The Collection

BAWDRY AND DANCE IN THE AUSTRALIAN TRADITION

© 2005 Warren Fahey

The history of dance in Australia is also a history of social behaviour – and misbehaviour. There is also a bawdy element that befits Australia’s male-dominated pioneering past. Anyone who has attended a bush B&S (Bachelor and Spinster dance) will be able to relate endless stories about drunken, wild and weird behaviour ñ and that’s just from the females at the party! – and a continuation of the bawdy tradition, including the singing of bawdy or filthy songs. These gatherings allow the young jackeroos and jilleroos, and other rural youth, to ‘let off steam’ which usually means getting as ‘drunk as skunks’. The sight of the morning after includes ‘bodies’ littered over the surrounding area, many in dinner jackets, sleeping where they fell.
Bawdy songs have been part of the B&S for a long time and show no signs of disappearing.

From the earliest days of the colony there were two streams of dance: the polite dances for the gentlefolk and the rowdier for the commoners. The colonial military top brass and their wives gathered regularly to dance quadrilles, waltzes and polkas with music played by the military bands of the colony. These were the occasions where the eligible daughters of the colony could socially meet with acceptable young men in a socially acceptable environment. The Governor’s residence was the favoured venue and it was not uncommon for a grand dinner to be followed by a session of dancing.

On the other side of town, in the taverns and barracks, soldiers and any available wenches, many of them prostitutes, would whoop-it-up dancing set dances to the simple accompaniment of instruments like the fiddle and fife. In the convict barracks hornpipes and Irish step dances would have been performed to the sound of whistles, fiddles and Gaelic mouth-music.

As the colony developed the main dances became balls and to be invited to the Governor’s Ball was considered the social prize. The invitees included military hierarchy, British visitors, especially those reporting on the colony, and those successful landowners and business operators deemed acceptable for such grand occasions. Some wealthy residents also hosted balls, as did the military. The military bands, being permanent fixtures, created music for special occasions and some of these musical relics have been preserved in the State Library of New South Wales and the National Library of Australia.

The main colonial band was attached to the Paddington Regiment and still exists today at the Victoria Barracks.

The interior settlement of the colony was led by a mix of retired military and government officers, free settlers and ticket-of-leave convicts, all of whom had an ongoing association with the colonial government through its program of indentured convict labour, land and stock grants. Sheep and edible farm produce were the main agricultural pursuit. As the colony, including some of its furthest posts, expanded so did the need for social entertainment. It was a time for fine young girls to be ‘introduced’ to the right potential partner and, in most cases, the farm hands were not seen as suitable. Once again the social dance, even if it were staged in a newly mown paddock, was the usual meeting ground. The etiquette of England still ruled in the back paddocks.

It was the discovery of gold in the 1850s that really changed the face of Australia. It opened up the backcountry, forged new settlements in what we now know as Victoria, South Australia, Tasmania and Queensland, and attracted free men and women from all over the world. The men came determined to ‘make their fortune’ in the goldfields of Bathurst, Gulgong, Ballarat, Bendigo and so many other alluvial river areas of colonial Australia. In the early 1970s I tape recorded an old prospector, Rad Dawson, who summed it up nicely by saying: “There was plenty of gold out there, but a bloody lot of earth mixed in with it.”

The shipping newspapers, the ones actually printed during the long voyage, and the many ‘Advice to Emigrants’ booklets (mostly published by church organizations), talk about the importance of dancing as an acceptable seaboard activity and also in the colony.

One can imagine the ship’s senior officers and would-be millionaires escorting the line of demure young ladies to the small ship’s dance floor and flying around the room with the latest craze, the polka mazurka.

By the late 1860s many of the goldrush tent camps had become sizeable towns, if only by the addition of hotels replacing sly grog
shanties, general stores opening and more permanent structures replacing the canvas tents. It was a very male-dominated society and the arrival of females, including many keen-eyed commercial gals, was a time for celebration. It was usual to announce the arrival of a group of females in the local newspaper. Most came to ‘perform’ at the local hotel.

Some of the hotels were quite large and many also had large ‘concert halls’ where German bands, minstrel shows and other theatrical attractions performed. There was quite a lot of money to be made as a goldfield’s entertainer. They were also large enough for dancing however the biggest demand was for girls dancing on the stage rather than the usual dance environment. These were really girly shows and the more titillating the better.

The story of femme fatale Lola Montez and her ‘spider dance’ is well documented but enough to say the dance was based on the concept of a spider, possibly a tarantula, crawling into her clothing with Ms Montez vainly trying to find it. This meant the removal of several layers of clothing and this sent the concert hall attendees wild.

THE NIGHT LOLA MONTEZ PLAYED

And many a bearded digger bold
In scarlet shirts arrayed
Assembled in the house the night
Lola Montez played
[Quoted in an article ‘a pair of pistols ñ an actors story’ in Wattle Blossom magazine 1881]

By all accounts Irish and Scottish step dances were popular in the bush and mostly danced by men. No doubt crossed walking sticks or shepherd’s sticks would have been as good as two swords.

As the towns grew the bush dances became bigger events. Most towns had a monthly dance with local musicians performing in the most appropriate hall be it the Railway Institute, Oddfellows, Masonic or School of Arts. Sometimes, in more remote areas it was the local woolshed where the greasy lanolin had already made the floor surface ideal for gliding, sliding and waltzing. It was at these dances that another tradition developed: men down one end and women the other. Truth was, bush men were usually unaccustomed to female company and many were painfully shy. The girls were usually not much more comfortable in their newly-made, homemade crinoline outfits. Most dances had a ‘master of ceremonies’ who also ‘called’ the set dances. The music depended who was available however most halls had a piano (piano tuners travelled the bush regularly) and this would be augmented with fiddle, concertina and accordion, and, sometimes, homemade musical instruments that could contribute to the volume.

