Collected and edited by Peter Bridge with Gail Dreezens.

On 9 April 1899 the Kalgoorlie Sun published the anonymous Ode to Westralia that immediately caught on across the land, resulting in widespread plagiarism, retorts and imitations which continued for many decades. The verse and variations has appeared in many papers and anthologies since then and has been used by politicians (Dr G Gallop, address to Australian Gold Conference, 9 April 2001) and playwrights to some effect.

A reminder though, to those whose angst against our West would have them use this verse splenetically, that it has in fact a solid foundation on t’otherside.This article is a preliminary attempt to trace the origins and influence of a doggerel verse, which like the ubiquitous Foo, crops up everywhere.Those who may find other instances of its use, and variations, are requested to forward the item to the publisher for inclusion in this sequence.

*                  *                  *

This is admittedly a great country for the working man. Almost every other country under the sun claims that it has some special attractions to offer the worker. But the worker, meanwhile, with a fine lack of discrimination, everywhere loudly proclaims his belief that the particular country in which he lives is the finest country in the world – to live out of. And he is nearly right. There seems to be no part of this planet that is all custard and watermelon for the working classes.

At one time this country was practically a working man’s country. There weren’t enough of him to go round, and consequently he was a much sought after person. If he thought the manager of show No.1 was not exactly gentlemanly in his demeanor, all he had to do was to tell him so and go over to show No.2 where he was certain to find a job awaiting his arrival. He was in the proud position of being able to tell his boss at any moment to “go to h---,” without suffering for it to any appreciable extent.

But those days are gone, and the working man of to-day finds himself as dependent upon the favor or caprice of his boss as if he were in the eastern colonies. Hence Westralia is as heartly (sic) cursed now as Victoria or Queensland. Even in the good days she was cursed up hill and down dale by thousands of men who didn’t know when they were well off. Men came over here from 10s. or 15s. weekly in the eastern colonies to £4 in this, and then groaned about the cursed country. It is quite likely that the writer of the following effusion is in a steady billet and has not known hardship since coming to the colony. Anyway, here it is:-

ODE TO WESTRALIA

Land of Forrests, fleas, and flies,

Blighted hopes and blighted eyes,

Art thou hell in earth’s disguise,

Westralia?

Art thou some volcanic blast,

By volcanoes spurned, outcast?

Westralia?

Wert thou once the chosen land

Where Adam broke God’s one command?

That He in wrath changed thee to sand,

Westralia?

Land of politicians silly,

Home of wind and willy-willy,

Land of blanket, tent and billy,

Westralia!

Home of brokers, bummers, clerks,

Nest of sharpers, mining sharks,

Dried up lakes and desert parks,

Westralia!

Land of humpies, brothels, inns,

Old bag huts and empty tins,

Land of blackest, grievous sins,

Westralia!

The contents, if not always the style, reminds one of Tom Hood, and its distant echoes evoke Bernard O’Dowd’s Australia, “A new demesne for Mammon to infest”, and his Last Stanzas of the Bush, but of course in a primitive ocker version.

The Ode was reprinted in the Sydney Truth of 21 May 1899. (later this original version appeared in Those Were the Days (1933), a Dorothy Hewitt play and Margins (1988).

Alan Deuchar, a Perth land-jobber, then used it in an ad in The West Australian of 3 June 1899, with a rider, As We See Ourselves :-

ALLAN DEUCHAR'S ODE TO WESTRALIA
As Others See Us
(by Sydney “Truth”)

Land of Forrests, Fleas, and Flies,

Blighted hopes and blighted eyes,

Art thou hell in earth’s disguise,

Westralia.

Art thou some volcanic blast,

By volcanoes spurned, outcast?

Art unfinished – made the last,

Westralia.

Wert thou once the chosen land,

Where Adam broke God’s one command,

That He in wrath changed thee to sand,

Westralia.

Land of Politicians silly,

Home of wind and willy-nilly,

Land of blanket, tent and billy,

Westralia!

Home of brokers, poor paid clerks,

Nest of sharpers, mining sharks,

Dried up lakes and desert parks,

Westralia.

