Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, BILL MAYNE'S STORY, by R. HOLT


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

BILL MAYNE'S STORY, by                    
First Line: They were yarning in the bar-room of a shanty in the west
Last Line: Bout that truthful little story told by mayne.
Alternate Author Name(s): 6 X 8
Subject(s): Fights; Honesty; Story-telling


THEY were yarning in the bar-room of a shanty in the West,
And wetting intervals with rum and clo';
Fish and snake-yarns, shearing-tallies, sheep-dog tales and all the rest
Of bush-prevarications got a show.

We were broke, and Mayne considered that the time had duly come
For us to have a cut-in at the game.
So he told a little story which, though strange and puzzlesome,
Was a truthful little story all the same.

" 'Twas in Gippsland, where I come from," said my mate in solemn tone,
"My evergreen belovèd home in Vic.,
And I went out shooting dingoes with a brother of my own—
His name, I state in passing it was Dick."

Here the tears began to trickle down the cheeks of William Mayne
Till they offered him a tumbler full of rum.
"Ah, my story is a sad one, and to tell it gives me pain."
He sobbed and then he dried his eyes with some.

Then went on, "And we had shinned it down the cleared side of a hill,
When in front of us beside a blue-gum log,
In a burnt-off fern-tree gully, standing beautifully still,
We espied a full-grown reddish native dog.

"With the rifle Dick could beat me, so I let him have the kill"—
Here another flow of tears caused Mayne to stop.
But they quickly filled his tumbler, and incited him to swill,
And he drank and thought his mate would like a drop.

I refreshed; and he continued, "Yes, I gave the shot to him,
And considered that there dog as good as dead,
When I saw my brother aiming with his gun against a limb,
To dispatch his never-failing dose of lead.

"But imagine, mates, my horror when the dingo twisted round
Just the moment when the bullet reached the cuss!
And, of course, instead of passing through the off-side of the hound,
It came out the side the brute had turned to us!

"And the cruel, deadly missile came back the way it went,
And it killed my only brother on the spot!
Ever since my heart is broken, for I caused the accident,
By allowing him to have that fatal shot."

Then Bill Mayne broke down completely and began to sob aloud,
And his sorrows sent a lump into my throat.
But the fellows at the shanty were a sympathetic crowd
And shouted rum enough to drown a boat.

We were soothed, and just felt happy when a kangaroorer said:
"This 'ere dingo-yarn is nothing else but rot."
And that started them debating, and their faces coloured red,
While their lingo grew from warm to boiling-hot.

"You are right," then yelled a drover, "we were mugs we now can see,
To swallow and believe such bloomin' stuff!"
While some others, mixed with curses, hollered out, "The thing could be
If the dingo only turned round quick enough!"

And a ginger-headed shearer, whose profanities would burn,
Demanded, in a brutal voice, to know,
"If that crimson, slaughtered bullet, when the dingo took a turn,
Could any other blanky elsewhere go?"

The debate grew hot and hotter, till there rose an all-round fight,
And I wished my mate had never told the tale!
For they called poor Bill a liar, and a take-down and a skite.
And they swore they'd knock his head off without fail!

Then Bill thought it just as well to get our swags and move away,
So we hurried off across the Blacksoil Plain;
But the fellows at the shanty talked and fought till break o' day
'Bout that truthful little story told by Mayne.





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