The Collection

SPORT CRAZY AND GAMBLING MAD

It has been said that Australians are ‘sports crazy’.
This section has songs, stories, jokes and lore associated with sport.

It has been said that Australians are sport crazy and gambling mad and it’s a good bet that their money is right on the nose!

Why is it that some countries get a reputation for national obsessions? Australia’s reputation for playing and watching sport goes back a long way and has a lot to do with our peculiar colonial birth. Unlike Europe, and Britain in particular, we had to create our own mythology and we did it in our own unique way. Since we had no epic white history: no dragon-slaying knights, no great battles, no fairyland hierarchy, no monarchy, no swashbuckling pirates, bold seafaring explorers or, dare I say it, no great minds, we had no choice other than to create our own Antipodean super-heroes. We looked in unusual places making heroes out of bushrangers like the famed ‘wild colonial boy’, mythical shearers like ‘Crooked Mick of the Speewah’ and just about anyone who excelled in sport be they man, woman or animal.

Our first sporting champions were oarsmen, closely followed by cricketers and boxers. The truth is we were good at all three and in winning we saw ourselves as both independent and part of the world stage. We took a certain pride in being ‘colonials’ and especially when we defeated the ‘stirlings’ of Mother England. One suspects that some things never change!

Bill Beach was our first international sporting star and was affectionately referred to as ‘Our Bill’. When the oarsman returned to Sydney with the world cup more than half the population of the colony turned up along the banks of the Nepean River to see him make his victory lap. Like many early sportsmen his deeds were celebrated in hoopla and song

Australia has had a long love affair with cricket and the names of Spopoff, Fingleton, Trumper and, of course, ‘our Don Bradman’ are etched into our folklore.

I am reminded of the old squatter who staged an annual cricket match up in the backblocks. His team of his shearers, drovers, rouseabouts and layabouts was scheduled to play the townies and this was one match he definitely wanted to win. The old bloke was going away for a couple of weeks and before he left he gave strict instructions to his ‘captain’, who was also his best boundary rider, “to buy the team brand new uniforms and gear”. On the day of the match the old bloke was flabberghasted to see the team roll up in their ordinary working clothes. “What the hell’s going on here?” he blurted, “we’ve got no bloody chance of winning now.” The ‘captain’ looked at the boss and whispered “we’ll win, don’t you worry about that”. “But what about the money I gave you for the new uniforms and gear?” continued the irate squatter. “We gave it to the umpire” responded the boundary rider with a sly smile.

One can imagine that the rough and tumble Australian heritage would result in strong-armed men and that boxing would be a popular sport if only as a way of letting off steam. Early Australians even spread the word about ‘boxing kangaroos’ although no one actually admitted to seeing the Gidgee fight of 1863 the Big Red supposedly won on a technicality. The first fights were bare-fisted and bloody and the ‘battle’ between Sandy Ross and Evans in 1871 has gone down in our history as a notorious fight. It took place on the flats of the George’s River in Sydney’s south. A boxer surrounded by folklore is Les Darcy who achieved international bantamweight status and met an early and untimely death in America in 1917. His demise was viewed as a national disaster and stories circulated about ‘Our Les’ ‘dying of a broken heart’ and even being poisoned by the jealous Americans. In truth he died from a complication of pneumonia however folklore has little regard for facts. Oddly enough it was also believed that Phar Lap, a mighty race horse if ever there was one, also died of a broken heart.

In creating national heroes it appears racehorses were right up there. Phar Lap has been joined by the Goondiwindi Grey, Mussellman, Silvermine and Octagonal in being described as having supernatural powers. Although some were celebrated in song it was those ‘galloping rhymes’ where the super horses shone. Banjo Paterson’s ‘Man From Snowy River’ certainly sent the flintstones flying.

As most Australians know the racetrack has created a massive folklore and even its own slanguage with track-goers being overheard saying things like ‘that horse ran so wide it knocked a pie out of the mouth of a man in the member’s stand’ or ‘I’m so hungry I could eat a horse and chase the jockey’.

Australian sport is also usually tied to gambling and it’s been said that Aussies will even bet on two flies on a pub wall to see which one flies off first. They describe big gamblers as ‘high rollers’ who would ‘bet on anything that moved’.

George Fahey sings ‘I’m Forever Playing Two-Up’, a parody he learnt in WW2 in Papua New Guinea.

If there was one dinkum Australian game it would have to be ‘two-up’. Whilst its origins are unclear one suspects it started in the trenches of the first world war. A simple betting game ‘two-up’ involves flicking two pennies to a matching heads or tails and has been described as ‘the fairest game in the world’. The exception to this rule would be when the spruiker slips in a two-headed penny! ‘Two-up’ is illegal except on Anzac Day when ‘schools’ miraculously appear across the country without the need to hire a ‘cocky’ to look out for the police.

(An old parody of ‘I’m Forever Blowing Bubbles‘ runs):

I’m forever playing two-up, tossing pennies in the air, They fly so high, nearly touch the sky, When they turn heads I nearly cry, Coppers always hiding, hiding everywhere, I’m forever playing two-up, tossing pennies in the air.

Tennis also provided a national platform for our sport’s fanatics and we held the Davis Cup for so many years we considered ourselves unbeatable. Pat Rafter and Pat Cash have recently restored our faith although many Australians believe all those tennis cups rightfully belong to us all of the time.

We’re still creating myths around our champions and to hear a mob of Australians talking about Ian ‘torpedo’ Thorpe would make you think he was part seal, part man. Sydney Swans captain, Kelly, has been described as a God and runner, Cathy Freeman, makes us all feel proud about our indigenous atheletes. Then there’s the ‘iron men’ who tell us what we should eat for breakfast. There’s little doubt that sport is the Australian religion and, like most religions, we believe what we are fed be it tasty or unpalatable.

CRICKET

Recorded in 1934, Pat Hanna’s droll monologues were Australian and New Zealand radio favourites.