Land of humpies, cabins, inns,

Old bag huts and empty tins,

Land of blackest, grievous sins,

Westralia.

AS WE SEE OURSELVES

Land of Fortunes, easily made;

The land where ‘tothersiders strayed,

To grab the dividends that are paid,

Westralia.

Thou art to us a chosen land;

We hold your gold at our command,

Your riches are not in the sand,

Westralia.

The Home to be of Dukes and Lords,

In the near future – mark my words –

This land shall best all best records,

Westralia.

You are but in your infancy;

The time is near when you shall be

The strongest, richest colony,

Westralia.

Your Gold mines are the richest, best,

And in your Coal mines we’ll invest.

Against the world you’ll stand the test –

Westralia.

Several lines had been altered to mould it to the sensibilities of the decidedly conservative West.

Amusingly, the Sunday Times reprinted the original version on 4 June 1899, but as a ‘pleasing pome from a Sydney paper’. This after it had appeared in the Sun, their associated WA paper, two months before!

The Kalgoorlie Miner of 6 June reprinted the Deuchar version from the West, but credited it to the Sydney Truth. It had originated a few hundred yards away! Truly we don’t have to go to the “heathen Chinee”, for “ways that are dark, and for tricks that are vain”. JJ Tucker then wrote,(Kalgoorlie Miner, 8 June 1899), To Westralia. The latter two were reprinted in the Kalgoorlie Argus of 15 June.

TO WESTRALIA
(For the Kalgoorlie Miner)

Land of forests, mother of gold,

Wealth of coal in dreams untold,

Land of vineyard, orchard, fold,

Westralia!

Basking last in Sol’s high noon,

First to greet the nascent moon,

Yielding neighbor lands a boon,

Westralia!

Immensity of fecund space;

No seemless scurry, no mad chase,

No Yankee nurse for Saxon race,

Westralia!

North the torrid riplet curls,

South th’ Antarctic current whirls,

Hail! Golden marvel! Set in pearls!

Westralia!

Heed no pen-prick, witless jube,

Windy-bellied diatribe,

Jealous spleen of hireling scribe.

Westralia!

A jest, our “billy” – still it teems;

A jeer, our “tent” – tho’ taut its seams;

Hysteric screeching, idiots screams –

Westralia!

Thy name the “t’othersiders” bless,

Nor love thee than their mother less,

Their port from eastern storm and stress –

Westralia!

Take the “white man’s burden” up;

If scant thy breakfast, rich shalt sup

From dish of silver, jewelled cup.

Westralia!

Empire-builders are thy stock,

Build thee up, as they, on rock;

Thy God-sent freedom recks no stock.

Westralia!

 

J.J. Tucker

Perth, June 1, 1899

The poetic ping-pong continued with the Kalgoorlie Miner and Argus of 15 and 22 June, publishing:-

TO WESTRALIA
A Retort
(For the Western Argus)

Land of Sir Forrests and convict tales,

Wealth of coal in dreamings sail;

Land where vineyards, orchards fail,

Westralia!

Basking last in Sol’s high noon,

Last to raise a golden boom;

With a most ungodly tune,

Westralia!

Immensity of barren waste,

No fertility and much less grace;

Nor the energy of Saxon race,

Westralia!

North the dusty willy’s curl,

South the wild cat currents whirl;

Full of gold and dust – not pearls,

Westralia!

Too thick skined to feel a jibe,

Always ready for a bribe;

Jealous of all t’otherside,

Westralia!

Our jest – “the tin dog,” in it turns

Our jeer – “the Government,” red-taped seems;

Go to – all addled pated idiots scream,

Westralia!

Thy name, the t’othersiders’ curse

Nor love thee, than the Devil worse;

Thy port that’s emptied many a purse,

Westralia!

Put the “bluey” once more up,

If scant thy breakfast – less to sup;

In drinking the dregs of a bitter cup,

Westralia!

T’othersiders, of hardy stock

Built thee up; as they, of rock,

And given the Gropers a sudden shock,

Westralia!