At the dances it was also custom to have local entertainment, be it a reciter, solo singer, glee group or even someone making animal and bird noises. If you were lucky you might have even heard a gumleaf virtuoso. Some of these dances would have been boisterous affairs where the men drank far too much in an attempt to conceal their shyness. This became known as ‘Dutch courage’

Nudgee School of Arts. Qld

Dutch courage – false courage. Numerous expressions referring to the Dutch originate in Anglo-Dutch enmity during the 17th and early 18th centuries, when there were trade disputes, naval embargoes and three wars, as a result of which Dutch became a pejorative word. Generally, it indicated a lack of genuineness: Dutch courage is that induced by drinking alcohol, a Dutch uncle gives unpalatable heavy-handed advice (which is not to say bad advice), and double Dutch is gibberish or nonsense. The first of these may also allude to the Dutch fondness for gin and the second to Calvinistic sternness. …Later expressions are less derisive and more jocular, implying the sort of quirkiness many nations attribute to their neighbours: a Dutch treat, sometimes called going Dutch, means paying one’s share of expenses (i.e. no treat at all) and I’m a Dutchman is a general expression of disbelief.

It should also be noted that this ridicule of the Dutch was extended to Australia and many ‘Double Dutch’ songs were circulated in the mid-to-late 19th century. It is further noted that one of the most popular drinks in the colony was ‘Dutch Gin’.

The song ‘Wooyoo Ball’ which later became Euabalong Ball (as fashioned and originally popularised by A. L. Lloyd) captures the atmosphere.

EUABALONG BALL Oh, who hasn’t heard of Euabalong Ball, Where the lads of the Lachlan, the great and the small, Come bent on diversion from far and from near To cast off their troubles for just once a year. Like stringy old wethers, the shearers in force All rushed to the bar as a matter of course. While waltzing his cliner, the manager cursed, ‘Cause someone had caught him a jab with his spurs. There were sheilas in plenty, some two or three score, Some two-tooths, some weaners, some maybe some more, With their fleeces all dipped and so fluffy and clean, The finest young shearlings that ever was seen. The boundary-riders was friskin’ about But the well-sinkers seemed to be feelin’ the drought. If the water was scarce, well, the whisky was there, And what they couldn’t drink, boys, they rubbed in their hair. There was music and dancin’ and goin’ the pace. Some went at a canter, some went at a race. There was buckin’ and glidin’ and rootin’ and slidin’, And to vary the gait, some couples collidin’. Oh, Euabalong Ball was a wonderful sight, Rams among the two-tooths the whole flamin’ night. And many young girls will regret to recall The polkas they danced at Euabalong Ball.

One of the most important events in the Sydney calendar was the Lord Mayor’s Ball and several songs and poems exist ridiculing the pomp surrounding its very existence.

Following song Aug 21 1844. Sydney Punch. WF Collection

THE LORD MAYOR’S FANCY DRESS BALL For Governor Gipps & his lady were there in close tete-a -tete with -the Mayoress & Mayor & in trimly dressed Parker and smart Mereweather in the train of her Ladyship chattered together On the mayoress attended her maids of honour & her son in pages dress waited upon her Sir Maurice 0 Connell the forces commander Appeared among the guests a delighted “bystander Deas Thompson so stately & Biddell so hearty in civic costume were attached to the party & majors a captains attended the muster their scarlet coats brightening the glittering cluster & groups of fair ladies their faces unveil and sparkle like the stars in her ladyships tail SOURCE: Aug 21 1844. Sydney Punch. [WF Collection]

Fashion is an important part of dancing and that includes the dances themselves. In the 19^th century the most popular dances were a reminder of the courtly century before where preposterously dressed men and women wearing powdered curly wigs, curtsied and bowed in set dances like mechanical figures on a calliope. Thankfully, much of the stuffiness had been set aside, especially in the rural areas, as the partners swung around the halls in the Lancers, Alberts and other set dances. The varsoviana, schottische and polka were also popular with particular dances like The Berlin Polka sweeping the country as the ‘latest dance’ from Europe. In the cities ‘dancing masters’ taught these new dances to an eager public.

The following parody of Sally in Our Alley from the
W Fahey Collection/ Australian Melodist No 21. Circa 1880, is an example of how dancing and dancers fascinated the public.

SALLY IN THE BALLET Of all the girls that are so smart There’s none like pretty Sally; She’s getting fifteen bob a week For dancing in the ballet. There is no lady in the land On whom I’m sweet like Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley, At seven each night she goes to work, For little time’s allowed her To seize her make-up box and jerk On cheeks the paint and powder. She’s pretty punctual, too, to time, She leads the blooming ballet; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. Of all the days that’s in the week, I dearly love but one day— With no rehearsal, so to speak, For Sally on the Sunday. ‘Tis then in my bell-bottomed pants I walk abroad with Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. When Christmas comes about again, My Sally, light and airy, Will in a Melbourne pantomime Come out strong as a fairy. She’ll have to speak two lines or so, And that not comic-ally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. I study, Walter Bentley-like, My object princi-pally To be a Henry Irving, when Twill be all up with Sally. For then I’ll tell my tale of love- Yes, then I’ll marry Sally; She is the darling of my heart, And she lives in our alley. SOURCE:parody of Sally in Our Alley from the W Fahey Collection/ Australian Melodist No 21. Circa 1880

I mentioned ‘bawdry’ in my introduction. In 2005, as part of my general collecting of bawdry, I set out to gather bawdry associated with dancing. I was encouraged to do this after realising I had a couple of examples that I had noted down in the early seventies. A case of where there’s smoke there’s fire!

In 2005 I wrote to several friends and also circulated requests to dancers and musicians, especially in the folk circuit. These yielded a few contributions but my prime source came from other collectors, especially Peter Ellis, in Victoria. Peter has done a lot of work in collecting and restoring traditional dance music in Australia.

