When Angledool Was Young

words by Jim Harper, music by Jim Low

In the front of Memories Of Angledool1, Mrs Cross includes the words of an unpublished poem of Jim Harper, When Angledool Was Young. For the song I have used only two of the poem’s nine verses. He addresses this poem to an old female resident of the town. Like much of his writing, it laments “the dead old past” when “the world was wide and ways were wild” and “Angledool was young”. These quotes come from Harper’s poem. They echo sentiments about Australia’s past which are similar to those expressed by Henry Lawson. Like many bushmen of his time, Harper would have been familiar with Lawson’s poetry. Lawson’s influence on Harper is perhaps also seen in Honest John’s nostalgia for “the roaring days on the mulga scrub”.

Angledool is fading now
Its bloom has gone from view
But nothing can efface the memories
Dear, it holds for you
And summing up the years long gone
And weighing the bad with the good
Would you live through it all again?
I rather think you would.

Where are they now, the pioneers,
Who blazed the Narran trail?
And battled with the wilderness
To either win or fail;
Too little is remembered now
And deeds have gone unsung
Of those brave men and women too
When Angledool was young.

1 Memories of Angledool, edited and published by P. Cross, Mehi, Angledool. 1996  

A Strange Dream

words Jim Harper, music Jim Low

In the poem A Strange Dream, the narrator dreams he is searching for a deceased friend named Mulga Mick. Believing Mick to be of a similar nature to himself, he heads for the Gates of Hell, only to learn that his friend is too sinful for Hell. According to the Devil, the only fit place for Mulga Mick is Angledool, to which he is quickly directed. 

Continue reading “A Strange Dream”

Myall Grove

words Jim Harper, music Jim Low

Not everybody could live in town. By necessity, many settlers lived and worked far away from the townships. They were constantly confronted by the loneliness of their existence. Many of the jobs on the frontier were of a solitary nature too, such as boundary riding, fencing and shepherding. How one coped with the solitude faced in frontier regions is the subject of Harper’s poem Myall Grove.

The narrator has apparently cleared an area for pasture and built a ‘cosy little cottage’ in the bush, well away from the township. But the isolation and tedium of such an existence appears to overwhelm his thoughts and feelings. Despite the company of his old dog Roy, the narrator desires human companionship. This is especially so at night when “Myall Grove is laden with a loneliness complete”. To take his mind off such feelings of loneliness and depression, he “listen(s) to the night”. In so doing he gives proof to the maxim that “great gifts are bestowed in solitude”.1By passing the time in this way, he is able to endure another night “at lonely Myall Grove”.   


A cosy little cottage lying lonely in the scrub,
Far from the noise and bustle of the township and the pub;
Where seldom there’s a happening to make the heart rejoice –
The same old story over in the Big Scrub’s mournful voice.

There sometimes comes a swagman, if he’s thirst or tucker pushed;
Few are the other callers and as a rule they all are bushed
The days are long and dreary, and when darkness takes her seat,
Then Myall Grove is laden with a loneliness complete.

The bush birds cease their singing in the branches over head,
They seek their nightly perches and the night birds come instead;
The moon is slowly rising, making all a ghostly white,
And I sit with spirits drooping and I listen to the night.

I hear the horse bells tinkling across the myall flats;
I hear the wagtail’s night song and the flitting of the bats;
I hear the night-owls’ hooting as they from their slumbers wake;
A sad old curlew crying, too, as if his heart would break.

I hear the old ewes bleating to their lambs out on the plain;
A flock of wood ducks winging on their way towards the drain;
I hear the night wind sobbing out its sorrows to the trees,
And sounds I can’t account for come drifting on the breeze.

And then old “Roy” starts barking loud at something he can hear,
For signs of someone coming then I strain an eager ear.
Another disappointment. “Blast the dog; clear out somewhere”,
And old “Roy” seems to wonder why I look at him and swear.

And so the horsebells tinkle and the night birds sound their G’s;
The night wind goes on sobbing out its sorrows in the trees;
The curlew wails his story till the heart cannot but move;
And so the night goes over out at lonely Myall Grove.

1 Robertson, W. Out West For Thirty Years, W.C. Penfold, Sydney, 1920 p122

Note: During his travels in Australia, the explorer Leichhardt “often lay awake listening to the noises of the night”. (Roderick, p 251) He demonstrates a remarkable sense of hearing and an ability to identify the many sounds of the night.

There is a Green Hill (song)

When driving in country NSW I noticed an old building. Fenced off on a hillside in a paddock, this lonely, discarded little church of local granite stone appeared to have lost its identity and use. Whether harvest or drought, birth or death, gain or loss, war or peace, the church was expected to always be there and find some meaning in it all. And now churches are quietly vanishing from the landscape, ‘their future … denied’. Continue reading “There is a Green Hill (song)”