Paddy’s Back

Father had a soft spot for the men out on the track, and some how Paddy featured regularly

Worked upon the rabbit-proof and when he came to town, he’d doss down in our shed for a week or three

He’d spend his days in the town’s hotels, drinking pinkie wine and shouting drinks for almost all the town

We’d feed his horse and dog and keep them watered regularly, and when he left he’d give half-a-crown

CHORUS

The spring cart tracks led through our gate, his horse and dog were there, we ran to mother shouting out the news

“Paddy’s back from the “the rabbit-proof”, he’s in from way out back, and I’ll bet he’s down at the Federal getting boozed!”

When Paddy staggered home alone or on a copper’s arm, we’d take him down some supper on a tray

A plate of “snags” or “Murphys”, or mother’s shepherd’s pie, he thought it like a banquet, so he’d say

And often when we’d go out to the outhouse in the night, we’d hear old Paddy talking to his dog

Or singing Irish melodies, or spieling to the stars, he’d stay a gentle man despite the grog

When his money disappeared, father told him so; his clothes were laundered, he was scrubbed and shaved

He’d join us at the table and tell stories of the bush – us kids would listen spellbound to his tales

Then next day he’d load his cart with stores to see him through, and father’d slip some pinkie in the back

He’d head off to the rabbit-proof to check along the fence, we’d watch him disappear along the track

At Christmas time there’d always be a parcel for us kids, that Paddy got the local store to send

And one year I remember he really got it right, tin soldiers in a box – a hundred men

And father’d get a cherry pipe, a table cloth for mum, the gifts were better than a lump of gold

A flask of Irish whisky was what father’d give to him, to frighten off the snakes and beat the cold

But somehow Paddy drifted from our lives as we grew up – I often wonder where old Paddy went

Did he meet a childhood sweetheart and find a home in town, or did he die out by that lonely fence?

The snake that killed his old Blue Heeler, did it get him too, or did he strike it rich in someone’s will?

Either way I still can hear those Irish melodies: tin soldiers march across the table still

Paddy’s Back:  A. Ralph

From a story written in “The West Australian” newspaper for the bi-centennial celebrations  in 1988,  Alan Ralph has crafted a delightful song about Paddy, the itinerant worker on the Rabbit-Proof Fence and his regular trips to town.