1932 "The Big McArthur Side"
McArthur River, northern Northern Territory
McArthur River Station mentioned in this article
THE BIG McARTHUR SIDE
Out on the big McArthur run
Out where there’s action, thrill and fun
Out where the monthly mail comes thru’
From Camooweal to the distant ‘Loo,
By the big McArthur side.
Out where there is no strife of fuss,
Where the outside world don’t trouble us,
We ride to muster, draft and brand,
And stick to jobs we understand
By the quiet McArthur side.
Out where you still might cut the tracks
Of a wandering tribe of myall blacks
They hunt and live the tribal lore,
Quite happy as in days of yore.
By the free McArthur side.
Where fish are speared in clear bright stream
I sometimes sit and watch and dream,
While the paper barks and she-oaks tall
Throw their lofty shadows over al
Buy the green McArthur side
There’s a sharp stern call ‘ere break o’day
Of “Horses, boys; look out, none away
Seventy horses and never a bell,
For sure the boys must go by smell
On the dark McArthur side
They are here on camp, and breakfast through,
So mount and ride in the morning dew,
The rails are down, the coaches pass,
Driven away thru’ the tall cane-grass
On the rough McArthur side.
The Mundujee rides high up a limestone hill
And searches the country ahead ahead until
He spots a mob in the cane grass-tall
Then waves his hat to save a call
On the bright McArthur side
Then work the wind and circle wide,
A shout, “They’re gone!” so down and ride,
Then thirteen switches slash the breeze,
They ride with hands, and heels, and knees,
On the dense McArthur side.
A desperate race but, wheeled at last,
“To the coaches, boys, now, not too fast”,
They are blocked and stopped but not for long,
And the tying straps needs must be strong
On the wild McArthur side.
Then a cleanskin bull comes charging out,
The coons ride with a warning shout,
But a sudden roar from the forty-four
And his blood will stain the heard no more
On the bold McArthur side.
Now let those who wish enjoy the fun,
When lights are dimmed and the show’s
Or when sirens hoot and tram cars screech
As the weekend crowds rush for the beach,
Or when whips are out as they face the
And the favourite wins with his crushing
Or when football scores stand thirteen all,
With a minute to go and a penalty ball,
Where every wireless set you hear
Is blaring, “Crisis! War is near!”
Among poverty, sickness and unemployed.
Well - I forfeit my share, not the least
For the spaces wide on McArthur run,
Where there’s action and life, and thrills, and