Get all 8 Margaret Walters releases available on Bandcamp and save 15%.
Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality downloads of Steadfast, Yarri Of Wiradjuri, Power In A Song, Pack O' Pirates, Who Was Here, Pithead in the Fern, The Sea and the Soil, and For The Future And The Past.
1. |
Winding Gear
01:35
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Stark against the stormclouds stands a tower of wood and steel,
With a slash of iron cable and a pair of ten-spoked wheel.
The work of rule and compasses, all harsh and rigid line,
The Pithead tower of the Coal Creek Mine.
The wind sighs through the cabling with a cold and restless moan,
But from there you'll hear the noise of water rattling over stone,
And down beside that gurgling creek, where moss is deep and green,
The lacy fronds of ancient Tree Fern lean.
And there you'll see the story told in bark and fern and steel,
Of the dying of the forests with the coming of the wheel,
Of the making of a people in their fight to live and learn:
The legend of the Pithead in the fern.
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2. |
Pithead in the Fern
03:14
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Kardella's fence lined ranges
Suspend the clouds on rakes of Mountain Ash.
The chilly damp is sharp with sounds,
Among the rocks, swift waters fret and splash.
The smells of bark and fungus
Rise from the ground that crunches where you tread,
And, woven with that tapestry,
The tang of burning coal and baking bread.
Beside a stable doorway
A magpie pours its gifts of silver song,
Two sleepy Clydesdales snort and stamp,
Don't worry lads, your breakfast won't be long.
McConnell's forge is roaring,
A haze of smoke is drifting from the flue,
The anvil's distant ringing tells
Of work beginning while the day is new.
And the steam saws whine,
And hobnailed boots go crunching down the mine,
Iron souls and sweating backs all battling to earn
A living from that Pithead in the fern.
Among the rails and weatherboards
Blows a biting spray of drizzle rain.
A whistle from Jumbunna
Warns of the coming of the Outtrim train.
A pair of mighty Baldwins
Have fought the ranges' grades a hard ten mile,
Another hundred tons of coal,
Korumburra bound, with power and style.
The Mountain Ash and fern tree
Retreat before the flooding human tide,
There's farmland and there's industry
Where lyrebird and wombat used to hide.
We've gained and we have lost
In clawing out our living from the Earth,
But Coal Creek tells the story
For you and I to judge its final worth.
And the steam saws whine,
And hobnailed boots go crunching down the mine,
Though the roaring days are over, there's a future we can learn
From the stories of that pithead in the fern.
From the stories of that pithead in the fern.
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3. |
Miner's Washin'
03:37
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I came from Durham in '99,
Married a laddie from the Coal Creek mine,
The finest lad that a girl could ever know,
Till he brought me his washin' from the pit below.
Chorus:
Scrubbing the miner's clothes,
Scrubbing the miner's clothes,
All piled up in a ghastly stack,
Heavy as lead, and smelly and black,
And oh the pain in my aching back,
Scrubbing the miner's clothes.
Now your Korumburra miner is a grimy sort of bloke,
So I drop in his duds for an all-night soak.
I'll take me a soap and I'll grate it like a cheese,
And chuck it in a bucket with his grubby dungarees.
I get me up before the peep o' light
My copper for to fill and my fire for to light,
I'll serve Tom his crib while the copper's on the boil,
Then gird up my muscles for a day's hard toil.
It's drag 'em from the copper to the rinsing tub,
Pound 'em with the dolly and scrub, scrub, scrub,
Pour away the mucky water, do it all again,
Heave 'em through the wringer and pray it doesn't rain.
Beyond Kardella, the sky's looking fine,
Basket up the washing to the old clothesline,
I'll bet when it's hung out and I've heaved up the prop,
The rain'll come a pourin' and the wind will drop.
Now all you maidens who to marriage do incline,
Never wed a laddie from the Coal Creek mine,
A squatter might be surly, a merchant might be mean,
A banker might be boring, but they're easier to clean.
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4. |
Anderson's Coast
05:24
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Old Bass Strait roars like some great millrace,
And where are you, my Annie?
And the same moon shines on this lonely place,
As shone one day on my Annie's face.
