Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, ALLMAN'S BAR, by TED KENEALLY


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

ALLMAN'S BAR, by                    
First Line: Come and have a drink at allman's,' said a hard-faced lad from yass
Last Line: "but tonight I shore a thousand while you lads were at the bar."
Subject(s): Bars & Bartenders; Labor & Laborers; Sheep; Pubs; Taverns; Saloons; Work; Workers


"COME and have a drink at Allman's," said a hard-faced lad from Yass;
" 'Tis there they're doin' tallies, all Monaro men with brass.
In early days I've often heard of twenties to the hour,
I've heard of Mitchell's constant pace and the iron hand of Power,
But those lads from bleak Monaro reckon shearing simple fun,
And they're dead to feel insulted unless addressed as 'gun':
But come and hear 'em at it. Spare me days! oh strike me pink!
Come and hear 'em at it while we have a quiet drink."

When we went into the parlour, said my friend, "Now just sit here;
You do not want to see them, you can simply hear them shear."
And I did. They talked of Burgon's blades and the density of wool;
Bob Byrne was ringing Coolringdon, and his blades were running full;
Long Jim the Floater he was there, and he scored many a win—
He said he downed The Warbler, Toffy Dwyer, and Barney Flynn;
This was out at Multagoona, where the heavy wethers are:
But it's easier to pass 'em out when breasting Allman's bar.

The Cooma lad then made a move with both his blades pulled back.
Said he, "You lads can shear them at the bar or on the track.
You should 'ave been at Wardry with me in '82,
Where the sheep are rough and wrinkly. Solid fact; yes, strike me blue.
There was Bobby Vaughan and Williams and Deverall and McGee,
And every blanky one of them was a-nappin' after me.
Jack Reid had on a spurback and a knocker made of cork,
And to keep those lads behind me, by cripes I had to work."

"Hold on there, Dave, just take a pull, you've talked your tally through."
This came from Billy Phillips, who hails from Gundaroo.
He said, "Those men you talk about are nothing at the game;
I beat them all at Tabratong, where sheep are just the same;
I tossed out fifty hoggets there before the breakfast bell,
And the sheep were rough and wrinkly, and sandy-backed as well;
I polished off two hundred there without a call for tar"—
And Billy got a hearing that night at Allman's bar.

"Have another taste," said Allman, as he poured 'em out for ten;
"They'd never get the wool off were it not for Cooma men."
The Flyer's hand was aching—he thought he had his shears.
Was he trying to follow Phillips? Was he grasping lengthy beers?
Said he, "I've always ringer been from Bringagee to Bourke;
I'm king of all the wool-hawks—boss wherever shearers work."
"You're a (bleeding gory) skiter," said Billy straight and blunt;
"When the (blessed) rams were finished you weren't in the hunt."

Just then a cop came on the scene, and said, "This cut is rough;
You'd better put your stoppers on, I think you've done enough;
Whatever you do at Wyvern, Willurah or The Rock,
In Hay you'll get no overtime: it's now eleven o'clock."
But the lads went to a private room and sharpened up again,
Till someone broke his TU shears on a crossbred at The Glen.
Yes, the pace was getting faster when they went into the room,
But no one shouted "Wool away" or "Tar" or "Where's the broom?"

I heard The Flyer ringing Orange Plains and Compadore;
He "swung the gate" at Netley in Eighteen eighty-four,
In those days he was a goer, but the happy time has gone;
He thought that Howe deserved the belt for his three-twenty-one.
But Allman disabused his mind. He said, "This very night
I beat Howe and all Monaro to a man right out of sight:
You say three-twenty-one's been done without a call for tar,
But tonight I shore a thousand while you lads were at the bar."





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