Looking For the Yeller (B. Manufui/D. Rainey) with mp3, chords Friendly Road (Traditional) with mp3 The Black Swans (Anon/N. Colquhoun)with mp3, chords, history The Mail Coach Line (Anon/N. Colquhoun)with mp3, chords, The T.T. Line (P. Cox/B. Worsfold) with mp3, chords, history Hard Oil (G. Dawson) with mp3, chords Taranaki Spring (H. Gretton) with mp3, chords Diggers Farewell (Anon/N. Colquhoun) with mp3, chords Run to the Brunner! (B. Read) with mp3, chords Working for the Roads Board (Ken Ring) with mp3, chords O'Brien and the Whale (Val Nieman) The Waipu Settlers (Willow Macky) with mp3, chords The Mahurangi Regatta (J. Cardow)
Fiddler's Hill (B. Worsfold) with mp3, score, chords, history Dalmation Bloodlines (B. Worsfold) I Only Spoke Portuguese (B. Worsfold) Ko'rareka (B.Worsfold) Hakaru Races (B.Worsfold) The Apple Pickers Ball (R. Sunde) with mp3, chords Crossing the Kaipara Bar (B. Worsfold) Farewell to the Gumfields (B.Worsfold) The Old Gumdiggers Bar (D. Hogan/J. Norton) Rainbird in the Tea-Tree (P. Cape) with chords, mp3 Fields of the Gum (B.Worsfold) Bohemian Polkas
New Zealand Tour
A collection of folksongs of New Zealand from one end to the other. Some of the songs
are traditional, some are quite recent - and all are long-standing favourites.
LOOKING FOR THE YELLER B. Manufui/D. Rainey
Key of F. Simple chords. Capo +3, play these shapes. D G A Hey boys, look around, but you won't find Johnny D G A He'll not be coming in here as he did of old. D G A Hey boys, say, where's our old mate Johnny? D G A D He's gone to Gabriel's Gully for to look for gold. Johnny's gone, he's lookin' for the yeller, He's got that fatal fever in his head. All he sees before his eyes are those little lumps of yeller, So have a drink for Johnny 'cause he might as well be dead. Hey boys, say, what happened to his Mary? Did he leave her here alone in a bed so cold? Yes, he left her here behind, but she doesn't seem to mind - There's others here a-waiting while he looks for gold. We wish him all the devil's luck, our mate Johnny - When he's rich, hope he remembers mates of old. Yeah, let's drink a toast to our old mate Johnny. He's gone to Gabriel's Gully for to look for gold. (Repeat first verse) FRIENDLY ROAD Traditional
Key of F. Capo +5 and play these shapes. Dm7 G7 F C He wasn't very clever, and he wasn't very good, Dm7 G7 F C And extremely old and seedy were the clothes in which he stood. Dm7 G7 F C I thought he smelt of liquor when he shook me by the hand, Dm7 G7 C But I hailed him as a brother, one of that special band. C F C For we were brothers of the road, we had troubles in our life, Dm7 G7 C We got sold out for the mortgage, we couldn't keep a wife. F C E7 Am So we were footloose and were moving when the first old rooster crowed, Dm7 G7 C 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 wander 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 THE MAIL COACH LINE Anon/N. Colquhoun
Key of D
D Em We're leaving here at seven, and we're leaving here on time, Am Em Making through to Blenheim on the Mail Coach Line. G A Horses new at every post, weather wet or fine, D Em A Making through to Blenheim on the Mail Coach Line.
Am Em Happy laughter, sorrow mingling, silent shade and sunny ridge, Am Em Pole and hame ring gaily jingling, waterfall and cunning bridge, G A Mountain valley, swollen river, all at your command, D Em A Four well rested coaching horses that can understand. Swaying coach with braces creaking, Dan and Blackie, Bango, "Hi-now!" George, the leader, panting, heaving, splashing through the flooded Wairau. Waving tree and drooping fern-leaf, waters calm and blue, Rushing torrent, fog and thunder, we shall bring you through!