CRICKET Oh, the men of Australia came back from the East Their points were all made and their honours increased And they rode into Frisco to play the last match And the plucky Franciscans came up to scratch And out on the ground when the wickets were set And the spectators by and the champions met Spirit of Purdy and Aitkin, Cross and Malone The Australians soon showed them that the game was their own For Spofforth and Bannerman, Bailey and Boyler Took warren and Brandon and made them their spoil The batting was splendid with score after score The plucky Franciscans don’t want any more And the men of Australia will sail to the south And the players they beat will be down in the mouth The English, the Yankees, the Blue Noses all Before the Australians stood up to fall. Source: From The Aust Journal. 1879

CRICKET Rain, rain go away Come again before next may The driving shower and chilling raw gust Are most opportune in August Rain has a chance to reign remember Till early summer from September Why come and spoil crickets last pages Our wickets and our average. Source: From Mr Punch’s Book of Sport. Circa 1870s

THE CRICKETER’S SONG The season is coming, when merrily humming, Again to the pleasant Domain we will stray, With our bats and our wickets, as merry as crickets, Together our cricketing matches to play. The ground they are rolling, and soon to the bowling Of Caffyn or Lawrence we’ll gallantly play; Tipping and slashing, and cutting and dashing, For a run when the ball we send spinning away. Chaffing and laughing, the cool beer quaffing Under the tent as we watch the field play; Cheering and roaring, as rapidly scoring, Our men at the wickets are slashing away. Pluckily fielding, no chance ever yielding, Stopping each ball let it come as it may; Catching, or running like deer when a stunning Hit sends a ” three,” or a ” fourer ” away. Puffing and blowing, howe’er the game’s going, Every man knowing his best he must play; As brothers contending, and as brothers ending, N0 matter who wins, or who loses the day. The season is coming, when merrily humming-, Once more our cricketing matches we’ll play, “With .our bats and our wickets, as merry ail crickets, Hurrah for our opening cricketing day. SOURCE: Sydney Punch OCTOBER 7, 1865. Air: The Flowers of the Forest

THE AUSTRALIAN ELEVEN When the first All England’s Elevens Came over it gave us the blues— For our cricket was that of beginners, And we shivered and shook in our shoes; But after a time things were altered. For we suddenly found that our soil Boasted Blackhams and Murdochs, and Spofforths, Turner, Lyons, a Giffen and Boyle, A Horan and Trumble, big Bonnor, Jarvis, Allan, besides many more. Yes, it suddenly dawned on the English All their one-sided victories were o’er. Yes, it suddenly, etc. We put forth an Australian Eleven “Merrie England” to meet face lo face. And the eyes of the whole world were opened, For no longer we trembled at Grace. We pasted the best English bowling, We laughed at the Englishman Jupp In his frantic endeavours to stump us— And in scoring we put records up. The Englishmen found us their equals With bat, ball, or out in the field; And the cry then went up that Australia Had eleven that never would yield. And the cry then went up, etc. How we gallantly fight up-hill battles, In a style the true sportsmen admire; How the Englishmen’s wickets we rattle, Pulling matches from out of the fire – Are items known all the world over That have won us an undying fame, For we’ve shown on the grounds of Old England That we’ve no ‘little kids’ at the game – We have shown that the ashes they talk of, Ere for good they are buried away, Have in us here the staunchest of champions, For Australia, she wil have er say. Have in us here, etc. Then a cheer for Australia’s Eleven; Hurrah! for the plucky young men Who have beared so often and often The Lion himself in his den; And hurrah for the teams of Old England, But, before all, the loved Sunny South. Success then to both the Elevens, May our love for each other ne’er cease – May we have in the whole of our battles Prosperity, friendship, and peace. May we have, etc. SOURCE:AUSTRALIAN MELODIST NO 21 Pat Finn

Sporting songs have always been popular in Australia and especially songs about cricket.

CRICKET SONG Of all the games for field or home, There’s none like that we call our own, No sound so sweet, on summer’s day, As the umpire’s well-known call of ” play,” So take your block and. guard your stumps, Regardless of the coming bumps, And stand up firm to guard your wicket, And play the manly game of cricket. Look out boys, one and all, While we pass around the ball, Ha, ha, ha, there’s a run, Cricket is the game for fun. A shooter first is hardly fair— “Well played —— I do declare ; He’s snicked it and they steal a run, The ice is broken, ah, what fun! If —— only stands first “over;” Hurrah, a splendid hit to cover ; Now four to leg, boys, that’s the ticket— “What a glorious game is cricket! But now I must curtail my song, To tell of all would take too long— ‘Twould need a column in the Mail To give a match in full detail— Of slows and fasts and treacherous ones, How —— stole his little runs, How Butterfingers dropped a catch, And very nearly lost the match. All the words I have seem tame, To ring the glories of this game ; Now, if you doubt me, come and. try, And you will find the same as I; So don your flannels and take your bat, When next we meet upon the flat, I’m sure you’ll fall in love with cricket, And rush away to get a ticket. SOURCE:Australian Melodist Songster Words by J. E. JAMES Air: Little Brown Jug

BOXERS ARE SUPERSTITOUS

Boxers are very superstitious. Jerry Sullivan and Johnny Summers crossed themselves in the ring, Herb McCoy had an old pair of trunks with some emblem sewn inside them, George Taylor used always to enter the ring with his father’s old Crimea shirt on, while Harry Stone always insisted on wearing a cap when he walked into the ring. The latest Yank, Ancel Bell, has a lucky bag, which he wears around his neck. Cross-eyed people are their pet aversions. I remember a fight between two champions, and during the progress of the bout on eof them lost heart and eventually quit. When asked what made him turn it up he said: “I knew I had no chance as soon as I saw Tommy Jones in Mehegan’s corner.” (Tommy Jones had a decided squint).

Bob Fitzsimmons had a little superstition in his make-up. Before every fight Bob went to some blacksmith shop and a made a horseshoe. He made one just before he fought O’Brien in America – the fight in which he lost his championship title. While Bob was on the road one of his trainers took the horseshoe and nailed it over the door of the training quarters “for luck.” When Bob came in he was furious. The horseshow had been nailed with the ends down! “The luck has all spilled out, ” said Bob furiously, and rushed away to make another horseshoe. No doubt Fitzsimmons’ defeat by O’Brien was caused by the fact that he ad become too old to fight, and nature had given out, for he collapsed between rounds. But you couldn’t convince him of that. “I’m as good as ever I was,” Fitz said a moth afterwards. “I’d like to lay my hands on the fellow who nailed up that horseshoe.”

The Railroad Issue 1928/29

BOXING, WRESTLING AND STRONGMEN

One of the most important boxing matches of all time, and certainly the first one referred to as the ‘match of the century’, was the epic ‘battle’ between Heenan and Sayers in 1862. It was the fight that introduced Queensbury’s Rules.

