Material for NZFS song pages

Little Bird
Anika Moa

Capo +2
Use chord shapes  Am G  F Am G F


Oh little bird, fly fly to me
Oh little bird, fly fly away

Tui in the tree, sing softly
Bring in the dawn,with your sweet song

Huias from the past, whistling to the moon
All the trees aghast
At your ghostly tune

We a looka dun???, -? -? down a tree
With your cheekiness, woka? bird rest free

Oh little bird, fly fly to me
Oh little bird, fly fly away

Oh little bird, fly fly to me
  - - - -  , fly fly away

Korimako sings, his dawn chorus brings
But koro? through the leaves, a chance to set you free

Manu kaho whichit hart???, with melody so long
Singing to the sky, a lovely insect song
(Grey warbler?)

Kereru on the branch, feeling very proud
Shiny purple hazy colours, makes you coo? stance?

Click Go The Claws

This is a snippet of a song that I collected during a drunken night from a sardine fisherman in Punta Arenas (Chile). He was an Englishman who had married a Chilian lass, but he had worked on the fishing boats during the boom times of the Chathams. The tune is of course Click go the Shears and it is a song of its place and time.
                       Mitch (from Rotorua) June 1999

Click go the claws boys click, click, click.
Fasten up that nipper boy you best be bloody quick
For if it grabs your finger then we'll all be in the shit
so get a friggin bend on boy no click ,click click.

Sailing round the Chatham Rise is such a pleasant cruise
Nobby from the 'British' reckons we're here just for the booze
And don't forget the nightlife where the dance goes on all night
I'm sitting here bored shitless, but I reckon that's all right
                                        For
Click go the claws boys click, click, click.
Fasten up that nipper boy you best be bloody quick
For if it grabs your finger then we'll all be in the shit
so get a friggin bend on boy no click ,click, click.

But if I'm wise I'll think about moving out real soon
They tell that the locals change around the bright full moon
It's all that living close and being real friendly with your chum
So when the 'Holmdale' next does calls you'll find me on the run
                                         No More
Click go the claws boys click, click, click.
Fasten up that nipper boy you best be bloody quick
For if it grabs your finger then we'll all be in the shit
so get a friggin bend on boy no click ,click click.

UNTOUCHABLE GIRLS
TOPP TWINS

1. We’re untouchable, untouchable, untouchable girls
Untouchable, untouchable, untouchable girls
We’re untouchable, untouchable, untouchable girls
We're untouchable, untouchable girls

Chorus
 We’re untouchable, untouchable, untouchable girls
We’re stroppy, we’re aggressive, we’ll take over the world
We’re untouchable, untouchable, untouchable girls
We're untouchable, untouchable girls

2. We don’t let anybody touch our brains
We won’t ever, ever plug into the mains
And we are overtaking on a single lane
We’re untouchable, untouchable girls

Chorus

3. We live in a world that doesn’t care too much
You’ve got to stand up, you’ve got to have guts
Yeah, we are untouchable but we touch
We’re untouchable, untouchable girls

CHORUS




Exult for Te Kooti
Arthur Desmond

Exult for Te Kooti! Te Kooti the bold;
So fierce in the onset, so dauntless of old,
Whose might was resistless when battle-wars rolled-
     Exult for Te Kooti, yo-hoo!

The Pakehas came with their rum and their gold,
And soon the broad lands of our fathers were sold,
But the voice of Te Kooti said: Hold the land! Hold!
Exult for Te Kooti, yo-hoo!

They falsely accused him, no trial had he,
They carried him off to an isle in the sea;
But his prison was broken, once more he was free-
     Exult for Te Kooti, yo-hoo!

They tried to enslave us, to trample us down
Like the millions that serve them in field and in town;
But the sapling that's bended when freed will rebound-
     Exult for Te Kooti, yo-hoo!

He plundered their rum stores, he ate up their priests,
He robbed the rich squatters to furnish him feasts-
What fare half so fine as their clover-fed beasts?
Exult for Te Kooti, yo-hoo!

In the wild midnight foray whose footsteps trod lighter?
In the flash of the rifle whose eyeballs gleamed brighter?
What man with our hero could clinch as a fighter?
     Exult for Te Kooti, yo-hoo!

They say it was murder; but what, then, is war?
When they slaughtered our kin in the flames of the pa,
O darker their deeds and more merciless far!
Exult for Te Kooti, yo-hoo!

They boast that they'll slay him-they'll shoot him at sight,
But the power that nerves him's a giver of might;
At a glance from his eye they shall tremble with fright-
     Exult for Te Kooti, yo-hoo!

