"THE SPEARWAH"

New Zealand Listener, Volume 2, Issue 27, 29 December 1939, Page 34

"THE SPEARWAH"

Everyone who has worked in a shearing-shed-especially among Australian shearers-has heard of the "Spearwah" (or Speewaw). Here is the real story of that legendary place told in verse by Bruce Stronach. 1. 1 had a relation on the Spearwah station. He told me what he’s seen there. I can’t deny it seems a lie, But then-lI’ve never been there! II It’s big and large and wide and huge and long and deep, this station. If#s twice as wide and thrice as long as many a bigger nation. The men that ride are the station’s pride, and thousands of miles they goThey can ride for years, in sweat and tears, and never the whole run know. : Til. One mighty man, so big and tall, four feet between the eyes, Stayed twenty years upon his horse until he got a rise. The horses there grow wire, not hair, and buck so hard and high That the riders all, if they do fall, arc fed with shotgun pie. IV. So far it is from towns and trams and news and stress and strain That chaps there never see a sea, or ship or church or train; And the news they get on the wireless set, is three days old or more. For, as they say, it’s a long, long way, to the set on the old Spearwah. Vv. The hills are high and strong and grim and rocky at the peakWe had to stoop for the sun to pass, as it did full once a week: For the nights we had-it sounds quite mad-were seven days in length; But we slept like logs, men, sheep and dogs, and f sleeping gave us strength.

VI. The shearing shed was made of wood, and iron, brick, and stone: It stretched for miles along the creek, its length was never known. Each catching pen for the shearing men, was big beyond all reason. I lost my pup when penning up-we found his bones next season. Vil. The boss, on his motor-bike of course, rushed up and down the board, And the fleecies, when he motored by, they laughed with one accord: For well they knew, that cheeky crew, that he couldn’t be back for daysThey could laugh and play right through the day, and then lie back and laze. VII. The ringer was hard and strong and grim, and wonderful with the sheep. His feet were twenty yard apart and his pockets three feet deep. He could spit a mile without a smile, and that can be done by fewHe rolled his fags from wool and dags and shaved with a blowlamp, too. IX, So tough were we, so iron hard, steel lined and so he-mannish, For morning tea each man would make a big Merino vanish; And the bones we’d crunch to finish lunch, and nothing would be overThe bone, the hoof, some tin from the roof, and we were all in clover. X. The tea was brown and sweet and thick and full of stones and tannin, And once long, long, and long ago they brewed it with a man in, By a quaint old bird the tea was stirred, in a little rowing boat: He'd get it sweet, put up a sheet, and with the wind he’d float. XI. This yarn is tall, no doubt at all, and very this and thattish: It’s full of rough and ready facts-not scented of top-hattish. But the Spearwah’s there, and that I'll swear-I think that’s fair enoughSo if you go, you ought to know-you really must be tough.

BRUCE

STRONACH