In 1973, when tape-recording Joe Watson at his Caringbah home, the sprightly 92-year-old enthusiastically talked to Warren Fahey about boxing. Considered by many to be a poor man’s sport because it didn’t require much more than a designated ring, (often pegged on grass), fighters and a referee. Boxing was not unsurprisingly popular in the 1850s and 60s goldfields. One of T. S. Gill’s colour drawing depicts a tent boxing ring at Bendigo. Whilst some goldfields fights would probably have been grudge matches, most were an opportunity for gambling. In many cases, nationalities, Brits and Irish etc were pitted against each other for added excitement. The early fights were gruesome bare-fisted fights. Joe Watson recalled two boxing ballads – Morrissey and the Russian, including the line ‘the blood did flow like claret’, and the equally great ballad ‘Heenan and Sayer’. The latter was the last fisticuffs fight before the introduction of Queensbury Rules.

Warren Fahey sings ‘Heenan and Sayers’.

In 2013 the Music Master at Sydney’s Cranbrook College approached Warren Fahey for suggestions for a song the students could arrange and perform. Warren suggested ‘Heenan & Sayers’. The resulting song didn’t much resemble the old ballad, however, considering the brief, the interpretation was fresh and definitely carried the excitement of the match. 

Another famous fist cuff ‘battle’ took place on the George’s River, Sydney, and is also commemorated with a song. John Foley (Eire) versus Sandy Ross (Ulster).  In this case the opponents were Irish – one from the south, the ‘green’, and the other from the north, ‘the ‘orange’.

Warren Fahey sings ‘The Orange And The Green’ (aka ‘The Fight on George’s River’

BURNS AND SQUIRE FIGHT Tommy Burns will soon be in Australia Although our Bill Squires was a failure He may put Burns to sleep On his native dirt heap And collar the champion regalia Fol de lol lol, Fol de lol lol, Fol de lol lol de lol laddy On the tram cars the men are hard working And seldom their duties are shirking And they think it’s a shame But who is to blame The police as spies round are lurking? source: Imperial songster 1908

SQUIRES VERSUS BURNS We’ll shortly see a battle Twixt Squires and Tommy Burns And the man that comes out on top The championship he earns Tho Tommy we will welcome And shake him by the hand We trust the title will remain In our dear old sunny land Hurrah for plain Bill Squires The hero of the ring From England to Australia His praises we will sing The noblest gladiator Who tried in every fray Three cheers for plain Bill Squires He’s the gamest man today. source:Imperial Songster 1908. Anon.

Warren Fahey sings ‘Les Darcy’

LES DARCY We all get a craving to roam Far from home over the foam We long other lands for to see And the thought fills our hearts with glee An Australian lad we knew so well Was sent home to add to his name Which was covered with glory You all know the story Fairer one ne’er played the game And that was young Les Darcy Whom we all know was so ill-advised When the sad news reached us How the tears bedimmed our eyes It was his great ambition To fight at the Golden Gate But the voice that called him from us Proved to be the sad bells of fate Picture his loved ones at home How they mourn now he has gone So modest and thoughtful was he A better son ne’er could be The world is the poorer today By the loss of this champion so fine True hearts will regret him And none will forget him Memories laurel wreath ever will twine source: Music hall song. Published Imperial Songster 1917

The chorus of ‘Christening The Baby’ mentions all the famous boxers of the period. By Ernest Chappell and specially written in consideration of the Burns/Johnson fight. Brad Tate collected a version of this song in Newcastle. Alex Hood also collected a version. The song itslef is a parody of ‘The Baby’s Name’ – a song about Kitchener.

CHRISTENING THE BABY Since boxing has become the craze I’m fairly off my dot For everybody’s talking fight, I wish they all were shot It’s Tommy Burns and Johnson no matter where you go For it’s the only subject that people seem to know There’s Tomkins, he’s my pal, he’s got it on the brain He’ll argue fight from morn till night and drive you near insane His wife he took the baby to be christened yesterday When the parson said “What’s its name?” I then heard the old girl say The baby’s name is Sullivan, Felix, Foley, Jackson and Roche Squires and Thompson, Burns and Johnson Robert Fitzsimmons and Battling Nelson Bill Lang, Bob Quigley, Slavin and Victor the Chief Hefferty Tim, Jefferies, Jim Griffo and Paddy O’Keefe Now my old woman’s just as bad, she’s got the boxing craze And just to show what she can do on my right optic gaze She bought a book on boxing and she practises on me She knocked me out for three last night while we were having tea And just because I came home late and up the stairs did creep She landed me an uppercut and sent me off to sleep And last week when we went to church to have our kiddie named The Parson nearly took a fit when my old girl exclaimed Squires and Thompson, Burns and Johnson Robert Fitzsimmons and Battling Nelson Bill Lang, Bob Quigley, Slavin and Victor the Chief Hefferty Tim, Jefferies, Jim Griffo and Paddy O’Keefe source: 1909 Imperial Songster no 87. By Ernest Chappell and especially written in consideration of the Burns/Johnson fight.

Warren Fahey sings ‘Christening The Baby’

COLLECTION OF CUTTINGS ON BOXING

F769.830994
Made by Bert Cox and includes 76 volumes.

STADIUMS IN SYDNEY

Penrith	Marrickville	Carton	Leichhardt Coronation
Ryde	Bronte	Auburn	Parramatta
Sydney	Camperdown	Newtown	Daceyville
Five Dock	Belmore	North Sydney	Hippodrome

Note by ‘Solar Plexus’ and from ‘The Boxer’ on Larry Foley

Foley boasted that never once in his career was he knocked down.
For many years subsequent to when the end of his pugilistic rope had been reached, the great ex-champion earned the reputation of being Champion Demolisher of Sydney buildings. He was the person who supervised the pulling down of the old George Street Markets, and also the Benevolent Asylum’s large building on Devonshire Street, to make room for our up-to-date Central Station.

FIST-CUFF FIGHTING

Evening Star 1879
The weekly newspaper quoted a Sydney news report that
‘Two men have been arrested for prize-fighting at Marrickville’

It should be noted that Queensbury’s Rules were introduced in 1862 after the notoriously bloody fight between Heenan and Sayers (refer to song in AFU Joe Watson collection). Fist-cuff prize fighting was a familiar sight on the goldfields despite being against British and therefore Colonial law.