When the darkness was densest he wandered away
To rejoice in the charge of the wild battle-fray;
Now, his limbs they are feeble, his beard it is grey-
     Exult for Te Kooti, yo-hoo!

The Eternal's our father, the land is our mother,
The forest and mountains our sister and brother;
Who'd part with his birthright for gold to another?
Exult for Te Kooti, yo-hoo!

We won't sell the land-'tis the gift of the Lord-
Except it be bought with the blood-drinking sword;
But all men are welcome to share in its hoard-
     Exult for Te Kooti, yo-hoo!

Yet 'mid the rejoicing forget not the braves
Who, in glades of forest, have found lonely graves,
Who welcomed cold Death, for they scorned to be slaves-
     Exult for Te Kooti, yo-hoo!

Exult for Te Kooti, Te Kooti the bold,
So sage in the council, so famous of old,
Whose war-cry's our motto-'tis Hold the land! Hold!
Exult for Te Kooti, yo-hoo!

From the Bulletin (Sydney) of 23 March 1889.


Maori Translation
Whakanui Te Kooti! Te Kooti māia;
Hīmata wawana, he uaua o mua,
Hau-kere-kere, ai te whawhai
     Whakanui Te Kooti, e-ha!

I haramai nga Pakeha, me te rama me te koura
Ka hokona nga whenua, o nga tupuna
Engari te reo, o Te Kooti "Pupuri !
    Whakanui Te Kooti, ​​e-ha!

I pahuatia ratou rama, i kainga nga tohunga.
I pahuatia whairawa, hei taka nga hakari
He aha pai rawa, atu i a kararehe ?
    Whakanui Te Kooti, ​​e-ha!

Te Ihowa matou papa,  te whenua matou whaea;
Ko ngahere me  maunga,  tatou tuahine, tuakana;
Ma wai hoko tona, tuku iho mo te koura ?
    Whakanui Te Kooti, ​​e-ha!


Te Kooti was a veritable Maori Robin Hood - an outlaw, who for years fought the invaders of his country, and outmanoeuvred their generals by his knowledge of the bush. The translator has done his best to turn the savage force and poetic fervour of a wild Maori chant into the rhythmic swing of ordinary English verse. In doing so he has faithfully preserved the meaning, but has been compelled to take some liberties with construction and metaphor.

Desmond had probably met Te Kooti. In February 1889, when Te Kooti's announced intention to visit Gisborne caused a panic among local settlers, Desmond, who was described as 'a pakeha emissary from the Hauhaus', attended a protest meeting at Gisborne and attempted to read a message but was ejected amid scenes of great uproar.

Arthur Desmond was born in Hawke's Bay of Irish parents, and was working as a cattle-drover when he first contested the Hawke's Bay seat in the General Election of 1884. He stood again, unsuccessfully, in 1887, and then moved to Auckland where he played a prominent part in the Maritime Strike of 1890 as the leader of the most extreme section among the unionists.

Soon afterwards, Desmond left for Australia where he worked as a journalist and became active in radical labour politics. In Australia Desmond came under the spell of Nietzschean ideas. He glorified force and paganism, denounced women, and adopted the Nordic pen-name of 'Ragnar Redbeard'. In 1895 Desmond left for Britain and later worked in the United States, still as a writer and journalist. His end is shrouded in mystery. According to one account he was shot during a rebellion in Mexico; according to others he was killed in World War I.

Throughout his chequered career Desmond wrote poetry. H. F. Holland, an early associate of his Sydney days, called him eccentric but praised his 'rather fine verse in eulogy of Te Kooti'. W. M. Hughes, who worked with Desmond on radical journals of the early nineties, wrote later: 'His command of scarifying language was appalling. When anything had to be said that could not be safely said in prose, it was entrusted to Desmond. He would say anything and find a good rhyme to it too. . . . Poetry oozed out of him at every pore. He could not help being a poet, any more than he could help cursing the capitalist. . . . Desmond could have written poetry sitting on an ant-heap in the wilderness.'


Farewell To Geraldine
words Joe Fleming, music traditional

Chorus
Farewell to you old Geraldine, I am now upon the track,
I'm travelling down that long and weary road, with a swag all on my back.

I'm heading towards Temuka town and if work I cannot find,
I’ll make my way on towards Washdyke, leave Temuka far behind.

I'll call in next to old Timaru and round there take a look,
But if no farmer should want me there, I'll drop on down to the Hook.

