4 recordings of Australia, two by Bob Hart and two by Cyril Poacher; 2 recordings of a Van Diemen's Land, by Harry Cox and by Ewan MacColl, and 2 recordings of another Van Diemen's Land, by Enoch Kent and by Cara Dillon.

Australia

a) Come All You Young Fellows (Australia)
Bob Hart, A Broadside, Musical Traditions MT CD 301 -2, 1969 recordings

Come all you young fellows
Whereso'er you may be
Come listen a while to my story
When I was a young man
Me age seventeen
I ought to been serving Victoria, our Queen
But those hard-hearted judges
Oh, how cruel they be
To send us poor lads to Australia

I fell in with a damsel
She was handsome and gay
I neglected me work
More and more, every day
And to keep her like a lady
I went on the highway
And for that I was sent to Australia

Now the judges, they stand
With their whips in their hands
They drive us, like horses
To plough up the land
You should see us poor young fellows
Working in that jail yard
How hard is our fate in Australia

Australia, Australia
I would ne'er see no more
I'm worn out with fever
Cast down to Death's door
But should I live to see
Say, seven years more
I would then bid adieu to Australia

That's where they used to send 'em, years ago

b) Australia
Bob Hart, on Hidden English, Topic TSCD600, from Songs from Suffolk, Topic LP 12TS225; song recorded in 1972

Come all you young fellows
Whereso'er you may be
Come listen a while to my story
When I was a young man
Me age seventeen
I ought to been serving Victoria, our Queen
But those hard-hearted judges
Oh, how cruel they be
To send us poor lads to Australia

I fell in with a damsel
She was handsome and gay
I neglected me work
More and more, every day
And to keep her like a lady
I went on the highway
And for that I was sent to Australia

Now the judges, they stand
With their whips in their hands
They drive us like horses
To plough up the land
You should see us poor young fellows
Working in that jail yard
How hard is our fate in Australia

Australia, Australia
I would ne'er see no more
Worn out with fever
Cast down to Death's door
But should I live to see
Say, seven years more
I would then sat adieu to Australia

c) Australia
Cyril Poacher, Plenty of Thyme, Musica Traditions MT CD 303; song recorded in 1974; also on Farewell, my own dear native land, Songs of exile and emigtarion, The Voice of the People, Topic TSCD 654

Now come all you young fellows wheresomever you be
If you listen I'll tell you a story

When I was a young man of about seventeen
I ought to been serving Victoria our Queen
But those hardhearted judges, oh, how cruel they've been
To send us young lads to Australia

I fell in love with a damsel, she was handsome and gay
I neglected my work more and more every day
And to keep her like a lady, I went on the highway
And for that I got sent to Australia

You should see how they stand with their whips in their hand
They drove us like horses to plough up the land
You should see us poor young fellows, we worked in that jailyard
How sad was our fight in Australia

Australia, Australia, I shall never see no more
I'm worn out with fever, cast down at death's door
But if ever I should live to see seven years more
I will then bid adieu to Australia

d) Australia
Cyril Poacher, Plenty of Thyme, Musica Traditions MT CD 303 – 3 verses only; song recorded in 1974

Come all you young fellows wheresomever you be
If you listen I'll tell you a story
When I was a young man of about seventeen
I ought to been serving Victoria our Queen
But those hardhearted judges, oh, how cruel they've been
To send us young lads to Australia

You should see how they stand with their whips in their hand
They drove us like horses to plough up their land
You should see us poor fellows, we worked in that jailyard
How sad was our fight in Australia

Australia, Australia, I shall never see no more
I'm worn out with fever, cast down at death's door
But if ever I should live to see seven years more
I will then bid adieu to Australia


Van Diemen's Land (I)

a) Henry the Poacher
Harry Cox, What Will Become of England? – The Alan Lomax Collection, Portraits, Rounder 11661-1839-2; song recorded in 1953

So come all you wild and wicked youths, wheresomever you may be
I pray now pay attention and listen unto me
The fate of our poor transports as you shall understand
The hardships they do undergo upon Van Diemen's Land

My parents reared me tenderly, good learning give to me
Till I by bad companions beguiled my home from me
I was brought up at Worcestershire, near to the town did dwell
My name is Henry Herbert, and many knows me well

Me and three more went out one night to Squire Daniel's park
To get some game was our intent, as the night came proving dark
And to our sad misfortune, they took us there by speed
And sent us off to Warwick Gaol, which made our hearts to bleed

'Twas at the March assizes, at the bar we did appear
Like Job we stood with patience to hear our sentence there
And being some old offenders, it made our case go hard
Our sentence were for fourteen year, and we were sent on board

The ship that bore us from the land, The Speedwell was her name
And full four months and upwards, we ploughed the raging main
No land, nor harbour could we see, and believe it is no lie
For around us one black water, and above us one blue sky

I oft-times looked behind me towards my native shore
And the cottage of contentment that I shall see no more
Likewise my aged father, who tore his hoary hair
Also my tender mother, whose arms did once me bear

