Larrikins, Bush Tales and Other Great Australian Stories

by Graham Seal

  ‘We’ve tried that before, and nobody would take you,’ said his mother; ‘we must sell Milky-white and with the money start a shop, or something.’

  ‘All right, mother,’ says Jack; ‘it’s market-day today, and I’ll soon sell Milky-white, and then we’ll see what we can do.’

  So he took the cow’s halter in his hand, and off he started. He hadn’t gone far when he met a funny-looking old man, who said to him: ‘Good morning, Jack.’

  ‘Good morning to you,’ said Jack, and wondered how he knew his name.

  ‘Well, Jack, and where are you off to?’ said the man.

  ‘I’m going to market to sell our cow here.’

  ‘Oh, you look the proper sort of chap to sell cows,’ said the man; ‘I wonder if you know how many beans make five.’

  ‘Two in each hand and one in your mouth,’ says Jack, as sharp as a needle.

  ‘Right you are,’ says the man, ‘and here they are, the very beans themselves,’ he went on, pulling out of his pocket a number of strange-looking beans. ‘As you are so sharp,’ says he, ‘I don’t mind doing a swop with you—your cow for these beans.’

  ‘Go along,’ says Jack; ‘wouldn’t you like it?’

  ‘Ah! you don’t know what these beans are,’ said the man; ‘if you plant them overnight, by morning they grow right up to the sky.’

  ‘Really?’ said Jack; ‘you don’t say so.’

  ‘Yes, that is so, and if it doesn’t turn out to be true you can have your cow back.’

  ‘Right,’ says Jack, and hands him over Milky-white’s halter and pockets the beans.

  Back goes Jack home, and as he hadn’t gone very far it wasn’t dusk by the time he got to his door.

  ‘Back already, Jack?’ said his mother; ‘I see you haven’t got Milky-white, so you’ve sold her. How much did you get for her?’

  ‘You’ll never guess, mother,’ says Jack.

  ‘No, you don’t say so. Good boy! Five pounds, ten, fifteen, no, it can’t be twenty.’

  ‘I told you you couldn’t guess. What do you say to these beans; they’re magical, plant them overnight and—’

  ‘What!’ says Jack’s mother, ‘have you been such a fool, such a dolt, such an idiot, as to give away my Milky-white, the best milker in the parish, and prime beef to boot, for a set of paltry beans? Take that! Take that! Take that! And as for your precious beans here they go out of the window. And now off with you to bed. Not a sup shall you drink, and not a bite shall you swallow this very night.’

  So Jack went upstairs to his little room in the attic, and sad and sorry he was, to be sure, as much for his mother’s sake, as for the loss of his supper. At last he dropped off to sleep.

  When he woke up, the room looked so funny. The sun was shining into part of it, and yet all the rest was quite dark and shady. So Jack jumped up and dressed himself and went to the window. And what do you think he saw? Why, the beans his mother had thrown out of the window into the garden had sprung up into a big beanstalk which went up and up and up till it reached the sky. So the man spoke truth after all.

  The beanstalk grew up quite close past Jack’s window, so all he had to do was to open it and give a jump on to the beanstalk which ran up just like a big ladder. So Jack climbed, and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed till at last he reached the sky. And when he got there he found a long broad road going as straight as a dart. So he walked along and he walked along and he walked along till he came to a great big tall house, and on the doorstep there was a great big tall woman.

  ‘Good morning, mum,’ says Jack, quite polite-like. ‘Could you be so kind as to give me some breakfast?’ For he hadn’t had anything to eat, you know, the night before and was as hungry as a hunter.

  ‘It’s breakfast you want, is it?’ says the great big tall woman, ‘it’s breakfast you’ll be if you don’t move off from here. My man is an ogre and there’s nothing he likes better than boys broiled on toast. You’d better be moving on or he’ll soon be coming.’

  ‘Oh! please, mum, do give me something to eat, mum. I’ve had nothing to eat since yesterday morning, really and truly, mum,’ says Jack. ‘I may as well be broiled as die of hunger.’

  Well, the ogre’s wife was not half so bad after all. So she took Jack into the kitchen, and gave him a hunk of bread and cheese and a jug of milk. But Jack hadn’t half finished these when thump! thump! thump! the whole house began to tremble with the noise of someone coming.

  ‘Goodness gracious me! It’s my old man,’ said the ogre’s wife, ‘what on earth shall I do? Come along quick and jump in here.’ And she bundled Jack into the oven just as the ogre came in.

  He was a big one, to be sure. At his belt he had three calves strung up by the heels, and he unhooked them and threw them down on the table and said:

  ‘Here, wife, broil me a couple of these for breakfast. Ah! What’s this I smell?

  Fee-fi-fo-fum,

  I smell the blood of an Englishman.

  Be he alive, or be he dead,

  I’ll have his bones to grind my bread.’

  ‘Nonsense, dear,’ said his wife, ‘you’re dreaming. Or perhaps you smell the scraps of that little boy you liked so much for yesterday’s dinner. Here, you go and have a wash and tidy up, and by the time you come back your breakfast’ll be ready for you.’

  So off the ogre went, and Jack was just going to jump out of the oven and run away when the woman told him not. ‘Wait till he’s asleep,’ says she; ‘he always has a doze after breakfast.’

  Well, the ogre had his breakfast, and after that he goes to a big chest and takes out of it a couple of bags of gold, and down he sits and counts till at last his head began to nod and he began to snore till the whole house shook again.