Not to be outdone Billy Clare in his Clare’s Weekly,

LAPSUS LINGUAE

There is a land of “pure” delight,

Where flies do swarm, and skeeters bite,

A land where often might seems right,

‘Tis W.A.

It has been called “the promised land,””

Its natives are a happy band,

And terra-firma there, is sand,

In W.A.

There “all that glitters is not gold,”

Of this I could a tale unfold,

Ah! many a man’s been “had” and “sold”

In W.A.

There “pleasures are like poppies spread,”

As Bobbie Burns so wisely said –

“They’ll bring you nought but fear and dread,”

In W.A.

A mighty man does there hold sway,

He’s been there long – and means to stay,

Some say he’s had his little day,

In W.A.

Of “Gropers” they have had a feast,

Let’s have some “wise men from the East,”

That’s what the people say, at least,

In W.A.

They’ve got a Mint, they’ve got a Zoo.

They’ve “Tattersall,” with big sweeps too,

And other “comforts,” not a few,

In W.A.

That land is fair, the climate’s good,

If one and all did what they could,

They’d make that country what they should,

That W.A.

[The logic contained in the last verse must make itself clear to the most ordinary mind. – Ed]

The disease was spreading:-

“Ex-Hillite,” Kanowna, wrote:-

“Some weeks ago you published an Ode to W.A. I sent a copy to a friend in Broken Hill, and by the last mail he favors me with the enclosed Ode to the Barrier, You might like to insert it.”

Sorry we can’t oblige. We have already rejected several better verses than those of the Barrier bard. No room for pointless doggerel.

The Boulder Bard writes:-

“Some time back I sent you an Ode to Westralia, considering it malevolent enough to be humorous. You paid me so well for it that I was saved for a week from those pangs of poverty so ably described in last issue by “Nomad.’ Since then the ‘ode’ has been printed by three editors, without acknowledgment to the SUN. Reaching Sydney, it was copied by John Norton’s un-Truth, and then some bounder who sells swampy Perth lots to distant dupes reproduced it as an advt., with some doggerel of his own as answer. Whereat my gorge has risen as high as Mt. Burgess, and from my Parnassus I fling forth the following:-

ODE TO PRESS - TRALIA

Band of robbers, jobbers, crimps,

Fat man’s tools and bully’s pimps,

Clique of deadheads, blackmails, imps,

In W.A.

 

You will publish unpaid screed,

Bury principle for greed;

Of the poor you take no heed,

In W.A.

 

Allan Deuchar, come along!

Honest pressmen you would wrong;

I will write you song for song,

In W.A.

 

 

11-6-1899 The Sun, Kalgoorlie

The Sunday Times of 1 October 1899 reprinted this from the Orange Leader:-

ANOTHER FEDERAL ODEe

Hail, Australia! Land of beauty,

Sovereign of the Southern Seas!”

Where the policemen do their duty

Or neglect it, as they please!

 

Land of undetected robbers,

Where the murderer roams at large,

And the statesmen are all jobbers

At a reasonable charge!

 

Land of tricks and mining swindles!

Land of banks completely bung!

How our manly bosom kindles

When thy praise is nobly sung!

 

Own your failings, don’t dissemble ‘em,

Why extol the kangroo?

If you want a national emblem,

Surely a Pea-hen will do?

There the matter appears to have rested. Perhaps the clipping of Deuchar’s wings also trimmed the feathers of the poetic flights of others.

Alleged False Pretences. A Partnership Dispute

At the City Police Court yesterday, before Mr. A.S. Roe, P.M., Allan Deuchar was charged by Ebenezer Allen with obtaining from him £400 by falsely representing that the profits in his business exceeded the actual amount, Mr. Clydesdale appeared for the prosecutor, and Mr. Ewing for the defendant.

17 July1900, The West Australian

By 1902 the feathers had grown again. The Southern Cross Times of 8 February, 1902:-

PERIGRINATIONS
by “The Nomad”

Here, land o’dust, and thirsty sots,

From dead goat end to railway plots,

If there’s a hole in yer coats

I rede you tent it:

A chiels amang you taking notes

The TIMES will prent it.

