The following poem is by talented Croydon storyteller Les Pickering who’s book “Oh! What an Outback Show!” is filled with cracking short stories and poetry involving his and his mates adventures in the untamed Gulf country.
The old drovers were legends on the land,
They were tough and wiry and wore a good suntan.
They drove their bullocks every day in the relentless sun,
Before sunrise each day, until the day was done.
They drove all over Queensland, through the Territory and over the Kimberley and back.
Through the treacherous Canning, down the Cooper and along the Birdsville track.
Thirty hard years in the saddle, that’s how good drovers are made,
You won't make it in a cosy office job, or working somewhere in the shade.
The station owner depends on his drover; he has to be a capable and reliable man,
He can't afford to be a boozer or a loser, when he’s got one thousand bullocks in his hands.
A good drover can tell if things are not going right, like if the bullocks are looking toey and might take fright,
He would say, "Men, we must ride our best horses tonight; keep the singing up and have the fire burning bright!"
The drovers that I mention here, I knew them all first-hand,
They all come from Croydon, up in the north of Queensland.
There's Dude, Old Mahoney, Looking Glass Joe,
Smiler, Pan and Jacky; these are some of the best that I know.
But technology has put the droving industry to rest,
It is certainly faster now, but is it really the best.
Most of the old time drovers could not drive a big smoky diesel truck,
They delivered their bullocks cheaper, intact and on time, using their knowledge and a little bit of luck.
Leslie J. Pickering ©
