Wallabi Joe by Banjo Paterson

Paterson’s Perspective on the Fragility of Pastoral Life

This melancholy folk ballad by Banjo Paterson provides a poignant perspective on the impermanence and hardships of Australian pastoral life.

Adopting the voice of a stockman, Paterson traces the difficult life and lonely demise of Wallabi Joe, an aging station horse callously mocked by stockmen for his frailty, but depended on by his caring owner Bill.

The Old Bush Songs

by Banjo Patterson

Joe’s tragic death by abandonment when hobbles snag during mustering is rendered with sensitivity. The recurring chorus “Oh poor Wallabi Joe” gives the mistreated horse dignity and cultivates empathy.

Under the sentimental tale lies commentary on the demanding outback ethos that considered weaklings disposable. Wallabi Joe’s fate reveals the harshness lurking behind romantic visions of the bush.

While anthropomorphizing Joe, Paterson compellingly explores wider themes of loyalty, sacrifice, and fragility of life on the frontier through this affecting vignette. The pathos comes from glimpsing Joe’s quiet suffering.

Ultimately, “Wallabi Joe” provides insight into the more sinister realities coexisting with idealized myths of the Australian spirit. Paterson subtly unravels pastoral romanticism by highlighting its indifference to the vulnerable.

WALLABI JOE

(Air: “The Mistletoe Bough.”)

The saddle was hung on the stockyard rail,
And the poor old horse stood whisking his tail,
For there never was seen such a regular screw
As Wallabi Joe, of Bunnagaroo;
Whilst the shearers all said, as they say, of course,
That Wallabi Joe’s a fine lump of a horse;
But the stockmen said, as they laughed aside,
He’d barely do for a Sunday’s ride.

Chorus: Oh! poor Wallabi Joe.
O–oh! poor Wallabi Joe.

“I’m weary of galloping now,” he cried,
“I wish I were killed for my hide, my hide;
For my eyes are dim, and my back is sore,
And I feel that my legs won’t stand much more.”

Now stockman Bill, who took care of his nag,
Put under the saddle a soojee bag,
And off he rode with a whip in his hand
To look for a mob of the R.J. brand.

Chorus: Oh! poor Wallabi Joe, &c.

Now stockman Bill camped out that night,
And he hobbled his horse in a sheltered bight;
Next day of old Joe he found not a track,
So he had to trudge home with his swag on his back.
He searched up and down every gully he knew,
But he found not a hair of his poor old screw,
And the stockmen all said as they laughed at his woe,
“Would you sell us the chance of old Wallabi Joe.”

Chorus: Oh! poor Wallabi Joe, &c.

Now as years sped by, and as Bill grew old,
It came into his head to go poking for gold;
So away he went with a spade in his fist,
To hunt for a nugget among the schist.
One day as a gully he chanced to cross,
He came on the bones of his poor old horse;
The hobbles being jammed in a root below
Had occasioned the death of poor Wallabi Joe.

Chorus: Oh! poor Wallabi Joe, &c.

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