HARD OIL G. Dawson
Key of C
C F C I was born in Okato, and brought up a farm boy, F C G Grandpa and Dad took their bread from the soil; C F C But now I'm a mudman and when I say "paydirt", F C G C I'm not talking cocky, I'm talking Hard Oil. G F C So when we say "kelly", or "derrick", or "drill-string", F C G When you hear us say "step-out", or "wild-cat well", C F C You'll know that we're after the gas from the Maui - F C G G We're not talking cocky, we're talking Hard Oil.
I remember the fifties when I was a youngster, I remember the hills where I once roamed so free; When grasshoppers used to be little green insects - They're not that today, lads - they're great metal trees. The old town's a boom town and life is a-changing, I see highrise and highways, not haycarts and hacks. The gas from the Maui has changed us forever - There's no turning 'round and there's no going back. So here's to the future of you, Taranaki - Here's to your mountain, your streams and your vales. You've given us riches from under your good earth - We no longer talk cocky, we now talk Hard Oil. TARANAKI SPRING H. Gretton
A 1960s song. Marilyn Monroe was a curvaceous blonde 1950s actress, and
cream cans were phased out and replaced by milk tankers in the 1970s
Key of C
C F C Oh, we rise at five, and we're glad to be alive, G Though the clouds come over the mountain C F C And the mud lies thick on the home paddock, G C And the rain comes down in fountains. F C Bang go the cans, and the dog understands, G And he's off and through the slip-rails, C F C And we gaily sing of the Taranaki spring, G C As the cows come 'round to the cow bails. Oh, we wash their bags with pretty coloured rags, And we fit the tit cups tightly. And we do this thing on a spring morning, And we do the same thing nightly.
Oh, some men go for Marilyn Monroe, And some for Lollobrigida, But there's beauty too, in a cow's rear view, To the eyes of a Jersey breeder. Oh, the poets rhyme 'bout the lilac time, And the shiny cuckoos calling, But the spring 'round here means the time of year When the bobby calves start bawling.
DIGGERS FAREWELL Anon/N. Colquhoun
Key of F. Capo +5 C G Am G Just as you say, sir - I'm off once more, C Am F G The Palmer River - that's my way. C G Am G I landed here in sixty-four, C Am G G7 C That's ten years' struggle along the Grey Ten long years since I landed here, In a trackless land of wet and cold. Some of our times were pretty severe, But who lacks hardship, looking for gold? The whistle! A drink before I start? "A step to the corner," I heard you say. My last on the coast with all my heart, A brandy straight, and then I'm away. Here's a long farewell to the old West Coast, And a heart prepared for whatever I find. "Success to the Palmer!" - is your toast? Mine's "Here's to the land I leave behind." RUN TO THE BRUNNER, GIRLS, RUN! B. Read
Chorus is in key of A major
Verses are in key of A modal (flattened 7th note) but if you don't have a 2nd
guitarist with a modally tuned guitar, sing acappella harmonies, or play A major.
