Childhood moment: The Man from Snowy River
I have been inspired to post this famous Australian verse here today, for a couple of reasons.
Firstly, this great Canadian blogger posted on the Australian Stock Horse and mentioned the Movie of the same name (*sigh*), secondly, I know that quite a few of you love this movie, and thirdly, my Dad is away at the moment and I miss him.
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When were were young, he would to recite this verse to us as we rode along behind a mob of cattle, his baritone voice rising over the mustering noise and dust, and the excitement of this particular well-known Aussie tale rising with the increasing rhythm and pace of the magic of Banjo Paterson’s lyrics.
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The poem tells the tale of a herd of wild brumbies who have a valuable racehorse with them, and the group of men who gather to try to get the horses back from some almost-impenatrable terrain in the Australian Snowy Mountain. It’s about never underestimating those who may not look impressive at first glance, its about some imposing countryside and it’s about underdogs. It pretty much brings tears to my eyes every time I attempt to recite it… but then I am a complete sap!
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It needs to be read aloud. Take your time. It’s long. But so worth it.
So I give you:
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The Man From Snowy River
By Andrew Barton (AB or ‘Banjo’) Paterson
…
There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses — he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
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All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stock-horse snuffs the battle with delight.
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There was Harrison, who made his pile when Pardon won the cup,
The old man with his hair as white as snow;
But few could ride beside him when his blood was fairly up —
He would go wherever horse and man could go.
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And Clancy of the Overflow came down to lend a hand,
No better horseman ever held the reins;
For never horse could throw him while the saddle-girths would stand,
He learnt to ride while droving on the plains.
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And one was there, a stripling on a small and weedy beast,
He was something like a racehorse undersized,
With a touch of Timor pony — three parts thoroughbred at least —
And such as are by mountain horsemen prized.
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He was hard and tough and wiry — just the sort that won’t say die —
There was courage in his quick impatient tread;
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
And the proud and lofty carriage of his head.
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But still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay,
And the old man said, `That horse will never do
For a long and tiring gallop — lad, you’d better stop away,
Those hills are far too rough for such as you.’
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So he waited sad and wistful — only Clancy stood his friend —
`I think we ought to let him come,’ he said;
‘I warrant he’ll be with us when he’s wanted at the end,
For both his horse and he are mountain bred.
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`He hails from Snowy River, up by Kosciusko’s side,
Where the hills are twice as steep and twice as rough,
Where a horse’s hoofs strike firelight from the flint stones every stride,
The man that holds his own is good enough.
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And the Snowy River riders on the mountains make their home,
Where the river runs those giant hills between;
I have seen full many horsemen since I first commenced to roam,
But nowhere yet such horsemen have I seen.
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‘So he went — they found the horses by the big mimosa clump —
They raced away towards the mountain’s brow,
And the old man gave his orders,
`Boys, go at them from the jump,
No use to try for fancy riding now.
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And, Clancy, you must wheel them, try and wheel them to the right.
Ride boldly, lad, and never fear the spills,
For never yet was rider that could keep the mob in sight,
If once they gain the shelter of those hills.
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‘So Clancy rode to wheel them — he was racing on the wing
Where the best and boldest riders take their place,
And he raced his stock-horse past them, and he made the ranges ring
With the stockwhip, as he met them face to face.
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Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved mountain full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the mountain scrub they flew.
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Then fast the horsemen followed, where the gorges deep and black
Resounded to the thunder of their tread,
And the stockwhips woke the echoes, and they fiercely answered back
From cliffs and crags that beetled overhead.
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And upward, ever upward, the wild horses held their way,
Where mountain ash and kurrajong grew wide;
And the old man muttered fiercely,
`We may bid the mob good day, NO man can hold them down the other side.
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‘When they reached the mountain’s summit, even Clancy took a pull,
It well might make the boldest hold their breath,
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
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But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear.
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He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
He cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat —
It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
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Through the stringy barks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
At the bottom of that terrible descent.
