( The dog sat on the tuckerbox )

jeff0123

New Member
( The dog sat on the tuckerbox )
Nine Miles from Gundagai


I've done my share of shearing sheep,
Of droving and all that;
And bogged a bullock team as well,
On a Murrumbidgee flat.
I've seen the bullock stretch and strain
And blink his bleary eye,
And the dog sit on the tuckerbox
Nine miles from Gundagai.
I've been jilted, jarred and crossed in love,
And sand-bagged in the dark,
Till if a mountain fell on me,
I'd treat it as a lark.
It's when you've got your bullocks bogged,
That's the time you flog and cry,
And the dog sits on the tuckerbox
Nine miles from Gundagai.

We've all got our little troubles,
In life's hard, thorny way.
Some strike them in a motor car
And others in a dray.
But when your dog and bullocks strike,
It ain't no apple pie,
And the dog sat on the tuckerbox
Nine miles from Gundagai.


But that's all past and dead and gone,
And I've sold the team for meat,
And perhaps, some day where I was bogged,
There'll be an asphalt street,
The dog, ah! well he got a bait,
And thought he'd like to die,
So I buried him in the tuckerbox,
Nine miles from Gundagai
 

WILKAT

Member
Yes that is a great poem,Jeff.
have also stopped there many many times in my travels.
Not as good now with the big servo next door,i reckon they have wreck the whole site.
Even with the highway running next to it(before servo),it still had a country feel,
not now.
 
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jeff0123

New Member
Yes that is a great poem,Jeff.
have also stopped there many many times in my travels.
Not as good now with the big servo next door,i reckon they have wreck the whole site.
Even with the highway running next to it(before servo),it still had a country feel,
not now.

Totally agree wilkat leave it up to town planning to stuff it up
 

millsy

4x4 Earth Contributer
( The dog sat on the tuckerbox )
Nine Miles from Gundagai


I've done my share of shearing sheep,
Of droving and all that;
And bogged a bullock team as well,
On a Murrumbidgee flat.
I've seen the bullock stretch and strain
And blink his bleary eye,
And the dog sit on the tuckerbox
Nine miles from Gundagai.
I've been jilted, jarred and crossed in love,
And sand-bagged in the dark,
Till if a mountain fell on me,
I'd treat it as a lark.
It's when you've got your bullocks bogged,
That's the time you flog and cry,
And the dog sits on the tuckerbox
Nine miles from Gundagai.

We've all got our little troubles,
In life's hard, thorny way.
Some strike them in a motor car
And others in a dray.
But when your dog and bullocks strike,
It ain't no apple pie,
And the dog sat on the tuckerbox
Nine miles from Gundagai.


But that's all past and dead and gone,
And I've sold the team for meat,
And perhaps, some day where I was bogged,
There'll be an asphalt street,
The dog, ah! well he got a bait,
And thought he'd like to die,
So I buried him in the tuckerbox,
Nine miles from Gundagai

That's a great poem. It really shows the sweat and tears that the early settlers shed to make a go of it in this tough country.

I'm no poet, but I would love someone to write a poem about the settlers of today, and the hard work they do to make a go of it in a tough world.

They come over here to Australia to improve themselves, by being educated at one of our universities. Attend lectures and do their assignments through the day. At night they sell telephone plans or petrol, drive cabs, deliver junk mail. The sorts of jobs most self respecting Ozzies prefer to not bother with. When they find the time to be with and enjoy their family is a mystery to me. But they go through their days, studying and working, these quiet, modest, respectful people, to make a better life for their families - both here and at home, overseas.

A few weeks ago we were celebrating Austalia Day. Driving around with our national pride flying on top of our cars.

What have we become? We used to celebrate the battler. We used to be proud that we were born of the blood, sweat and tears of our hard working parents, and grandparents. And their parents, who came from overseas.

But now we bash and murder those that follow in their footsteps.
 
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teza h

Well-Known Member
Thanks for leting us revisit that one Jeff, good bit of ausi histery there. They may have bugger'd up the old dog on his tucker box site, but there cant bugger up the poem.
 

WILKAT

Member
That's a great poem. It really shows the sweat and tears that the early settlers shed to make a go of it in this tough country.

I'm no poet, but I would love someone to write a poem about the settlers of today, and the hard work they do to make a go of it in a tough world.

They come over here to Australia to improve themselves, by being educated at one of our universities. Attend lectures and do their assignments through the day. At night they sell telephone plans or petrol, drive cabs, deliver junk mail. The sorts of jobs most self respecting Ozzies prefer to not bother with. When they find the time to be with and enjoy their family is a mystery to me. But they go through their days, studying and working, these quiet, modest, respectful people, to make a better life for their families - both here and at home, overseas.

And then they lose their three year old son, found 'nine miles' from home, dead in the grass. And the dog sits on the tuckerbox. Poor dog. Poor mum and dad.