This sporting song is one of several set to the popular song that ‘was all the rage’. It mentions many of the famous Australian sportsmen. J.L. is John L Sullivan and ‘Paddy’ is Paddy Slavin, both prize boxers.

TA RA RA BOOM DEE AY I’ve been reading people’s views Of the high and lofty muse, As a remedy for blues, This sweet ditty I should choose. Some write songs to make you weep, Others send you off to sleep, To my chorus I shall keep, With its’ hidden meaning deep. CHORUS. Ta-ra-ra boom-der-ay, Ta-ra-ra boom-der-ay, Ta-ra-ra boom der-ay, Ta-ra-ra boom-der-ay, Ta-ra-ra boom-der-ay, Ta-ra-ra boom-der-ay, Ta-ra-ra boom-der-ay, Ta-ra-ra boom-der-ay. Flirting is an awful vice, Very wrong, although it’s nice; Listen, girls, to my advice, Don’t indulge at any price. Though you know its wrong, no doubt, With young mashers you go out, Timely warning do not scout, Mind you only talk about, Ta-ra-ra, etc, You might think, to look at me, I’ve been out upon the spree, Making just a little free, Taking something more than tea. Shall I find my home again, Where it is I think in vain, Everything has left my brain, All I know is this refrain— Ta-ra-ra, etc. Russians seem to think it right, If their statesmen aren’t polite, Just to satisfy their spite To blow them up with dynamite. I could mention just a few People here in Australia who Wouldn’t be much loss, it’s true, If a bomb should blow them to— Ta-ra-ra, etc. Sweet salvation bands abound, Still they promenade around, Everybody knows the sound When the drum they madly pound. Booth would bring a fresh supply, But I fear we all should die, When their voices rang on high, Yelling fit to rend the sky, Ta-ra-ra, etc, With the bat and with the oar, Young Australia’s to the fore; Football, too, and games a score Prove they’re sportsmen to the core. Jackson’s fame you cannot quell, Slavin, too, a tale can tell, If he meets the great John L. Paddy’s sure to give him—well Ta-ra-ra, etc. Once on sporting keenly bent, Down to Remington I went, Meaning to make cent. per cent., I backed horses with a gent. Ne’er so lucky have I been, But I felt immensely green, For I couldn’t get a bean, This alone describes the scene SOURCE:Australian Melodist No 20 Mitchell library 784.8/A New version by Bert Royle

PETER JACKSON AND FRANK P. SLAVIN I am crazy! and I’m cranky! And I’m mad with wild delight, For a cable tells me lanky Peter Jackson’s won the fight From the lanky Paddy Slavin, Our picked pet pugilist— Who’s been knocked out by great Peter With his beautiful black fist. Oh! it must have been a picnic! A glorious, gorgeous sight! For the cable can’t be crooked When thus get black and white. They say that Slavin’s sickly! (Humph! well that’s not Peter’s fault) Though they found the ailment quickly, After Peter gave him ” salt.” Had it happened Paddy Slavin Had dealt Pete the knock-out blow— Now I seriously ask you Would he want another “go?” Would they thirst for satisfaction In another stand-up bout? No! not had Peter Jackson By our Slavin been knocked put. And the fight, at last, is over ! And it’s been a dreadful sell— Now what about the colour line And Sullivan, J. L. Will “Sully” tackle Peter; Say, ” Sully,” are you game ? Perhaps “Sully” thinks that Peter May sully ” Sully’s” name. There’s however one thing certain – Should they meet – well, on the night, The famous J L Sullivan Will know there’s been a fight. SOURCE:Australian Melodist No 20 Mitchell library 784.8/A Specially sung by HARRY ALLNUTT Written by Pat Finn.

FOOTBALL

Warren Fahey sings ‘When Dally Kicked The Goal’ accompanied by The Larrikins and from their CD of Sporting songs.

“The game seemed to be one for Messenger only. Messenger here, there and everywhere.” – news item.

The image [right] is of H. H. “Dalley” Messenger.

When Dalley Kicked the Goalafter “Casey at the Bat”

The Whistle May 7th, 1910

Warren Fahey sings ‘I’m A Tolerant Man’

A football song from Melbourne

THE DAY THAT I PLAYED FOOTBALL MY name it is O’Hooligan, I’m a man that’s influential, I work each day and pay my way, My debts are few and small— The other day some lads did come, And filled me up with gin and rum, Then took me out in the boiling sun, To play that game, Futball. I challenged Carlton and Fitzroy, South Melbourne and the Essendon, Port Melbourne, Melbourne and Geelong, I challenged one and all. And now I will footballing drop My leg is broken, so I hop— I’ll open up a doctor’s shop- All through that game, Futball. Still Football is a glorious game, For instance up in Carlton Jack Gardiner is in Parliament And makes a tidy haul. And who can tell but some fine day I’ll be a blooming M.L.A., And will like Gardiner bless the day— I struggled with Futball. SOURCE:Australian Melodist No 20 Mitchell library 784.8/A Written by PAT FINN for FRANK CLARK

This sporting song, spotlights the South Melbourne Football Club, and also the Melbourne equivalent to the Sydney Larrikin swells.

I’M ONE OF THE SOUTH MELBOURNE I’m what they calls a leary lad, Some say my ” charakter’s” bad; On futball I am fair dead gone, At the game think I’m a don. ‘Tween you and me, though, on my soul, I never yet have kicked a goal; When t’other team begins rough play I sneaks out of the way, CHORUS. “Make a mark!” what a lark, The ” barrackers” shout, “Forward play, hip hooray, Blue me! what yer ’bout ? Go in, South; shut yer mouth Or I’ll stoush you !” But I’m one of the South Melbourne. I like to “gas” in public bars And give my rivals “jars;” A drink I never will refuse When “mugs” will stand me booze; My colours, too, I like to flash, With a ‘chippy’ do a, mash, And tell her I have won a prize At futball—which is lies. Make a mark, etc. Of course I’ve had my photo took, And quite “ribuck” I look, In this ‘ere attitude I stands,. With a futball in my ‘ands. The coloured ones costs me a bit, To the bloke I says now ” Nit;” He sticks me in his window though, So, of course, I gets a show. SOURCE:Written for WILL WHITBURN by LANCE LENTON

