Australian Bush Poetry and Books

Jack Noble

An old friend named Bill Weaber, wife Kath and son called Owen.
Met Jack there in the bush camp, and said 'Where are you goin'?'
Jack said, I'll search out east my friend some twenty miles or so.
I hear there's specks of yellow gold. I'm off to find a show.'

Bill said, I'd love to join you Jack but both my eyes are blind.
I staked them out at Kimberley so I can't aid your find.
But my boy Owen's fourteen years, his eyes are good and bright.
In sunrise Jack and Owen found the gold in morning's light.

It's said they saw the nuggets gleam like match heads all around
Then Weaber and Jack Noble's rich new syndicate was found.
They pegged four leases promptly. The first was 'Rising Sun'
Then 'Weaber's Find' and 'Kimb'ley Kids'.
Jack said, 'That Knob's not one.

'There isn't any gold up there, in that red rocky hill.'
But Weaber's wife Kath named it - she had an iron will.
She said 'That's Nobles Nob' and you just mark my words today.
In future times you'll thank the Lord you let me have my way.

I don't know if the spelling was precisely meant to be,
But 'Nob' it was, and Nob it stayed and turned out happily.
For Nobles Nob when sunk with shafts became the richest one.
But Jack had sold and Bill had died, and so had Weaber's son.

The Weaber family's tragedies are for another story.
Jack Noble got his gold and then he earned much fame and glory.
A drinking man, a rouse-about, Jack sold his company shares
To buy the local pub, and then went sampling all its wares.

He put his drinks upon a slate . He drank them down with ease
The publican soon owned the pub and Jack was on his knees.
The publican was Alex Scott, Jack left him with the pub.
While he enjoyed an easy life out wand'ring in the scrub.

He took some jobs and looked for gold, whatever came his way.
But companies now owned the mines and Jack had had his day.
He took off west through desert on his camel in the heat.
Sometimes he rode his horse until more drinking had him beat.

He lost at cards and swapped the horse for bicycle, to hike
Out in the bush, the strangest thing - prospector on a bike.
As quickly as the cash came in it fell out through the hole.
And legends of Jack Noble are told by famed Tom Cole.

I met him in the '50's. We lived on Nobles Nob.
He had no home, no wife, no kids - night watchman was his job.
In later years when frail and sick to Alice Springs was sent.
And failing fast, missed Tennant Creek. 'Go Home' was Jack's lament.

So money was collected and they built a Red Cross Home.
Jack lived in '’Noble House' from then, the bush no more to roam.
He rests in Tennant's cemetery beneath a bent gum tree.
The richness that was Nobles Nob is Noble's legacy.

© Joan Small May 2005

The Outback from a Train

I traveled in the Outback south from Alice on the Ghan.
A narrow-gauge track railway. ‘Twas a money-saving plan.
The year was 1965 and I was young and keen.
The train was slow, so we had time to view the passing scene.

A-clack-a-clack along the track, a true adventure ride.
While framed in each large window, native trees and bush would slide.
The graceful white bark ghost gums soon gave place to mulga grey.
Then rolling sandy red hills turned to stony mud and clay.

The earth was parched and barren with a brilliant clear blue sky.
Through glassy panes it shimmered with the heat, as we passed by.
While in my comfy cabin in the cool I sipped a drink,
And wrote a letter to my love, with time to pause and think.

I’d left him back in Alice while I journeyed to the sea.
But hoped on my return that he’d propose upon his knee.
As I observed the Ghan, and all the passengers in sight,
I’d note it in the letter, as I’d always loved to write.

We had some fun, my bro and I. The cabins were quite flash.
The bar-room car the place for cards. (We didn’t play for cash.)
The cook allowed us special drinks, and kids stomped down the aisle.
A fellow actor from our town cracked jokes that made us smile.

And all this was recorded as I watched my letter grow.
But then our journey halted when the train began to slow.
The window picture froze as we pulled up with quite a jolt.
No town, no railway station. What had caused the train to halt?

A buzz of questions answered then. The track was wet you know.
Near Oodnadatta it had rained, and now we couldn’t go.
For ten hours we were stranded in the desert in the heat.
No air conditioning while we stopped. We sweated head to feet.

The meals with many choices turned to, ‘Cold lamb or miss out!’
And adding to my troubles, I’d a cold - I’d caught a bout.
Then water coolers too ran dry, but still with spirits high,
I wrote all in my letter, and it helped the time pass by.

No scrap books then, I made my own with drawings, cartoons, rhyme.
While others groaned with boredom my love letter passed my time.
At last the engines started and we crawled along the line.
Changed trains at Maree then to Port Augusta. All was fine.

As through Mt Lofty Ranges into Adelaide we drew,
I wrote a final line and with some kisses sealed it too.
A sixty four page letter. I would post what I did write.
Then buy my love some Christmas gifts for when we’d re-unite.

The holiday in Adelaide was full of friends and fun.
Some movies, shops and partying, then basking in the sun.
My brother wanted bowling, but I chose to read and plan
About the day that I returned to see my loving man.

The journey now is history. My dreams they all came true.
I walked the aisle with Robin, and was thrilled to say, ‘I do’.
Three handsome sons, now with their kids. The story lives again.
Because I left my love to see the Outback from a train.

© Joan Small September 2006

Nostalgia

Inland north from Port August to the Barkly Tableland,
From the eastern blue-gray mountains to the Murchison’s red sand,
The plains and hidden valleys thoughout that vast terrain
Know the heavy heady perfume of Mulga after rain.

Than you huddle in scant shelter as the daylight turns to rust,
And the wind blasts jagged patterns in the blinding choking dust,
The storm swirls muddy torrents, thunder crashes in your brain,
Welcome then the soothing fragrance of mulga greeting rain.

The spinifex is blooming in wide fields like golden wheat
And parakeelya spreading in the shadows lush and sweet,
Myriad eyes of black and scarlet, Sturt peas cover all the plain,
But the delicate aroma Is of mulga green with rain.

The everlasting daisies form a carpet pink and white,
A fairyland of frosting, a vision of delight,
Ghost gums dance in mystic moonlight to a whispering refrain,
Yet the spirit of the inland lives in mulga after rain.

See the glory of the inland as you travel far and wide,
Blooming flowers in the deserts where the willy willies ride,
But the haunting living memory to bring you back again,
Is the breath of pure nostalgia born of mulga scented rain.

Poem by Dick Turner (Father of Joan Small)
(c) Joan Small 2000