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Our Mate Charlie Brummell
Yes mate we went a droving back in nineteen fifty eight, 
The drovers cook was pretty rough, he couldn`t wash a plate. 
Hector he was fifty two, when he burnt our damper bread, 
Uncle Charley had to show him how, to cook the dough instead. 
While he stood there spluttering, with face, hair and whiskers red, 
his try had just a damper burnt, it`d feed the dogs instead ! 
We rolled our swags out round the fire, and slept on the ground so well. 
When daylight came I heard the call, and walked to find the bell. 
The horses they were hobbled out, to feed on grass around . 
The bell would lead me to them mate, through mist I`d track the sound. 
I was the 13 year old kid, who caught the horses there, 
Took the hobbles off as I did fingers numb , frosty buckles bare. 
Back to camp you`d lead em boy to saddle them right up. 
The piebald I`d ride with joy if she didn`t run out of puff. 
Yes mate we had three thousand sheep, to feed on the stock route , 
We walked them into New Angledool, and stopped to look about. 
The town it was so ghostly bare, few people in the houses, 
No one walked the street so fair, no drunks no upright wowsers. 
We walked the sheep on through the town, 
they camped in a yard that night, 
We camped in a store abandoned, brown, 
a dusty cobwebbed sight . 
I phoned my Mother to let her know, 
her boy was in New South Wales, 
And promised to write a letter soon, 
in time to catch the mails. 
For three long months we followed the sheep , 
six miles a day for sure, 
For this is the rule our stock routes keep, 
don`t flog the country poor. 
The stock route inspector would check on you, 
if you flogged a paddock out , 
If you ate some squatters grass a day or two, 
they`d move you down the route. 
Yes we walked these sheep 500 mile. 
through country red and black , 
We crossed the river at St George, 
and to Dirran. headed back. 
The rain had come, the grass had grown, 
in the home paddocks oh so bare, 
The owner asked Charley to bring them home, 
now he had the grass to spare . 
So we took them down the Hebel road, 
drove then south again old mate , 
The sheep at home we did unload , 
yes we left them at the gate . 
The sheep we counted over , 
the tally it was fair , 
There were enough stragglers in the mob, 
the owner didn`t care . 
Back to town we`d wander lost, 
our droving surely done , 
Now to sleep in a bed so soft, 
our wages surely won. 
by D H Johnson
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