More by A.B. "Banjo" Paterson
Mulga Bill's Bicycle
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that caught the cycling craze; He turned away the good old horse that served him many days; He dressed himself in cycling clothes, resplendent to be seen; He hurried off to town and bought a shining new machine; And as he wheeled it through the door, with air of lordly pride, The grinning shop assistant said, "Excuse me, can you ride?"
"See here, young man," said Mulga Bill, "from Walgett to the sea, From Conroy's Gap to Castlereagh, there's none can ride like me. I'm good all round at everything, as everybody knows, Although I'm not the one to talk - I hate a man that blows. But riding is my special gift, my chiefest, sole delight; Just ask a wild duck can it swim, a wildcat can it fight. There's nothing clothed in hair or hide, or built of flesh or steel, There's nothing walks or jumps, or runs, on axle, hoof, or wheel, But what I'll sit, while hide will hold and girths and straps are tight: I'll ride this here two-wheeled concern right straight away at sight."
'Twas Mulga Bill, from Eaglehawk, that sought his own abode, That perched above the Dead Man's Creek, beside the mountain road. He turned the cycle down the hill and mounted for the fray, But ere he'd gone a dozen yards it bolted clean away. It left the track, and through the trees, just like a silver streak, It whistled down the awful slope towards the Dead Man's Creek.
It shaved a stump by half an inch, it dodged a big white-box: The very wallaroos in fright went scrambling up the rocks, The wombats hiding in their caves dug deeper underground, As Mulga Bill, as white as chalk, sat tight to every bound. It struck a stone and gave a spring that cleared a fallen tree, It raced beside a precipice as close as close could be; And then as Mulga Bill let out one last despairing shriek It made a leap of twenty feet into the Dead Man's Creek.
'Twas Mulga Bill from Eaglehawk, that slowly swam ashore: He said, "I've had some narrer shaves and lively rides before; I've rode a wild bull round a yard to win a five-pound bet, But this was the most awful ride that I've encountered yet. I'll give that two-wheeled outlaw best; It's shaken all my nerve To feel it whistle through the air and plunge and buck and swerve. It's safe at rest in Dead Man's Creek, we'll leave it lying still; A horse's back is good enough henceforth for Mulga Bill."
by AB (Banjo) Paterson
--
Steven L. Sheffield stevens at veloworks dot com veloworks at earthlink dot net aitch tee tea pea colon slash slash double-you double-you double-you dot veloworks dot com slash
> From: "Steven L. Sheffield" <stevens@veloworks.com>
> Date: Tue, 09 Jan 2001 19:03:04 -0800
> To: <classicrendezvous@bikelist.org>
> Subject: Re: [CR]Social History of the Bicycle
>
>
> Would this be the one?
>
>> From
> http://www.uq.oz.au/
>
> The Scorcher and the Howling Swell
> by A. B. "Banjo" Paterson
>
> The Scorcher and the Howling Swell were riding through the land;
> They wept like anything to see the hills on every hand;
> "If these were only levelled down," they said, "it would be grand."
>
> "If every bloke that rides a bike put in a half-a-crown,
> Do you suppose," the Scorcher said, "that that would cut them down?"
> "I doubt it," said the Howling Swell, and frowned a doleful frown.
>
> "Oh, ladies, come and ride with us," the Scorcher did entreat,
> "A little ride across the park and down the smoothest street,
> And you will have a chance to show your very dainty feet."
>
> The Scorcher rode up all the hills, as if the same were flat;
> "It's very rude," the ladies said, "to ride as fast as that;
> For all of us are out of breath - and some of us are fat."
>
> "Cheer up, cheer up, my ladies gay," the Howling Swell replied;
> "Behold a tea-shop by the way, with Globe Brand Tea inside;
> And all who drink the Globe Brand Tea up any hill can ride."
>
> And every lady in the band revived on Globe Brand Tea,
> That Atcherley and Dawson sell in George Street, near the Quay,
> And Howling Swells and Scorchers both proclaim its purity.
>
>
> The Antipodean, No.3, 1897
>
>
> ------------------------------------------------------------------------
> Note: This poem appeared as an advertising broadsheet, which was tipped into
> the magazine opposite page 96.
>
>
> --
>
> Steven L. Sheffield
> stevens at veloworks dot com
> veloworks at earthlink dot net
> aitch tee tea pea colon slash slash double-you double-you double-you dot
> veloworks dot com slash
>
>
>
>> From: "Russ Fitzgerald" <rfitzger@emeraldis.com>
>> Reply-To: "Russ Fitzgerald" <rfitzger@emeraldis.com>
>> Date: Tue, 9 Jan 2001 21:52:24 -0500
>> To: <classicrendezvous@bikelist.org>
>> Subject: [CR]Social History of the Bicycle
>>
>> Brian notes -
>>
>>> I saw the book "A Social History of the Bike" in a book store last week.
>>> They wanted $35 is it worth it? It looked interesting but I only a few
>>> seconds to glance at it.
>>
>> Bad me would suggest you ask your local library if they can get you a copy
>> on interlibrary loan. I think it's a neat book - but it's not as in-depth
>> as I would like. All the same, it even includes the complete poem, "The
>> Scorcher," which I really should memorize to recite on club rides.
>>
>> The book deals with a number of things involving the first bike boom,
>> including the bicycle's role in helping liberate women, cycling fashion for
>> both sexes, and the general social reaction to cycling in general. Neat
>> snippets from sermons denouncing the "birotate chariot," as well as some
>> amusing stories regarding early attempts to regulate cyclists. I
>> particularly liked the one involving the municipality that required cyclists
>> to operate a bell or other noisemaking device continuously while riding.
>> The cyclists of the area responded by staging a night ride, complying with
>> the law by blowing bugles and trumpets, shaking tambourines and whacking on
>> pots and pans while riding.
>>
>> Critical Mass types got nothin' on those staid Victorians for making a
>> statement ...
>>
>> Russ Fitzgerald
>> Greenwood SC
>> rfitzger@emeraldis.com