Amod Gmod A Thomas Brunner found a coal seam, G A Right in the river Grey, G A G And that was the start of the Brunner Mine, A G A And the story I'll tell today, A G A And the story I'll tell today Oh, on that dreadful morning, The sky it was so grey, When the whistle blew at four o'clock You had to scrape 'round to find day, You had to scrape 'round to find day. Amaj Emaj A So run to the Brunner, girls, run E A Fly to the Brunner, girls, fly, E A If you want to see the last of your John, E A Clear the tears away from your eyes, G A Clear the tears away from your eyes Then up came the little pit ponies, They had on a terrible scare. They wouldn't go down, although they was pushed - They knew there was danger down there, Knew there was danger down there. At five o'clock in the morning, Eighty men filed inside. At nine o'clock, with a rumbling boom, Eighty men down there died, Eighty men died. There wasn't a wife at the Brunner Didn't lose a husband or son. There wasn't a child at the Brunner mine Whose Daddy wasn't dead and gone. If they'd only heeded the ponies, That never had scared before, Then the cemetery down at the Grey River mouth May have held a few, but not four score - May have held a few, but not four score. WORKING FOR THE ROADS BOARD K. Ring/Anon
Key of F minor. Capo +3. Play D minor shapes Dm C In nineteen hundred and eighty-one, me dirty Levis I put on, Dm C G Dm Oh, me dirty Levis I put on, to work upon the Roads Board, F C G C The Roads Board, I'm weary of the Roads Board, G C For I worked on the Roads Board. In nineteen hundred and eighty-two, I joined the unemployment queue, They gave me a job to do, working on the Roads Board. I was wearing: dirty Levis, I was single, flinging scoria, shoveling shingle, G C I was working on the Roads Board. In nineteen hundred and eighty-three I leaned on my shovel and drank my tea. They called us the P.E.P., all working on the Roads Board. In nineteen hundred and eighty-four, a lot of concrete I did pour, And I spilled some for me mate next door, courtesy of the Roads Board, The Roads Board, my friends all love the Roads Board, While I work on the Roads Board. In nineteen hundred and eighty-five, working on the Scenic Drive, Said a child to his mother, "Is he alive?" as I worked on the Roads Board. In nineteen hundred and eighty-six, we held stop signs up on sticks, We looked like a bunch of p-people, working on the Roads Board. And just this morning in Herne Bay, I trod on a snail, to it's dismay, 'Cause it was following me 'round all day, as I raced for the Roads Board, The Roads Board, I'm weary of the Roads Board, For I work on the Roads Board. O'BRIEN AND THE WHALE Val Nieman (a tall tale for reciting)
O'Brien had a bullock team, the strongest one about,
and when the logs were big and hard to reach, O'Brien got them out.
A team of sixteen bullocks, each weighing half a ton:
he'd rig 'em up at the crack of dawn and they'd work 'til day was done.
They could cross the wildest rivers, could haul through slush and slime,
and compared with other teams around, do the job in half the time.
Eight tons of solid pulling power, of muscled sinewed beef makes this story that they tell of them well-nigh beyond belief.
One day a rumour was heard that a full day's trek, no more,
a great bull whale lay stranded in the shallows on the shore.
It wasn't long before O'Brien was told the salty tale,
and business wasn't good right now, so he thought about that whale. Now O'Brien began to calculate the quantity of oil
and ambergris, just lying here for want of one day's toil.
So he gathered his beasts and he set off out, he let them take their time.
He wanted them fresh and ready to go - at their peak of strength and prime.
Now those animals knew there was something afoot, and they eagerly covered the land,
and the sun was still high in the western sky when they reached the edge of the sand. Now O'Brien walked down to the water's edge and he stood there awhile Taking stock
of the tons of blubber and oil stranded there as black and as still as a rock.
So he hitched up his fine team of bullocks by a chain fastened tight 'round the tail,
and he dreamed about all that money to be made from this mountain of whale.
What O'Brien didn't know about this monster from the deep,
was that it wasn't dead at all - it was simply fast asleep!
When everything was all set up he ordered the team to pull -
a move which didn't quite amuse this great oceanic bull!
When the chains pulled tight around his tail, he sent up a water-spout
- he heaved his massive body, and began to thresh about.
And before O'Brien could do a thing that whale began to glide - the team pulled hard, the whale pulled hard, but the ox began to slide. "
Get your backs to it," O'Brien called out - those bulls gave the best they had.
But ten tons of whale, with a loop around his tail, can pull, when he's upset and mad! And the last O'Brien saw of his team as the unhappy whale tried to flee,
was sixteen bullocks, back-end about, floating away out to sea.
THE WAIPU SETTLERS Willow Macky
D A D G D When the landlords pressed their claim in Scotland long ago, G D A The crofters lost their little farms, and bitter was their woe, D A D G D And the Reverend Norman McLeod, he lifted up his head, G D A D "With the help of God we'll find a ship, and I'll lead you forth", he said. A D G D And the Gael fares forth, where he never fared before, G D A D Across the wide and stormy seas, to seek a kinder shore. So in Nova Scotia's land they lived for thirty years, And hard their toil in stubborn soil through winters long and drear. Then one day a letter came from a kinsman far away Who had sailed for fair Australia, and had never rued the day.