Chorus:
But Annie, dear, don't wait for me,
I fear I shall not return to thee,
There's nought to do but endure my fate,
And watch the moon, the lonely moon
Light the breakers on wild Bass Strait.
We stole a vessel and all her gear,
And where are you, my Annie?
And from Van Dieman's we north did steer,
Till Bass Strait's wild waves wrecked us here.
* A mile inland as our path was laid
And where are you, my Annie?
We found a government stockade
Long deserted but stoutly made.
And somewhere west, Port Melbourne lies,
And where are you, my Annie?
Through swamps infested with snakes and flies,
The fool who walks there, he surely dies.
We hail no ships though the time, it drags,
And where are you, my Annie?
Our chain gang walk and our government rags
All mark us out as Van Dieman's lags.
We fled the lash and the chafing chain,
And where are you, my Annie?
We fled hard labour and brutal pain,
And here we are, and here remain.
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5. |
Kurnai link 1
00:33
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6. |
South Gippsland Mud
03:42
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Arise, you Gippsland cockies, two hours before the sun,
You've sixteen God-given hours to fill before the day is done.
So dress up thick and warm, my lads, likewise you lassies too,
The good South Gippsland mud awaits outside the door for you.
Chorus:
At Koo-Wee-Rup, it's murky grey, at Mirboo North, it's red,
That sticky, cold South Gippsland mud that weighs your boots like lead.
Then plod off to your milking shed that's just above the creek,
There's water leaking from the patch you hammered on last week,
Make sure you keep your cow's hind leg well tied against the stall,
Or down into the Gippsland mud she'll kick the milk and all.
None of that horse and cart round here, nor yet your bullock dray,
She'll sink above the axle, mate, and where she sinks, she'll stay,
Go build yourself a bullock sled, the thing they use on snow,
And sliding o'er the Gippsland mud you might more safely go.
A bloke to Korumburra came and went in for a drink,
He left his dray and bullock team which then began to sink.
When he came out and saw the sight, he swooned upon the spot,
For old South Gippsland's thirsty mud had swallowed up the lot.
You miners all at Outtrim, and Wonthaggi by the sea,
You farmers all at Tarwin Lower, come drink a toast with me,
To dear old England's friendly shores with daffodils in bud,
To debt, to gaol or anything but that damned Gippsland mud.
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7. |
Dear Diary
03:35
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Dear Diary, I've been here these seven weeks,
In this hut of bark and canvas, with a roof that mostly leaks,
I write by the light of a rusty miner's lamp,
Listening to the dripping of the cold eternal damp,
And the drunken navvies roaring down at the railway camp.
Dear Diary, Bill's been gone these seven days,
Carting sleepers down at Bennison, or some such place,
Myself I keep on hearing all the noises of the night,
I just drift off to sleep, then I wake again in fright,
I'm glad for Bendigo the dog, he'd give them such a bite.
Dear Diary, All the creeks are up in flood,
There's not a space for comfort here that isn't red with mud,
I cannot dry our washing and there's nothing left to wear,
The Navvies cannot work in this, they mutter and they swear,
And Bill's been gone another week, and I'm too sick to care.
Dear Diary, This desolation never ends,
There's too few women in this camp, and none are really friends,
What was it Bill promised me, this lie of married bliss?
I'll be a mother very soon, the shape my belly is,
But who would bear their children in a country such as this?
Dear Diary, Someone shot our old dog, Ben,
And I'm here in Nyora, all among these railway men,
Fearing through the dreadful night, so silent and so still.
The violence of the bitter men who labour down the hill,
And I startle at a shadow on the wall, and in comes Bill.
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8. |
Great Southern Navvy
03:07
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I'm a navigator on the Great Southern Line,
But I'll let you call me Navvy, lads, if you should so incline,
I've shovelled with me banjo over country down and up,
But I've never navvied nastier than Koo-Wee-Rup.
She's a big, black bog where a mortal man can drown,
And if it's snakes you're after, sure, the place won't let you down,
She'll swallow up your digging bar if you should let it fall,
They tell me there's a bunyip and I'm not surprised at all.
Chorus:
We're the navigators and we'll dig the railway through,
From Dandenong to Yarram in a couple of years or two.
Put some damper in our bellies, some whiskey in our cups
And we'll dig your muddy railway out of Koo-Wee-Rup.
