Category Archives: TRICKS OF THE TRADE

We may not hope to see such men in these degenerate years. As those explorers of the bush — the brave old pioneers. Banjo Paterson

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We are the Old-world people,

Ours were the hearts to dare;

But our youth is spent, and our backs are bent,

And the snow is in our hair.


Back in the early fifties,

Dim through the mists of years,

By the bush-grown strand of a wild, strange land,

We entered – the pioneers.


Our axes rang in the woodlands,

Where the gaudy bush-birds flew,

And we turned the loam of our newfound home,

Where the Eucalyptus grew.


Housed in the rough log shanty,

Camped in the leaking tent,

From sea to view of the mountains blue

Where the eager diggers went.


We wrought with a will unceasing,

We moulded, and fashioned, and planned

And we fought with the black and we blazed the track

That ye might inherit the land.


There are your shops and churches,

Your cities of stucco and smoke;

And the swift trains fly where the wild cat’s cry

O’er the sad bush silence broke.


Take now the fruit of our labour,

Nourish and guard it with care;

For our youth is spent, and our backs are bent

And the snow is in our hair.


 Frank Hudson

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Murray Pioneer and Australian River Record (Renmark, SA - 1913 - 1942), Friday 18 April 1924,

Murray Pioneer and Australian River Record (Renmark, SA : 1913 – 1942), Friday 18 April 1924,


Climb a tree — it gets you closer to heaven.


“Deciding whether or not to trust a person is like deciding whether or not to climb a tree because you might get a wonderful view from the highest branch or you might simply get covered in sap and for this reason many people choose to spend their time alone and indoors where it is harder to get a splinter.”

― Lemony Snicket, The Penultimate Peril

The most trying hours in life are between four o’clock and the evening meal. A cup of tea at this time adds a lot of comfort and happiness. Royal S. Copeland

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O I love to be by the Bindi, where the fragrant pastures are,

And the Tambo to his bosom takes the trembling Evening Star –
Just to hear the magpie’s warble in the blue-gums on the hill,
When the frail green flower of twilight in the sky is lingering still.”