Old Bluey’s Yarn by Vaughan Baker introduces a weathered old shearer whose stories grow taller with every line.
Set beneath a tree in Moree, it follows a group of Queensland-bound caravanners as Old Bluey spins a gloriously unlikely account of his life across the sheds—before finishing with a familiar request for a redback.
Old Bluey’s Yarn
By Vaughan Baker
They were travelling together, with their pop-top caravans,
When they stopped to have a breather on their way up to Queensland,
There, the tourists struck old Bluey in a park, beneath a tree
With his flagon in the shrubbery so the coppers wouldn’t see.
They’d set up their chairs and table not too far from this old bloke,
When he made his way towards them and he tried to bludge a smoke,
Someone asked him what he’d been in this great land of mystery,
And here’s the tale old Bluey told the tourists in Moree.
He said, “I’ve always made a liven from the shearen industry,
I first went rouseabouten with me dad when I was three,
By twelve I was a shearer an’ was getten pretty fast;
Back in them days, they didn’t pay kids to sit on their (backside.)
He said, “Shearen was much tougher then, with just the narrow gear,
And the sheep were far more wrinkly and so harder than to shear,
And the squatters gripped the coin so tight in them days on the land
That you could hear the kangas choken on the pennies in their hands!
I soon got inter contracten, that’s where the money was,
Then I could have me choice of woodshed jobs, since I was boss,
I’d shear, or press, or class the wool, as general overseer
Of the roughest team of blokes around, who’d rather fight than shear!
Wool classing was more technical, than how it is today,
I found the handiest wool bin was one marked DFK (I still DFK?)
Wool pressen was gut-busten work in days of long ago,
Slaven on a Ferrier press, or a Koertsz’s “Warrego”.
I had a row at smoko once, with a learner on the team;
He swore he’d tallied twenty shorn, but I’d counted out nineteen.
I counted them a second time, and peace was soon restored,
He’d had two sheep stuck together with the blood from off the board!
Some lambs got smothered at one shed, so the cocky had ’em skinned,
He’d laid ’em on the board to dry, when this wool agent came in.
He said, “I’ve seen rough shearers but your team’s the worst, be Gord!
Check the size of those skin pieces at the far end of the board!”
“I got drunk once when a shed cut out at a far-off western town,
Me mates took me home stonkered, but forgot me faithful hound!
I rang and got the publican to bung Red on the phone,
I said, “Get here!” and in two days he’d hitch-hiked his way home!
A devious old Bum Steerer, one tea time at the huts
Was lecturing young shearers how to stitch up shearing cuts,
“The main thing is,” he told ’em, as his grin he tried to hide,
“Before you start, make sure to check the sheep’s on the inside!”
“I did a stint of cooken, one time when me back was crook.
Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t just your common shearer’s cook.
The shed was so colossal there was scores of stands,” he said
“An’ I was hired ter feed the team of cooks that kept the shearers fed!”
“But me back kept given trouble, an’ arthritis took its toll,
Now I’m stuck here in this noisy town existing on the dole!
Could yer spare a bloke a “Redback” for a decent bite ter eat,
Cos I’m goen back contracten when I get back on me feet?”
Yeah, they were travelling together with their pop-top caravans
When they stopped to have a breather on their way up to Queensland,
There, the tourists struck old Bluey, in a park beneath a tree,
With his flagon in the shrubbery so the coppers wouldn’t see.
Keeping The Verse Alive
Old Bluey’s Yarn is shared with permission from Vaughan Baker through Keeping The Verse Alive, Country Campfire’s bush poetry preservation project.
By preserving poems like this, we’re helping ensure the stories, humour and characters of country Australia continue to be enjoyed for generations to come.
Vaughan Baker
Grazier • Bush Poet • Heritage Custodian • Poultry Breeder
Vaughan Baker has spent more than half a century working sheep country near Thallon, Queensland, and retirement has done little to slow him down. Between his Merinos, Foxtukka Freerange Fancy Fowls and preserving Old Bullamon Homestead, he still finds time for a bush yarn carrying the humour and characters of life on the land.
Poems, recitals, photographs, stories and original works remain the property of their original creator and are shared by Country Campfire with permission.