To set up these embankments, sure it's taken us a while,
We have to build a trestle bridge or two to every mile,
We sink our pilings forty feet, for that is what it needs
To elevate your railway train six feet above the weeds.
We scrape and we hew, all in the drifting rain,
Until the tide comes in and fills our diggin's up again,
Someone will be drownded soon, I'll never understand
Why the buggers want a railway through this murderous piece of land.
* I'll stand on the embankment, wiping sweat from off me dome,
Look out across the hills and wish that I was back at home,
Then it's down into the bog, my banjo in my claw,
To shovel this reluctant muck, and shovel it some more.
Here comes the train with the engineer aboard
Cursing the delays that the budget can't afford,
But when he disappears, and the ganger gives a break,
I'll pour myself a whiskey and I'll kill another snake.
St Patrick from old Ireland made the serpents disappear,
And if we knew the truth of it, the fellow sent them here,
The way to use your banjo is, for every yard you make,
It's first you shovel mud, and then you belt a snake.
Good stout boots are the navvy's greatest mate,
Keeps 'em off your ankles, but by God, you feel the weight,
The clay builds up in layers and it sticks to them like glue,
And if your snake should bite it, then he'll lose a tooth or two.
There's complaints about our drinking, and quite likely they are true,
And you'd be drinkin' like a fish, to do the work we do,
And when we've had a bottle, then we fight like cats and dogs,
We swear and scare the ladies, then we sleep like logs.
Hey, that's the truth, for a man must cool his blood,
When he's digging up to Lang Lang through the snakes and through the mud,
Your engineer can scheme and scrape until he's black and blue,
It's us inland navigators that'll push the railway through.
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9. |
Kurnai link 2
00:37
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10. |
Devlin's General Store
03:49
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Where can I get a cross-cut saw?
Devlin's General Store.
You can get a cross-cut saw
And anything else you're looking for,
It's been there since '94,
Has Devlin's General Store.
Where can I go to collect me mail?
Devlin's General Store
There you can collect your mail
That came from Melbourne town by rail
You can get a cross-cut saw [etc]
Where can I get a dozen eggs?
Devlin's General Store
You can get a dozen eggs
A washing line, some dolly pegs
There you can collect your mail [etc]
[And so on until the last verse:]
Where can I get some sly grog, mate?
Devlin's General Store,
You can get some sly grog, mate,
We just sold some to the magistrate,
* You can get a length of fuse
Several types from which to choose
You can get some gelignite,
Samsonite or dynamite,
* You can get some 12 gauge shot,
Powder, wadding, they've got the lot
You can get a liquorice strap,
A tuppenny bunger, a rabbit trap,
You can get a carbide lamp,
A miner's pick or a ha'penny stamp,
You can get a set of spurs,
Flannel underwear, his or hers,
You can get a dozen eggs,
A washing line, some dolly pegs,
There you can collect your mail
That came from Melbourne town by rail,
You can get a cross-cut saw,
And anything else you're looking for,
It's been there since '94,
Has Devlin's General Store.
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11. |
Fires of '98
04:20
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I stand here and gaze over Strzelecki's Range,
And turn in my heart half a century of change.
Of country made fertile by sweat and the plough,
Endless good grazing for the horse and the cow.
Still, I remember the small split slab hut,
The clearing we made in the towering Blackbutt.
The Bluegum and Dogwood, the stands of Tree Fern,
That fell to the axe, that we'd gather and burn.
Chorus:
So pardon my tears when I try to relate
The ashes and dust of the year '98.
At forty years distance, I dread to recall
How massive and close was that Eucalypt wall.
Of how days burned sultry, and rivers ran dry,
And how fear would come with the haze in the sky.
Sunset came early, the colour of rust,
Our throats raw with worry, the smoke and the dust,
And yet, with that nightfall, the dark never came,
Just the dull, lurid menace, the colour of flame.
The tongue has no words for the sound and the sight
Of the savage crown fire that tore up the night.
It melted our glassware, bent iron, split rock,
And it shattered our souls and we wandered in shock.
I remember a church hall, cool water and bread,
The bitter, hard sobs as folk wept for their dead,
The pitiful cries of burned cattle and sheep,
Those memories that still haunt the hills of my sleep.