A few weeks ago we were celebrating Austalia Day. Driving around with our national pride flying on top of our cars.

What have we become? We used to celebrate the battler. We used to be proud that we were born of the blood, sweat and tears of our hard working parents, and grandparents. And their parents, who came from overseas.

But now we bash and murder those that follow in their footsteps. Or their little kids.

Hi Millsy,
Yes ,I understand where you are coming from,but there are also many other born here that are struggling Australian families.
& I'm not talking about scumbag families either.:mad:
My wife(Nurse) & I(Carpenter) have done alot of what you have mentioned in your quote.
I even when I worked full time at my normal place of work,I also worked at Eagle Boys Pizza for extra money (help pay for extra bills) I was absolutley rooted at the end of the day!!:(:(
& my Grandfather was one of the first soldiers that helped make the Kokoda Trail.
ALL my family are trades people.

This is where,I have to say,we DO NOT KNOW THESE PEOPLE,with all imigrants we do not know much about all of them.(its hard to get info about them).
Also alot of these people aren't here to study,a few of them are.
But alot are cue jumpers(on boats)with $$thousands to be spent on getting here.

There is alot of nationalies out(not all) there that are very rude,arogent & think of us Australians as a joke,thats why alot come here to rort & rip us off.

I know its not nice that child was killed,but don't make it racial as the media does.
how many other children & adults get killed in Aus,alot.
As soon as its an immigrant,its racial.
Anyway,that family you are talking about.The mother was studying cooking & the father could not get a job here,(so wouldnt call them pioneers:rolleyes:) & they where were going to return back to India anyway.
& did you notice that there was NOT any member of that family that was upset????
(Except for the grandmother,whose in India)
If that was my child I would be hysterical????

Thats my thoughts anyway.

& sorry Jeff,i got off what your post was about.:eek: keep up the good work.:D
 
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millsy

4x4 Earth Contributer
Wilkat, I won't say too much more. But I also apologise for making a stand about an issue that is a definite side line to Australia's great poetic heritage.

I do accept that many current Australians, like yourself, have flogged themselves to get where they are. Many still are - especially with the huge costs of buying a house these days.

And as far as that poor kid is concerned, and the extended family/friends, it appears I probably jumped the gun and made an assumption as to the cause of death. Hence the ammendments to my first posting.
 
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WILKAT

Member
Wilkat, I won't say too much more. But I also apologise for making a stand about an issue that is a definite side line to Australia's great poetic heritage.

I do accept that many current Australians, like yourself, have flogged themselves to get where they are. Many still are - especially with the huge costs of buying a house these days.

And as far as that poor kid is concerned, and the extended family/friends, it appears I probably jumped the gun and made an assumption as to the cause of death. Hence the ammendments to my first posting.

No worries Millsy,
PS.Wasn't having a go at you either.
Its good to have decent conversation with other peoples points of view as well.:)
 

millsy

4x4 Earth Contributer
Likewise Wilkat. I have some pretty strong thoughts on racism, as you can probably see. But you have made me think more about a few things in your posting. As did my missus!

As a teacher, I see these immigrants at school, both as students and fellow teachers, as amongst the hardest working and nicest people we have. They are so friendly and respectful. On Friday I jumped on the end of the line of the popular four square game. About twenty students from Africa and Afghanistan. They welcomed me into their group, encouraged me to jump the queue to the front of the line. But I was keen to wait and watch, and wait my turn. And in their normal, happy, laughing way they got on with it.

It has not always been like this. In the first two years there was a lot of misery in this corner of the yard. Some of our local students did not accept the newcomers. There was harrassment and bullying. But the Afghanistanis were a tough group. That's why they are here, and not six foot under back in their own country. They stood up for themselves. There was constant abuse hurled at the Asians.

One day I had to hold two kids apart for five minutes, by their throats. One was taller than myself, one of my best science students, and a nice chap, from Afghanistan. He was making a good go of it with his kick boxing skills, lashing out at the other student. But his legs were just a tad shorter than my outstretched arms. When another teacher finally came to my help, I saw that the other lad, a local, had a knife concealed up his sleeve! That same lad from Afghanistan is now in my 12 Physics class. He is still the gentleman - well spoken, respectful, well mannered. And one of the hardest working students in the school. He plans to go to university to better himself, and he is doing everything in his power to get there. Julia Gillard would love him. Apparently Australia needs more tertiary students if we are to compete in the world economy. We have lost the battle in the manufacturing industries to the Chinese.

Many of his mates, and the students from Africa, also have high ambitions. They aspire to be doctors, lawers, airline pilots, engineers, . . . This despite still learning the English language, and only having been in Australia a year or two. And in some cases having lost their parents as a result of civil wars in Africa. Some of them have what it takes. I hope they make it. They have a great attitude and a great spirit. They deserve success.

