Many men lost their sweated earnings in the taverns that
popped up on the Australian and NZ goldfields, and later in
the more permanent country hotels that were established for
shearers and other farm workers in the back country
townships of both countries.
It's in a first-rate business section
Where four bush-roads cross and meet;
It stands in a quiet and neat direction
To rest the weary traveller's feet.
Chorus Rows of bottles standing upright
Labelled with bright blue and gold,
Beer so cold it needs no icing
From the cellar's drear dark hold.
Kerosene lamps are shining brightly,
Cards, and lo, the billiard balls:
Men and women are dancing lightly
To the music inside those walls.
There’s quoits and games and bagatelle
All to suit your fancy-0
But better far behind the bar
Stands smiling darling Nancy-0
Nancy's smiles are quite beguiling,
To make some fun she's willing-0
You give a rap she turns the tap
And thanks you for your shilling-0
Landlord stands with smiling face;
He likes to see your cash forked out;
Landlord stands with smiling face,
Sometimes he will stand a "shout”.
Landlord “shouting” is uncommon;
He’s kidding you to dance and play;
How the devil can a bloke keep sober
In those shanties by the way?
When you wake up in the morning
In your thirst without a mag,
You cast around a sad reflection
As you shoulder up your swag.
Penniless you'll have to wander
For many a long and dreary day,
Till you earn another cheque to squander
In those shanties by the way.
This song started as a
poem in Australia then was carried back and forth across the
Tasman Sea by itinerant workers. It was collected in 1940 in
New Zealand in the above form from a singer who had learnt the
song from two ‘diggers’. They said they had learnt it from a
miner on the West Coast of New Zealand who had come from
Australia many years previously.
Here is Ovenbury's original poem, published in The Creswick
& Clunes Advertiser in 1864.
The Public By The Way
On a first-rate business section;
Where four bush roads cross and meet.
Stands a large and fine erection,
Dear to weary traveller's feet.
Should he for a moment linger,
'Tis a case for all the day;
For his cash they'll supply finger
In the public by the way.
In he steps, p’raps never dreaming
More than half an hour to stop.
Tastes the liquor, foaming, creaming,
On the polished pewter pot.
One pint soon brings on another.
Then he feels inclined to stay:
Oh, his cash he'll quickly smother
In the public by the way.
Rows of bottles stand enticing
Radiant with bright blue and gold:
Beer so cool it needs no icing
From the cellar's dusky hold:
Cards and billiards always ready
Landlord presses him to play;
How, then, can a cove keep steady
In these publics by the way.
Landlord stands with smiling features
Glad to see the cash shell out;
Seems the best of generous creatures
For he sometimes stands a shout.
Then he neatly lands his salmon.
By "kidding" him to drink and play
Oh, there is a deal of gammon
In these publics by the way.
Morning finds him in dejection.
Thirsty, sick, without a mag;
Prey to many a sad reflection,
As he shoulders up his swag.
On the road he's free to wander
Penniless for many a day;
Thus it is with all who squander
In the public by the way.
Peter
Cape updated the words for the 1950s, when
the 6-o-clock closing of hotel bars meant that people
went to parties on Friday nights to get drunk.
Charlie's Bash
I stayed in the pub till nearly seven,
Two-thirds shickered, out of cash,
Where am I going to find some bottles,
To cart along to Charlie's bash?
Chorus
Rows of
bottles leaning sideways, Heaps of bottles in the path. Some poor begger comes a cropper, An' all those jokers have to laugh.
I nick half a dozen from Charlie's locker,
See his face when he finds 'em gone.
Not too steady climbing High Street,
Hope that I don't meet a 'John'.
It's getting late when I meet my sheila,
She seems to think I've been all day.
She sits by the driver in the taxi,
Hasn't got a word to say.
Things are moving up at Charlie's,
Hear the noise for half a mile.
I give my sheila golden sherry,
Then I hit the bar a while.
Chorus
The women sitting on the sofa,
Gave up drinking an hour ago,
So I get with the jokers in the corner,
Sing all the smutty songs we know.
Grog is cut 'bout eleven-thirty,
The boys go whoopin' out for more.
Someo ne's calling out for Charlie,
But Charlie's flaked on the kitchen floor.
Chorus
Now my sheila's got her coat on
Leads me out and boy I'm crook
I go sailing in the gutter
She walks off without a look
In the morning, cripes I'm rotten
Tongue's got whiskers, eyelids clash
But roll on week until it's Friday
And Charlie has another bash.