The forests have gone with their fires and fears,
My Ranges enriched by the changes of years,
Grandchildren ask me of days long ago,
But I hide the bushfires, they don't need to know.
High on the ridges, like monument stones,
Stand single, grey tree stumps, a dead forest's bones.
A shudder goes through as I lean on the gate,
And I turn from the pain of the year '98.
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12. |
Kurnai link 3
00:39
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13. |
Gippsland Mining Man
02:58
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I was born among the miners in the great South Gippsland hills,
I grew up in their comradeship, knew fierce pride in their skills,
I saw them pick in the three foot seams for thirty bob a week
For the Outtrim Howitt company, Jumbunna and Coal Creek.
I'm a Gippsland mining man.
I saw the forests on the range turned into posts and beams
For the short and twisted workings in those deadly, faulted seams.
I saw my father prop the ways with unremitting care,
For if the roof should drop, you get no second chance down there.
I'm a Gippsland mining man.
CHORUS:
I'm a Gippsland mining man and I'll tell you while I can,
How the coal that drove the trains
Was paid in courage, loss and pain
By the family of the Gippsland mining man.
I saw a heartless manager lay off a dozen men,
And leave their families destitute by the cold stroke of the pen,
I've seen their quiet comradeship that helped them bear their lot,
As I went out with the others trapping rabbits for the pot.
I'm a Gippsland mining man.
I've seen a woman battle on, her man killed in a fall,
With seven kids to feed and clothe, no income left at all,
And I recall the angry men who dared the truth to tell,
With names like Idriess Williams, Jock Orr and Harry Bell,
I'm a Gippsland mining man.
CHORUS
And I've seen strikes a full year long, to keep our meagre pay,
I've seen a struggle lost, I've seen the families move away,
Their houses drawn by bullock teams on creaking timber carts
To the State mine at Wonthaggi to make another start,
I'm a Gippsland mining man.
I sit in Leongatha now, on any business day,
And watch the busy farming folk who spend ten times our pay,
The years have passed, my mates have died, the living will forget
Of how today's prosperity was bought in pain and sweat
By the Gippsland mining man.
CHORUS
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14. |
Blossom the Mining Horse
03:17
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Now Blossom was a mining horse,
* Among the coal and slack,
Who hauled the skips with all her force,
* Get out of that, gee up you beggar,
* Come here, gee off, whoa back.
Wonthaggi miners all did know ...
What happened when Bloss refused to go ...
Now Bloss came out of the bord one day ...
Pulled to a stand and blocked the way ...
She had a full and heavy load ...
Of skips which blocked the wheeling road ...
Now Harry the wheeler cursed and cried ...
But Bloss dug in whatever he tried ...
With ears laid back our Bloss stood fast ...
No man behind in the bord got past ...
So Mac, who fired the shots, did say ...
"Let's eat, we could be here all day" ...
But, as the lads got out their lunch ...
The roof caved in with a deadly crunch ...
Our Blossom saved the miners all ...
She stood between them and the fall ...
And when the rescue team dug through ...
The lads were alive and Blossom too ...
Which goes to show, now and again ...
The mining heroes weren't all men ...
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15. |
Kitty Kane
05:13
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I came up the Thomson with thousands of others,
When Walhalla's gold worked its wild, shining spell.
I was young, I was pretty, I called myself Kitty,
I offered the best jewels a woman could sell.
A length of fine velvet in well-fitting burgundy,
Tight round the curves where a man's eyes would fall,
Lace at the edges and eyes full of laughter,
Oh, young Kitty Kane was the pride of them all.
Chorus:
I might take a walk by the wild Thomson River
Where the Mountain Ash rise in the soft, misty rain,
There's gold in the range and there's gold in the memories
Of the lady of pleasure, they call Kitty Kane.
* As the wealth from the mining flowed into the valley,
I moved from a shanty up to a hotel.
I'd seen enough squalor, I saved enough silver
To make me a place where I'd play the game well.
Pregnancy, injury, theft and brutality
Threatened and scarred me, again and again,
But in black lace and silver, I waltzed with the miners,
And shone in their vision, for I'm Kitty Kane.
