Back in Nov last year, 3 Les Darcy songs were posted to this songbook. Here is an earlier one: LES DARCY Way down in Tennessee There lies poor Les Darcy His mother's pride and joy Their Maitland's bonny boy All I can think of tonight Is to see Les Darcy fight How he beats them Simply eats them Every Saturday night And people in galore Said they never saw The likes of Les before Upon the stadium floor They called him a skater But he proved to them a fighter And he gave up hope When he got that dope Way down in Tennessee This is included in Bill Scott's Penguin compilation. It was also collected by Ron Edwards from Pat Murphy in north Queensland and is printed in his big book. Russel Ward published the original words in his 'Penguin Book of Australian Ballads'. Ward believes it was written by 'Percy the Poet' ( real name P.F. Collins) who sold his street ballads in Sydney in the 1920s and 1930s. Here is Percy's ballad: THE DEATH OF LES DARCY In Maitland's cemetery Lies poor Les Darcy His mother's pride and joy Australia's bonny boy How we long for the night Just to see Les Darcy fight How he beat 'em Simply eat 'em Every Saturday night Chorus There lies young Les Darcy Who we know was so ill-advised When the sad news reached us How the tears stood in our eyes His one great ambition Was to fight at the Golden Gate But the Yanks called him from us Proved to be the sad hand of fate The critics by the score Said they never saw A lad like him before Upon the stadium floor Oh the Yanks thought him a skater But he proved himself a fighter So they killed him Yes, they killed him In Memphis Tennessee The belief that Darcy was poisoned by rival fighter was widespread in Australia. There was also a general belief that the Yanks poisoned Phar Lap. Darcy died of pneumonia. Darcy bio The tune for the version in Scott's compilation was a popular song of the time. The soldiers of the First AIF also had a parody of the tune which Scott presented alongside the Darcy song. Down in the old front line Oh, that won't do for mine Among the mud and slime Amidst the slush and grime All I can think of tonight Is the parapet so white Bombs are popping, shells are dropping No relief in sight The rum we ought to get We see no signs of yet You bet we'll get trench feet With nothing hot to eat There's tons of shells to chase us And no dug-outs to save us Till we get back, till we get back Where there's wine and cheer for us Down in the old front line --Stewie.
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