He don’t know where he are 31/7/2012
Apparently, this has been around a while, first published in the IPA Review. But it’s new to me and I did get a giggle. Flim flam must be the most pilloried public figure in Australia and a terrible embarrassment to those who placed him on a pedestal.
Flannery of the Overflow
| William York
I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
Knowledge, sent to where I met him on the Murray, years ago,
He was boating when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,
Just on spec, addressed as follows, ‘Flannery, of The Overflow’.
And an SMS came directed from a source quite unexpected,
(And I think it was dictated from a river bank or bar)
‘Twas the Prime Minister who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:
Flannery’s gone all atmospheric, and I don’t know where we are.’
With Australia Day flattery, visions come to me of Flannery
Gone a-driving ‘down to Canberra’ where the politicians go;
With the journalists and stringers, Flannery pointing with his fingers,
draws a future of disasters none of us will live to know.
And the Greens come out to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him
While the politicians ponder an election to be won,
And he sees the vision horrid of our country turning florid,
With a baking sun, a rising sea and little being done.
Gazing up at Kirribilli, I wonder will the ‘Silly
Season’ finish with a whimper or a bang
Will we all start getting warm, or is this the perfect storm,
Orchestrated by Al Gore and echoed by the noisy local gang.
It seems to me Prime Minister that there is something here quite sinister
In the push to get our economics in a great big melting pot.
With the present calls for action, you will need to find some traction
For ideas that cool the hot heads so we don’t destroy our lot.
Ah – a wry smile flutters across my face. And then I wonder what is the difference between doggerel and verse? And who cares? The masters at Grimstone Grammar never did quite instill that into me.
And so off to my Banjo Patterson book, where resides a cutting, long ago taken from The Australian.
I shall give you the first two verses and the last, because I am a slow typist, and I do not wish to pinch all your bandwith. Hope it gives a smile to all. It concerns John Ah Fong the Chinese cook (probably very non-PC these days. (And Bernie, if I have any Grocer’s apostrophes, you will forgive them as poetic licence)…
There was movement at the station, for the cook had gone insane,
In his eyes there shone a wild exalted look,
As the boss had just that morning said,
“I hate to tell you John, but I reckon you’re a mongrel of a cook.
You’ve served rice for every breakfast and rice again for lunch,
While tonight I’ll bet it’s rice again to eat.
Can’t you get it through the thickness of your Oriental skull
That we mountain men have got to have red meat
…
All this happened years ago, though there’s one thing we should know,
Though he’s forgotten by most people now of course,
It’s a pity that he went, as he almost did invent
A dish that we’d know as sweet and sour horse.
Good stuff Thomas. I can recall a fragment of a Paterson borrowing composed by an old uncle:
There was movement at the dunny, for the runs had hit the farm
But the bolt ends in regret as the skitters beat the trousers to the floor…