Between the Lines - Issue Thirteen

I was very glad to receive these terrific contributions to Between the Lines from Warren Fahey. Those interested in Australian collected bush and folk song might like to have a wander around Warren’s comprehensive web site - www.warrenfahey.com

Here are Warren’s three great finds, along with his notes of introduction…

I recently found two very elusive songs whilst digging away in the Mitchell Library. I was looking for railway material and came across a cutting book which had various old newspaper clippings. This was a popular pastime in the old days, especially in the bush where news was often scarce.
The first was a good version of the Derby Ram, localised to the NSW town of Mudgee, that was published without attribution in the Sydney Morning Herald, 1857, other than a note saying: ‘being a parody of a very old song’. The majority of collected verses have been closely allied to the British text so this find is all the more exciting. I have not been successful in establishing who Tom Wardell was although I have vague recollection of the name.

THE RAM OF MUDGEE
As I was going to Mudgee
Upon a market day,
I saw the finest ram, sirs,
Was ever fed on hay.

The grass that made his hay, sirs,
Was extra superfine,
The kind of grass that only grows
Along the Mudgee Line.

The fleece that was on this ram, sirs,
Was whiter than the flax.
It would have made a blanket
For all the Mudgee blacks.

The horns were on this ram, sirs,
If you should boil them down,
Would make enough of glue, sirs,
To glue all Mudgee Town.

Chorus
Dinkie-doodle-dum, sirs,
Dinkle-doodle, day,
He was the finest ram, sirs,
Was ever fed on hay.

The price that bought this ram, sirs,
Made all the bankers groan;
It stopped the English market,
Against Tom Wardell’s Loan.

It took two men to purchase
This ram from Mudgee Town;
He was so strong, the auctioneer
Could hardly knock him down.

Chorus
Dinkie-doodle-dum, sirs,
Dinkle-doodle, day,
He was the finest ram, sirs,
Was ever fed on hay.

The above contribution was followed up two weeks later with a further contribution by ‘Touchstone’ who shone some more light on the song's popularity because of a pet goat kept at Government House.

THE IDENTICAL RAM
As I was going to Derby,
Upon a market day,
I met the finest ram, sir,
That ever was fed on hay.
It had four feet to walk, sir,
And also four to stand, sir,
And every foot it had, sir,
Would cover an acre of land, sir.

The horns it had on its head, sir,
Would have held a regiment of men, sir,
And the tongue it had in its mouth, sir,
Would have fed them everyone, sir,
Indded, sir. ‘tis true , sir,
I scorn to tell a lie;
And if you don’t believe, sir,
You may see it as well as I.

The next surprise came when I found what almost stands up as the Holy Grail of Australian folklore - a detailed version of an elusive Bold Jack Donohue ballad! The following was published in the Evening News (29/9/1903) with the following note: “I see by this evening’s ‘News’ your account of Bold Jack Donahoe, the bushranger. A curious coincidence, yesterday being the anniversary of his death. I here append an old ballad I heard sung nearly 50 years ago.” Mick Fox (‘an old native’) of Botany Street, Waterloo. NSW.

THE BOLD JACK DONOHOE
Oh, it’s come, all ye lads of loyalty,
And a sorrowful fate I’ll tell –
It’s of a gallant hero,
Who in battle lately fell.
His name it was Jack Donohoe,
Of courage and renown,
Who scorned to live in slavery,
Or humble to the Crown.

The twenty-first of August
Had been his fatal day,
When he and his two comrades
Were cruising the highway,
He was met by three policemen
Who called on him to stand,
Come on! come on! Cried Donohoe,
We’ll fight you, man for man.

He spoke unto his comrades:
My boys, I hope you’ll gain
This day to fight for liberty,
And loud might sound your fame,
There is only three of them;
Our number’s just the same,
Oh, no, said cowardly Walmsley,
For don’t you see, nine or ten more,
Advancing over yon hill,
Then begone, you cowardly rascals,
Begone, I say, from me,
For if we were united,
We would gain the victory.

The police commenced their firing,
Poor Donohoe did say;
My curse attend you traitors,
Who from them run away,
Oh, one stood in the front of him,
Another on each side,
At last poor gallant-hearted Jack
Received the ball and died.

He was chased about by hundreds
For three long years or more;
At last it was by God’s decree,
That he should rove no more,
He would rather range the forest
Like some beast or kangaroo
Before he’d work one hour for Government,
Cried Bold Jack Donohoe.

And as he closed his struggling eyes,
He bid this world adieu,
Saying, all good people
Pray for the soul
Of Bold Jack Donohoe

The Gallant Hero - Jack Donohoe
From a sketch made by Sir Thomas Mitchell after Donohoe's Death