I'll push ahead then to Oamaru, Ngapara and Duntroon,
Where farmers often work at night by the pale light of the moon.

When harvest days are over and the corn is in the sack,
I'll shoulder bluey once again and by the rattler I'll be coming back.


He Ngeri (a jeering song)  1860s
Anon

E noho ana i toku kainga i Niu Tireni,
     He aha tou arero, tou arero,
He aha tou arero, tou arero;
Ko te wakahoki tenei o paipakore,
Kia peia atu i te taitahae
Haere atu te Porihi ki Oropira, ki te Tikina
Kai huka, paraoa, piketi, ti;
Hoei ano. He mana nui ki Niu Tireni nei,
Ko te kingi rauna katoa te motu nei,
Ki te ae, ae, ae, amine.

A Jeering Song

I am living in my home in New Zealand,
     What do you say, do you say,
What do you say, do you say,
This is the reply of him bereft of pipe:
Let the mad drunkards set off to Europe, to the diggings,
     The sugar, flour, biscuit, tea consumers.
This is all. New Zealand still possesses great power.
The King shall encircle the whole island.
So be it, so be it, so be it. Amen.


From The Past and Present of New Zealand by the Rev. R. Taylor, London, i868. This song illustrates Maori feeling at the beginning of the wars. 'Thinking that there could be no co-operation with the Pakeha,' writes Taylor, 'they sought to establish their nationality totally distinct from that of the European. The feelings of the time are fully expressed in a song which was then in every Maori child's mouth.'

'Bereft of pipe' refers to the heavy duty which had been put on tobacco of which the Maoris were heavy consumers. The King is, of course, the Maori King whose followers sang this song.


Leatherman
words anon, music traditional / Phil Garland

A stockman yes I am and my work is droving cattle,
With my whip and dog I set them at a rattle.
Droving down the dusty road, I'm the roughest kind of bloke,
The roughest kind of bloke you'll ever know.

Chorus:-
Jog along, jog along, jog along Leatherman,
In the wind and in the rain, droving cattle for the can.

At night I just sleep underneath a tree,
No feather mattress- poster bed for me.
Riding 'til I'm saddle worn, I'm the roughest kind of bloke,
The roughest kind of bloke, 'twas ever born.

In the early morning when the sun is up,
I roll up my swag and whistle to my pup,
"Go in Darky, bite their tails, go and bark 'em up,
Go and bark 'em up along the dusty trail."


Oh Mr Fraser
Words: anonymous
Music: "Lili Marlene"

Also see D-Day Dodgers

Oh Mr Fraser, won't you take us home?
Don't you think we've had enough,
We want no more to roam;
We've had all the sand, the sweat, the blood
We've lived in rain and snow and mud,
So won't you take us home?
Oh won't you take us home?

Oh Mr Fraser, won't you take us home?
Don't you think we've had enough,
We've got as far as Rome,
We've had all the bints both young and old
And signorinas leave us cold,
So won't you take us home?
Oh won't you take us home?

Oh Mr Fraser, won't you take us home?
We've seen enough stink that is no buon;
Old Egypt's beer was kwise kateer
But we don't seem to like it here,
So won't you take us home?
Oh won't you take us home?

Now Mr Fraser, you'd better take us home;
No-one will know us, our speech will not be known;
We speak in Wog and Eyetie slang
And all our 'Engleesh' has slipped to hang,
So won't you take us home?
Oh won't you take us home?

And Mr Fraser, if you take us home,
We'll stick you back and put you on the throne,
But if you don't and let us down,
We'll run your gang right out of town-
You'd better take us home,
You'd better take us home.

 
Bird in the Thyme
Hollie Fullbrook

V1. 
There it was
A fallen bird in the thyme
Its time had come
And then the sage
He gave his wise reply
And I looked down

V2. 
And on the twelfth night
The fool came
With his song and his smile
And on the twelfth night
The fool came
With his song and his smile

Chorus.   
        And we rose merrily forward
        And we rose merrily down
        And we rose merrily forward
        And we rose merrily down

V1. again 
There it was
A fallen bird in the thyme
Its time had come
And then the sage
He gave his wise reply
And I looked down

Chorus again

[Intro]
Am  C  G Am C G Am
 
[Verse 1]
         F
There it was
  C       G               Am
A fallen       bird in the thyme
     Fm  F     C      G      Am
Its time had come
              F
And then the sage
     C       G         Am
He gave his        wise reply
    F          C     G     Am
And I looked down