Then they looked at the leaden skies, and the snowdrifts on the ground, And they longed to go to Australia, where the sun shines all year 'round, And the Reverend Norman McLeod, he raised his aged head, "If your sons will build and man the ships, I'll lead you forth", he said. So in ships that numbered six, in faith they sailed away, And braved again the raging main through many a wintry day, Over thirteen thousand miles, for as far as they could rove, 'Til they came to fair New Zealand, and the bonny Waipu Cove. And the Gail fared forth, where he never fared before, Across the wide and stormy seas, and he found a kinder shore. THE MAHURANGI REGATTA J. Cardow
The wind is blowing strongly, and it's time to loose the sails, boys. Hauraki Islands glistening in the early morning sun. It's fun time on the gulf and we'll lighten up our boats, boys, Shake the crew to readiness, the race it has begun. Our boats are not all young, boys, and neither are the skippers. In breeze or gales we'll trim our sails and strain the stay with pride; But win or lose, we'll fill our shoes with water from the scuppers, As we lean into the wind and spray with topsides in the tide. The sea's alive with boats all sizes, fighting for a place, boys. Tacking, gybing, running, as excitement rises high. To get a good start towards the mark at the outset of the race, boys, Is every skipper's hopeful wish as he sees the seconds fly. We'll race all day and come what may, we'll reach the final mark, boys. If our boat is small our handicap will keep us in the fray. We'll tighten sheet 'till winches creak and sailcloth stretches hard, boys, And run with kite to that wondrous sight of big sails on display. And when the race is over, we will hear the tavern's noise, boys; We'll celebrate our taking part on Auckland's pearly sea. From the smallest keel to the largest we'll be swapping tales with joy, boys, And heading home with happy heart to dream contentedly.Bill and Kath's Gumfield Ballads
Northland was where the European settlement in New Zealand first began,
and historically speaking, it is probably the most interesting part of the country.
Its celebration in song was long overdue. Nine of the fourteen songs are originals, and five of the tracks deal with the gum trade of the late nineteenth century.
DALMATION BLOODLINES B.Worsfold/K. Worsfold Our fathers left homes on the far Adriatic For the gumfields of Northland, their fortunes to find. Digging by daylight, scraping by lamplight, And dreaming of girls that they'd left behind. The land it was good, the climate was gentle, And many men wanted to stay all their lives. They sent home for friends to share in the bounty, They sent home for families, they sent home for wives. When the fields petered out, the Dalmations kept digging. They ploughed up the hillsides in long furrowed lines. With rootstocks from homelands they planted the gumlands, The hills of West Auckland grew green with their vines. They watered their crops with the sweat of their backs, and then Gathered the harvest, and pressed out the wines. They set down their own roots, deep in the new land, And mixed in New Zealand, Dalmation bloodlines. From gumfields to vineyards, is a mighty long journey - A journey of men, forgotten by time; So crack open a bottle of New Zealand vintage, And toast to the diggers who planted the vines. I ONLY SPOKE PORTUGUESE B.Worsfold My name's Jose Luiz Santini, A cooper's boy, proud Portuguese; Shanghai'd by an American whaler Bound down for the Southern Seas. But I couldn't speak their language, I was beaten mercilessly; At Cable Bay I slipped over the side, And I fled from the ship and the sea. Taken in and sheltered by the Maoris, The chieftain took pity on me. I fell in love with his pretty young daughter, And I knew in my heart she loved me. For the heart knows only one language, That the eyes alone speak with ease, Though she could only speak Maori, And I only spoke Portuguese. Now it's fifty-six years we've been lovers, Though it seems like just yesterday, And it's twenty-one children she bore me; No man more contented today. And if I had the wings of a tui, I would sing from the highest of trees, That she can still only speak Maori, And I only speak Portuguese. KO'RAREKA B.Worsfold Ko'rareka, you're a hellhole, say the missionaries, But after all I've been through, you're heaven to me. Ko'rareka, you're a hellhole, say the missionaries, But after all I've been through, you're heaven to me. We sailed out of 'Frisco all of sixteen months ago, Hunting for the sperm