This typifies the attitude of lots of men on the land,
they resist change strongly.
The Gateway.
Down in me bottom paddock,
The gateway is a mess,
I suppose I’d better go and try
To fix it up, I guess;
But, mind you, I have tried,
At least, a dozen times before;
I really shouldn’t grumble as
I fix it up once more!
It’s in this bit of hollow, see,
And every time it rains,
No matter what I do with it,
It turns to mud again!
I’ve filled it up with stones and bricks,
I’ve filled it up with rocks,
I’ve filled it up with heavy logs,
And even concrete blocks.
But all the things I’ve ever used
Have been a wretched dud,
And somehow they get pushed aside,
Or sink beneath the mud,
I’ve got a load of gravel here,
I’ll drop that in today,
But I’ve got a sinkin’ feelin’ that,
The hole is here to stay.
Me dog got bogged the other day,
While rounding up the sheep,
The look he gave, when rescued,
Would make a drover weep,
I lost a cow and calf last year,
They sank without a trace,
Me insurance wouldn’t cover,
What they cost me to replace.
What’s that I hear you saying ?
Move the gateway up a bit,
If I did that me dad would
Have an apoplectic fit !
His grand-dad put the gateway there
In eighteen ninety-two,
What’s good enough for gramps,
Me lad, is good enough for you!
written by Philip R Rush.