[Chorus]
         F            C    G  Am
And we rose merrily forward
         F     C        G  Am
And we rose merrily down
         F            C     G  Am
And we rose merrily forward
         F     C        G  Am
And we rose merrily down

The rest of those that have gone before us cannot steady the unrest of those to follow."     (Finding Forrester)

'Beauty is but a flower
Which wrinkles will devour;
Brightness falls from the air;
Queens have died young and fair;
Dust hath close'd Helen's eye.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord, have mercy on us!
Strength stoops unto the grave,
Worms feed on Hector brave;
Swords may not fight with fate,
Earth still holds open her gate.'
A Litany in Time of Plague, Thomas Nashe
        https://poets.org/poem/litany-time-plague

Hollie wrote this for a performance of Shakespeare's Twelfth Night.

Like all of Shakespeare's other fools, the wise Clown on 12th Night wraps his wisdom in puns and chopped logic.  He rattles off what he calls a "simple syllogism": Virtuous people make mistakes, but that doesn't make them totally bad ("virtue that transgresses is but patched with sin"), and vice-versa; in other words, nobody's perfect and everyone makes mistakes, but no mistake has to be forever.

The mistake that the Clown has in mind is Olivia's vow to mourn seven years for her dead brother, staying veiled and weeping all the while, the Clown adds that Calamity is a cuckold because no one can stay married to it forever; no matter what terrible thing has happened to you, eventually you will fall out of love with your grief and get on with life. The time for Olivia to get on with her life is now, because "beauty's a flower," which buds, blooms, fades, and dies. Olivia is beautiful, and it will be a shame if she doesn't enjoy life while she is in bloom.

SEASONS IN THE VALLEY
Words and Music by Rudy Sunde



Springtime in the valley, blossoms on the vine
Gentle springtime breezes in the rustling pines
Springtime in the valley, winter's left behind
Time to sow and time to plant for the harvest time,

chorus:
Oratia my valley, that's where I belong
Oratia my valley, that's where I call home
Oratia my valley, valley of my birth
Oratia my valley loveliest on earth,

Summer in the valley, fruits are bursting forth
Slowly ripening in the sun, fruits of the earth
Summer in the valley, harvest getting near
Summer sun is shining down, blue skies overhead,

Autumn in the valley, harvest coming in
Everybody's working hard, soon be time to sing
Autumn in the valley, nothing's left to chance
Harvest nearly over, now's the time to dance,

Winter in the valley, winter work in hand
Rainy days and colder nights, time to rest and stand
Winter in the valley, houses warmed by fire
Time to sit a little while, sup the autumn wine

Seasons in the valley, thus the years go by
Seasons when we laughed and played, seasons when we cried
Seasons when the vines they thrived, seasons when they died
Seasons in the valley, time goes drifting by.

Only an Old Hearth Wall
(Martin Curtis)

Chorus:
    I'm only an old hearth wall I stood for a century or more
    But the mortar in my stones is as fragile as old bones
    And I know one day soon I'm going to fall.

1.    I was built when this country wasn't old,
    As men searched Otago after gold
    In the winter's frost and snow, at twenty five below
    I kept many miners from the cold,

2.    When the Gin & Raspberry mine was at its peak
    And the miners blew a fortune every week
    How I watched them come and go as they made the tailings grow
    And the diggings spread up every little creek.

Chorus.

3.    When the European miners had all gone,
    It was then that the Chinese came along
    Working sixteen hours a day, they made the tailings pay
    And found gold where men said there was none.

4.    Now there's very little left here to show
    Where thousands lived and worked so long ago
    Just a handful come by horse through the spreading broom and gorse
    And the gooseberries and the briar bushes grow.

Chorus.

5.    Now the murmur of the river lulls my dream
    As I think of all the history that I've seen
    While the sheep around me graze, I think of distant days
    When the sound of pick and shovel filled the stream.

6.    Next time the southerlies come round,
    The old poplar tree will come down
    And when Spring comes next year, all you'll find lying here
    A pile of rubble scattered on the ground.

    I was only an old hearth wall.
    I stood for a century or more.


Talking Dog (Peter Cape)

1.    There's a young cow cockie sitting on a log
Sharpening up his axe and talking to his dog.
He says  to the dog, "I'm tired of bachin' all m' life"
The dog answers back "Mate, why don't you get a wife".

Chorus:
For the ducks in the duckpond, the porkers in the pen
No sooner finished milking than you're starting up again.

So he hops aboard his tractor, drives down to the local hall
    Lots of lovely ladies lined all along the wall.
He says to his dog, "I'll leave the choice to you".
The dog cuts out a grouse one and he says "She'll do!"

