This is the second part of the collection of pieces from the back pockets of my trousers at June 2016. Part One (http://www.aggravations.org/#!blog) includes an introduction and explanation. As in that first part, some contextual background has been added to help explain the purpose for which each piece was written or selected.
Index Part One Introduction LiT 1 A country childhood LiT 2 11th Conference recommendations LiT 3 Duke Tritton, Gary Shearston LiT 4 A doggerel of a life LiT 5 Do not go gentle, Dylan Thomas LiT 6 Each guest at our table Part Two - this post LiT 7 For Tony Wade LiT 8 Funeral blues, W. H. Auden LiT 9 Heart of our Universe LiT 10 The Mad Monk and The Ranga LiT 11 Christmas Party 2012 LiT 12 from Macbeth, William Shakespeare Part Three LiT 13 None of us is innocent LiT 14 from Richard II, William Shakespeare LiT 15 Two little boys LiT 16 "Some chicken; some neck", Winston Churchill LiT 17 We've had enough of fluoro vests LiT 18 What's in a name?
Lines in the Trouser 7
For Tony Wade
Context: Tony Wade was a close friend from vets’ hockey. He was a warm and unflappable person with the sort of charisma, bonhomie and leadership abilities that made him a natural captain of the ACT cohort of which I was a part for the inter-state carnivals. He was a strong player in mid-field and given his robustness it seemed unlikely that he would be the first of our group to be struck down. He contracted acute myeloid leukaemia. Tony’s wife, Helen, asked me to write a piece for his funeral service, held on 2 June 2015.
Most of the regular members of our group are mentioned, including Dougie Dawson, long-time administrator. With Gerin Hingee in our group we were expected to play our matches using a ‘system’ that few bar Gerin himself could get to grips with; and Judy Baillie was for several years our very supportive and forgiving Team Manager. Boydie (John Boyd) was the ACT teams’ strapper who pre-deceased Tony. In the ACT competitions Tony was always a United player; Checks and Central are two of the other local clubs.
For Tony Wade
Right-Oh!
Gather round and quieten down and listen up you lot.
Dougie’s called this meeting to see who we have got
For the over 95s this year in Hobart – or is it Perth?
Though we can’t run – or bend – or see – we’ll play for all we’re worth.
Paul from Coffs will be in goal, with Des and Ken at the back
That’s a lot of defensive experience – though a little pace they lack.
Paul from Scone is in the halves, with Garth and all his hair,
And Brucie R, and Finn and Scruff – there’s lots of choice right there.
We’ll have two Morries up the front, with Kingo, China, Don –
And in case we win a short corner will discuss that later on.
We’ve flexibility enough which I know you really love
For Gerin can play all over the place – and very often does.
And Bruce will be among us too – he has no truck with fools –
He reckons he alone among us understands the rules.
There’s Johnny F and let’s be clear: our numbers are quite handy,
With Peter M., and Bobby, Alan (‘Chappie’) and young Andy.
Our womenfolk will be with us to help us night and daily
With Margie, Julie, Lynne and Miff – and Mrs Judy Baillie.
But who will be our centre half, our captain, heart and soul?
Who will bind us all together, make the parts one whole?
Tony Wade’s the man we need, our cheerful, loyal friend
The sort of man one works for – on whom one can depend.
He’ll puff around, just slightly pink; he’ll put them to the test
He’ll never stop until it’s done; our fairest and our best.
He’ll mingle then and chuckle, grin – one of his most endearing tricks
And make a speech, and drink a drink – yes even with the Vics!
A disembodied voice appeared – we all looked right around
But still no mortal source was seen and neither could be found.
We listened then in disbelief, no-one even stirred
As from a far-off distance, this is what we heard:
“I’m making up a team, to play for the ACT
Not just over 95 but for all Eternity.
I’ve got the strapper, he’s the best: he’s Boydie as you know,
He’s worked on me – so Heav’nly bumps will never make me slow.
I had to have a leader, with heart and soul in the game
Tony was your common choice so first to him I came.
He didn’t volunteer to lead – so modest till the end
So I had to call on AML* – a trusted s’lector friend.
He did his work on Tony in less than half a year
So now he’s here to lead my team, though others shed a tear.