THE “PUSHES” THAT RIDE IN A VAN Now, when the football season in, You can notice each Saturday Whole van-loads of “barrackers,” jolly and bright, .. Who are wending their way to the fray. They go to the various football grounds To watch their favourite team, And there they will yell out during the game, And at the players will scream. Chorus Gaily they sing, and banish melancholy, They roll up strong to do the best they can; They’re out for the day, and mean to make it jolly – They’re a lively set of lads, the ‘pushes’ that ride in a van Amongst then are some nice “rorty” boys, Who work, p’r’aps. as snobs all the week; They “barrack” for followers in loudest tones, And ‘civvy’ a good ‘goal sneak.’ Their language is of the most refined kind, They speak with purest of tongues ; You can bet they’re not consumptive, that’s when You hear them using their lungs, Gaily they sing, etc. With ” barrackers” who hold different views They often will get up a fight; Then p’r’aps, you’ll hear them holloring out, “Nit!” If a “bobby” is coming in sight. When the game’s over they start for home, And praise up the side that has won; They’ll yell comic songs, and hold arguments, And think it all jolly good fun. Gaily they Sing, etc, SOURCE:AUSTRALIAN MELODIST NO 21 Air: “A Motto for Every Man.” Written by Lance Lenton

THE FOOTBALL PREMIERSHIP Ah! who’ll be the premiers’ ? Yes, that is the question. Who’ll come out on top for the year ’93 ? Will it be the Port Melbourne, The Melbourne, South Melbourne, Or will Carlton this season the leading club be ? Chorus For we’ll joyously bail the victorious premiers, And not lightly regard every failure. Yes, we’ll hail with delight Footballers front in the fight, And acknowledge them dons of Australia. Perhaps the Richmond, the Footscray, Or mayhap St. Kilda, The coveted honor will this year enjoy, Or perhaps ’twill be Collingwood— Lately established— Or the premiers may turn up in “good old Fitzroy.” For we’ll joyously, etc. We’ve a club from each suburb, All playing as seniors; And Essendon, too, seems to be going it strong And what of the old club, The pride of the Pivot- Yes, what of the once muchly-dreaded Geelong ? For we’ll joyously, etc. But who’ll be the premiers ? Yes, that is the question ; And until it’s settled we’ll uneasy be. Yes, who’ll be the champions Of the football blue ribbon— Who’ll be the premiers for the year ’93 ? For we’ll joyously, etc. SOURCE:Words by PAT FINN Music by L. B. CARRICK.

Katoomba Federals rugby league team cry

‘Blue Mountain Echo’, 31st August 1923
This belonged to the Katoomba Federals rugby league team and the journalist described it as ìa cross between a Maori haka, a bit of Abo., and present-day Aussie. The effect of it is terrifying, and while their opponents are getting over the shock of it the Federals wade in and pile up points ñ that is, when it works well.î The transcription was, he said, ìas near as the writer can get to it.î It might have helped them to the final of the Blue Mountains competition in 1923 but in the match that counted Springwood defeated the Federals by 8 points to 6. [ – John Low]

ìThe emu, the kangaroo, the wallaby, the wombat!
The emu, the kangaroo, the wallaby, the wombat!
Mammy-kaka-wow! Mammy-kaka-wow!
Hee! Hah! Ainít she a beaut!
Wi-pukker-au! Tin opener!
The Federals!î

HORSE RACING

KEN HOWARD of Sydney’s 2UE was one of the most expert exponents of calling horse races. Famous for his catchphrase “London to a brick”, He is also famous for making a risqué tongue-in-cheek send-up of himself and his colleagues. The recording was made “for private use”, and no doubt enlivened many a party in the sheltered early 1950s

Warren Fahey sings ‘Tommy Corrigan’ – a song he recorded from Joe Watson is 1973.

HORSE RACES

This song is in the first person and the voice of a jockey about to enter a horse race in the bush.

THE ROLLICKING BOY With my middle girths slack And my hat hanging back And a stockwhip to crack You can see I’m a rollicking boy, ahoy Make way for the rollicking boy. I can dig in the steel With the spur in my heel Just to make the horse feel That the carrier’s a rollicking boy Make way for the rollicking boy Then I’ll hang over the mane With a very slack rein Like a long-legged crane For you see I’m a rollicking boy Make way for the rollicking boy I’m to race for a crown With young larrikin Brown And we’ll run it in town For you see I’m a rollicking boy Make way for the rollicking boy If I win I must shout For two bottles of stout And will have a good bout For they know I’m a rollicking boy Make way for the rollicking boy How the lassies will stare And the constables swear When they see such a pair For you see I’m a rollicking boy Make way for the rollicking boy Then Homewood I’ll steer And the hills far and near Shall rebound with my cheer Then hurrah for the rollicking boy Make way for the rollicking boy Johnny Blyton once went fightin’ Up in Cooma town He broke his ribs but won the fight And thus he gained renown His horse bucked hard the other day And poor old Johnny threw And Scotchy mended all his ribs With a bottle of bicycle glue! Source: From History of Gundaroo

Warren Fahey sings ‘The Death of Willie Stone’, a song he collected from the singing of Cyril Duncan, Qld, 1973.

From The Australian Sportsman newspaper 1883.
On Queens Birthday weekend race day at Randwick.

They’ve cantered o’er the springy turf, they’ve mustered at the post
Each backer seeks with eager eye the steed he loves the most
The Birthday breeze has kissed their manes beloved
While the golden sun comes bursting from his ambush up above
And never gave the promise that his glory he would fling
On a struggle that was starker since the days when Charles was King

From a pre race form guide as above.
Hark! Hark! the bell is ringing to the paddock let’s away
Where four and twenty youngsters are saddling for the fray.

SYDNEY RACES

Sydney toast 1819 at old Sydney racecourse (now Hyde Park) 1819. The race was won by Rob Roy.

Pledge from the Cup this first Australian prize
May each revolving year the races bring
That training horses from these sports may rise
Health to the patrons and long live the King.

SILVERMINE

From Tom Ronan’s autobiography ‘Deep of the Sky’ 1962.
I have collected this song on three occasions. Refer Joe Watson transcripts in Australian Folklore Unit for complete text.

At the turn of the straight
A good horse met his fate
And the best of the jockey boys died
Mark the spot well
Where old Silvermine fell
And poor Alec Robertson had his last ride.

Contributor John Robertson recalled a verse his father sang:

The only part of the song as my father sang it that I remember was

They marked the spot well where Silvermine fell and poor Alex Robertson died.