Dance bawdry appears to have developed as colloquial expressions to remind musicians of dance names. This is a real issue with many musicians and the name of the tune is often the one thing that immediately recalls the tune. Many tune names are derived from the musical pattern of the piece so Varsoviana becomes Arse Over Anna, or simply Arso. It is a phonetic way of remembering and, considering the average player of traditional music is confronted with hundreds and sometimes thousands of tunes, especially with variants. The naming of tunes also varies across a community. For example, a traditional tune transposed to Australia in the 19^th century (or last month) could have had several titles and, just as relevant, it may also have had tune variations to distinguish it from another community. Say, for example, the Irish ‘Wearing of the Green’, could have been known under that title in Tipperary but in Galway it was known as ‘Paddy Letting off Steam’, a simple play on the structure of the title. Alternatively it could very well be known in Donegal as ‘Paddy Foley’s Tune’ because everyone in Donegal knew that Paddy Foley played that tune on his fiddle. He had a certain agreed ownership that entitled the tune to carry his name. At a dance someone would simply say: “Paddy Foley’s in D” – even if Paddy was not in attendance.

The fiddle was extremely popular in Australia because it was usually inexpensive and, of course, it was light and loud.

There is also the fact that musicians can be smart-arses and being separated from the main body of dancers, usually by sitting on a stage or rostrum, allowed them to make comments, often bawdy, about the dancers and individuals. Referring to certain dancers in bawdy terms was an ‘in joke’ to be shared by the musicians.

Comperes (or MC’s) also injected bawdy humour into the tradition and have been known to sing parody verses of popular songs associated with certain dances.
“First lady forward, second lady pass, third lady’s finger up the forth lady’s arse”

BAWDY DANCE & TUNE NAMES

Circassian Circle = Circumcissional Circle
Virginia Reel = Vagina Reel

Evening Three Step … Evening Three Stumble
Barn Dance … The Cocky’s Hop
Lucille Waltz … Loosewheel Waltz.
Schottische … Short Squeeze
Gypsy tap = Tipsy Jap (all above from Peter Ellis)
Sheebeg Shemore = She Begged for More

Arsehole Brown For Tea. Ask Old Brown For Tea
Banish Misfortune = Vanish Me Foreskin (All above WF Collection)
“Arse over Anna’ (Varsoviana) – from Sally Sloane, Lithgow, 1980

The grand chain figure of the Lancers, figure 5, Peter Ellis’s grandmother used to sing:THE BILLYGOAT’S ARSEThe tune being The Girl I Left Behind Me) (aka The Woodpecker’s Song. WF)’Well I stuck my nose up a billy goat’s arse, And the smell was enough to blind me,So I took his prick for a walking stick And his balls I left behind me.'(Frank Thompson’s variation, and his balls they dragged behind me.)

Another Lancers parody (collected by WF from P Dick, Wyoming, NSW):

Lancers

Third party cross over and fourth lady pass
And the fifth lady’s finger up the sixth lady’s arse
Bow to your partners, salute one and all
And the girl with the dirty arse

Turn your back to the wall.

Varsovienna

(Peter Ellis)to the tune ‘Babes in the wood”

“Cock your leg up Sal Brown
Let the water run down”

From Fiddle player Eileen McCoy – Tasmania,
to the tune of The Irish Washerwoman:

The Irish Washerwoman

“Oh you dirty young bugger how dare you presume
To piss in the bed when there’s a pot in the room
You should have been hit ’round the head with a broom
Before the daylight of the dawning”

Some derived dance names have no explanation for their widespread popularity and are not necessarily bawdy.

Cock O’ the North is well known as Aunty Mary Had A Canary

Aunty Mary

In many cases these tunes also attract a parody verse (or two) sung by musicians, and quite often picked up by dancers and ‘passed on’.

Aunty Mary had a Canary
Thought it was a duck
Took it behind the kitchen door and taught it how toÉÉ.
Fried eggs for breakfast, Fried eggs for lunch (and can’t remember the rest)
From John Williams via Peter Ellis

Cock o’ the North

(Aunty Mary) From Peter Ellis’s great aunt Beat

‘Aunty Mary, Uncle Charlie, I’ve lost the leg of my draws,
Aunty Mary, Uncle Charlie, won’t you lend me yours.’

And another From the late John Ottery
‘Aunty Mary had a canary up the leg of her draws,
When it came down, its beak was brown,
And it said I’m the cock of the north.’

And from John Lepley

‘Aunty Mary, Uncle Charlie,
Stood in a bucket of eggs,
Aunty Mary, Uncle Charlie,
The yolks ran down their legs.’

John Williams also contributed a bawdy parody of that 20^th century dance hall favourite, Daisy, Daisy Give Me Your Answer Do. (First heard in Arab CafŽ at Lorne, Victoria, Jan 1968)

Daisy

Daisy, Daisy, give me your tit to chew
I’m half crazy all for a root with you
It won’t be a stylish entry
I can’t afford a frenchie
But you’ll look sweet
Between the sheets
Of a double bed built for two

On Top Of Old Smokey

was another popular song. This contribution Rowan Webb, NSW.

On top of Old Smokey, as everyone knows lives Marilyn Munroe without any clothes.And John Milce, Sydney:On top of old Smokey where nobody goes there lies Sabrina without any clothes Along came Roy Rogers, clippity clop down with his trousers and out with his cock

Peter Ellis’s sister recalled this parody of She’ll Be Coming ‘Round The Mountain.

She’ll be coming round the mountain,
pissing like a fountain,
when the chain on her bicycle brakes. She’ll be sitting in the grass with the pedal up her arse and her tits playing ping-pong with the spokes.

FOLLOW THE BAND

(From John Lepley, Victoria)

Hey rig a jig, kiss a little pig, follow the band,
Follow the band, with your tool in your hand,
Hey rig a jig, kiss a little pig, follow the band,

Follow, follow the band.

