… for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses — he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
… I could go on – I checked this morning on the Tube – I was the muttering woman between Farringdon and Euston Square at about 10.45 – and I can still recite the whole lot. It’s here if you’re interested.
(And if you’ve seen the movie you still have the read the poem – there’s only a faint relationship between the two.)
I’m no man from Snowy River, having fallen off more than enough horses to prove that, but I am deeply enmeshed in a likely move between flats at present, and the poem brings to mind rounding up estate agents, for which the phrase “mustering wild cats” might have been invented.
So blogging has been a bit quiet lately, but I was inspired today by an article on Banjo Paterson, which contains a full account of the origins of Waltzing Matilda, the unofficial national anthem. It has Scottish/German/left-wing union roots – don’t tell John Howard!
(That link will only work for a couple of days.)
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