Now come around jockey boys, hang down your heads,

With a tear in your eye, let it fall, we’ll all shed a tear for the one who was near,

He was the dearest and bravest of all.

The following horse-racing song has words and music by Joseph John O’Neill and introduced in the vaudeville show ‘Two Colliers’.

THE MELBOURNE DERBY We represent the jockeys of the famous Oxenham. Whose blooded stock are noted for their speed; They showed the pride of foreign turf to beat them t was hard, Their pace was sure to tell when in the lead. ‘Tis not of one we boast, of good ones we’ve a host, One among the van was Sailor Boy, Who with a lightning pace won the English race, A trophy to Australia hailed with joy. Chorus Whips cracking, jockeys shouting, Cheering on the track. As bounding o’er the hills we go On the homestretch coming back. See how the jockeys love to ride, It fills then with delight; They love to sing and dance as well, That’s why we’re here tonight. We’ve other horses on the turf that equal honours shared, Those stories of success have oft been told; With laurels they were crowned, how English sportsmen started, When they saw the flying scorcher Blue and Gold, And that is not all – we’ve no cause to draw the lie, With the honest old Carbine, In England he displayed a bust of speed; And gathered in the field were the best Of the stock France could yield, But the could not overtake him in the lead. Chorus Whips cracking, jockeys shouting, Cheering on the track. As bounding o’er the hills we go On the homestretch coming back. See how the jockeys love to ride, It fills then with delight; They love to sing and dance as well, That’s why we’re here tonight. SOURCE: Imperial songster 1908

I have not been able to ascertain where Blackshaw’s famous course was situated in Goulburn however this fragment remains to encourage further research.

GOULBURN RACES Our fathers then brave optimists Upheld the sport of kings And Goulburn had three meets a year Summer’s, May’s and Spring’s When bushmen bold in legions And many a famous horse Overtook this famed Waterloo On Blackshaw’s famous course. SOURCE:From ‘Goulburn’ by G McAlister

THE MELBOURNE CUP When I was young and thought I knew In racing matters a thing or two, I used to prowl where jockeys herd And tipped them for a sure ” dead bird.” They gave me tips when I tipped them And they told me what would win at Flem— At Flem—at Flem— At Flemington Ahem! Ahem! They put me on To the winner of the Cup at Flemington. I thought it the safest thing on earth, I backed it then for all I was worth; To get long odds I did it quick, And fancied I had the bookies slick ; The odds they laid I gathered up, But that “bird ” was ” dead” for the Melbourne Cup. The Cup—the Cup, The Melbourne Cup, I with a will Had sneaked the till- When the race was run they took me up. When I my eighteen months got through, I felt that backing tips won’t do, So I hit upon a happy scheme, I thought of winners I would dream. I dreamt, and backed them fair and square, But my dream-horse was a night-mare. Not worth a mag Was such dream-nag, So I turned up The Melbourne Cup And backing steeds Flemington. SOURCE:Australian Melodist No 20 Mitchell library 784.8/A Written by PAT FINN.

“A NEW AND POPULAR BALLAD sung at the concert halls to the rapturous and drunken applause of the enlightened audiences.” Okay, I have to admit that this song, from Colonial Society, has me puzzled. I suspect the Hasses is the name of a regiment or could it be a reference to ‘asses’ or ‘arses’ ? I will keep exploring this one.

THE SYDNEY RACES In the streets of London town, as one takes a quiet tiring, ‘What varied sights and scenes one sees, what vehicles are therein— From ducal trap to donkey cart, with donkeys of all classes; In Sydney we no mokes have got, but quantities of Hasses! Frantic chorus—Tooral looral, haw he haw! -Donkeys of all classes, We ever were, and still will be, ‘The famous Sydney Hasses.. See Scottish Volunteers, dressed up in kilts and trew sirs, When mosquitos are about I wouldn’t be in their shoes. sirs; Old Scratch, himself must snigger out, if near their line he passes, They’d scare a Pai Marire foe, those cockney Highland Hasses. Chorus Old Bailey has a Bishop who, to clutch some loaves and fishes, Self-consecrated, hopes to hold with all sectarian wishes; He is a downy bird of pray, and ravenous his class is, Deck “d out in deacon’s toggery to spout to frantic Hasses. chorus Then take the noble Sydney swells, who tailor’s bills delight in, And fancy that about their smiles the ladies all are fighting; Who,daily ogle barmaids, swear, bet, play, drain many glasses, And are a pleasant loafing set, half puppies and half Hasses chorus A scriptural burlesque drew people nightly flocking : ‘ Twas of a class which folks could not help thinking shocking; With daub’d up scenes, and ill-judged verse, it was the worst of farces, But still ‘tas found an easy job to ‘do’ the Sydney Hasses. We’ve a neat brigade of Blues; if they hear a row or noise , sirs, They arrive just when too late, and take up the little boys, sirs; When they’re arresting wandering goats, each one as bold as brass is, But from fatal fray they sneak away—those Peelerite nice Hasses. chorus Our mob of great unpaid who haunt the Courts each morning, Pronouncing their decisions, all rights of grammar scorning; They’re all there for inebriates—at jaw none them surpasses; But when they’re laying down the law they prove themselves but Hasses. chorus There’s the legal satellites who round the Police Court flock, fin, The proper part of it, for them, no doubt should be the dock, sirs; A. gnat they’d strain a coin to gain; it’s rather odd the masses Should ever be deluded by such seedy, sharkish Hasses. chorus We’ve a famous Lower House, filled with M.L.A.’s who din it With objects murky – they, themselves the greatest “objects ” in it; Their blundering puts the groaning land in straits as huge as Basses; ‘Twixt them and their constituents, which are the greatest Hasses? SOURCE:COLONIAL SOCIETY MAGAZINE 1868/9 *86/1 DIXSON Air: Limerick Races

Australians are often thought of as ‘sports crazy’. I suspect this reputation grew from the fact we had not fought in any great wars, had inherited no epic tales, had no fairy kingdom and, possibly, didn’t want to glorify our convict system so the only option was to glorify ordinary man and women who achieved extraordinary accomplishments. Sport was the obvious and possibly only choice. Our first international recognition came from sport when sculler, Edward ‘Ned’ Trickett, defeated James H. Sadler on the Thames on the Putney-Mortlake course in 24 minutes, 36 seconds and became the first Australian to win a world championship in any sport. Trickett, the son of bookmaker George Trickett, was born in 1851 at Greenwich, on the Lane Cove River, a northern Sydney suburb. Between 1871 and 75 he competed in various races and considered the best sculler in the colony. In 1876 he was taken to England by James Punch, a Sydney innkeeper and former sculler, where he challenged for the world championship. He must have had a good idea he would win because he took with him over 10,000 pounds from a Sydney betting ring which he placed on himself at odds of mostly 2:1. The booty was a massive windfall – one thousand pounds was roughly the equivalent of ten years wages. Trickett also won a side-bet with his opponent and was presented with a State Prize of nine-hundred pounds on his return to Sydney. He became the licensee of Trickett’s Hotel on the corner of Pitt and King streets, Sydney, where a rolling keg crushed his hand and amputated a thumb. He relocated to Rockhampton, lost his fortune on a shady mining investment and returned to work in Sydney on the wharves. He died a pauper. 

