The Stockman’s Cheque

There’s a hut in Riverina where a solitary hand

Might weaken on himself and all that’s his;

And there’s a pub in Riverina where they keep a smashing brand

Of every sort of liquor short o’ fizz.

Now I’ve been an’ blued another fifty-pounder at that pub -

Ah you're very sorry for me, I’ll be bound!

But when a man is fit up free with hut, an’ horse, an’ grub,

What the blazes does he want with fifty pound?

Why the devil should he hoard his fifty quid?

Who would be a bit the better if he did?

Though they slithered in a week,

When I couldn’t see or speak,

Do you think I’m here to squeak?

Lord forbid!

The boss was in the homestead, when he gives me good advice

I took the oath, and took his cheque as well.

And to me the moonlit shanty looked a pocket paradise,

Though the boss had just been calling it a hell.

And the shanty-keeper’s daughter, she’s an educated lass,

She bangs the new pianner all for me;

And the shanty-keeper’s wife she sticks me up as bold as brass,

An’ the shanty-keeper’s wife is good to see.

Two petticoats between ‘em whisk you far!

But the shanty-keeper smoked behind his bar.

Oh, his words were grave and few,

And he never looked at you

But he's just uncorked a brand new Gallon jar.

Well we fed and then we started in the bar at nine o’clock;

At twelve we made a move into the cool;

And the shanty-keeper he was just as steady as a rock,

And me as paralytic as a fool.

Now I remember the veranda like a sinkin’ vessel’s deck,

With a brace of moons suspended in the sky . . .

And nothing more till waking and inquiring for my cheque,

And the oath of all them three I’d drunk it dry!

So that was all I got for fifty notes!

The three of ‘em stood lying in their throats:

But there's one who must have seen

I’d have beat him blue an’ green

If I hadn’t gone and been

Right off my oats.

Well thank the Lord I’m back at last - though back-wrecked and whisky-logged!

Yet the gates have not come open that I shut,

I’ve seen no broken fences, and I’ve found no weak sheep bogged,

An’ my little cat is purring in my hut.

There’s tea, too for the billy-can, and there’s water in the tanks,

And ration bags hang heavy all around;

An’ my good old bunk an’ blanket beat the bare veranda planks

At the shanty where I blued my fifty pound.

So here I'll stick until I’m worth fifty more,

When I’ll take another cheque from the store;

And with the Riverina men, all the betting is that then

I'll knock it down again, just like before

Yer, with the Riverina men, all the betting is that then

I'll knock it down again, just like before                  

The Stockman’s Cheque: E. Hornung / J. Broomhall

This one is from the Riverina district of N.S.W. / Victoria, and is yet another take on that old story of a bush worker “on a spree”.  The Australian tradition has many such stories, but the imagery in this one, thanks to the vocals of Phil Roeterdink,  make it a classic.