I first heard this in Newcastle, late 1960s, (WF) as

‘Hey jig a jig,
Fuck a little piggy-wig
Follow the band’

Peter Ellis recalled the locals at Nariel (including David Alleway) singing a parody to the ubiquitous Spanish Waltz tune (derivative of The Cachouca) known under various names such as My Father Was A Dutchman, Mary is a-Weeping etc.

‘Once she was a virgin, a virgin, a virgin,
Once she was a virgin, but look at her now.’

Bob Michell collected a full text of the above (a variant) in the 1950s from Enos Newitt (refer tapes in W Fahey/National Library Collection). I also located a set of milder verses in the Australian Melodist Songbook (circa 1880, Melbourne)

Then American song, and popular dance tune, Redwings, also attracted a lot of parody.

‘Oh the moon shines bright on Charlie Chapman’, (sic Chaplin?) From Peter Ellis

In 1975, at Sofala, I recorded the following from Owen Judd of Wollongong.

There once was an Indian maid,
Who said she wasn’t afraid
To lay on her back for two-and-a -zack
And let the cowboys whop it up her crack

One day she got a surprise
Her belly began to rise
Out popped a nigger – and began to frig ‘er
With his arsehole covered in flies.

And another that ran the complete parody of the song:

REDWINGS [PARODY] There once was an Indian maid, and she was sore afraid That the big buckaroo, would ram it up her flue As on the bed she laid. So she filled her snatch with sand, and held it in her hand To keep the boys from forbidden joys In Redwing’s promised land. Oh, the moon shines bright on little Redwing, as she lay sleeping There came a-creeping, ’twas the buckeroo with eyes a-peeping Under the flap of Redwing’s tepee Now that buckeroo was wise, he slipped between her thighs He plucked and wheezed and tickled at her knees He made Little Redwings open her eyes. She reached for her bowie knife, to fight for her dear life It flashed in the sky as she let it fly And his pegging days were over. Now the sun shines bright on Little Redwing, as she lays yawning There hangs a warning, two balls and a prick adorning The flap of Redwing’s tepee Girls if you want to be wives, put away your knives Boys like to play, have a roll in the hay But they don’t want to pay for the rest of their lives So mind what mother said, when you’re lying on your bed If you want to get laid, don’t reach for the blade Have a hell of a time instead. SOURCE:parody of Redwings

There are quite a lot of bawdy songs about dancing and the most widespread has a very noble history in as much as the great Robert Burns contributed the model verses. It then became more bawdy over time as it described the great Ball at Kerrymuir (various spellings) including the classic verses:

Four and twenty virgins came down from Inverness
When the ball was over there were four and twenty less.
There was fookin’ in the highways and fookin’ in the drains
You couldn’t hear the bagpipes for the semen in the drains.

They were fookin’ on the stairway and fooking in the halls
You couldn’t hear the music for the clanging of the balls.

The song then goes and introduces several identities:

Sarah McGregor she was there, she had the crowd in fits
By diving off the mantelpiece and landing on her tits.

Sir Winston Churchill he was there, down behind the bar

When he couldn’t raise a fat, he used a black cigar.

Interestingly one version I found introduced a variant of the above-mentioned lines from the First set of The Lancers:

First lady forward, second lady back
Third lady’s finger up the fourth lady’s crack

Fifth lady curtsy, sixth lady pass
Seventh lady’s finger up the eighth lady’s arse.

Many of the versions of the Ball of Kerrymuir offer a common chorus of:

Who’ll do me this time, who’ll do me now?
The one that did me last time, must have used a plow
(or: cannot do me now)

Another perennial favourite was the progressive barn dance tune Sweet Violets and this too attracted many bawdy verses.

The very innocent chorus to the song is well known:

Sweet violets, sweeter than the roses,
Covered all over from head to toe
Covered all over with sweet violets.

The feature of this particular song is that it intentionally misleads the listener who is expecting a filthy ending but gets more innocence:

Susan was a nice friend, with plenty of class
She knocked the boys dead when she wriggled herÉÉ then the singer(s) goes into the chorus lines.

And another shows how far the verses can go (and they did):

Took the horse from the stable to go to the hunt
His wife in the bedroom powdering herÉ..Sweet Violets etc

Most of the Bawdy dance ditty’s I presented at one of the early Folklore
Conferences, if you have that publication.
But I’ll give you what I can from memory, you did write out your lancers
ditty for me at the time.

Peter Ellis comments: “Traditional player, Harry McQueen could never play Men of Harlech properly because of a dirty ditty where the tune had to be modified to fit the lyrics. It was played and therefore sang in Sir Roger de Coverley and sets such as Lancers, First Set and Alberts. It got so bad, the men’s voices getting too loud, the MC vetoed the musicians from playing the tune from then on.”

‘There’s the man that stuffed my daughter,
Filled her up with soapy water,
Now he’s got to pay me twelve and six a week.
There’s the man that stuffed her,
There’s the man that stuffed her,
Filled her up with soapy water,
Now he’s got to pay me twelve and six a week.

Peter Ellis comments: “Attached Song which a country and western singer gave the Gay Charmers and myself to sing at the Drovers’ Camp at Camooweal 18 months back. The young fella didn’t know what tune to use. It was obvious to us it was Sweet Violets, but he didn’t know it. Tricky to fit the lyrics to the tune but (to use a Qld expressive ending).”

THE ASSUMING SONG (to the verse of Sweet Violets)

DROVER’S DITTY

To Yip I Addi I Ay
Introductory section not to that tune

‘Sing of joy, sing of bliss, sing of arseoles and piss’

Now to the tune, ‘Oh rip my knickers away, away,
Oh rip my knickers away, I don’t care what becomes of me,
As long as you play with me c,u,n,t.