The publican brought a piano from Melbourne,
I could tell you right now, it was never in tune,
But the work-weary diggers came crowding to hear it
When Samson would play in the late afternoon.
On nights when Walhalla lit up like a fire,
And the miners were roaring some boozy refrain,
There would always be eyes lit with lust and desire,
And bright gold for evenings with young Kitty Kane.
There were schemers and sailors and bearded old diggers,
Whose tough, hairy hides had the gravel ground in,
Young men far from home who still needed a mother,
And sad, furtive parsons who needed to sin.
Rough, drunken brutes with the manners of cattle,
Who let me lie bleeding and shaking in pain,
I've served them their drinks while my bruises were healing,
And I laughed and I shone, I was still Kitty Kane.
I've heard the men singing down at the piano,
That youth, it soon passes, and beauty will fade,
But I gave them their pleasure when I was past forty,
It's the light in the eyes made me queen of my trade.
Though Walhalla now is all merchants and farmers,
Whose wives see in me what they think of as shame,
I'll die in this valley with fine, singing memories,
My name's Kitty Kane, I was best in the game.
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16. |
The Boiler and the Horse
02:24
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Now, Harry, did you hear the news, the manager's gone mad,
He wants to bring a boiler in, for it's the latest fad.
The horse is too expensive and he's found a better scheme,
He's setting up a cableway to move the coal by steam.
Chorus:
A pox upon the Company, this is a nasty lurk
To put the wheeler laddies and their ponies out of work,
There's no one says it can't be done, a mighty thing is steam,
But nothing beats the horse and man for working in the seam.
We all began as wheelers and it's how we learned the job,
Before we learned to hew and prop and how to ram the gob,
You've seen those narrow bends, old mate, you tell me how they can
Get round 'em with a cableway as well as a horse and man.
Now have you seen the boiler, it's a mighty thing, old mate?
It's like Ned Kelly's helmet, made of half-inch iron plate,
There's rows of rivets everywhere, an engineer's delight,
It's taking miners' jobs away, and how can that be right?
Now Harry, did you hear the frightful bang the other night?
Some lads came from Wonthaggi with a little gelignite,
They packed it in the boiler and it split the thing apart,
And went the thirty miles back home all in a horse and cart!
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17. |
Gippsland Schoolhouse
03:40
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I remember how the Ryans came to school
On old Tom, their father's Clydesdale, and he'd graze outside all day.
In summertime, we'd take them to the pool,
Among the rocks they'd swim there, unless the sky turned grey.
I still hear the sound of tables being chanted like a rhyme,
The rhythm of the slow, old clock that measured out our time;
Chorus:
But how my throat still aches when I recall
The golden names in rows on polished cedar on the wall.
The children always seemed to lose a father
From falling rock and timber in the coal mine's deadly ways,
Or dying from the foul air and the dust,
I've seen the mothers flinch as menfolk coughed away their days.
And the boys I taught as children went to war when they were men,
They came back sick and broken, or they came not back again;
All down the busy years since I've been teaching
I've watched the children learn and grow, and then go out and die.
I ask myself is all our effort wasted
By companies that kill them and governments that lie?
Young Sally's playing "Last Post" now, she's in the band, you see,
I can hear those bright, young voices singing "Lord, abide with me";
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18. |
Drunks' Express
02:55
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I'll tell you all of the roaring day,
* In Korumburra town on a Friday.
From Jeetho out to Jumbunna way
Folks came in for to spend their pay
* In Korumburra town on a Friday.
The lads knocked off at the mining site,
To shop and gossip, drink and fight
From four o'clock till around midnight,
* In Korumburra town on a Friday.
Chorus:
And it's "Oh my darlin' Clementine",
As the Drunks' Express lurches up the line,
Taking the lads back to Outtrim Mine
From Korumburra town on a Friday.
Now you could see it from the train ...
The miner's friend, the council's bane,
The sly grog shanty run by Kane ...
Now Old Kane was a cunning coot,
His whiskey source still in dispute,
And girls were there of strange repute ...
At one of the pubs where the miners meet ...
Comes the sound of voices raised in heat,
And a body hurled out onto the street ...
The body lies there, out for ten,
It looks like young Joe Kane again,
You shouldn't argue with mining men ...
Eleven o'clock and they close the bars ...
