The Teamster’s Wife

I don’t know who wrote this poem but I like the way it describes the pioneering spirit of those early settlers.

The Teamster’s Wife.

We met her many years ago,
A widow and her son
A jolly soul, with eyes aglow,
And smile to match the sun.

They lived in bushland by a stream,
Her son by now a man,
There, they shared their thoughts and dreams,
And shared their daily scran.

We called in many times to see
Old gran, to have a chat,
To laugh at some catastrophe,
For bush life was like that.

We dined as Kings may never do,
Or ever know the joy
Of oven stew, and billy brew,
It was the real McCoy.

Old gran would tell us, with a smile,
Of how she coped with strife,
Back when the crow, cocked up each mile,
She was the teamster’s wife.

And over cards, she talked and won,
The kero lamp shone pale,
She’d trump, and then continue on,
We’d follow each detail.

And as she told of bunking down,
Beside a lonely track,
We saw her in an ankle gown,
When fashions called for tact.

And of her tales, when cooking meats,
And oft times kangaroo,
She sometimes had a change of treats,
With hubby helping too.

It could have been the carcass or
It could have been a guess,
When up rode one tall warrior,
To catch a thief… no less.

Now gran swore this was Gospel truth,
It came right from her heart,
When gran espied the horse and sleuth
Approaching… she got smart.

The old camp oven lifted off,
The roast cocooned inside,
The charcoals seemed to give a cough,
As though to say, “go hide.”

The teamster’s wife was all alone,
Except for her new guest,
She sat astride her heated throne,
Her gown spread.. east and west.

It was a trifle hot she said,
The constable was stern,
He quizzed her, while her face grew red,
And she began to burn.

She sat it out, and he gave up,
She heaved a mighty sigh,
As he rode of… then she stood up,
And heaved her skirts up high.

We’d ask for more, but she’d say, “Tea?”
And prod the coals to life,
Her eyes would twinkle knowingly,
She was the teamster’s wife.

Author unknown.