Asstrilly's Goold Fields; or, Tommy Carr's Letter

Tune-"Marble Halls."

Aw dreamt that aw'd landed in Strilia's goold fields,
Wi' Bessie, maw wife by maw side'
An' aw also dreamt how aw toil'd I' the keels
On the Tyne, still maw home an' maw pride.
Aw dreamt aw was howkin goold day an' neet,
An' fand greet big lumps in galore,
Then aw thowt te meesel what a rich chep a'wd be
When aw cujm back te leeve doon the shore.

Aw dreamt that aw landed, etc.

Aw dreamt that aw saw some aud cronies there,
All hwkikn for goold like mee-sel,
An' wishin', while sweetin' wi byens stiff an' sair,
For a swag o' good Newcassel yell.
Aw also dreamt aw'd sell'd a ' maw goold,
And getting the brass, every scuddock;
But aw waken'd an' fand mee-sel lyin', silly man,
Fast asleep doon belaw in the huddock.

Aw dreamt that aw landed, etc.

Aw was rubbin' me eyes when the Pee-dee cries out,
Aw say, skipper, the keel's gyen adrift;
Where is aw? says aw wi' a terrible shoot,
Then aw gave his young backside a lift.
How, skipper, what's that for? thou aud crazy fuil!
The Peep-dee, the trash, bawls te me;
The aw sprang-hew'd him weel, the gobby young cull,
But he danced like an imp full o' glee.

Spoken- Goshcab, the bit laddie went mad varry nigh. Whaat's the matter wi' thee? says aw. Wey, here's a letter frae Asstrilly for thee. Blaw me rags, so it was;
that was just maw dream- what a queer thing dreams is, efter all. Aw say, what gobby things laddies is nooadays: they think man's mice, or folks is people-but aw stop a' thor jaws. Thor's a vast o' rats I' wor huddock, sir,- but aw's forgettin' the letter- (Opens the letter) ;-
it's frae Tommy Carr; stop, aw'll read it ower.

Melbourne, Octember, aw mean Septober the 35 th, 18 hundred en eggs en bacon.

Dear Bobby,

Afore thou opens this letter excuse maw bad spellin': pens is varry bad here, en hoo can a body spell wiv a PHEMWHTN (pen).. [Marcy (asside), what a lot o' letters he hes for spellin' pen. What a scholar he's turned; he must gan tiv a neet skeul though the day; aw shuddent wonder.]
Wor byeth I' gud health here, except me en Bob. Aw've teun the Yaller fever wi' snuffin goold dust, en Bob's broke his three legs, en can scairshly stand o' the tother; wishin' ye the same benefits at hyem. Aw'll mebbies be deed the next time aw write te thee.

There's bonny wark oot here wi' the Convicts, the Blackies, Robbers, en Bushrangers. Man, the time aw's wrtin' this letter, aw've a loaded pistol I' one hand en a sword I' the tother, defendin' me heed. [ (Aside.) The greet thick-heeded lubbert! What set him there? he wis deein' weel here, puddlin at Hawk's-three days a week overtime an' ne wages.] Give maw respects te Bill Scott, the Shingler, oot at Consett, en tell him te hev a luck at the tin bottle for maw sake. Ned Corvan says he's nobbit a reet un. A' kinds o' provisions is varry cheap here, except victuals en fustin jackets. We hae nee tripe so we struggle wi' fustin-there's ne Butcher's meat here, except Wild Buffaloes en Yarmouth beef. Little Jimmy's nowt like his feythor noo; some hungry convicts bit off the laddie's lugs; if ye saw him ye'd 'mawjin he'd been at Carson's drawing the Badger.

Nee more at present from yor Confectionate Brother,
Tommy Carr.

P.S.-[(Aside.) Pint o' Soup!] Fat Hanna's mother's wife's cousin's brother's aunt's teun the measles.

Noo contented an' happy at hyem aw'll still be,
Wi' Bessy, maw canny bit bride,
An' aw'll whiles hev a gill an' whiles heve a spree,
Wi' comfort at mee awn fireside;
So excuse maw bit rhyme, for some other time
Aw'll tell ye- though strange the tale seems-
'Bout the places aw've been, an' the wonders aw've seen
I' the huddock, when lying 'mang dreams.

-Corvan, 1862.