest stroke.
If he hadn’t strived our bumpkin would have hit him in the throat
But his effort put his body out of view.
But the scull was long and narrow and still right across our bows
And the ‘Ariel’ simply cut the the scull in two.
“That’ll cost me” said McGill “but it was worth a little thrill
Just to see the look of fear on that bloke’s face”.
But we rounded up and tacked back to the mess we left behind
And offered help before we joined our race.
But the rowing launch was close and they had picked up bits of scull
And had plucked the lawyer from a deadly fate.
So we bore away to join our fleet near the flagship up the way,
Hoping that we wouldn’t be too late.
Well we won that morning’s race because the skipper was on fire,
And we all felt pretty cheery as we raced.
But the mood began to drop as the racing day went on.
In the arvo race result we were unplaced.
Skipper’s smile became a frown the more he thought about his deed,
He got glummer as the afternoon wore on.
True the lawyer bloke had clearly said he wasn’t gonna pay,
But to sink the scull was clearly in the wrong.
In the next few weeks the skipper didn’t seem his normal self,
While the sculler bragged to everyone in town
That he’d see McGill was ruined and he’d never work again.
McGill said “It’s a shame he didn’t drown.”
So we waited for a court date, seemed like months we had to wait,
And the lawyer bastard still refused to pay.
But we finally got a notice that McGill was brought to court
To see what really happened on that day.
Well to hear that lawyer rant about the day we ran him down
You’d think that we had sunk the Royal Yacht.
He barely mentioned that he took the scull and then refused to pay,
But his story was that he just plain forgot.
Now the magistrate had whiskers like Ned Kelly’s famous face,
But in grey and white on his distinguished jaw.
So we trusted that his rule would give McGill a good fair go,
And would keep his verdict well within the law.
He announced the lawyer bloke would pay the eighty quid he owed,
And McGill would have to build another boat.
And as well the skipper had to pay a fine of twenty quid
For the crime of not allowing the bloke to float.
But McGill said that he’d never build another for that bloke,
He’d done his dash as far as he’s concerned.
And he’d happily give up the eighty quid that he was owed,
And another scull would mean he’s doubly burned.
The beak said “There’s the matter of the fine of twenty pounds,
Mr McGill” he said “Do you need time to pay?”
“I do, your Honour” said McGill and he looked a little ill,
“Twenty quid’s a lot to round up in one day”.
Now I hadn’t thought to mention that the trial had drawn a crowd,
Lots of people in Balmain had stood in line.
And Jack MacGrath the butcher called out in his booming voice
“Here’s two quid of mine to go towards the fine”.
No sooner had he stood and waved his pound notes in the air
Than three publicans joined in with matching shouts.
And soon the crowd was on its feet holding notes and coins aloft
And it seemed no-one could see themselves left out.
Ten bob here, two bob there, sixpence from a bloke I’d never seen!
The fine was covered in what seemed just half-a-mo.
From labourers to shop owners, brickies, chippies, Mums and Dads,
The whole of Balmain felt McGill deserved a go.
McGill looked rather sheepish as he thanked the gen’rous throng.
The magistrate he couldn’t help but grin.
The sculler looked around as if he couldn’t trust his eyes,
And he knew they they wouldn’t do the same for him.
It’s not the money, not the house, not the cars that make a life.
All that’s good stuff but it simply ain’t enough.
You’re a poor man, even poorer than you you think, if you don’t
Have friends that will stand by you when it’s rough.
****************************************************************