MARY QUEEN OF VIRGINS

(from Peter Ellis) – Also to the intro of Repasz

Never been done,
Clean as a bun,

Mary Queen of the Virgins.
Oh what a pity she’s only one titty
To feed the baby on.’

In 1972 I recorded the following choice parody to one of Australia’s most popular songs.

Road to Gundagai

There’s a widgie on her back,
And she’s lying on the track,

Upon the road to Gundagai.
There’s a bodgie there beside her, a
And I’ll bet my balls he’ll ride ‘er

Beneath these sunny skies.
There’s a grunt from her front
As he shoves it up her cunt,
Upon the road to Gundagai.
No more will so roam with a belly full of foam,

Upon the road to Gunadagai.

The bawdy tradition did not end at the arrival of the twentieth century, in fact, it accelerated. Liberal thought, especially in universities, encouraged such singing. In some ways it was a snub at the crusty Victorian morals of the previous century.

Dancing, of course, went through several dramatic changes. The Charleston faze ushered in a craze for semi bawdy humour based on the ‘flappers’ – the young girls who brazenly danced the Charleston – and several rather priggish songs were created and published in a weekly magazine (Sydney) titled ‘Flapper’. Hollywood influenced the dance world after audiences saw their favourite stars including Clarke Gable, Loretta Young, Fred Astaire, Ginger Rodgers, etc twirling around in glamorous settings. Then came the ‘dance palais’ where live jazz-based orchestras played in venues such as the Trocadero (Sydney). These were extremely popular and often broadcast live to radio. Refer to my Yesterday’s Australia series of CDs and the Frank Coughlan and Barbara James CDs for examples of this fine music. The next wave was jitterbug and, around the same time in the fifties, square dancing, then rock and roll and a flow of gimmick dances including the Twist, Madison, Huckleluck, Stomp and so many more.

The environment for all the above dances, from the WW1 period through to now, did not encourage bawdiness. The exception being the less formal dances in the suburbs and country where dances like the barn dance and sets still survived and so did the tradition of singing along, including bawdy verses. The time around WW2 certainly saw more bawdy songs being sung and my Australian Folklore Unit tapes, especially of women involved with the Land Army include several such ditties.

My father, George Fahey, also sang these songs including Sweet Violets and a bawdy song, Whollop It Home, that offered the enticing chorus:

Put your belly close to mine and wriggle your bum.

One of the songs from the 1950s concerns Kings Cross, Sydney’s late-night red light and club destination. It was set to the Darktown Strutters’ Ball. The last line is sung deliberately slow as a lament.

KINGS CROSS HARLOT’S BALL Well, I fucked in Cuba and I fucked in Spain And I fucked all over the Spanish Main But the best fuck of them all Was when I fucked my mother-in-law Last Saturday night at the Kings Cross Harlot’s Ball Without her pants onÉ. Well, they lined a hundred sheilas up against the wall And I bet five quid I could fuck them all But, when I got to ninety eight I thought my poor old prick would break So I went down town and had some oyster stew And then came back and did the other two And now I’m feeling fine Got fucking right off my mind The other night at the kings Cross Harlots Ball. Without her pants onÉÉ And then I went on down to hell ‘Cos me and Nick we get on well I asked him for a glass of water When he went out I fucked his daughter When he came back with the glass I shoved that thing right up his arse And if you think that was a joke You should have heard my penis croak, Last Saturday night at the Kings Cross Harlots Ball. TUNE: Darktown Strutters’ Ball.

Today’s fast-moving world has little time for singing and dancing has become either an antiquated art form or a move while you are blitzed style. It is certainly not conducive to bawdy song and the demand for louder and louder still has all but killed the custom of singing. You will find the lads, and some of the girls, singing at the occasional B&S, or on a bus to a footie match, or around a bushwalker’s campfire, but that’s about it. Pity. A sign of the times.

DANCE MUSIC

For the most comprehensive history of social dance in Australia, I recommend Dr Heather Clarke’s website https://www.colonialdance.com.au/

Here is a very special page on this site. In 2012 I embarked on a project to record an album with a group of hand-picked musicians who could interpret a particular sound I had in my head and imagination – that would evoke the music of the old bush dances. You can read all about the project, the musicians and the tunes in the accompanying PDF booklet. The CD is still available as a download from iTunes and other internet platforms. If you do purchase it, and you should (there are more tunes than the ones here) make sure you also download the digital booklet.

https://itunes.apple.com/au/album/warren-faheys-australian-bush-orchestra/id1149926437

The most wonderful thing about this project is that I was able to include actuality recordings from my oral history collection housed at the National Library of Australia. These snippets bring the tunes to life.

Bush Orchestra Booklet

Sally Sloane talks about dancing and teaching boys the steps with a ditty – recorded by Warren Fahey 1988, Lithgow, NSW. Followed by Australian Bush Orchestra (ABO) playing ‘Varso/Put Your Little Foot Here’

Susan Colley, aged 92, talks about the old dances. Recorded by Warren Fahey, 1973, Bathurst. Followed by the ABO playing ‘Ebb Wren’s Schottische/Life Gets Tedious Polka’

The ABO plays ‘Girls of Ivory/Manchester Gallop’

Susan Colley sings and plays ‘Starry Night For a Ramble’ leading into the ABO playing the tune followed by ‘Little Old Log Cabin in the Lane’

‘Jenny Lind Polka’/’The Black Cat Piddled in the White Cat’s Shoe’ played by the ABO

‘George Kyle’s Schottische/Cosgrove’s Schottische’ played by the ABO.

‘The Catodon Polka’ played by the ABO

The ABO play ‘Davy Nick Nacks/Rakes of Mallow’

Susan Colley, recorded by Warren Fahey, talks about what she wore to dances. Followed by ‘Australian Jim/Mudgee Schottische ‘ played by the ABO.