Then a distant echo in The Sun of 11 September, 1904:-

IN MEMORIUM

News item: Hine’s Hill refreshment rooms recently burned down, will, in view of the putting on of dining cars, in all probability not be rebuilt.

Farewell, O, tinned dog, fare thee well;

Farewell, O, half-cold coffee,

Farewell, the meal you used to sell,

To swaggie or to toffie,

Farewell unto the ancient snack,

The tea and sandwich hurried,

Farewell to that mysterious tack,

 Scrub-mutton, hashed and curried,

Farewell to that pyjamaed horde

Who early in the morning

Foregathered at the “festive board,”

With mouths agape and yawning,

Farewell the mob’s impatient cry,

Farewell the answer shirty,

Farewell the good old possum pie,

Farewell the “hot-and-dirty,”

Farewell the cutlery superb,

The cloth and napkins “snowy!”

Farewell the adjective and verb,

At puddings dark and doughy.

Farewell the dogs who snarled for bones,

Farewell their flealets frisky,

Farewell the guard’s stentorian tones,

 And O! farewell the whisky!

The scene changes, a new act begins. The Sunday Times of 3 December, 1905. This was rediscovered by The Northern Times of 28 October, 1911 – “one of the North-West’s first locally made poems” and The Hedland Advocate of 4 November, 1911 with the comments from the latter

NOR'-STRALIA
Described in Quatrains

A Broome man brought this shriek along. He said it was published in the Dampier Despatch (alias “Dampier Despair”) on September 16:-

 

Land of outcasts, fleas and flies,

Ruined health and blighted eyes;

Art thou hell in earth’s disguise?

Nor’-stralia.

Wert thou once the promised land,

Where Adam broke God’s own command,

That he in wrath turned thee to sand?

Nor’stralia.

Or art thou some volcanic blast,

By e’en volcanoes spurned, outcast,

Art still unfinished, made the last?

Nor’stralia.

Land of chain-gangs, poor paid clerks,

Nest of sneiders, pearling sharks,

Dried up lakes, and desert parks.

Nor’-stralia.

Land of murderers, colored mobs,

Willy willy wrecks and cock-eye-bobs,

Land of gamblers, arrant snobs.

Nor’stralia.

Land of humpies, so-called inns,

Wicked men and faithless gins:

Land of blackest, grievous sins.

Nor’stralia.

Where pearls are stolen every day,

Where wrong is right the gamblers say,

Beyond redemption! who’ll say nay?

Nor’stralia.

The following was written by a resident of Broome and published in the Dampier Despatch (a typewritten sheet) about eight years ago. The author is dead. The Proprietor of the Despatch lost 12 of his 16 subscribers through publishing the above, and we are given to understand that Green refused to publish it for fear of a somewhat similar fate.

NORSTRALIA

An angry Carnarvon poet, after reading the verses on Norstralia in last week’s issue, strode belligerently into our office, and seizing our ink and several envelopes, relieved himself of the following:-

 

Land of brave men, intent to rise

To nationhood. This goal their eyes

Constraining; swerving not for lies –

Norstralia.

Still thou art the promised land

For old world slaves. Jah’s command

Provides for fruit from all thy land –

Norstralia.

If Volcan built in ages past,

Or later; whether first or last,

O’ershadows not thy future vast

Norstralia.

Land of free and smiling homes,

Bark-roofed, bough, or gilded domes

Is thy guerdon. Poetaster!

Thy dread list of black disaster

Nathless. Shivering pessimist,

Liar also; wits moonkissed

Thine must be. Australind stands clean

Despite thy vapour; charges mean

And filthy, such as dragged to light

By thee from their own native night

Or colored by thy “snobs and gins,”

Associates fit for thine own sins –

Avail not. Liar, cur and friend

Of liars! I for one make end

And pray – Relief from thee God send

To fair

Norstralia.