For the….

Now you've gotta gedda license, you've gotta gedda ring
    Got to get the parson and get the choir to sing.
Great day coming, down the church at three
"Who gives this woman" and the dog says "Me!"

For the....

4.   Now this young cow cockie still hasn't got it right
Dog talks all the daytime, an' the missus talks at night.
Gonna leave them to it and get another lease
Away back in the tea-tree, where he'll gedda bit of peace.

From the....

5.  Now if you want a moral, and I don't see why you should
Talking to your dog won't do you any good.
If you must be talking, keep it sweet and nice
Take a tip from me, boys and don't take his advice.

Or you'll have….


Stop The River (Martin Curtis)

1.    The settlers heard the call of gold
They braved the country and the cold
They built their stables and a forge
And set to work in Cromwell Gorge.
They worked their claims from dawn till dark
They lived in tents or huts of bark
And though they made the tailings grow
They never stopped the river's flow.

Chorus:
Stop the river, dam the flow
Flood the beauty and spoil the show.
The cities need the power to grow
And grow and grow and grow and grow and grow.

2.    And when at last the gold was gone
The settlers stayed to carry on.
They built their farms and tilled the soil
They gave the land their sweat and toil.
Soon golden poplars lined the banks
And flowering fruit trees stood in ranks.
The Clutha made their orchards grow
But they never stopped the river's flow.

3.    What would the pioneers all say
To see the river's rape today.
To hear the blast and watch the fall
Of tons of rock to build the wall.
To see the line of huge machines
Destroying history, wrecking dreams.
They say for Power all must go
And never shall we let the river flow.


Jack's Song (Martin Curtis)

1.    Long before sunrise, we're out of the sack
    Throw tea and flour in your battered old pack.
    Hang all your traps round your trusty old hack
    And away to the brown hills of Pisa.

2.    We eat rabbit curry, we eat rabbit stew
            We've tried rabbit roasted and rabbit pie too
            Without us there wouldn't be one single ewe
            Up in the brown hills of Pisa.

Chorus
            And it's gut 'em and skin 'em and five for a bob.
            Some people say it's not much of a job.
            But give me my freedom, just me and my cob
            Up in the brown hills of Pisa.

3.        The rabbit has never done me any harm
        His meat kept me fed and his fur kept me warm.
            He gave me my living, he earnt me my farm
            Under the brown hills of Pisa.

4.            We'd catch them by trapping, we'd kill them with shot
            We'd send down a ferret and bring out the lot'
            But now it's 1060 and leave them to rot
            Up in the brown hills of Pisa.

5.            The rabbiter's life was the life that I knew,
            A horse and me traps and me old '22.
            But mexy's the next thing they're going to use
        Up in the brown hills of Pisa.

(Mexy-myxomatosis; 1080 - a slow poison used to kill rabbits)


IN SIGHT OF THE MOUNTAIN

Out of your bunk in the morning
Downing your bacon and tea
Sorting your gear for the journey ahead
You stow it and shoulder your pack easily

Living in sight of the mountain
Hearing the rush of the stream
Climbing the heights to the mountain
Into a picture that's painted in dreams

On to the track as the air warms
Bird call and flurry of wings
Leaf litter carpets to soften your step
Your mind full of beauty and natural things

Then make your way to the high ground
Piercing the mist with your eyes
Lifting your spirits and lifting your stride
Searching for weather sign up the skies

Stop for a spell, you lay back
Cares and confusion subside
Dozing off dreamily waking to see
The valley below spreading peaceful and wide

Set up your tent in a clear place
Sit round the campfire and sing
Yarning and joking to fill in the hours
Hoping fine weather the morning will bring

Meet with your friends of the forest
Give your embrace to the trees
Take in the air and the sounds of the bush
Leave only footprints to show you were here


THE KIWI

In Queen Street today
There's a poster to say
The Kiwi is ready to sail.
Yes, next Wednesday
She'll be up and away,
With passengers, cargo and mail.
There's gold, so they say,
In those hills round the Grey,
Just for digging and dragging away,
There's money to be made,
If you've mutton to trade-

Men are hungry, they've nuggets to pay.

If men are not liars,
The captain, Joe Bryers,
Knows the coast like the back of his hand.
So pack up your swag
And your old carpetbag,
And let's go and wash us some sand.
She's a tough little tub
Loaded down with good grub,
Whisky, tobacco, cigars.
So let's sing 'hooray'
For the Kiwi today-

Coming home loaded low with gold bars.