I’d like if I could to have Don on the wing – either right or left –
Been calling him for ages but perhaps he’s slightly deaf?
And as soon as Gerin gets up here we’ll switch to play his style
So if you want the standard game, let-him stay with you a while.
So now I’ll build with confidence a team to make you proud
I’ll build it on the One I have – the stand-out from your crowd.
Of course I’m hurt for Helen’s grief – they always were United –
I’ve Checked the Central registry and know their troth was plighted.
Forgive me then, if that you can, for the choice that I have made
And remember him so fondly, your best and fairest, Tony Wade.”
*acute myeloid leukaemia.
Tony is seated, second from Left
Lines in the Trouser 8
Funeral blues – W. H. Auden
Context: An early version of Funeral Blues, with five stanzas, was published in 1936, and in its final form in The Year’s Poetry (London, 1938). The 1936 version was a satiric poem of mourning for a political leader, written for the verse play The Ascent of F6 by Auden and Christopher Isherwood. The 1938 version was written to be sung by the soprano Hedli Anderson in a setting by Benjamin Britten. It is now the English contribution to the statue commemorating the Heysel Stadium disaster, where a retaining wall collapsed, resulting in 39 deaths on 29 May 1985, when Liverpool played Juventus in the European Cup Final. The poem featured in Four Wedddings and a Funeral (1994)
– and in the musical February House, produced Off-Broadway in 2012, a large portion of the poem is sung by Auden himself. I find it very moving.
Funeral blues
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
Lines in the Trouser 9
Heart of our Universe
Context: I can’t remember the occasion for which this piece was written but its general purpose is clear: to act as an antidote to the popular habit among people in all other parts of Australia of putting down our capital city. The strongest objection is taken by Canberra residents to the personalisation of the city as the place that brings increased taxes and bodgie government, as in: ‘Canberra hikes fuel prices’ or ‘Canberra fails on education reform’. Like so many others, my family would rather describe Canberra as a well-kept secret, given its many civic, creative and human assets, its lovely climate, autumn leaves and bike paths.
Heart of our Universe
Settled for a hundred years, where pastures used to grow,
With windy days in springtime: just see the blossoms blow!
Cold nights through the winter, with clear blue skies by day
And nights well-made for sleeping: why would we go away?
Settled on Monaro between Snowy Range and coast
It’s names like Adaminaby that locals love the most
And coloured trees in Autumn cast each year their rusty spell
In places like Dalgety – just west Nimmitabel.
The Snowy River National Park smiles next to ACT
The Murrumbidgee river flows from here to distant sea
Bombala is the sweetest home for many friends of mine
Like Queanbeyan and Berridale and lake-strewn Jindabyne.
We’re chided by our cousins, for Parliament sits here
Not every Hill is Capital, and ours we hold close dear
While others then will put us down, for taxes are a curse
We’ll sing three cheers for Canberra: Heart of our Universe!
Lines in the Trouser 10
The Mad Monk and The Ranga
Context: The Federal Election held on Saturday 21 August 2010 resulted in both Labor and the Coalition winning 72 seats in the 150-seat House of Representatives. Three Independents – Tony Windsor, Rob Oakeshott and Bob Katter – had to decide which of the major parties they would throw their weight behind. The Leader of the ALP was Julia Gillard – a redhead – and the Leader of the Liberal/National Coalition was Tony Abbott. The piece was written for CouncilFest 2010 (3 August).
The Mad Monk and the Ranga
The voters have decided, they’re going to vent their anger
They don’t trust either side: the Mad Monk or the Ranga.
Someone leaked from Cabinet – that really was a clanger
For a week or two advantage went to-the-Mad-Monk not the Ranga.
People felt quite wilted – like some lettuce in a sanga
They wanted other choices, not just a Mad Monk or a Ranga.
They’ll try to move me forward, but not in my old banger
There’s no real action, just all talk from the Mad Monk and the Ranga
While we get slim in country towns, the city folk get fatter:
Hurrah for the House of Windsor and that lovely Mr Katter.
