Passing of Gundagai by Banjo Paterson
Gundagai The Shearer
This comic narrative poem utilizes clever rhymes and witty wordplay to tell the humorous story of a shifty shearer who deceives the other workers.
The poem opens by introducing the questionable character of Gundagai, describing him as a “quiet” shearer who calmly does his job regardless of others trying to race or compete with him. This immediately creates a subtle sense of suspicion around him.
As the poem progresses, Gundagai’s true nature as a villainous trickster is slowly revealed through his dishonest behaviors – racing sheep, gambling, organizing a sham shearers’ race, and skipping out on payments. Paterson skillfully builds up the roguish character of Gundagai using amusing Australian vernacular and Outback imagery.
The humorous twist arrives when Gundagai receives a telegram saying his wife is gravely ill. The other shearers show sympathy and collect money for him, only for a passing hawker to reveal that Gundagai was never married – his departure was just another scam.
The fast-paced narrative, simple rhyme scheme, and Australian bush language give the poem a folk ballad type of rhythm and musicality. Paterson excellently captures the pioneer spirit and dry wit of the Aussie Outback through this entertaining tale of a likeable rogue. The shearers’ retaliation against the deceitful Gundagai at the end provides a satisfying note of justice and comeuppance.
Overall, “The Passing of Gundagai” showcases Paterson’s masterful storytelling and ability to encapsulate Australian culture with humor and lyrical eloquence. The enduring appeal of the poem lies in its blending of a humorous plot, distinct poetic style, and resonant characters like the infamous Gundagai.
Passing of Gundagai
“I’ll introdooce a friend!” he said,
“And if you’ve got a vacant pen
You’d better take him in the shed
And start him shearing straight ahead,
He’s one of these here quiet men.
“He never strikes—that ain’t his game;
No matter what the others try
He goes on shearing just the same.
I never rightly knew his name—
We always call him ‘Gundagai’!”
Our flashest shearer then had gone
To train a racehorse for a race,
And while his sporting fit was on
He couldn’t be relied upon,
So ‘Gundagai’ shore in his place.
Alas for man’s veracity!
For reputations false and true!
This ‘Gundagai’ turned out to be,
For strife and all-round villainy,
The very worst I ever knew!
He started racing Jack Devine,
And grumbled when I made him stop.
The pace he showed was extra fine,
But all those pure-bred ewes of mine
Were bleeding like a butcher’s shop.
He cursed the sheep, he cursed the shed,
From roof to rafter, floor to shelf;
As for my mongrel ewes, he said,
I ought to get a razor blade
And shave the blooming things myself.
On Sundays he controlled a “school”,
And played “two-up” the livelong day;
And many a young confiding fool
He shore of his financial wool;
And when he lost he would not pay.
He organised a shearers’ race,
And “touched” me to provide the prize.
His packhorse showed surprising pace
And won hands down—he was The Ace,
A well-known racehorse in disguise.
Next day the bruiser of the shed
Displayed an opal-tinted eye,
With large contusions on his head.
He smiled a sickly smile, and said
He’d “had a cut at Gundagai!”
But just as we were getting full
Of ‘Gundagai’ and all his ways,
A telegram for “Henry Bull”
Arrived. Said he, “That’s me—all wool!
Let’s see what this here message says.”
He opened it, his face grew white,
He dropped the shears and turned away.
It ran, “Your wife took bad last night;
Come home at once—no time to write,
We fear she may not last the day.”
He got his cheque—I didn’t care
To dock him for my mangled ewes;
His store account—we ‘called it square’.
Poor wretch! he had enough to bear,
Confronted by such dreadful news.
The shearers raised a little purse
To help a mate, as shearers will,
“To pay the doctor and the nurse,
And if there should be something worse —
To pay the undertaker’s bill.”
They wrung his hand in sympathy,
He rode away without a word,
His head hung down in misery.
A wandering hawker passing by
Was told of what had just occurred.
“Well! that’s a curious thing,” he said,
“I’ve known that feller all his life—
He’s had the loan of this here shed!
I know his wife ain’t nearly dead,
Because he hasn’t got a wife!”
You should have heard the whipcord crack
As angry shearers galloped by,
In vain they tried to fetch him back.
A little dust along the track
Was all they saw of ‘Gundagai’.