There's a sad tale to tell,
For they've just rung the bell
In Lloyd's in London today,
For one little ship
On a prospecting trip,
Lost with all hands, so they say.
Away down under,
Where the big breakers thunder
In the teeth of the roaring forties,
Where the mountains stand bold
And the rivers run cold-

Down to the wild southern seas,


Smoko! Spello!
Words Joe Charles, music Phil Garland

I was sitting on a shingle slide in the bush below the snow,
When away down in a gully I heard a whistle blow.
It was smoko in the sawmill so I knew it must be ten,
I set my watch and shook her well and wound her up again.

chorus

Smoko! spello! billy on the boil,
Light a fag and take a drag and rest your bones from toil.

There's nothing like a cup of tea and time to roll a fag,
Wet your whistle, stretch your back and squat and chew the rag.
So whenever you hear a whistle blow, or someone ring a bell,
Whatever the note, grab your coat and wait for the boss to yell.

When they're drafting in the station yard and you're just the rouseabout,
The dust it flies, you're hot and dry, you'll hear a shed-hand shout.
They're banging along to beat the gong for the last sheep in the pen,
You give 'em the boot, they're down the chute, you'll hear him yelling then.

W hen you're cutting wood on contract in a block of old dead wattle,
You're facing a loss and the clock's the boss, it's cold tea from a bottle.
Take a bite to eat, put up your feet and rest if you can't relax,
Ten minutes neat, then on your feet and a smoke while you grind your axe.


Kakino Georgy Grey
Charles Robert Thatcher
(Air: Nellie Gray)

In that battered hulk that's anchored off the Waitemata shore,
The Maoris used to while the time away.
They tucked the British beef in, and of biscuits had galore,
And lived like fighting cocks each blessed day;
They had presents of to tobacco; all they lacked was liberty,
And they pitched into the grub like anything,
After living months at our expense at last they have got free,
And this is the song the rebels now will sing.

Chorus:    Kakino Georgy Grey,
You have let us get away,
   And youll never, never see us any more,
      Much obliged to you we are,
   And you'll find us in a pa,
Rifle-pitted on the Taranaki shore.

On the very best we fed, we had lots of beef and bread,
In confinement very few of us did sulk;
But some of us did die from the plentiful supply
And gormandising there on board the hulk.
If sickness we did sham, the worthy Doctor Sam
Attended us and made us all serene,
And every Sabbath day a parson came to pray,
And warn us all how naughty we had been.

Kakino Georgy Grey, &c.


No work we had to do ; no employment to pursue
We loafed and smoked from breakfast until tea,
And the time we would employ in chaffing you, old boy,
And planning what we'd do when we got free.
We were a useless lot, but the 'elephant' you'd got
To starve or work or you were too humane,
If the worst comes to the worst we'll do what we did at first,
And surrender to be fattened up again.

Kakino Georgy Grey, &c.

Charles Robert Thatcher was born in Bristol in 1831, and worked as a musician in London theatre orchestras before he left Britain in 1853 to seek his fortune on the Victorian goldfields. He soon found that work on the stage was more profitable than digging for gold. He wrote topical songs to well known tunes and presented them with such success that he was able to appear as an independent performer at goldfield entertainments.

From Bendigo and Ballarat, Thatcher's fame as a comic singer spread through the colonies. When the Victorian diggers rushed to the newly discovered Otago goldfields Thatcher came with them. His first New Zealand tour, in 1862-3, took him from Dunedin to Christchurch, Wellington, Auckland, Napier, and the Queenstown diggings. In December 1863 Thatcher was back for a second tour which lasted for almost a year, and he again toured New Zealand in 1869-70. Thatcher then left the stage and returned to London where he opened a shop in the West End. He died in 1878 of cholera in Shanghai where he had gone to buy curios.

Thatcher was the pre-eminent singer of the goldfields. Wherever a new field was discovered, Thatcher was not far behind. He performed at the Otago diggings in 1862, at Hokitika in 1865, and at the Thames in 1869. In Hokitika Thatcher sang in a large rough hall without floor or windows or platform. The only entrance was through the bar of a hotel - Thatcher charged one shilling and the landlord pocketed the receipts from the bar. The audience had to stand all evening on the cold damp ground, yet night after night more than 6oo diggers came to hear Thatcher sing his satirical 'locals' about lawyers and policemen, shipping agents and shipwrecks, unregistered dogs and hungry horses, fighting bailiffs and squalling boys.

