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THE LOG HAULER This Poem was written by Maurice Southcombe about the time in the timber industry when mechanical hauling machinery was presenting competition to the horse and bullock drawn whims. It really captures the feeling that was around at the time and the rivalry between the two methods of hauling the huge logs through the forest to the landings or the mills. They were talking round the camp fire A
jarrah log, t'was eighty feet On
this the fallers all agreed Now
Whistler drove a hauler
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#1 |
#2 |
Old
Tim, a teamster, jumped to arms Old
Whistler gave another taunt The
bets were made and Whistler passed |
Tim
fed his team at break of day And
as he walked a thousand teams The
team hitched to the nib iron He
straddled the wheels over the log |
#3 |
Was
the balance right, too much nose He'd
never lift that log they said But
Tim had hitched his waiting team Tim
stood with tie down chain in hand
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With
nimble hands and flying chain The
chains held firm as he eased the strain He
softly spoke to his waiting team And
the balance it was perfect
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#4 |
#5 |
As
the whim team slowly made it's way Though he
cursed and swore at the struggling team He
paused before the last big rise Then with
a final rush and scrambling hooves
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The
team was well high floundered And
old Whistler was no welcher I'm
glad you won that bet he said Though
years have passed and the clank of chain But
still they tell the story when
Maurice
Southcombe |
Reference: Article: Maurice Southcombe Images: 1 Battye Library
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Copyright : Gordon Freegard . 2008 - 2020
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