Lines in the Trouser 11
Christmas Party 2012
Context: I liked to have a specially-written piece for the staff Christmas Party to sum up the year’s teamwork and to help invest the occasion with a sense of fun. (One can’t expect colleagues to perform one of their own party pieces if you aren’t willing to do your own!) When it came to 2012 either the muse had left me or the time had passed and I had nothing prepared right up until the last minute. Creation of the piece took the time between when everyone else had left the office and I arrived at the party late. As the piece explains, my contribution was filled out by the singing of The Rare Ould Times (one of my favourites) in honour of Audrey’s mum and dad who were out from Ireland for Christmas, and by an unrehearsed spoons duet with Millie.
Christmas Party 2012
I feel quite bare without a rhyme, especially at this season
The muse was gone this several week – I’m not sure what the reason.
So here I am at 2.15 still far from Ginninderra
It seems not right, can’t get in flight; feet still on firma terra.
The year has flown, you all must own, and what a one it was
We found ourselves so busy: why? well mainly just because.
My special thanks to all of you, I say with utmost ardour
For working with more accuracy, and faster too – and harder.
I’m not quite empty-handed – that would really be quite wrong
Without a poem’s bad enough but never without song.
If short of words a wordsmith is, you’ll think how sad that is
But though I have no poetry, instead I have a quiz.
“If music be the food of love: Play on” (so it was said)
If I can’t rhyme I’ll do my best with singing then instead.
One song I’ll try for Audrey’s folks: I hope they like the choice
It’s Rare Ould Times: please wish me luck: for I have little voice.
Make way for music! With no rhyme, let dancers take the floor
And I hope that later doggerel days return to me once more.
Now when I say it’s music time – not mainly is it tunes
But me and Mrs Clery both, full-on with duelling spoons.
Lines in the Trouser 12
from Macbeth – William Shakespeare
Act 2, SCENE IV. Outside Macbeth’s castle.
Context: I cannot recall why I apparently needed this extract on my person, but it was among the Lines in the Trouser and so must be included in this official record. The Old Man’s blessing at the end is memorable – and apt for the unlikely and troubled times on which today’s world seems to have stumbled.
from Macbeth:
Enter ROSS and an old Man
Old Man
Threescore and ten I can remember well:
Within the volume of which time I have seen
Hours dreadful and things strange; but this sore night
Hath trifled former knowings.
ROSS
Ah, good father,
Thou seest, the heavens, as troubled with man’s act,
Threaten his bloody stage: by the clock, ’tis day,
And yet dark night strangles the travelling lamp:
Is’t night’s predominance, or the day’s shame,
That darkness does the face of earth entomb,
When living light should kiss it
Old Man
‘Tis unnatural,
Even like the deed that’s done. On Tuesday last,
A falcon, towering in her pride of place,
Was by a mousing owl hawk’d at and kill’d.
ROSS
And Duncan’s horses–a thing most strange and certain–
Beauteous and swift, the minions of their race,
Turn’d wild in nature, broke their stalls, flung out,
Contending ‘gainst obedience, as they would make
War with mankind.
Old Man
‘Tis said they eat each other.
ROSS
They did so, to the amazement of mine eyes
That look’d upon’t. Here comes the good Macduff.
Enter MACDUFF
How goes the world, sir, now?
MACDUFF
Why, see you not?
ROSS
Is’t known who did this more than bloody deed?
MACDUFF
Those that Macbeth hath slain.
ROSS
Alas, the day!
What good could they pretend?
MACDUFF
They were subborn’d:
Malcolm and Donalbain, the king’s two sons,
Are stol’n away and fled; which puts upon them
Suspicion of the deed.
ROSS
‘Gainst nature still!
Thriftless ambition, that wilt ravin up
Thine own life’s means! Then ’tis most like
The sovereignty will fall upon Macbeth.
MACDUFF
He is already named, and gone to Scone
To be invested.
ROSS
Where is Duncan’s body?
MACDUFF
Carried to Colmekill,
The sacred storehouse of his predecessors,
And guardian of their bones.
ROSS
Will you to Scone?
MACDUFF
No, cousin, I’ll to Fife.
ROSS
Well, I will thither.
MACDUFF
Well, may you see things well done there: adieu!
Lest our old robes sit easier than our new!
ROSS
Farewell, father.
Old Man
God’s benison go with you; and with those
That would make good of bad, and friends of foes!
Exeunt