SPRING ONION VERSES.

Putaruru Press, Volume IV, Issue 150, 16 September 1926, Page 8

SPRING ONION VERSES.

DAIRYING INDUSTRY’S SORROWS.

Lugubrious Laments at the Lions Club. Ofttimes in the late evening hour of confidences, but on the same day as the gathering assembled, the members of the Matamata Lions Club give vent to their varied woes. Sometimes their feelings are so poignant that they can only he expressed in verse. Listen, now, to the song of one “ Cheesie,” whose poetical descriptive powers rather outshine the immortal Dante of Inferno fame: — THE WAIL OF THE CHEESE PUNCHER. Only a poor old cheesie, only a simple jay, Working, sweating and swearing for twelve long hours each day ; Heating', setting and cutting, cooking the curds in the •whey, Milking, salting and turning, from August till ,end of May. Taking in milk from six o’clock, ’till the tired ones come at nine, Heaping abuse on your worried head if they are short of whey for the swine. Carrying, branding and turning, dressing the hoops in the press, But teaching the new chums who to do is the greatest trial, I confess. Along comes a hack, who has never seen cheese, except in a grocer’s shop; He gets as much pay as the older hands, or you wouldn’t get him to stop. One of his kind puts his fingers in the mill, and leaves two of them behind. Another gets entangled in a belt, and now he is out of his mind. Only a tool of the cockies, to be cast aside any day, For the wages are really magnificent; skilled men get ten bbb a day! Firing, oiling, repairing, priming the old water pump, When in comes the boss with a blooming sore head, and makes the new chums jump. Washing, sweeping, and scrubbing; everything spotlessly clean, With soap, sulphuric, and soda, till your face in the floor can be seen. The cockies are getting their two bob a pound, do you wonder that they all have a car? Cheese punchers, where is your acid, enclosed in a jar? Well, off with the lid in a hurry, for who cares if you starve after May ? And see if we can’t get a shade more than ten bob a day. Then up stands the burly Sir Cockatoo, and thus manfully he spake:— THE COCKATOO’S REPLY TO THE CHEESIE’S LAMENT. Only a down and out cockie, Working from daylight ’till dark, With dungarees holey and worn, And boots that came out of the ark. All the small profits he gathers, Preyed on by Cheesie and Co. All his bright hopes and ambitions Gone where the good niggers go. Gone is the hard cash he borrowed, Gonfe all the savings ot years. Fossilised, moss-grown and weary, He’s a sight that should move you to tears. Doomed to keep spanking old Daisy, On to the end of all time; Spurred on to further endeavour's By the tune of Cheesie’s dull whine. Supposing the Cockie to-morrow Decided ’twas time to go slow; What would become of every bum And Lord Highs, Cheesie and Co. Land agents, sharks and insurance men All like the ticks in the wool ; Wharf .lumper, middleman, Cheesie and CoJ And the much-abused, moth-eaten cockie Is expected to find all their pay. From the Big Chief’s easy t\yo thousand, To Cheesie’s poor ten bob a day. Cheesie alludes to the Cockatoo’s car, Wants them put under a ban. Small joy the Cockie gets out of his car, Bought on the instalment plan. Worried, and pressed for payments, Told that his car must go; A very big book would have to be took For the things that Cheesie don t know. The fire that runs o’er the landscape Looks very nice from afar; And drought and floods they alternate ’Till the Cockie don’t know where he are. The pests and blights that take his crops, The swamps that drown his stock; And then the rates and taxes! ’Twould send a man off his block. Some day the overworked cockie Will turn out the cows and go, Leaving them all to the hoppers, Lord Highs, Cheesie and Co. After which mutual and mournful exchanges, both parties went home to sleep off the inspiration.