There was much that was highly libellous in Thatcher's songs, but since he was a big man, almost sixteen stone in weight, a crack shot and very ready with his fists, he was well able to take care of himself. He 'cultivates the habit of irreverence to authority', complained the Christchurch Press; he 'wishes to minister to the tastes of the groundlings', echoed the Wanganui Chronicle. But to the diggers of Otago and the West Coast, and to the British and colonial troops fighting in the Waikato, whom he visited in their forward encampments, Thatcher was the hero of the day.

His gift for vivid language added new expressions to everyday speech and of his songs (invariably sung 'with immense applause') some remained popular long after his departure from New Zealand.

The New Chum
Charles John Martin

I'm a new chum just from England,
From Lancashire I came;
I'm a free and easy sort of chap,
Bill Larkins is my name.
I know my way about a bit-
With both eyes can I see;
And although I'm fresh from England,
You can't get over me.    Repeat


I landed safe at Lyttelton,
When up comes Mr Hay;
Says he: 'My lad, come clear my bush
Just round at Pigeon Bay.
I'll pay you by the hundred feet.'
'How much?' 'Ten bob,' says he.
Says I, I'm fresh from England,
But you don't get over me.'    Repeat


I climbed the hills, 'twere better far
I 'tained a horse to ride,
From Bruce's ere I reached the top,
I thought I should have died.
I had a glass at Lumley's place,
Mayhap 'twere two or three-
Till I thought I heard the hills remark,
You don't get over me.        Repeat

My luggage went by the Sumner road,
Addressed 'B.L., White Hart',
I saw it tightly corded down
On John Smith's two-horse cart;
And when in Christchurch I arrived,
'I'll take ten bob,' says he;
Says I, 'I'm green from England,
But here's half a crown for thee.'    Repeat

I asked him to the 'British',
To take a drop of beer,
For what wi' dusty roads and all,
I felt uncommon queer.
Says B-ds-y, 'What're you going to stand?
Mine's brandy pale,' says he.
Says I , 'I'm fresh from England,
But you don't get over me.    Repeat

I went up to the Parliament,
And a surly sort of kind
Of clerk said the Geologist
Was going gold to find;
'And if prospecting you don't like
Work on the roads,' says he.
Says I, 'I'm fresh from England,
That's infra dig for me.    Repeat

I strolled into the billiard room,
To while away the day,
When Tomkins, that's the marking chap,
Asked me if I could play.
He let me win two half-crown games;
'Play for a pound,' says he.
Says I, 'I'm green from England,
But you don't perform on me.        Repeat

THE MILL
Words: attnb. C.H. WINTER    Music: Anon

1.    Beside a clump of needlewood we anchor down the mill,
The engine by the blue clay tank, and further up the hill
The men are marking out the trees and the chips are on the wing
So early in the morning you will hear the axes ring.

Chorus:
With a jigger and a jimmy and a shigger and a shimmy,
And the sawdust in the sky,
I keep thinking "Will he gimme up all of the money
Or wait 'till the big 'uns lie?"

2.    We've laid the bench and trued the saw and given her a spin,
The benchman eyes his pet with pride and pats the packing in.
He's chocked the engine's rolling wheels and backed the water
And heaped a stack of shortnin' wood in readiness to start.

We've greased the transports, oiled the trucks, the benchman gives a sign,
    The engine starts, the big belt flaps, the saw begins to whine.
    The sun comes out a scorcher and the bullocks raise the dust,
    The water bag gets covered and our throats begin to rust.

The hill is looking strange and bare, the bigger trees are cut,
    And through the gaps we catch a sight of some gumdigger's hut.
    The ground is scoured by dragging logs, the grog is put to rout,
    And now it's just a few more days and we'll be all cut out.


TIMBER
Words and Music: Anon


From the bushmen to the breaking-out,
    From the breaker-out to the skids,
    From the skiddies to the tramway, boys,
    That's how my timber goes.

Chorus:
Timber, I want to go, back to Ontario.
Timber, I want to go home.

From the locies to the sawmill skids,
    From the skiddies to the breaking down,
    From the breaker-down to the breast-bench, boys,
    That's how my timber goes.

From the slip-truckies down to the yard,
    From the yardman up to the stacks,
    From the stackies to the river, boys,
    That's how my timber goes.


THE SHEARING'S COMING 'ROUND
Words: D. McKEE WRIGHT    Music: M. JESSETT

1.    There's a sound of many voices in the camp and on the track,
    And letters coming up in shoals to Stations at the back,
    And every boat that crosses from the sunny "other side"
    Is bringing waves of shearers for the swelling of the tide

Chorus:
For the shearing's coming 'round, boys, the shearing's coming 'round,
And the stations of the mountains have begun to hear the sound.