 Sculling was the biggest sport in Australia for most of the sixty years before World War 1 and drew large crowds whenever a contest was held. Sydney’s Hawkesbury and the northern rivers region, around Grafton, were the main centres. The Melbourne University Boat Club, established in 1859, is the oldest rowing club in Australia. 

This ‘crow’ from The ‘Native Companion Songster, Brisbane, 1889, reminds us of Trickett’s great victory. 

The Blast of the Trumpet 

You may say it is blow, but I know I can show 

And you’ll find all denial a failure,
That, taken all round, there is not to be found 

Better men than we breed in Australia. 

The old country we lick it when playing at cricket, 

At football; we hold quite our own.
We have sent but one team (of footballers I mean) 

And the way to make play we have shown. 

Of course you will say, in the usual way,
The colonials are nothing but ‘blow’,
But those who impeach us should first try to teach us 

In what line of sport we are slow.
At sculling we all know the world gives us best,
And, as daisies compared to a dahlia,
When gold is the theme no land ever seen
Can equal the one called Australia. 

Trickett was eventually defeated by the Canadian rower Ned ‘The Boy In Blue’ Hanlan in England in 1880. 

It is often difficult for us to understand how prudish some Australians were in the Victorian era. Playing sport would seem an innocent pastime but apparently it brought out the wowsers. This parody, set to the tune of ‘When Johnny Comes Marching Home’, was published in the Freeman’s Journal (Sydney), 13 June 1874, which would coincide with Trickett’s races on the Nepean River, near Penrith, New South Wales. The song satirises the double standards of the local clergy. 

Nepean Boat Song 

Who the Sabbath day profane, Haha! haha !
And the parson’s feelings pained, Haha ! Now who ! 

Who rowed a boat and scandal gave, 

Which lately made the parson rave ? 

Haha ! you wicked Penrith lads,
Yon can’t deny ’twas you. 

Who on Sunday morn sells meat, Haha ! haha !
And at billiards oft doth cheat ? Haha ! what’s that ? 

Who, sinning thus, still holds a place 

Amongst those who wear a holy face ? ‘ 

Haha !’ cry out the Penrith lads,
Just ask the parson that !’ 

Who on horseback goes to pray,
Haha ! haha !
Save when the bishop comes the way; 

Haha ! who’s that !
Who keeps employed at every call,
On Sabbath day, his servants all,
‘ Ha ha !’ cry out the Penrith lads,
Go, ask the parson that.’ 

Who lends horses out for pay Haha ! haha !
After Church on Sabbath day, Haha ! what next ? 

Who shuts his eyes at this grave breach 

Of what true Christian men do teach ?
‘ Haha !’ cry out the Penrith lads,
‘ That makes the parson vexed.’ 

Bill Beach

Bill Beach was one of Australia’s most-loved scullers. Born 1850, he grew up at Dapto, in rural New South Wales, where he won local competitions at Kanahooka Point. He then went on to win 

colonial races at Parramatta, Woolloomooloo, and then defeated Trickett. In 1884 he challenged, and won, against Ned Hanlan on the Parramatta River, thereby becoming world champion. In 1886 he went to England and won the final of the International Sweepstakes on the Thames for a prize of 1200 pounds. He then defended his title against Gaudaur on the Thames, and won. Next he defeated Ross for 1000 pounds and retained the championship, returning to Australia in December of that year. He was welcomed as a hero and in song. 

Tibbs Popular Songbook, published approximately 1887 to celebrate Bill Beach’s victorious return to Australia . It is a parody of the popular song ‘Our Jack’s Come Home Today’. I have not been able to work out what ‘Cuzzo’ refers to, possibly a ship. Jacob Gaudaur mentioned was north American champion. Hanlan’s ‘Tomki’ refers to the steamer that transported the rower back from Lismore. 

Our Oarsman, Bill Beach 

It seems but days, still months have flown since ‘Cuzzo’s’ sails unfurled,That bore away our William to wake the aquatic world, 

They woke up in old England with admiration’s cry,
When they viewed Australia’s oarsman and Ned Hanlan’s ‘Tomki’. 

Our Bill is home today, our Bill is home today, 

His words proved true – he’s put them through, 

Our Bill is home today. 

at last they give you credit Bill, you beat the Yankee twice,
They knew that you could gruel him too upon old England’s ice, He couldn’t think you’d w\venture Bill and thus the challenge sends: He wasn’t there, he didn’t dare, to meet you on the Thames. 

Will you forget the Thames Bill, forget in years to come,
The laurels you so nearly lost that Gaudar nearly won,
Will you forget the Thames, Bill, that covered you with glore, 

The greatest sculling struggle that old England ever saw. 

You’ve placed Australia highest Bill, with your aquatic fame, 

We are by far the prouder still of your unblemished name. 

That heart of flint still harder grew our honour to defend, T

hat heart has easily melted at the parting of a friend. 

The news came out from England Bill, which riffled all my ire, 

They said that you would sling the sculls and intended to retire, 

But still you’ll hold the championship and beat all if you can, 

You’ll show that you’re Australian Bill, and lose it like a man. 

In 1888 in another race with Hanlan on the Parramatta River for 500 pounds a side, he notched up another victory, finishing with three lengths to spare. Over 5000 onlookers cheered his win. 

The Clarence River on the New South Wales north coast is a mighty river and ideal for sculling. The area produced equally mighty rowers including Michael Rush 

Michael Rush, born 1844, was an Irish Australian sculler celebrated for his one-on-one competitions against champion opponents, which drew vast crowds of spectators. 