Susan Colley, recorded by Warren Fahey, plays her concertina and then the ABO play ‘So Early In The Morning/Donkey Riding’

Susan Colley talks about dancing all night. Then the ABO plays ‘The Galopede’

SOCIAL DANCE IN AUSTRALIA
a case study of the Murrurundi Hospital Balls 1891 – 1899

[NOTE: click on the images for a larger view]

In October of 2005 I visited the rural property of Tim Duddy, ‘Rossmar Park’, between Quirindi and Breeza. The Duddy family have farmed this outback New South Wales area since the 1830s. Samuel Clift first settled Breeza Station in 1837. The family has been extremely active in the local community’s social calendar. During the visit I came across a rare handwritten book that resulted in this study of the Murrurundi Hospital Ball. Murrurundi. a railway junction town, was one of the major commercial centres of the 19^thcentury.

The book was produced by Mrs C..M..Bell, who acted as Hon. Secretary and Treasurer from 1891 through to 1899. The information in this article has been taken predominantly from the 1897 and 1898 reports as they were extremely detailed.

These balls appear to be typical of country balls staged in Australia however it is rare to find such full reports of ticketing, expenses, attendances and costumes worn.

The minutes also show that the physical territory covered by the event was extremely large – which, of course, meant that the community had to travel rather long distances to attend. Oral histories show that attendees ‘danced all night’ and quite often until the ‘wee early hours’ but always wound their way home in time to attend to their farm duties, especially the milking and feeding of livestock.

One can envisage the excitement these balls must have created, especially with the womenfolk who handmade all the costumes, prepared the edibles, attended to hair and make-up and, between household chores, taught their families how to dance.

The following report of the costumes worn by attendees at the 1899 juvenile ball is hilarious. One can imagine the costumes and the care taken to make them ñ everyone from ‘Dame Durden’ to ‘Hungarian Gypsy’.

This list is of costumes worn by the adults ñ a witch, Cleopatra, a forget-me-Not, a Circassian Dancing Girl and one James Currie, defying description, came as ‘Pink Pills’. !!!

This list has the real spirit of community and details the ‘contributions from subscribers’.
Fowls, a case of fruit, lamb and beef tongues, lemonade, loaves of bread, jellies, eggs, cakes and ‘printing’.

In the minutes of the 5th meeting (23rd June 1897) the Secretary’s Report comments: ìThe list of contributors to Supper closed with 148 names. This is not as many as 1896, but the season had been disastrous, deaths had occurred in several families, serious illness in others, , and several consistent and liberal subscribers had left the district. The departure too was lamented of one of the ablest and most generous of the Committee women, in the person of Mrs F. O. Byrnes, now of Parramatta.

My thanks to Tim Duddy for access to the above documents.

ìC M Bell was Caroline Haydon, granddaughter of Thomas Haydon who settled at Bloomfied Blandford in 1836.
His Sydney residence was Tivoli which is that house that Kambala Girls School have on New South Head Road, Rose Bay.

He came to the head of the Hunter Valley shortly after settlement and started a private town which is the southern side of the pages river at Murrurundi.

I lived at the Haydon family house “Bloomfield” for three years and the book was given to me because it refers to many other members of my family.

The Haydon family have been intermarried and friend sof my maternal family for some six generations.î

MEMORIES OF A WOOLSHED CONCERT

Henry G Lamond
Published in Walkabout September 1962

LAMOND, HENRY G(eorge) (1885-1969) was a well-known grazier and, in later life, author, particularly stories about animals. He was the lease-holder of the Molle Island group off the Queensland Coast. WALKABOUT MAGAZINE was a popular weekly magazine devoted to Australiana and tourism.

WHEN stations in western Queensland were large, numbers immense, shearings long, the cut-out concert at the end of shearing was a recognized function. It was easy to find a beneficiary: the local hospital in the nearest town was always eager and willing to have its funds supplemented. If it was easy to find a target for any gains, it was simpler to get actors.

In those days nothing under a shearing of about 100,000 sheep was considered a worthwhile shed. Fifty shearers, an equal number of rouseabouts — referred to officially as “shed-hands” — and about thirty station musterers and other odd bods, comprised a shed. Though pay was small then, compared to now, after a shed of eight or ten weeks those without money to spend had lost it in the gambling schools. As for talent, those old western sheds were just brimming over with it, hidden and otherwise. After the first hesitant refusal by a supposed star, who took little pushing to reverse his decision, talent Just poured in.

Those old-time sheds were mystery bags of humanity. Taking one at random, more or less symbolic of all, and real if nameless, a producer could select from a medley of talent. There were university graduates from Oxford., Cambridge., Dublin. There was a supposedly disqualified doctor, an unfrocked parson, an odd lawyer or two, a rejected politician, a couple who claimed to have been stage stars in their times, other odd bits. There was plenty of variety.

The first thing, once the idea had taken root — and that was a case of spontaneous generation — was to elect a committee. That was easy: it was mainly self-appointed. Previous experience was the main essential. Then the big moment arrived: a Master of Ceremonies had to be picked, and he was invariably referred to as the Interlocutor. Bill Reilly was virtually elected before a vote was taken. He had experience, a commanding personality and a flowing moustache that would respond with spiked tips when twisted with soap. At work Bill was a piece-picker, a lowly rouseabout; but as Interlocutor and boss-in-general of the concert he ceased to be everyone’s football and was a king in his own right until the final curtain fell.

Music? A mouth organ, a concertina, an accordion would be fitting and adequate for any sing-song; but the cut-out concert demanded nobler things. If the wife of the station manager had a piano she might be persuaded to lend it, and promises of its care would be a flood tide of pledges. If the manager had neither wife nor piano, the publican in the township might be persuaded to lend his instrument, which was dumb on several notes, flat on many, tinny on all. A wagonette would be sent to the pub; the piano would arrive, tied so securely that a spider’s web would appear simple by comparison. A bodyguard would escort the thing to the wool-room; young rouseabouts edging in to strike a stray note would be kicked out of the way without ceremony.

