SAM HOLT
(w.G.H. Gibson/Air: 'Ben Bolt')

Oh! don’t you remember Black Alice, Sam Holt —
Black Alice, so dusky and dark,
The Warrego gin, with the straw through her nose,
And teeth like a Moreton Bay shark.

The terrible sheepwash tobacco she smoked
In the gunyah down there by the lake,
And the grubs that she roasted, the lizards she stewed,
And the damper you taught her to bake.

Oh! don’t you remember the moon’s silver sheen,
And the Warrego sand ridges white?
And don’t you remember those big bulldog ants
We caught in our blankets at night?

Oh! don’t you remember the creepers, Sam Holt,
That scattered their fragrance around?
And don’t you remember that broken-down colt
You sold me, and swore he was sound?

And don’t you remember that fiver, Sam Holt,
You borrowed so frank and so free,
When the publican landed your fifty-pound cheque
At Tambo, your very last spree?

Luck changes some natures; but yours, Sammy Holt,
Was a grand one as ever I see,
And I fancy I’ll whistle a good many tunes
Ere you think of that fiver or me.

Oh! don’t you remember the cattle you duffed,
And your luck at the Sandy Creek rush,
And the poker you played, and the bluffs that you bluffed,
And your habits of holding a flush?

And don’t you remember the pasting you got
By the boys down in Callaghan’s store,
When Tim Hooligan found a fifth ace in his hand,
And you holding his pile upon four?

You were not the cleanest potato, Sam Holt,
You had not the cleanest of fins.
But you made your pile on the Towers, Sam Holt,
And that covers the most of your sins.

They say you’ve ten thousand per annum, Sam Holt,
In England, a park and a drag;
Perhaps you forget you were six months ago
In Queensland a-humping your swag.

But who’d think to see you now dining in state
With a lord and the devil knows who,
You were flashing your dover, six short months ago,
In a lambing camp on the Barcoo.

When’s my time coming? Perhaps never, I think,
And it’s likely enough your old mate
Will be humping his drum on the Hughenden road
To the end of the chapter of fate.

This song was a parody of 'Ben Bolt', written in 1848 by Dr T.D. English. The tune was a German air arranged by N. Kneass. It was printed in the 'Melbourne Vocalist' 5th edition 1857. Charles Thatcher, the goldfields balladeer, wrote what he called a 'new version' which began:

Oh! don't you remember, sweet Alice, Ben Bolt -
Sweet Alice with hair hazel brown
She wept with delight when you gave her a smile
And trembled with fear at your frown

Thatcher also wrote a mining version titled 'Jack Jolt' that was similar in structure to 'Sam Holt'. In his 'Colonial Ballads', Hugh Anderson noted that 'Sam Holt' derived in part from 'Jack Jolt'. G.Herbert Gibson, whose pen name was Ironbark, wrote 'Sam Holt' which was published in 'The Western Champion' (Blackall/Barcaldine, QLD) in May 1881. It was prefaced by this sentence:
'Overlanding Jim apostrophiseth his quondam mate who hath made his pile and gone home'. It was printed in 'The Bulletin' in 1881. This printing gave 3 notes: 'flashing your dover' = 'taking pot luck with a sheath knife'; 'Towers' = Charters Towers; the original line was 'From the Barks down at Callaghan's store' and 'Barks' was vernacular for 'Irish'.

A.B. Paterson included 'Sam Holt' in his 'The Old Bush Songs' 1905. Strangely, Stewart & Keesing did not include it in their 'Enlarged and Revised' edition of 'Old Bush Songs'. It is included at page 34 of Hugh Anderson 'Colonial Ballads' 1962 edition. Anderson noted that 'Paterson, as in several other instances, took the words, not from newspapers, but from a collection of Gibson's poems'. You can also find it at page 120 of Ron Edwards' big book.

This rendition by Warren Fahey omits a few stanzas:

Youtube clip

--Stewie.