The drunks are singing to the moon and stars
As they pack them into the railway cars ...
Tomorrow they'll wake up sore and sick,
To work off with the shovel and pick,
The aches they've earned and the wounds they lick ...
The case is heard at ten o'clock ...
Now hear the courtroom gavel knock,
For young Joe Kane standing in the dock ...
Says Judge, "A ten bob fine I think,
Or thirty days in the local clink,
For the things you did when worse for drink ...
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19. |
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"Where have the Kurnai gone?"
Cries the sea wind, blowing sand.
"Where are the fur-clad folk of mine,
Who cracked the shells above the tideline?
Cold the trail, they left no sign,
Where have the Kurnai gone?"
"Where have the Kurnai gone?"
Mourn the breakers on the reef,
"The land was stolen," the hills replied,
"The forests felled, their home denied,
Driven and pursued, no place to hide."
"Where have the Kurnai gone?"
"Where have the Kurnai gone?"
Asks the voice of an aching land
Where roads and farms and mines were made
There were families slain, their hopes betrayed,
Weeping drowned in the noise of trade,
"Where have the Kurnai gone?"
"Where have the Kurnai gone?"
The question will not be stilled.
Angela Morgan died alone,
Last of the full blood Kurnai known,
But folk still live of her flesh and bone,
Justice may still be done
For the Kurnai who have not gone.
"Where have the Kurnai gone?"
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20. |
Trainghosts
05:36
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Where the surf breaks by Kilcunda, there's a Ti-tree covered ridge,
Where the coal trains from Wonthaggi crossed a timber trestle bridge.
The wooden decks are rotting and there's no safe place to stand,
Its grey and weathered pilings have been grained by blowing sand.
Bass Strait's wind moans in the fencelines like a ghostly voice in pain
Like the wailing of the whistle of the westbound Melbourne train.
Chorus:
Coal from the earth, water, air and fire,
The prophet's cloud of rolling smoke forever clawing higher,
The mighty exhaust pounding as the steamer fights the grades,
Now the lines are derelict, the ghostly memory fades,
... the ghostly memory fades.
There's a line up to Jumbunna where the dairy cattle graze,
Bluegum sleepers lie decayed and fencelines cross the ways.
Along the great embankments rusting rails may still be seen,
But saplings grow among them and the grass is rich and green.
Once the Baldwins scaled these ranges with a pulse that shook the ground,
And they'd stall upon these gradients and their wheels scream wildly round.
The memory is haunted by the iron whistle blast,
The shouting children waving as the morning train rolls past,
The fireman glaring forward through South Gippsland's driving hail,
The jingle of the couplings and the rhythm of the rail.
Here's a rusting iron dogspike and a leaning crossing gate,
And I'm standing in the cutting, knowing that I'm years too late.
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Margaret Walters Sydney, Australia
Rock solid, Margaret's voice is right where it needs to be, whether delivering a clarion call for social justice, a tender lullaby, a lively or poignant folk tale, an uplifting hymn to Mother Earth, a rousing work song of the yardarm or an up-yours from a feisty lass. Margaret usually sings unaccompanied, favouring the folk tradition and some select contemporary writers. ... more
Margaret Walters recommends:
Crossing the Line
by Forty Degrees South
Our most recent collection of sea-themed songs from the Southern Oceans.
go to album
Life Of Brine
by The Roaring Forties
Before the Tiktok shanty craze, there was the Roaring Forties
go to albumIf you like Pithead in the Fern, you may also like:
The Poor Shall Wear the Crown: Songs by Leon Rosselson
by Nancy Kerr
supported by 4 fans who also own “Pithead in the Fern”
Just another Superb well delivered album by this wonderful versatile artist very well recorded produced its a must for anyone's collection. Nancys vocals are brilliant as ever.. stand out album.
go to album
supported by 4 fans who also own “Pithead in the Fern”
I've always been a huge fan of Nancy's playing and this track is a great example of her playing style. Can spot it a mile off, which is a compliment by the way!
go to album
JESSICA's second album was recorded live solely with vocals and piano.
go to album
Mild Terror / Ice Cave Single
by Jack Sharp
A freaky folk holiday single from the lead guitarist of British psych rockers Wolf People celebrates winter chill.
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