Aussie Culture
Aussie Culture Index
The Great South Land
Advance Australia Fair
Waltzing Matilda
Click Goes The Shears
The Man from Snowy River
Clancy of the Overflow
The Catalpa
Scarborough Snake Pit
Aussie Culture Index
The Great South Land
Advance Australia Fair
Waltzing Matilda
Click Goes The Shears
The Man from Snowy River
Clancy of the Overflow
The Catalpa
Scarborough Snake Pit
IT was somewhere up the country, in a land of rock and scrub,
That they formed an institution called the Geebung Polo Club.
They were long and wiry natives from the rugged mountain side,
And the horse was never saddled that the Geebungs couldn’t ride;
But their style of playing polo was irregular and rash-
They had mighty little science, but a mighty lot of dash:
And they played on mountain ponies that were muscular and strong,
Though their coats were quite unpolished, and their manes and tails were long.
And they used to train those ponies wheeling cattle in the scrub:
They were demons, were the members of the Geebung Polo Club.
That they formed an institution called the Geebung Polo Club.
They were long and wiry natives from the rugged mountain side,
And the horse was never saddled that the Geebungs couldn’t ride;
But their style of playing polo was irregular and rash-
They had mighty little science, but a mighty lot of dash:
And they played on mountain ponies that were muscular and strong,
Though their coats were quite unpolished, and their manes and tails were long.
And they used to train those ponies wheeling cattle in the scrub:
They were demons, were the members of the Geebung Polo Club.
Stories & Poems
My Country
The Geebung Polo Club
The Man from Ironbark
Awesome Fishing Trip
Never Been Bogged
My Country
The Geebung Polo Club
The Man from Ironbark
Awesome Fishing Trip
Never Been Bogged
Now my readers can imagine how
the contest ebbed and flowed,
When the Geebung boys got going
it was time to clear the road;
And the game was so terrific that
ere half the time was gone
A spectator’s leg was broken
- just from merely looking on.
For they waddied one another till
the plain was strewn with dead,
While the score was kept so even
that they neither got ahead.
And the Cuff and Collar Captain,
when he tumbled off to die,
Was the last surviving player
- so the game was called a tie.
the contest ebbed and flowed,
When the Geebung boys got going
it was time to clear the road;
And the game was so terrific that
ere half the time was gone
A spectator’s leg was broken
- just from merely looking on.
For they waddied one another till
the plain was strewn with dead,
While the score was kept so even
that they neither got ahead.
And the Cuff and Collar Captain,
when he tumbled off to die,
Was the last surviving player
- so the game was called a tie.
It was somewhere down the country,
in a city’s smoke and steam,
That a polo club existed, called
“The Cuff and Collar Team”.
As a social institution ’twas
a marvellous success,
For the members were distinguished
by exclusiveness and dress.
They had natty little ponies that
were nice, and smooth, and sleek,
For their cultivated owners only
rode ’em once a week.
So they started up the country in
pursuit of sport and fame,
For they meant to show the Geebungs
how they ought to play the game;
And they took their valets with them
- just to give their boots a rub
Ere they started operations on
the Geebung Polo Club.
in a city’s smoke and steam,
That a polo club existed, called
“The Cuff and Collar Team”.
As a social institution ’twas
a marvellous success,
For the members were distinguished
by exclusiveness and dress.
They had natty little ponies that
were nice, and smooth, and sleek,
For their cultivated owners only
rode ’em once a week.
So they started up the country in
pursuit of sport and fame,
For they meant to show the Geebungs
how they ought to play the game;
And they took their valets with them
- just to give their boots a rub
Ere they started operations on
the Geebung Polo Club.
Then the Captain of the Geebungs
raised him slowly from the ground,
Though his wounds were mostly
mortal, yet he fiercely gazed around;
There was no one to oppose him
- all the rest were in a trance,
So he scrambled on his pony for his
last expiring chance,
For he meant to make an effort
to get victory to his side;
So he struck at goal - and missed it
- then he tumbled off and died.
raised him slowly from the ground,
Though his wounds were mostly
mortal, yet he fiercely gazed around;
There was no one to oppose him
- all the rest were in a trance,
So he scrambled on his pony for his
last expiring chance,
For he meant to make an effort
to get victory to his side;
So he struck at goal - and missed it
- then he tumbled off and died.
By the old Campaspe River, where the breezes shake the grass,
There’s a row of little gravestones that the stockmen never pass,
For they bear a crude inscription saying, “Stranger, drop a tear,
For the Cuff and Collar players and the Geebung boys lie here.”
And on misty moonlit evenings, while the dingoes howl around,
You can see their shadows flitting down that phantom polo ground;
You can hear the loud collisions as the flying players meet,
And the rattle of the mallets, and the rush of ponies’ feet,
Till the terrified spectator rides like blazes to the pub -
He’s been haunted by the spectres of the Geebung Polo Club.
There’s a row of little gravestones that the stockmen never pass,
For they bear a crude inscription saying, “Stranger, drop a tear,
For the Cuff and Collar players and the Geebung boys lie here.”
And on misty moonlit evenings, while the dingoes howl around,
You can see their shadows flitting down that phantom polo ground;
You can hear the loud collisions as the flying players meet,
And the rattle of the mallets, and the rush of ponies’ feet,
Till the terrified spectator rides like blazes to the pub -
He’s been haunted by the spectres of the Geebung Polo Club.
IT was somewhere up the country,
in a land of rock and scrub,
That they formed an institution
called the Geebung Polo Club.
They were long and wiry natives
from the rugged mountain side,
And the horse was never saddled
that the Geebungs couldn’t ride;
But their style of playing polo
was irregular and rash -
They had mighty little science,
but a mighty lot of dash:
And they played on mountain ponies
that were muscular and strong,
Though their coats were quite
unpolished, and their manes
and tails were long.
And they used to train those ponies
wheeling cattle in the scrub:
They were demons, were the
members of the Geebung Polo Club.
in a land of rock and scrub,
That they formed an institution
called the Geebung Polo Club.
They were long and wiry natives
from the rugged mountain side,
And the horse was never saddled
that the Geebungs couldn’t ride;
But their style of playing polo
was irregular and rash -
They had mighty little science,
but a mighty lot of dash:
And they played on mountain ponies
that were muscular and strong,
Though their coats were quite
unpolished, and their manes
and tails were long.
And they used to train those ponies
wheeling cattle in the scrub:
They were demons, were the
members of the Geebung Polo Club.
By the old Campaspe River,
where the breezes shake the grass,
There’s a row of little gravestones
that the stockmen never pass,
For they bear a crude inscription
saying, “Stranger, drop a tear,
For the Cuff and Collar players and
the Geebung boys lie here.”
And on misty moonlit evenings,
while the dingoes howl around,
You can see their shadows flitting
down that phantom polo ground;
You can hear the loud collisions as
the flying players meet,
And the rattle of the mallets, and
the rush of ponies’ feet,
Till the terrified spectator rides
like blazes to the pub -
He’s been haunted by the spectres
of the Geebung Polo Club.
where the breezes shake the grass,
There’s a row of little gravestones
that the stockmen never pass,
For they bear a crude inscription
saying, “Stranger, drop a tear,
For the Cuff and Collar players and
the Geebung boys lie here.”
And on misty moonlit evenings,
while the dingoes howl around,
You can see their shadows flitting
down that phantom polo ground;
You can hear the loud collisions as
the flying players meet,
And the rattle of the mallets, and
the rush of ponies’ feet,
Till the terrified spectator rides
like blazes to the pub -
He’s been haunted by the spectres
of the Geebung Polo Club.
.