whales that haunt the southern seas; Now I'm sick of the sailing, and I'm sick of the whaling, And I'm sick of the pack of rogues who shanghai'd me. I really don't remember volunteering for this voyage; I woke up with a sore head, and out of sight of land. They said, "If you don't like it, that's fine, just start a-swimming!" They lead you with rum, and they drive you with the cat. We were storm-tossed and seasick, in cruel desperation. My best mate, from the main mast was lost into the sea. At last we made landfall in the port of Kororareka, Now Ko'rareka's fleshpots are calling to me. I stole muskets from the lockers and sold them to the Maoris; Bought myself a brown girl, bought myself some rum. When the captain and the mate come a-calling me to sea again, They won't catch me a second time, I'll run, my boys, I'll run. HAKARU RACES Anon/B.Worsfold
It was up at the Hakaru Races, Bill Sarah was riding a ring-in that day; His grey was always the champion, But this time he rode on a bay. The betting was more varied than usual, The favourite was out of the play, But still I could not help but notice That Bill bet his all on the bay. The mustered the field at the start line, The sky, it was darkening and grey, And just as the rain started falling, A pistol crack and they're away. The first lap was run at a fast pace, The bay shot away from the field; But then as the rain poured down harder, A curious thing was revealed. The bay was streaking in more ways than one - Brown paint started dripping away. Bill knew that he was in trouble When the rain washed the bay back to grey! They still talk of the Hakaru races, Though the track closed in 19 and 10. And Bill? He got three years' suspension, And he never tried painting again. THE APPLE PICKERS' BALL Rudy Sunde
Apple season's over, work is now done; Harvest is all finished, now's the time for fun. We're going to have a party, come one and come all! Tonight we'll be merry at the Apple Pickers' Ball. We went by foot, we went by car, we went to the Settlers' Hall. 'Twas the night we waited for, the Apple Pickers' Ball. We danced all night to music bright, great fun was had by all. We danced all night, until daylight, at the Apple Pickers' Ball. We tidied up the Settlers' Hall, put grease upon the floor; Supper's in the kitchen, sandwiches galore. Balloons and streamers hanging high, and ferns against the wall; Everything is ready for the Apple Pickers' Ball.The M.C. gets up on the stage, he calls for order then; "Gentlemen, your partners; dancing will begin." The band is ready, all tuned up - their numbers may be small; Fiddle, drums, accordion, at the Apple Pickers' Ball. Clancy danced with Nancy, he held her by the hand; He led her through the Lancers, and then the Circle Grand. And then he whirled her 'round and 'round, and waltzed her 'round the hall; They spent the night in dancing at the Apple Pickers' Ball. CROSSING THE KAIPARA BAR B.Worsfold We stood and stared in wonder from the dunes above the harbour; A strong ebb tide was running 'gainst a wind from off the Tasman. A fishing boat came up the coast, a long hard slog homeward; Trying to make the harbour, trying to beat the gale. A man can rest in safety, in the shelter of the harbour, But many a man has lost his life, crossing the Kaipara Bar. They wear sea boots and jumpers - fishermen don't wear life vests. Forty foot looks like a big boat when it's sitting on the hard; But from where I stood above the bar, and watched the breakers boiling, It looked just like a child's toy, tossing in the bath. She turns to make the home run, lines up for the entrance; Two men on the wheel, trying to fight against the pull. You've got to keep her stern-on to the sea to make the harbour; A wave can come from anywhere - if she broaches, then she'll roll. Then suddenly the helm swings back and she swings beam-on to windward, I watched a breaker hit her, and I watched her slowly roll. She wallowed in the waters, just like a whale in torment, I saw her bow rise up just once, then fall to rise no more. It's not for nothing that they call this place the graveyard; Every fisherman on the harbour's lost a friend out on the bar. I thought I heard screaming, but perhaps it's just the seagulls. A man can rest forever, out on the Kaipara Bar. THE THREE FROM HOGAN'S CAMP Anon/B.Worsfold Just below the Kaihu Valley at a place called Maropiu Where the diggers sold their gum and drank their liquor, too, Even in from Ti-tree Gully for a spree they used to tramp, Hogan, Bill and Scotty all came from Hogan's Camp.