2.    They'll be talking up at Laghmor of the tallies that were shore,
    And the man who broke the record is remembered at Benmore,
    And the yarns of strikes and barneys will be told 'till all is blue,
    And the ringers and the bosses will be passed in long review.

3.    The great Orari muster and the drafting of the men
    Like a mob of ewes and wethers will be surely told again,
    And a lot of heathen places that will rhyme with kangaroo
    Will be named along with ringers and the things that they can do.

4.    At last the crowds will gather for the morning of the start,
    And the slowest of the jokers will be trying to look smart,
    And a few will get the bullet, and high hopes will have a fall,
    And the bloke that talks the loudest stands a show of looking small.

Final Chorus:
For the shearing's coming 'round, boys, the shearing's coming 'round,
And the voices of the workers have begun to swell the sound.


WOOL AWAY JACK
Words: J. CHARLES    Music: Trad~GARLAND

1.    Who would be a shearer, a-shearing in a shed,
    If I had to be a shearer I'd better off be dead,
    For it's bang goes the bell, and it's out upon the floor,
    Take up your stand there beside the swinging door.

Chorus:
    Wool away Jack and sheep ho, Joe,
    Drive in the woollies with a loud "Ho, ho!"
    Wool away Jack and sheep ho, Joe,
    Drive in the woollies with a loud "Ho, ho!"

2.    Then it's grab a daggy ewe, and drag her to the board,
    Pick up your handpiece and pull on the cord,
    Down through the belly and around the back door,
    Up through the neck then, and swing her on the floor.

3.    Well, it's down on the shoulder and up the long blow,
    Whip off the last side and let the blighter go.
    Here come the flies to hang around you now,
    Swimming in your sweat as it trickles from your brow.

4.    Well, here comes the cook, she's a sight we like to see,
    With a basket full of scones and a billy full of tea,
    So it's "Knock off, Jack",and it's "Knock off, Joe",
    We'll all sit around and have a long smoko.

FRIENDLY ROAD
Words and Music: Anon

He wasn't very clever and he wasn't very good,
And extremely old and seedy were the clothes in which he stood,
I thought he smelt of liquor when he shook me by the hand,
But I hailed him as a brother, one of that special band.

Chorus:
For we were brothers of the road, we had troubles in our life,
We got sold out for the mortgage, we couldn't keep a wife.
So we were footloose and were moving when the first old rooster crowed
We were up and packed and moving down that long and friendly road.

I was a trifle thankful when he said that he must go,
He wasn't an acquaintance most folks would like to know,
He was chummy with the drifters at the corner of the Grand,
When we were in Dunedin, and of that special band.

I stand and watch the ferry as she moves out from the wharf,
And I feel a kind of choking in the region of my scarf.
I think of summers vanished when, a hard up merry band,
We wandered just as brothers through the length of Maoriland.

And I wandered slowly homeward, I cannot go to bed,
But sit dreaming by the firelight and smoke a pipe instead.
I drink his health in water - there's nothing else at hand,
For the sake of fern and tussock and the roaming years we've had.

WAITAKI RIVER
Kath Tait

You were a raging river wild ;
You were a friend when I was a child
Then they built the dams to tame you down
To make the power to run their towns.

Chorus
    Waitaki Waitaki Waitaki river
    We'll be the takers if you'll be the giver
    River river rolling by me oh,
    Give me a buzz off your electricity.

Now look how man has changed your scene
Oh he's tumed your valleys from brown to green
Switzerland has got nothing on you
With your pine trees and mountains and waters blue

Washing machines, radios,
You just play your turbines and round they go
Well you give me good electric rock and rol!
Hi fi music to soothe our souls.

Chorus:

Now old river you’re not so wild
And | am older and I’ve travelled a mile
But whenever | see those city lights shine
| get to thinking of our old times.

Chorus:

The Moriori’s dead and gone (2)
You were the last, Tom Solomon
The memory only now remains.

The rain sweeps O’er the green islands (2)
Silent stand the hills and groves
Where once your people laughed and sang.

Departed are your peaceful ways (2)
Six hundred years no blood was shed
You fished and filled your days with love,

The Maoris came far from the west (2)
They killed and ate your tender flesh
Your women and children they made their slaves,

When freedom came it was too late (2)
Sad at heart you mourned the dead ,
And faded like the evening sun.

The Moriori’s dead and gone (2)
were the last, Tom Solomon
memory only now remains.

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