"A writer wrote of the hearts of men,
And he followed their tracks afar,
For his was a spirit that forced his pen
To write of the things that are."
Henry Lawson.
Where the WORKER flounces the mantelpiece
Or fringes the kitchen shelf,
Where hessian doors hide earthen floors,
And the crockery-ware is delf,
There lies her book in a sacred nook,
And it tells of the things that are,
From one seaboard to the next seaboard;
For the writer has travelled far.
There's a grey-haired widow on Yanko Creek
And a young wife out on the Bland,
Who feel the strength of the word she wrote
Like the grip of a helping hand;
They have far more heart for the washing-day,
More ease on the bright bush-track,
As to and fro' to the creek they go
And carry the water back.
There are some that trudge with the bullock teams
When their men go out for wool,
Who have learnt at night and can read and write,
Though they've never been to school;
But it is not a novel or magazine
That is most in' the rough brown hand;
Youth turns with age to her thoughtful page
That they both can understand.
The squatters' wives have their novelettes
And their stories of Araby,
With a trip to Sydney now and then,
And a gimpse of the rolling sea;
They give small thought to the rough bush homes
And the sorrows and pleasures there,
As they ponder the latest fashion notes
And the dresses their sisters wear.
The women of hut and tent and camp
Are in Mary Gilmore ken;
For she knows the lives of the bushmen's wives
As our Lawson knew the men.
The Digger's bride from the other side
Finds many a line to quote,
And many a homesick heart is cheered
By the strength of a word she wrote.
First published in The Bulletin, 14 June 1923
And he followed their tracks afar,
For his was a spirit that forced his pen
To write of the things that are."
Henry Lawson.
Where the WORKER flounces the mantelpiece
Or fringes the kitchen shelf,
Where hessian doors hide earthen floors,
And the crockery-ware is delf,
There lies her book in a sacred nook,
And it tells of the things that are,
From one seaboard to the next seaboard;
For the writer has travelled far.
There's a grey-haired widow on Yanko Creek
And a young wife out on the Bland,
Who feel the strength of the word she wrote
Like the grip of a helping hand;
They have far more heart for the washing-day,
More ease on the bright bush-track,
As to and fro' to the creek they go
And carry the water back.
There are some that trudge with the bullock teams
When their men go out for wool,
Who have learnt at night and can read and write,
Though they've never been to school;
But it is not a novel or magazine
That is most in' the rough brown hand;
Youth turns with age to her thoughtful page
That they both can understand.
The squatters' wives have their novelettes
And their stories of Araby,
With a trip to Sydney now and then,
And a gimpse of the rolling sea;
They give small thought to the rough bush homes
And the sorrows and pleasures there,
As they ponder the latest fashion notes
And the dresses their sisters wear.
The women of hut and tent and camp
Are in Mary Gilmore ken;
For she knows the lives of the bushmen's wives
As our Lawson knew the men.
The Digger's bride from the other side
Finds many a line to quote,
And many a homesick heart is cheered
By the strength of a word she wrote.
First published in The Bulletin, 14 June 1923