They had spent a week in boozing and in the morning swore They must somehow get a curer - which meant just a trifle more. Their credit was exhausted - they'd sold up all their gum, And Hogan, Bill and Scotty were looking pretty glum. Then Bill espied a river stone and jumped up in delight, "Up and build a roaring fire, boys, we'll be drunk again tonight!" Into the red-hot embers the stone was quickly thrust, And when it was hot they rolled it in a heap of fine gumdust.
Cooled, it left a coating of an inch of solid gum - And eighteen pounds of rock within, which meant a tidy sum! They scraped it nice and lightly 'til with safety could no more, And with it these three boozers marched in triumph to the store. They placed it gently on the scales - twenty pounds of solid gum! Then went off to celebrate in whisky, beer and rum. The storeman said "What a lovely piece, what a pity it's been burnt", But when he tried to chip it clean, that's when the truth he learnt!
Yes, when the head flew off his axe he fainted to the ground, And he heard a drunken chorus on the breeze as he came 'round. He cursed each drunken digger as no more than a scamp But he won't forget the curer for the three from Hogan's Camp! FAREWELL TO THE GUMFIELDS B.Worsfold/K. Worsfold I arrived on the gumfields on a mail coach from Auckland, With four hungry children, and luggage and all. My husband was waiting in the rain there to meet us And welcome us to our new home. Farewell to the gumfields, I'm not sad to leave you, Farewell to the whare of tea-tree and sod. The dirt floor at last is a thing of the past, No more through your mud-fields I'll plod. The place that awaited, I'd sure not expected, With sod walls and chimney, and a nikau frond thatch. Only one room, and us with four children, And a bedroom that's made out of sacks. While John was away on the gumfields all day, I'd cook and I'd garden, and clean all we had. With three miles of mud to the nearest companion, It's a wonder I didn't go mad. It feels that I've wasted my years on the gumfields, Far from my family, and the friends that I knew. But now we've a farm on the edge of the town, Oh, gumfields, I'm glad to leave you. THE OLD GUMDIGGERS BAR D. Hogan/J. Norton We would roll our swag on Friday, leaving shanties near and far To spend our hard-won silver with the diggers from the pa. Then with Shorty, Carl and Scotty, and the roving Jolly Tar We would gather 'round the barrel in the Old Gumdiggers Bar. In the Old Gumdiggers Bar, in the Old Gumdiggers Bar, (Repeat last line of preceding verse). We would sing in happy chorus when the beer began to foam In billows on the tankards as it used to do at home. Then our hardships were forgotten, and with not a note to mar, We found joy in harmonising in the Old Gumdiggers Bar. We would camp beneath the nikau if there wasn't room inside, We were hardened birds of passage, truly tough in hair and hide. So if the daylight found us sleeping 'neath the paling star, It was only as it should be, 'round the Old Gumdiggers Bar. Now those days have long since vanished, and the shanties far and wide Have disappeared forever from the settled countryside, Yet the memory still lingers of those distant days afar When we sang with mellow voices 'round the Old Gumdiggers Bar. RAINBIRD IN THE TEA-TREE Peter Cape
Before the 1950s, mobs of cattle had to walk long distances to the abattoirs.
