Thought while I was on the subject of Droving .......
I want to share with you A.B. Paterson's wonderful poem
CLANCY OF THE OVERFLOW
I had written him a letter which I had , for want of better
Knowledge , sent to where I met him down the Lachlan years ago;
He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,
Just on spec , addressed as follows, "Clancy of the Overflow"
And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected
(And I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar);
'T'was his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it :
"Clancy's gone a droving, and we don't know where he are."
In my wild erratic fancy , visions come to me of Clancy
Gone-a-droving "down the Cooper" where the Western drovers go ;
As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,
For the drovers life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.
And the bush has friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on it's bars,
And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlight plain extended,
And at night the wondrous glory of the everlasting stars.
I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy
Ray of sunshine struggles feebly down between the houses tall,
And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty dirty city,
Through the open window floating, spreads it's foulness over all.
And in the place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle
Of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street ;
And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting
Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.
And the hurrying people daunt me, and their faces haunt me
As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,
With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,
For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.
And I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy,
Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,
While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal
But I doubt he's suit the office, Clancy, of the Overflow.
How about that....such wonderful words....
This poem was written in 1889.....124 years ago.
And he thought things were hectic then....
I love the line
" for townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste"
But the 2 most beautiful lines are
" He sees the vision splendid of the sunlight plains extended
And at night the wondrous glory of the everlasting stars"
This 'Clancy of the Overflow' was a real person , Thomas Gerald Clancy who Banjo (A.B. Paterson) contacted while he was working as a Lawyer, regarding an unpaided account.
Thomas was working on a sheep station called 'The Overflow ' 100 klms south west of Nyngan in N.S.W
He received a reply that simply read
" Clancy's gone a droving, and we don't know where he are "
He though it looked like it had been written by a thumb nail dipped in tar.......so this was the inspiration for this great Australian Poem....
It seems that the said ' Clancy ' years later wrote a poem for Banjo called
Clancy's Reply
Neath the star-spangled dome
Of my Austral home,
When watching by the camp fire's ruddy glow,
Oft in the flickering blaze
The sun-drenched kindly faces
of the men of Overflow.
Now, though years have passed forever
Since I used, with best endeavour
Clip the fleeces of the jumbucks
Down the Lachlan years ago,
Still in memory linger traces
Of the many cheerful faces,
And the well remembered visage
Of the Bulletins "Banjo".
Tired of life upon the stations,
With their wretched, scanty rations,
I took a sudden notion
That a droving I would go;
Then a roving fancy took me,
And decided me to travel,
And leave the Overflow.
So with maiden ewes from Tubbo,
I passed en route to Dubbo,
And cross the Lig'num country
'where the Barwon waters flow;
Thence onward o'er the Narran,
By scrubby belts of Yarran,
To where the landscape changes
And my path I've often wended
Over drought-scourged plains extended,
where phantom lakes and forests
Forever come and go;
And the stock in hundreds dying,
Along the road are lying,
To count among the 'pleasures'
That townsfolk never know.
Over arid plains extended
My route has often tended,
Droving cattle to the Darling,
Or along the Warrego;
Oft with nightly rest impeded,
when the cattle had stampeded,
Save I sworn that droving pleasures
For the future I'd forego.
So of drinking liquid mire
I eventually did tire,
And gave droving up forever
As a life that was too slow.
Now, gold digging, is a measure,
Affords much greater pleasure
To your obedient servant,
" Clancy of the Overflow "
I read that Clancy and Banjo became life long friends
Until next time