 

4 November, 1911. The Northern Times.

This was reprinted the next week with corrections, “on account of two errors that escaped notice, due, of course, to the scribes calligraphy. “The Kalgoorlie Miner and Argus finally discovered the original Norstralia and printed it in January and February, 1914. Now (23 October, 1919. The Western Mail) the imitations became spread out:-

I had a visit a few days ago from a gaunt and unhappy-looking party with a grievance. He told me he had lived all his life in Western Australia, was a servant of the State and in receipt of a salary which any self-respecting member of the Industrial Union of Amalgamated Navvies would reject with gaudily-trimmed scorn. He handed me about five feet of verse, which he said, embodied in tuneful measure, his opinions about the West and some of its most prominent citizens. I quote the only verses that are quite free from doubly distilled essence of libel.

 

“Hail, West Australia! blessed clime,

The lovely land of my adoption,

I never would have seen the spot,

If I had had the slightest option.

Hail, glorious gums of mighty height!

Whose heads the very skies pervade.

Whose tops and trunks yield vast supplies,

But not a particle of shade.

Hail, West Australia, once more hail!

That man indeed is surely rash,

Who cannot live content in thee,

Or wants for anything – but cash.”

and of course war propaganda never goes astray:-

The Hun, who is obliged, to be responsible for the following lines, will probably become a professor in a German university. He has all the qualifications. The “howling” dingo is a picturesquely Prussian touch.

THE DEPORTED HUN'S FAREWLL TO AUSTRALIA

Australia, thou art a land of pests,

For fleas, flies and bugs one never rests,

E’en now mosquitoes round me revel,

In fact they are the very devil.

Sandflies and hornets just as bad,

They nearly drive a fellow mad.

Parched up deserts, thirsty plains,

Parched deserts, scanty rains,

There’s rivers where you can’t sail ships on,

There’s nigger women without shifts on.

There’s humpies, huts, and wooden houses,

There’s nigger men who don’t wear trousers.

There’s barcoo rot and sandy blight,

There’s dingoes howling all the night?

There’s curlews, quails, and croaking frogs,

There’s savage blacks and native dogs.

There’s scentless flowers and stinging trees,

There’s poisonous grass and darling peas

Which drive the cattle raving mad.

Make sheep and horses just as bad,

And then it never rains in reason,

There’s drought one year, and floods next season.

Which sweep the squatters’ sheep away,

And then there is Old Nick to pay.

To stay in thee, oh! land of mutton,

I would not give a single button.

To Germany I’ve got a passage

And soon will have sauer-kraut and sausage.

24 December, 1919. The Western Mail

or social comment:-

Nomadic Niggers. A Katanning Komplaint. Dogs, Gins, Fleas, And Flies

It may, or may not, be generally known that there is a native settlement at Carrolup, handy to Katanning. Quite obviously it is not a complete success, and the Southern Districts Advocate (Katanning) has no hesitation in saying it is a failure. The Advocate claims to be quite calm and restrained on the subject. If that is so, and the paper carries out its threat to really “let itself go” later on, well then there will be something doing. The Advocate writes under the heading of

THE NOMADIC NIGGER NUISANCE

Frowsy kids and filthy rags,

Well-picked bones and tattered bags,

Dirty bucks and greasy gins,

Broken bottles and empty tins,

Lousy camps and mangy dogs,

With swarms of flies and smold’ring logs.

And there you have it. The above few lines were suggested yesterday afternoon, when we made it our business to take a walk across the commonage at the south end of the town. We had noticed for some time past that quite a tribe of niggers had been meandering about the streets and not far from our humble habitat the air for many evenings had been pierced by the yells of piccaninnies, and sometimes by, as we afterwards learned, the weird wailings of disobedient gins, who were being given a gentle lesson in domestic felicity.

8 October, 1921.The Truth

COCKIES' FAREWELL TO YILGARN
by ‘Boomerang’
(Dedicated to Inspector Buttfield)

Oh Yilgarn, thou art a land of pests,

From dust and flies one never rests;

E’en now mosquitoes about me revel,

And dingoes play the very devil.

 

There’s farms up here that are not tres bon,

Gristling wheat lands with no wheat on;

There’s humpies, huts and tin-can houses,

There’ll soon be cockies minus trousers.