Music without musicians has a hollow sound. There may have been, and doubtless were, some quite accomplished pianists in that collection of men. After tapping a key or two they withdrew to let someone else try to knock music out of that piano. That was easy; Joe Brady was an accomplished vamper. He could vamp for any song, sentimental or humorous; he could alter the tempo of his “Tum-tum-tum” to fit any dance. Joe Brady was unanimously elected.

There had, of course, to be a theme song. That was sung at the commencement, at the end and at other odd intervals. “Oh, Dem Golden Slippers” was the recognized theme song for such entertainments. A choir of half a dozen sufficed for that; the whole audience would certainly join in at appropriate and other times.

Before the concert took place, and with a week’s rehearsal, the theme song became so common that even the rafters of the shed rattled to it, and the sheep, if only they could have stayed long enough, would also have known it by heart: “Oh, dem golden slippers. Oh, dem golden slippers. Climb up, my chillun, climb,”

There had, of necessity, to be an audience for the concert. That was assured: every man, and the couple of women, on the station were sure to be there worth the entry fee of two shillings. Some might have had cash; “shin-plasters” were the main medium of exchange. A shin-plaster, common currency in those days, was a promissory note, an I 0 U, or some other bit of paper signed by a local businessman, storekeeper or publican. “Local”, in this in-stance, meant anybody within a hundred-mile radius. No one ever questioned the legality or financial backing of these documents; they were supported by custom and faith.

Visitors came by buggy, by horseback, a few on bikes, and an odd one may even have “pushed the knot” (the poetic way of saying he carried his swag). When they were all gathered there would be the best part of a couple of hundred people of both sexes, with the females in a most decided minority. That was their day of glory, and they knew it: they were waited on hand and foot by men starved of feminine society, who rushed gladly to fill any request, from a drink of water to a box or chair.

Those visitors had to be accommodated. They all brought their swags, which might be translated as “blankets and bed linen”. Some brought tents and made their own camp. Most of them were divided: the shearers’ mess took the sports and cream of the visiting gentry; a number were put up in the rouseabouts’ hut; the aristocracy, inside men such as station managers and the like, were, of course, the guests of the station. And the ladies? At a big shed there was always some large building, which could be emptied to provide a temporary dormitory. One essential: a bang-tail muster for hand-mirrors and other looking-glasses. They were hung in readiness for the girls.

In due course, and after the race-meeting, the cricket match, the dance and other events, the night of the cut-out concert arrived. The wool-room in the shed had been prepared. Almost invariably the press was on a higher level than the rest of the room. That served as a stage. Bales of wool were piled in tiers at the back. They, perhaps, would represent the pit where the gods gathered. Forms and other seating had been brought from odd places; they were for the saloon passengers. There was heavy work and considerable time involved in preparing the theatre. Men toiled willingly, and it would have been a distinct breach of etiquette to demand payment or hint at overtime in return for the sweat they shed. It was a Labour of Love. A curtain was easy to make: some old wool-bales sewn together, with links of hobble chains attached at suitable distances, and threaded on a wire running in front of the stage — that, with pulley-ropes and one thing and another, made a really ideal curtain. The lighting was just as easy for men with brains: kerosene tins were cut diagonally and nailed to the stage, the backs serving as reflectors and protectors. Each, with a cross cut in the bottom, and the edges turned up, held a candle as well as anything a man could buy in a shop. All that, with a few fancy touches added, was the theatre. There were NO SMOKING notices on the walls. They were quite unnecessary. Few women smoked in private in those days; no lady smoked in public. Men did not smoke without the permission of the ladies; no gent smoked in an enclosed room in mixed company.

The wool-room was packed; quivers of excitement ran through the’ audience; shouts of approval sounded as the curtain slowly rolled up. Something went wrong: it had to be lowered again. That doused half a dozen candles. They had to be relit by a nervous stage-hand, who received more applause than was commonly given a star. Next time the curtain went up without a hitch. Mr. Interlocutor, his moustache soaped to bayonet tips, stood in the middle of the stage. Messrs. Bones, Sambo, Ras’tus and Ebenezer, faces blackened with burnt cork, mouths and eyes more than twice normal size, were seated on either side of him.

Bones commenced: “Massa Interlocutor, I seen a dog runnin’ along th’ street th’ other day. An’ what do you think he had in his mouth?” Every member of the audience knew that one. But they waited in breathless suspense for the dialogue to end with the answer: “His tongue.” The ensuing applause and gales of laughter blew out a couple more candles.

Gympie Howard, that famed entertainer and shearers’ cook of western Queensland, was announced. Several candles had to be relit. Gympie came on. He knew his worth. He gave what was expected of him, and he sang “Teach-ing McFadden to Waltz” with appropriate action. He was barely off the stage when he was on again: only an atomic bomb — mercifully (to Gympie) not invented then—would have .prevented an encore. This time, with quick change nothing short of marvellous, he appeared as a Chinese gardener, then common in the west, hawking his wares from house to house. He wore the regulation pig-tail, which dated it prior to 1912, and his patter was accepted as pure Cantonese or some other dialect. The audience would have been applauding yet, had not the Interlocutor announced another artist.

The show went on. There was a humorous recitation by Mr. Bostock, who followed it with “Jacob Strauss,” supposed to be pathetic, and at which the audience laughed. Mr. Gaylow, a “soubrette,” whatever that might be, had teased the counterlining of a saddle and made himself a wig. The dress and the wig proclaimed his as a comic item. The audience was there to be amused: they complied with laughter.

Items quickly followed each other. When the barmaid from the pub in the township was announced to sing that very sentimental old ballad, “Only a Leaf,” the response from the audience, particularly from the back-benchers, was nearly deafening. Miss Perkins, who was “Maggie” at any other time, swung into her stride after a couple of false starts. Joe Brady vamped as he had never vamped before. At the conclusion of the song, after the heroine had died, the Interlocutor granted a signal honour:. he advanced to Miss Perkins, bowed, curled the tip of the right wing of his moustache, offered her his arm and escorted her off stage.