'Twas on the fourth of July, the day we made the land
At four o'clock we went on shore, all chain-ed hand-in-hand
And to see our fellow sufferers, as I feel I can't tell how
Some chained unto a harrow and some unto a plough

So we were marched into the town, without no more delay
And there a gentleman took me, bookkeeper for to be
I took my occupation, my master likes me well
My joys are out of measure, I am sure no one can tell

He kept a female servant — Rosanna was her name
For fourteen year a convict, from Worcestershire she came
And we oft-times tell our love tales, when we were far at home
And now we are rattling of our chains, in foreign lands to roam


b) Van Diemen's Land
Ewan MacColl, in Chorus from the Gallows, Topic TSCD502, recorded 1959, and in the anthology The Real MacColl, Topic TSCD463

Now come all you wild and wicked youths, wheresoever you may be
I pray now pay attention and listen unto me
The fateful awful transports as you shall understand
The hardships they do undergo upon Van Diemen's Land

My parents reared me tenderly, good learning they gave to me
'Til all my bad companions beguiled my home from me
I was brought up in Worcestershire, near to the town did dwell
My name is Henry Abbott, and many knows me well

Me and three more went out one night to Squire Daniel's farm
To get some game was our intent as the night come falling down
But to our sad misfortune, they took us there with speed
They sent us off to Warwick gaol, which made our hearts to bleed

It was at the March assises, at the bar we did appear
Like Job we stood with patience to hear our sentence there
And being some old offenders, it made our case go hard
Our sentence were for fourteen years, and we were sent on board

The ship that bore us from the land, the Speedwell was her name
And full four months and a half we ploughed across the raging main
No land or harbour could we see, and believe it is no lie
For around us one black water and above us one blue sky

I ofttimes look behind me towards my native shore
And that cottage of contentment that I shall see no more
Likewise my aged father, who tore his hoary hair
Also my tender mother whose arms once did me bear

It was on the fourth of July, the day we made the land
At four o'clock we went on shore, all chained hand in hand
And to see our fellow sufferers, I feel I can't tell how
Some chained unto a harrow, and some unto a plow

So we were marched into the town without no more delay
And there a gentleman took me, a book-keeper for to be
I took my occupation, my master likes me well
My joys are out of measure, I'm sure no tongue can tell

He kept a female servant, Rosanna was her name
For fourteen years a convict, from Worcestershire she came
We oft times tell our love tales there where we are so far from home
For now we're rattling of our chains, in foreign lands to roam


Van Diemen's Land (II)

a) Van Diemen's Land
Enoch Kent, on Root & Branch 1 / A New World, EFDSS, song recorded in 1966, first released on Topic

Come a' you gallant poaching boys who ramble void of care
And when you go on a moonlit night wi' your dog, your gun, your snare
The harmless hare and the pheasant you'll have at your command
Never thinking on your last career upon Van Diemen's Land

There was Jocky Brown frae Glesca, Willie Guthrie and Young Monroe
They were three gallant poaching boys, the country well did know
The keeper caught them hunting a' wi' their dogs in hand
They were fourteen years transported out to Van Dieman's land

There cam' a lass frae sweet Dundee, Bessie Logan was her name
And she was given sentence for playin' at the game
But the captain he caught her fancy and he married her oot o' hand
And she gave us all good usage going to Van Dieman's land

The very day we landed upon that fatal shore
The fairmers gathered round us, some forty score and more
The fairmers gathered round us a' wi' their guns in hand
Then they yok'd us tae a wooden plough, tae plough Van Dieman's land

I lay on my bed the other nicht and I had a pleasant dream
I was walking wi' my sweetheart doon by a purling stream
We wandered through all Scotland, she was there at my richt hand
I awoke quite broken-hearted lyin' on Van Diemen's Land

Although the poor o' Scotland dae labour and dae toil
They're robbed o' every pleasure and produce of the soil
Your proud imperious landlords, you'll obey their sole command
Or they'll send you on an English hulk, or to Van Dieman's land


b) Van Diemen's Land
Cara Dillon, on Root & Branch 1 / A New World, EFDSS, song recorded in 1999, from a version by Tim Lyons

Come all you gallant poachers who ramble void of care
Who wander out on a moonlit night with your dog, your gun and snare
The hare and lofty pheasant you have at your command
Not thinking of your long career spend on Van Dieman's land

Poor Thomas Brown from Nenagh town, John Murphy and Poor Joe
Where three determined poachers, the country well does know
By the keepers of the land, one night, at last they were trepanned
And for fourteen years transported unto Van Dieman's Land

The first day that we landed upon that fatal shore
The planters gathered around us, they might be twenty score
They ranked us off like horses and sold us out of hand
They yoked us to a plough, brave boys, to plough Van Dieman's Land

Often when I slumber, I have a pleasant dream
I 'm lying on the cold green grass down by your purling stream
Oh, wondering through the maid of fair with my sweetheart by the hand
Then I awaken broken-hearted upon Van Dieman's Land

Fourteen years is a long long time, that is our fatal doom
For nothing more the poaching got no all that so we done
You give up dog, gun and snare and the poaching, every man
If you only knew the hardship upon Van Dieman's Land