A BUSH CHRISTENING
On the outer Barcoo where the churches are few,
And men of religion are scanty,
On a road never cross’d ‘cept by folk that are lost,
One Michael Magee had a shanty.
Now this Mike was the dad of a ten-year-old lad,
Plump, healthy, and stoutly conditioned;
He was strong as the best, but poor Mike had no rest
For the youngster had never been christened,
And his wife used to cry, "If the darlin’ should die
Saint Peter would not recognise him."
But by luck he survived till a preacher arrived,
Who agreed straightaway to baptise him.
Now the artful young rogue, while they held their collogue,
With his ear to the keyhole was listenin’,
And he muttered in fright while his features turned white,
"What the divil and all is this christenin’?"
He was none of your dolts, he had seen them brand colts,
And it seemed to his small understanding,
If the man in the frock made him one of the flock,
It must mean something very like branding.
So away with a rush he set off for the bush,
While the tears in his eyelids they glistened-
"’Tis outrageous," says he, "to brand youngsters like me,
I’ll be dashed if I’ll stop to be christened!"
Like a young native dog he ran into a log,
And his father with language uncivil,
Never heeding the "praste" cried aloud in his haste,
"Come out and be christened, you divil!"
But he lay there as snug as a bug in a rug,
And his parents in vain might reprove him,
Till his reverence spoke (he was fond of a joke)
"I’ve a notion," says he, "that’ll move him."
"Poke a stick up the log, give the spalpeen a prog;
Poke him aisy-don’t hurt him or maim him,
‘Tis not long that he’ll stand, I’ve the water at hand,
As he rushes out this end I’ll name him.
"Here he comes, and for shame! ye’ve forgotten the name-
Is it Patsy or Michael or Dinnis?"
Here the youngster ran out, and the priest gave a shout-
"Take your chance, anyhow, wid ‘Maginnis’!"
As the howling young cub ran away to the scrub
Where he knew that pursuit would be risky,
The priest, as he fled, flung a flask at his head
That was labelled "Maginnis’s Whisky!"
And Maginnis Magee has been made a J.P.,
And the one thing he hates more than sin is
To be asked by the folk who have heard of the joke,
How he came to be christened "Maginnis"!
A B Patterson - The Bulletin, 16 December 1893.
That’s Australian Civilization? Christ, I’ll stick with what we have here which is generally rank. You know what I just saw? I went down the road to buy fags and there was a lass with a Macclesfield face-lift (to those who don’t know that means it’s a ponytail so tight it puts the visage through warp factor nine). Anyway, there she was, bold as brass and twice as natural buying milk in her pajamas. And this was in Disley! We have a Parish Council and stuff - this is the sort of place murders on ITV3 are solved by DCI Bergerac - we demand crimes be recherche round here! We also have a stream so the re-introduction of the ducking-stool is in order. I mean I know it’s half term but I always thought it would be Greta Garbo in her shorty nightie and not some fucking fat slag with a ponytail with stored tension you could chuck a Super Hornet off the deck of the Abraham Lincoln if released (stand back ladies gentlemen and use eye protection). And she was fat. Dear Gods. Jim Henson’s company could sue her fizzog for ripping off their porcine diva.
Or in short Australia gave us Kylie’s arse and some incredibly brave soldiers (And yes, I recently bowed my head at the ANZAC memorial in Turkey) and Rolf Harris I guess but that is doggerel Cats - utter doggerel…
In a fit of pique, which I doubt is unique,
I’m going to have to agree with Nicky,
If that doggerel verse had got any worse,
I was on the point of being very sicky!
Look Cats, Chair Bard (disqualified) of my old Alma Mater here. I could do better than aged five!
I’ve never myself witnessed this pajama shopping, but a friend of mine in Peckham says it’s quite normal around there, and very much upsets his friend Mr Patel who still has some standards and would prefer to maintain them in his shop.
I’m told they buy a lot of Baileys, in their pajamas, as it keeps babies quiet. Apparently.
The word “curmudgeonly” springs to mind, Nick. Sure, it’s not (within a million miles of) Shakespeare, but I thought it was kind of fun. It rhymes, scans, and makes sense (the three rules of The Literary Review’s poetry competition), and that’ll do for me.
I liked last week’s, too, for what it’s worth.
Give over Sam, we know Cats is being lighthearted, it being the weekend an’ all, but drivel is drivel. I just Googled “Famous Australian Poets”. There appear to be just 14 0f them, of which A B Patterson is one. It’s not setting the bar very high for Australia is it?
And god forbid if Cats has any recordings of him actually playing the banjo, cos as a music critic I’m likely to be more than savage.
Sam,
Thank you.
Sheesh, everyone is so serious.
so it’s not Shakespeare? Neither is anyone else, with the exception of Shakespeare.
“Sheesh, everyone is so serious.”
You’re not getting away with it as easily as that!
By everyone you mean me an Nick do you Cats? No we’re not, we’re just pointing out that Banjo is actually rubbish, not in any way shape or form Poetry, and not even a particularly funny story either.
Shakespeare? How’d he get in here! Banjo isn’t even Spike Milligan even…
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/bump/
Cats,
Years and years ago I made some vague literary allusion over at Samizdata and you liked it and said it was rather different from Queensland where you said the height of literary endeavour was to know the first two verses of “Charlotte the Harlot lay dying”.
I have a dim memory of that, but I’m damned if I can remember the details.
Maybe I should go there and do a search on ‘Charlotte’.
I was over there a couple of weeks ago doing a search and I found this, the posting which led to the birth of Cats.
Could be worse though, eh lads?
God forbid we may soon be stopped by Plod going…
“To Nick or not to Nick, that is the question.
‘ave you committed a moving traffic violation?”
Sheesh for real!
http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2102840/Ere-Sarge-rhymes-gender-sensitivity-Incredulity-Yard-politically-correct-poetry-contest.html