That was something so unusual in western etiquette that the crowd wanted to see more of it: they clapped until Miss Perkins appeared again and responded with “I’ll Be Your Sweet-heart.” She may even have eclipsed Gympie with the applause she received.

But the biggest hit of the evening, judging by the noise with which it was hailed, was made by Bluey Jenkins. Ever since his nomination had been accepted by the authorities, Bluey had made something of a nuisance of himself in the expert’s room: he drilled holes through pennies to attach them to the heels and soles of his dancing shoes. He wanted them for his speciality tap-dance.

The announcement that Mr. Bluey Jenkins would now oblige was received coldly and with courtesy applause only. After Miss Perkins, the audience was in no mood to be bored by Bluey. The pianist did his best, and vamped in good style. In fact, the piano shook to the stress. The audience waited. There was a jingling of copper coins rattling on the boards, and Blue, lightly tapping, pranced out.

A roar went up. Any previous acclamations would resemble a hiccough compared to the thunder-clap that now greeted him. Bluey in-tended to do things properly. Perhaps he had an idea that a tap-dance was an athletic event; for such, he felt he should be suitably attired.

He had on an athletic singlet which fitted him so closely that it might not have been there. For running trunks, or whatever he considered was appropriate, he had a pair of girl’s garments of delicacy, with lace frillings and skirted edges.

He was met with what are now classed as wolf whistles, ribald remarks — some rude and rather pointed — and invitations. No one knew if Brady was vamping or not. The din was so great that no musical instrument could be heard.

The concert ended abruptly. Some one in authority lowered the curtain with a rush, which blew out more than half the candles. In the semi-darkness the Interlocutor announced that there was tea, coffee, cocoa and brownie at both messes. He did not wait for a vote of thanks to the chair: he declared the meeting closed and the concert ended.

But the audience, one and all, agreed they had been well treated. The concert had been worth the price of admission, even without Bluey Jenkins. Some of them even admitted, and took care that no one in authority was listening, that, with Bluey’s stunt, the concert had been worth double the admission charge.

MEL (MELBOURNE) WARD’S MUMMER’S PLAY

MITCHELL LIBRARY. MANUSCRIPT BOXES MLMSS6927/24 & 25

While going through the Mel Ward papers I found a hand-typed (by Ward including scribbled notations) the script of a complete MORRIS MUMMER’S PLAY. It is highly likely Ward would have written this adaption and produced it using either local school boys or friends. Either case it is interesting to see this age-old British ritual play in an Australian context. I would estimate it dates from circa 1940-50.

FATHER XMAS

Here come I, Old Father Christmas,
Christmas or not,
I hope Old Father Christmas
Will never be forgot,
A room…..make room here, gallant boys,
And give us room to rhyme,
We’ve come to shew activity
Upon a Christmas time.
Acting youth or acting age,
The like was never acted on this stage.
If you don’t believe what I now say,
Enter St, George, and clear the way.

ST. GEORGE

Here come I, St. George, the valiant man,
With naked sword and spear in hand,
Who fought the dragon, and brought him to the slaughter,
And for this won the King of Egypt’s daughter.
What man or mortal will dare to stand
Before me with my sword in hand;
I’ll slay him, and cut him as small as flies,
And send him to Jamaica to make mince-pies,

TURK

Here come I, a Turkish knight,
In Turkish land I learned to fight,
I’ll fight St, George with courage bold,
And if his blood’s hot, will make it cold.

ST GEORGE

If thou art a Turkish knight,
Draw out thy sword, and let us fight.
(A battle is the result;) the Turk falls, and ST. GEORGE,
struck with remorse exclaims:
“Ladies and Gentlemen,
You’ve seen what I’ve done.
I’ve cut this Turk down
Like the evening sun.”

Is there any doctor that can be found,
To cure tins knight of his deadly wound?

DOCTOR

Here come I, a doctor,
A ten-pound doctor;
I’ve a little bottle in my pocket,
Called hokum, shokum, allicampane;
I’ll touch his eyes, nose, mouth, and chin,
And say; “Rise, dead man,” and he’ll fight again.
(After touching the prostrate Turk, the latter leaps up, ready again for the battle.
St. George, however, thinks this to be a favourable opportunity for sounding his own praises, and rejoins:

“Here am I, St. George, with shining armour bright, I am a famous champion, also a worthy knight,
Seven long years in a close cave was kept,
And out of that into a prison leaped,
From out of that into a rock of stones,
There I laid down ray grievous bones.
Many a giant did I subdue,
And ran a fiery dragon through.
T fought the man of Tillotree,
And still will gain the victory.
First, then, I fought in France,
Second, I fought in Spain,
Thirdly, I came to Tenby,
To fight the Turk again.

(A fight ensues, and St, George, being again victor, repeats his request for a doctor…..
Ladies and gentlemen,
You’ve seen what I’ve done,
I’ve cut this Turk down
Like the evening sun:
Is there any doctor that can be found,
To cure tins knight of his deadly wound.?

(The Doctor performs the miraculous cure.)

OLIVER CROMWELL

Here come I, Oliver Cromwell,
As ye may suppose,
Many nations I have conquered,
With my copper nose.
I made the French to tremble,
And the Spanish for to quake,
I fought the jolly Dutchmen,
And made their hearts to quake,
I fought the jolly Dutchmen,
And made their hearts to ache.

BEELZELBUB

Here come I, Beelzebub,
Under my arm I carry a club,
Under ay chin I carry a pan,
Don’ I look a nice young man?

TURK

Ladies and gentlemen,
Our story is ended,
Our money-box is recommended
Five or six shillings will not do us harm,
Silver or copper, or gold if you can.