 

Parched up paddocks, scanty rains,

Hell fire dust storms, scrubby plains;

Goannas, snakes and shrewd brer rabbit,

All make this cocky slick to swag it.

 

I’m leaving here before I’m starving,

Gone’s the home I thought of carving;

Cockies’ life is only bubble,

Heaps of debt and tons of trouble.

 

I will not have thee, poverty point,

I’m off to find another joint;

And bid thee now a last farewell,

Thou scorching, sunburnt land of hell.

 

25 January, 1930. The Southern Cross Times

By the end of the depression memories were getting a little hazy:-

LAND OF NICKNAMES
The Western Mail, 22 October, 1936.

Dear “Non-Com” – Some people refer to that country which lies far to the north as the Land of Lags, Swags, Dags, Nags, Fags and Waterbags, and although the several “ags” are doubtless well represented, I always like to think of it as the Land of Nicknames.

For here the nickname flourishes and few are spared. Usually it is well chosen and gives an idea of the owner’s habits or characteristics. ‘Stirrup Iron’, Wubin.

15 December, 1938. The Western Mail

Could any of the team oblige me with the words of a poem which goes like this:-

 

 Australia, thou art a land of pests,

 For fleas and flies one never rests,

 Barcoo rot and sandy blight

 And dingoes howling all the night

Then there’s another which goes:-

 

 He who runs when dingoes howl

 Should stay at home like some other fowl.

I’m not sure that they don’t both belong to the one item

‘Cheedarra’, Youanmi

FARMER'S FAREWELL?
12 January, 1939. The Western Mail.

Dear “Non-Com,” – “Cheedarra” is inquiring for the words of a poem commencing “Australia, thou art a land of pests.” I enclose one version which sounds to me like a farmer’s farewell to his farm.

 

 When crops were poor

 And prices low,

 The mortgage large

 And he had to go.

 

‘Hazeldine’, Lake Grace

The verse is as follows:-

THE BUSHMAN'S LAMENT

Australia, thou are a land of pests;

For flies and fleas, one never rests.

E’en now mosquitoes round me revel.

In fact, they are the very devil.

Sandflies and hornets just as bad.

They nearly drive a fellow mad.

The scorpion and centipede,

With stinging ants of every breed.

Fever and ague, with the shakes,

Tarantulas and poisonous snakes,

Iguanas, lizards, cockatoos,

Jackaroos, dogs and kangaroos,

Bandicoots and swarms of rats,

Bulldog ants and native cats,

Stunted timber, thirsty plains,

Parched up deserts, scanty rains.

 

There’s humpies, huts and wooden houses

And nigger men who don’t wear trousers,

There’s barcoo rot, and sandy blight

There’s dingoes howling all the night,

There’s curlew’s wails and croaking frogs,

There’s savage blacks and native dogs.

There’s scentless flowers and stinging trees,

There’s poisonous grass and buzzing bees,

Which drive the cattle raving mad,

Make sheep and horses just as bad,

And then, it never rains, in reason,

There’s drought one year, and rain next season,

Which sweeps the squatter’s sheep away

And then there is “the devil” to pay.

To stay in thee, oh land of mutton,

I would not give a single button,

But bid thee now a long farewell,

Thou scorching, sunburnt land of hell.

LAND OF OPPORTUNITY!
The Western Mail, 9 February 1939.

Dear “Non-Com,” – I have read with interest the verses that have appeared from time to time in the Highway and Dolly Pot. Some were amusing, others enlightening – all were good reading. Here is one I’d like to add. It concerns a “t’othersider” and his impressions of this State. I do not know the author.

FAREWELL TO WESTRALIA

Land of politicians silly,

Land of dust and willy-willy.

Land of blankets, tent and billy.

Westralia.

Land of dingoes, dagos, flies,

Blighted hopes and blighted eyes,

Art thou Hell in Earth’s disguise?

Westralia.

 

I could some stories of thee tell,

What matter now? To thee farewell.

Thou dirty, sunburnt land of Hell,

Westralia.

 

RED O’SHANE, Kennedy Ranges