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He was right among the horses as they climbed the further hill,
And the watchers on the mountain standing mute,
Saw him ply the stockwhip fiercely, he was right among them still,
As he raced across the clearing in pursuit.
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Then they lost him for a moment, where two mountain gullies met
In the ranges, but a final glimpse reveals
On a dim and distant hillside the wild horses racing yet,
With the man from Snowy River at their heels.
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And he ran them single-handed till their sides were white with foam.
He followed like a bloodhound on their track,
Till they halted cowed and beaten, then he turned their heads for home,
And alone and unassisted brought them back.
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But his hardy mountain pony he could scarcely raise a trot,
He was blood from hip to shoulder from the spur;
But his pluck was still undaunted, and his courage fiery hot,
For never yet was mountain horse a cur.
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And down by Kosciusko, where the pine-clad ridges raise
Their torn and rugged battlements on high,
Where the air is clear as crystal, and the white stars fairly blaze
At midnight in the cold and frosty sky,
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And where around the Overflow the reedbeds sweep and sway
To the breezes, and the rolling plains are wide,
The man from Snowy River is a household word to-day,
And the stockmen tell the story of his ride.
…
And here is the telling of this verse from the movie itself – I reckon Dad’s is better, but this’ll do til I corner my Old Man and pin him down with a recording device! He is on a well-earned holiday at the moment but I promise to one day post up an audio clip of his version of this poem. There is also a song by Dad’s favourite country singer of all-time, the late great Slim Dusty, which I shall try to find also.
Hope y’all enjoy a taste of my childhood…
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12 Comments
Leslie
It’s my favourite! I read it to my students every year. 🙂
I know most of it off by heart.
Bush Babe
Ah me too Leslie… the excitement builds as you tell it, doesn’t it? Makes me emotional for some reason. Horses and courage… get me every time!!
🙂
BB
Debby
I’d heard of the movie, but never seen it. Don’t chide – I grew up without telly for the most part, and still at 51 have never caught up. You’d referred to the poem, but I’d never read it, either. I enjoyed the poem, but would like to hear it recited. I tried to say the words aloud, but could not get the proper meter. It was a very nice glimpse of your childhoods, BB.
the7msn
What a lovely way to start my morning. Thanks!
I’ve got a giveaway going on over at my place – stop by to enter if you’d like.
Andrea
This was my favoirte movie when I was growing up. I loved the second one too. I used to think Jessica was so pretty. I even learned how to play the theme song on the piano. Awesome movie.
Tami
Never fails…I get the prikly chills right at the 18th.
Loved the movie as a child…still love the movie as an adult.
Reddunappylitivensfe
Great post BB. The running down the mtn scene always, no matter how many times Ive seen it, gives me the goosebumps, love it. I look forward to hearing your Dad recite it! Wonderful stuff!
Kate
OMH!!! I was actually tearing up during this post. First reading the poem and then while watching the clip. I’m so excited to hear your dad’s version. I LOVE that movie. Been in my top five since i was a kid. I was going to marry Jim…still want to actually. Live in a little cabin up high in the Snowy River country. Sigh. Still haven’t even made it to Australia yet. This post totally made my day. I’m going to post about the movie now :-)Share the love!!
Jayne
Love the movie and most of Paterson’s works 😉
jeanie
I have a book courtesy of Uncle Arn – the Noveltie Breed – which explains (in amongst his memories of growing up and cattle prices) the theory behind the horse breeding of our forebears.
I must send it to you. Maybe you can sift through the other stuff to find the nuggets!!!
Frances Merritt
Thanks Bush Babe for the clip of The Man From Snowy River. I knew the man that was the head wrangler/trainer on that film. His name was Denzell Cameron – I don’t know what his business name was, unfortunately he passed away some years back. I had the great good fortune to have known him, and he came to our little ranch and taught many of us how to train a horse and how to ride. He was one of a kind and a true master of his art.
Molly
As a horse crazy girl, I loved the movie for years (both movies actually.) I agree with someone above, it’s hard to get the cadence right when you are just reading it. Thanks so much for sharing the clip with us.