Thankfully our race hatred has practically gone. In fact I have seen no evidence of it at all this year! It seems to take a while for the locals to accept the new students. About two years in our case. The same thing happened in the eighties when we had a lot of Vietnamese boat people arriving in Australia. And there again the teachers soon realized that they were amongst our best students. They made every minute count, in every lesson. They did their homework. They asked for extra help at recess and lunch, and after school.

On Saturdays and Sundays there are about a hundred Africans who meet at the local Salvation Army church, a few doors down in my street. All dressed in their colourful clothing. All happy to be meeting with each other. They spend most of the day there. The kids playing outside, turning somersaults and running around.

And we have had an Afghanistan family move in next door to us about two years ago. Wonderful people. But our good friends who lived there for about six or seven years before, for some reason were very suspicious of them. They used racist terms towards them, when they spoke to us, apologising to us for having sold their house to people from Afghanistan! We are still good friends, but I just don't understand why they have such negative views about them, without even having had a chance to get to know them!

I feel we need to welcome these people, whether they intend to live here for the rest of their lives, or whether they are ambassadors for their countries, and intend taking their new skills to help those struggling back at home.

Wouldn't it be great if they also took back a simillar story about Australians being a happy, friendly, welcoming nation. But from what I read in the papers, and from personal experiences, it seems that in many cases we are not.
 
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millsy

4x4 Earth Contributer
Australia the lucky country (keep it real) ;)

Fair enough Ln65er. Probably getting my knickers in a not over nothing. Australia definitely is the lucky country, and hence why so many people want to come here!

Maybe I am not keeping things in perspective, and seeing this racism issue as bigger than it really is. Maybe being amplified by the newspapers, as suggested by Wilkat.

Must admit though, my (late) dad being a 'pommy b*****d', had a lot of stories to tell about his battles, with his fists, to make himself welcome back in the fifties, on the road gangs in the far north, and in the country towns of Oz where we lived. Not to mention the racism against the aboriginals that he experienced, and me also in 1983, when I drove around Australia.

And the inter-race fights in the car park outside Holden's, in the 60's, after the evening shifts, where the fists came out to settle differences.

Hopefully we have left all that behind us now.

Now let's get back on topic! Yes, I know, I started all this. My mind wanders a bit too often. Hopefully not when I'm driving!

Can't wait to get this motor bolted back together again, so I can get out into the bush again and escape all this city stress! The fresh air, flat plains, mountains, rivers and red dirt are so simple to understand!
 

millsy

4x4 Earth Contributer
What's your favourite Henry Lawson story? I love the Loaded Dog. And the one about the wife looking after the farm, sitting up all night because the snake slithered into the house. Can't remember the name of that one. Lent my book to a mate, so can't look it up.
 

BUSHNUT

Well-Known Member
Bloody Sheep

The sun was hot already - it was only 8 o'clock
The cocky took off in his Ute, to go and check his stock.
He drove around the paddocks checking wethers, ewes and lambs,
The float valves in the water troughs, the windmills on the dams.

He stopped and turned a windmill on to fill a water tank
And saw a ewe down in the dam, a few yards from the bank.
"Typical bloody sheep," he thought, "they've got no common sense,
"They won't go through a gateway but they'll jump a bloody fence."

The ewe was stuck down in the mud, he knew without a doubt
She'd stay there 'til she carked it if he didn't get her out.
But when he reached the water's edge, the startled ewe broke free
And in her haste to get away, began a swimming spree.



He reckoned once her fleece was wet, the weight would drag her down
If he didn't rescue her, the stupid sod would drown.
Her style was unimpressive, her survival chances slim
He saw no other option, he would have to take a swim.

He peeled his shirt and singlet off, his trousers, boots and socks
And as he couldn't stand wet clothes, he also shed his jocks.
He jumped into the water and away that cocky swam
He caught up with her, somewhere near the middle of the dam

The ewe was quite evasive, she kept giving him the slip
He tried to grab her sodden fleece but couldn't get a grip.
At last he got her to the bank and stopped to catch his breath
She showed him little gratitude for saving her from death.

She took off like a Bondi tram around the other side
He swore next time he caught that ewe he'd hang her bloody hide.
Then round and round the dam they ran, although he felt quite puffed
He still thought he could run her down, she must be nearly stuffed.

The local stock rep came along, to pay a call that day.
He knew this bloke was on his own, his wife had gone away
He didn't really think he'd get fresh scones for morning tea
But nor was he prepared for what he was about to see.

He rubbed his eyes in disbelief at what came into view
For running down the catchment came this frantic-looking ewe.
And on her heels in hot pursuit and wearing not a stitch
The farmer yelling wildly "Come back here, you lousy *****!"

The stock rep didn't hang around, he took off in his car
The cocky's reputation has been damaged near and far
So bear in mind the Work Safe rule when next you check your flocks
Spot the hazard, assess the risk, and always wear your jocks!
 
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