His interest in the sport of rowing dominated Rush’s life, and hampered his prosperity. He repeatedly travelled from his Clarence River home to compete for large money prizes on Sydney’s Parramatta River, neglecting his business affairs. Rush became Champion Sculler of Australia in 1873, and defended his championship several times, not always successfully. Rush succeeded on a few occasions in having the Championship venue moved from Sydney to the Clarence River, the first to shift the focus of sculling away from the capital city. The locals were justifiably proud. 

Clarence and Richmond Examiner and New England Advertiser 

(Grafton) 23 June 1877. By W. H. O’Connor. 

Richard ‘Dicky’ Green mentioned in the song is considered the ‘father of Australian rowing’. Born in 1836 at Greenwich on the Parramatta River. No sculler rowed more races than he did. He has claims to have rowed is some 22o contests (of which 123 

were sculling races) in all types of boats from 14ft. dingoes and waterman’s boats to pair-oar, fours and waterboats, and lost only about 25 out of the lot. 

Our New Aquatic Son 

Come all ye Clarence River lads And list to me awhile ;
I hope that what I’m going to sing, Will cause you all to smile.
For Rush has gone to to Sydney His training to begin,
And on the thirtieth of June
The championship to win. 

Then give three cheers for Michael Rush, And praise him all we can.
For we’ll be true. like boys of blue,
To our Clarence River man. 

Yes, Rush has gone to Sydney, Where daily he is seen Progressing there most favourably, Being trained by Richard Green. When he comes home victorious, How happy we will be, 

We’ll join together in a song, And sound the Jubilee. 

He represents our river,
To him we’ll truly stand ;
He’s the pride of every Clarence man, A credit to our land.
When he returns to RockyMouth,
Our flag will be unfurled,
We’ll welcome in our midst again
The Champion of the World. 

We won’t forget another man,
Whose rowing we have seen,
A veteran true and tried is he
His name is Richard Green.
He sticks to Rush through thick mid thin Wherever he may go. 

Then let us drink his health in wine, And freely let it flow. 

Then rise up now my Clarence boys, Let our loyal pluck be seen
We’ll raise a testimonial
For Rush and Dicky Green. 

They did honour for Australia When e’er ’twas to be done, And we will greet them gaily When the championship is won. 

James Stanbury. 

The World’s Sculling Championship won by James Stanbury on the Parramatta River, on Saturday, July 23rd, 1905 

James (Jim) Stanbury , was born 1868 on Mullet Island on the Hawkesbury River, New South Wales and was the successor of John McLean in the rowing championship of the world. In 1887 he won the first prize in the Lake Bathurst handicap, but was beaten the same year by Christian Neilson in a race over the Parramatta championship course. The next year he defeated Julius Wulf, but was himself defeated by Searle in a very toughly fought contest. In 1890 Stanbury twice defeated O’Connor, the American champion, who the year previously had been beaten by Searle on the Thames, in each case over the Parramatta course. On April 29th he defeated John McLean, another New South Wales sculler, over the same course for the championship of the world. (Wiki) 

Poem by P F Collins, aka ‘Paddy the Poet’ 

Champion Stanbury 

The news flew fast by electric force,
Far over the land and sea,
Of the great boat race on Saturday,
That was won by Stanbury.
Australia’s sons from shore to shore
Now mention his name with pride,
For a more brilliant race was never rowed 

Since old Father Adam died. 

From start to finish Jim held the lead 

By strength and skill combined;
And Towns, with every muscle strained, 

Came bravely on behind. 

The cheers that greeted him that day
Will be remembered for evermore,
From thousands of men and women too,; 

That were assembled along the shore. 

And Towns likewise was loudly cheered 

As he grasped the hero’s hand; 

“Shake Jim,” said he, “you have defeated me. 

You are a credit to this land;
I have done my best, honest and square,
I could do nothing more, I vow; 

Long may you live, Australia’s son, 

You are the world’s champion now. 

And may you ever keep the title, Jim, 

No matter who you may meet, 

For young Australia’s sake, my friend, 

May you never know defeat.
And may Australia in days to come 

Raise other men like you, 

That will always bring the championship 

‘Beneath the flag of bonny blue.” 

Success to you brave Stanbury 

Wherever you may roam, 

Throughout Australia, or other lands 

So far away from home.
And when you go to Canada,
May you weather all the gales, 

And bring fresh laurels with your back 

To sunny New South Wales. 

Henry Searle, born at Grafton, in 1866, was another Clarence River champion. He claimed his world championship in 1888 on the Parramatta River, defeating the then world champion Peter Kemp. Tragically Searle contracted typhoid fever when sailing back from England a year later. He died three weeks later in December, 1889. Over 40,00 people turned up to mourn him in Melbourne and 170,000 when his body was returned to Sydney. 

Clarence and Richmond Examiner (Grafton) 14 Dec 1889 

Death of Henry Searle. – Feelings of the most profound regret were manifested at the announcement on Tuesday morning last, that Henry Searle, the renowned sculler and champion oarsman of the world, had breathed his last at Melbourne. Although to some extent, most were prepared for the event, yet few incidents elicited such universal feelings of heartfelt sorrow, as were evinced at the sad news of the champion’s untimely end. Doubtless these manifestations would be intensified by the fact of this city being the birthplace of the young man, who, in a comparatively short period, made himself famous in the aquatic world, and it was also here that he first acquired notoriety in sculling. But few expected that when a few months ago he left these shores in the bloom and vigour of youth, and won his glorious victory on the Thames, he would have been stricken down by malignant disease, and cut off before he could return to his native soil. Searle first appeared prominently as a sculler at the Carnival at Mountain View, on the Clarence, two years ago, and from that period his rapid elevation to the highest position in sculling notoriety is well known. Few (if any) scullers had so brilliant a record. 

Brisbane Courier 31 Dec 1929.
Death of Henry Searle. Champion sculler 

Australia’s son has gone to sleep, O’er him the cloak of death is spread, And people of a nation weep,
For Henry Earnest Searle is dead. Flow sweet, Clarence, on your way, Where the sombre wattles wave,
Ah! bush birds sing your saddest lay O’er our loved lost idol’s grave 

The following anonymous song was circulated after his death. 

Henry Searle 

See the colours I have here, To colonial hearts so dear— 

Australia’s colours! —our late oarsman’s, too— For our oarsman, dead and gone,
With great brilliancy has shone,