D When the rainbird A sings in the D tea-tree (Grey warbler in the manuka) And there's cloud on the A hills up the D back, Look G out of your window and you'll D see me, I'll be riding A down the D track. I'll be droving a mob of black-polls, (Black cattle without horns - Angus breed) And me dogs'll be foot-sore and done, But I'll sing out as I go by your window, Just to show you you are the one. It's a long drove up from the buwai, (The Puhoi river district) By Woodcocks and Kaipara Flats, And I'm sick of me oilskins and me gumboots, And the rain pelting down off me hat. I've got a stockwhip over me shoulder, I've got a plain golden ring in me pack - So perhaps when I come by your window, I'll be pullin' in off the track. When the rainbird sings in the tea-tree And there's cloud on the hills up the back, Look out of your window and you'll see me, I'll be riding down the track. FIDDLER'S HILL B.Worsfold Old Michael lived on Fiddler's Hill, He fiddled it sweet and he fiddled it shrill, He played with a heart and he played with a will, And he played for the people 'round Fiddler's Hill. He fiddled for the dancers all alone, They say he'd fiddle 'till the cows came home. But he'd leave his plow when the days work's done And he'd play for the dancers 'till the morning sun. We danced Harmichel and the Umadum too. I like a Sprat Polka, now how about you? When the creek's in flood, you can't get through - If the fiddler can keep going, then I can too! We danced all night and we danced all day, 'Till even the moon and the stars sashay. The dancers would dance and Michael would play, And we'd happily dance our lives away. To the south of the town stands Fiddler's Hill, I won't go up there - yes I will! When the moon is bright and the wind is still . . . They say you can hear him fiddling still. FIELDS OF THE GUM B.Worsfold On the great Northern Wairoa in the year '92, I was headed for Poroti - Samuel was, too. He was green from the old land and new to the track, And I'd left the city with a swag on my back. Walking and talking, we decided to team, We found us a spot by the side of a stream Where we built us a whare of tea-tree and sack - Set up our camp on the old northern track. By lamplight, by moonlight, scraping our gum, No thought of the past, or the years to come; Sam played a squeezebox and I beat a drum, As the years rolled by on the fields of the gum. The storekeeper staked us with gum-spear and spade, Diggers soon taught us the ways of the trade. We'd sore backs and blisters, but boy, we were keen, And soon we'd a fine stack of gum-lumps to clean. Friendships were easy with the blokes that we met - Hard cases and misfits, but some of the best. A hardship's no hardship with a friend at you back, And I'd good friends a-plenty on the old northern track. Then the Empire called, and we all marched to war, To fight and to die on Africa's shore. I lost many good friends to bullets and mines, And when I came home, Sam stayed behind. But all of that's past now, the gumfields long gone, As the days grow weary, I sit all alone, And I dream of the days on the fields of the gum When Sam played a squeezebox and I beat a drum.
The Worsfolds
Bill was born and raised in Northland, New Zealand, spending his childhood on a dairy farm. He spent his later youth on Auckland's North Shore and trained in theatrical work.
In 1979, he helped form an Irish band "Napper Tandy"in Auckland. Bill was lead singer and played guitar, tenor banjo and bouzouki. Kath, who became his wife, sang and played the piano accordion.
In 1981 they moved to Sydney as full time career musicians, they learned to call barn dances, and learnt about folk music from other parts of the world, including Eastern Europe.
Back in New Zealand in 1986, they continued to work as full time folk musicians, introducing barn dances, and developing a large concert repertoire of New Zealand folk songs, tunes and bush poetry.
In the early 1990s, Bill and Kath branched out into medieval music, with Bill playing harp and lute, while Kath played recorder and bass viol. And in the mid 1990's they revived Bill's boyhood interest in conjuring and Kath's old skill in puppets and ventriloquism.
In 1998, Bill started writing historical Northland
ballads, including Fiddler's
Hill, (with Kath's help on some of the
tunes) resulting in the Fields of the Gum CD.
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Bohemian |
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Descendants of Puhoi and Ohaupo (New Zealand) Pioneers Originating from Bohemia |
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| Our people came out with the Egerland dialect of Bohemia, and it remained and passed on through the generations, sadly fewer, still speak it now. Recordings have been made to preserve what little we could and some of the music did have lyrics. Songs and rhymes in Egerlander dialect, still sung and spoken in Puhoi:
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