John Taylor's Mate

my first attempt at a ballad...................

John Taylor’s Mate

 

 

 

John Taylor was a bushman who lived in days of yore

He walked a hundred miles a day although his feet were sore.

His one true friend, a dingo pup, was always by his side

And when the pup was weary; John gave his mate a ride.

They traveled north; they traveled east, wherever bush tracks run

They sheltered when and where they could from storm and blazing sun.

They forded raging rivers and climbed the mountains high

They battled dusty desert storms and slept ‘neath starry shy.

 

John Taylor, not a lonely man, told tales that could inspire

And out from inky blackness, bushmen gathered by his fire.

He told tall tales of Bunyips, and of the "Killer Kangaroo

He told them how his dingo pup once saved a cockatoo.

Within a broken barb wire fence – the cockatoo was tangled

John Taylor saw and worried that the poor bird might be mangled

Quick as a flash, the dingo pup knew exactly what to do

If he could reach the rotted post, then through it he could chew.

 

He bellied flat and slowly crawled up to the trapped bird’s side

His nostrils twitched, his brown eyes gleamed, his maw was open wide.

His strong teeth grabbed and then snapped shut, the pressure was intense

He chewed until the wire was free ‘round the base of the rotted fence.

The daring little pup spun round, as quickly as could be

But the cockatoo, still tangled, struggled madly to get free

With paws on wire and teeth clamped tight, the pup had done his best

He’d released the bird from tangled wire and John Taylor did the rest.

 

John Taylor told of Chester, the one legged Jackaroo

Who his way to Sunday mass met the "Killer Kangaroo"

Now Chester was a brave young man, all brawn, with little brain

Who thought by beating "Killer" he’d have a lot to gain.

The dingo pup joined in the fight and bit "Killer" on the bum

The town roared with laughter as they watched "the Killer" run

Then Chester, very grateful, gave the spunky pup a beer

Which the dingo pup then quickly drank and rolled over on his ear.

 

Now as for all those Bunyips, the way John’s story goes

When you go out in the night, don’t tread on Bunyip’s toes

That’s when they scream the loudest with such deafening refrain

That living things within their range can not survive the strain.

It’s true they tried to hide at night, when people stirred a bit

And true that they were sometimes caught in a hastily dug pit

That’s where the Bunyips learned the way to really scream and shout

And the red-eyed town folk scurried there, in a rush to let them out.

 

 John told of sleazy "Barnyard Bill" who was always on the make

And who had the sad misfortune to meet a dangerous snake.

It seems Bill was on his way to meet his latest lady- love

When he glimpsed a writhing shadow on the verandah post above.

With careful step he lingered, then with a gasp of fear reared back

When he found that he was face to face with a giant red- bellied black

The snake was almost ten-foot long and reared high as a horses head

With a mouth as wide as a wagon train, one bite and Bill was dead.

 

John Taylor and his dingo pup quickly rushed to Bills rescue

One mighty snap of his healthy young jaws, the pup bit red belly in two.

That little pup, with one sudden snap, then severed the red-belly’s head

Then he watched until the sun went down, to make sure the red-belly was dead.

The pup came back at sundown and settled at John Taylor’s side

To doze in the shade for a moment or two, and John felt a swift touch of pride.

John Taylor’s mate, the dingo pup, was renowned for his fearless ways

And in that small town of Billabong, was famous the rest of his days.

 

They traveled far from Billabong and wandered by the sea

The fished the mighty rivers and camped by blue gum tree

They never needed money; they worked for all their needs

Their keep was earned in many ways, and by many humane deeds.

The bushmen and the townsfolk from every Australian town

Knew Taylor and his faithful pup, and would never turn them down.

This bushman and his brave young pup went back to the bush again

And John Taylor really thought he should give his mate a name.

 

One day a massive python trapped John Taylor in its grip

In his frenzied bid to rescue him the pup used teeth and claws to rip

He bit the head, he clawed the tail, and the bush all round turned red

But when the snake let Taylor go his faithful pup was dead.

The bush then rang with Taylor’s grief and the bushmen rallied round

In the early morning silence, they gave the pup unto the ground

A hero’s grave, this nameless pup had finally met his fate

And in the gum above his head was carved " here lies John Taylor’s Mate"

 

John Taylor, not a lonely man found his tales could so inspire

That out from inky blackness, the bushmen gathered by his fire

He spoke about the Bunyips, and of "Killer Kangaroo"

And told again how his dingo pup once saved a cockatoo.

He told stories of their travels wherever bush tracks run

How they sheltered anywhere they could from storm and blazing sun

How they forded raging rivers and climbed the mountain high

How they battled dusty desert storm and slept ‘neath starry sky.

 

The Python – he never spoke of, nor how his best mate died.

He never spoke of the endless nights and the tears of blood he cried.

He never took another pup, as lonely bush tracks he did roam

Nothing now to tie him down, where his hat is, was his home.

John Taylor was a bushman and he lived from hand to mouth

He traveled all the inland tracks from Far West, down to the south

John Taylor was not beholden; his life was fancy free

He chopped wood for his salt, and put gum leaves in his tea.

 

John Taylor missed his dingo pup, the good times they had together

The adventures and the life they shared in fair and stormy weather

John Taylor turns up every year in memory of this date

Then stands beside the sign that says – here lies John Taylor’s mate

Yes. John Taylor was a bushman who lived in days of yore

He walked a hundred miles a day, even though his feet were sore.

John Taylor, was never lonely, he still had health and pride

And the ghost of his mate, the dingo pup, walked forever by his side.

 

ã Copyright JG January 2008

Author's Note

First one of these - does it work, can it be improved ? Your thoughts please.

Reviews

[A.J. Smith]

What an entertaining read, Jen! I applaud you for making all those myriad rhymes work so well, and for spinning such a wonderful tale...an enjoyable primer on one aspect of Australian culture.

[Mark Pearce]

WoW...a very involved and thematic piece.

I like the "tall tales" aspect. Almost like Pecos Bill or the stories told about Davey Crockett.

It seems long to me for a poem to be enjoyed on-line. A printed publishing would be to best effect, I think. (Then again, I'm a Luddite who prefers paper pages, so what do I know?)

I loved the research (or experience) involved in putting together the piece.

Successive lines of rhyme can get awful sing-songy or contrived, but you have done such a wonderful job with sentence structure and rhythm that it works pretty darn well.

A significant piece, my dear.

[Cold Coffee Magazine]

I was very entertained by this wonderful story. I believe it is or would be a great little camp fire song one could strum along to. Mr. Taylor inyour story reminds my western mind of Crocodile Dundee. Again great job.

Dave