  Then Jack crept out on tiptoe from his oven, and as he was passing the ogre he took one of the bags of gold under his arm, and off he pelters till he came to the beanstalk, and then he threw down the bag of gold, which of course fell into his mother’s garden, and then he climbed down and climbed down till at last he got home and told his mother and showed her the gold and said: ‘Well, mother, wasn’t I right about the beans? They are really magical, you see.’

  So they lived on the bag of gold for some time, but at last they came to the end of it, and Jack made up his mind to try his luck once more up at the top of the beanstalk. So one fine morning he rose up early, and got on to the beanstalk, and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed till at last he came out on to the road again and up to the great big tall house he had been to before.

  There, sure enough, was the great big tall woman a-standing on the doorstep.

  ‘Good morning, mum,’ says Jack, as bold as brass, ‘could you be so good as to give me something to eat?’

  ‘Go away, my boy,’ said the big tall woman, ‘or else my man will eat you up for breakfast. But aren’t you the youngster who came here once before? Do you know, that very day, my man missed one of his bags of gold.’

  ‘That’s strange, mum,’ said Jack, ‘I dare say I could tell you something about that, but I’m so hungry I can’t speak till I’ve had something to eat.’

  Well, the big tall woman was so curious that she took him in and gave him something to eat. But he had scarcely begun munching it as slowly as he could when thump! thump! thump! they heard the giant’s footstep, and his wife hid Jack away in the oven.

  All happened as it did before. In came the ogre as he did before, said: ‘Fee-fi-fo-fum,’ and had his breakfast of three broiled oxen. Then he said: ‘Wife, bring me the hen that lays the golden eggs.’ So she brought it, and the ogre said: ‘Lay,’ and it laid an egg all of gold. And then the ogre began to nod his head, and to snore till the house shook.

  Then Jack crept out of the oven on tiptoe and caught hold of the golden hen, and was off before you could say ‘Jack Robinson’. But this time the hen gave a cackle which woke the ogre, and just as Jack got out of the hous
e he heard him calling:

  ‘Wife, wife, what have you done with my golden hen?’

  And the wife said: ‘Why, my dear?’

  But that was all Jack heard, for he rushed off to the beanstalk and climbed down like a house on fire. And when he got home he showed his mother the wonderful hen, and said ‘Lay’ to it; and it laid a golden egg every time he said ‘Lay.’

  Well, Jack was not content, and it wasn’t very long before he determined to have another try at his luck up there at the top of the beanstalk. So one fine morning, he rose up early, and got on to the beanstalk, and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed and he climbed till he got to the top. But this time he knew better than to go straight to the ogre’s house. And when he got near it, he waited behind a bush till he saw the ogre’s wife come out with a pail to get some water, and then he crept into the house and got into the copper. He hadn’t been there long when he heard thump! thump! thump! as before, and in come the ogre and his wife.

  ‘Fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman,’ cried out the ogre. ‘I smell him, wife; I smell him.’

  ‘Do you, my dearie?’ says the ogre’s wife. ‘Then, if it’s that little rogue that stole your gold and the hen that laid the golden eggs he’s sure to have got into the oven.’ And they both rushed to the oven. But Jack wasn’t there, luckily, and the ogre’s wife said: ‘There you are again with your fee-fi-fo-fum. Why of course it’s the boy you caught last night that I’ve just broiled for your breakfast. How forgetful I am, and how careless you are not to know the difference between live and dead after all these years.’

  So the ogre sat down to the breakfast and ate it, but every now and then he would mutter: ‘Well, I could have sworn—’ and he’d get up and search the larder and the cupboards and everything, only, luckily, he didn’t think of the copper.

  After breakfast was over, the ogre called out, ‘Wife, wife, bring me my golden harp.’ So she brought it and put it on the table before him. Then he said: ‘Sing!’ and the golden harp sang most beautifully. And it went on singing till the ogre fell asleep, and commenced to snore like thunder.

  Then Jack lifted up the copper-lid very quietly and got down like a mouse and crept on hands and knees till he came to the table, when up he crawled, caught hold of the golden harp and dashed with it towards the door. But the harp called out quite loud: ‘Master! Master!’ and the ogre woke up just in time to see Jack running off with his harp.

  Jack ran as fast as he could, and the ogre came rushing after, and would soon have caught him only Jack had a start and dodged him a bit and knew where he was going. When he got to the beanstalk the ogre was not more than twenty yards away when suddenly he saw Jack disappear like, and when he came to the end of the road he saw Jack underneath climbing down for dear life. Well, the ogre didn’t like trusting himself to such a ladder, and he stood and waited, so Jack got another start.

  But just then the harp cried out: ‘Master! Master!’ and the ogre swung himself down on to the beanstalk, which shook with his weight. Down climbs Jack, and after him climbed the ogre. By this time Jack had climbed down and climbed down and climbed down till he was very nearly home. So he called out: ‘Mother! Mother! bring me an axe, bring me an axe.’ And his mother came rushing out with the axe in her hand, but when she came to the beanstalk she stood stock still with fright for there she saw the ogre with his legs just through the clouds.

  But Jack jumped down and got hold of the axe and gave a chop at the beanstalk which cut it half in two. The ogre felt the beanstalk shake and quiver so he stopped to see what was the matter. Then Jack gave another chop with the axe, and the beanstalk was cut in two and began to topple over. Then the ogre fell down and broke his crown, and the beanstalk came toppling after.

  Then Jack showed his mother his golden harp, and what with showing that and selling the golden eggs, Jack and his mother became very rich, and he married a great princess; and they lived happy ever after.

  Forgotten nursery rhymes

  Most of us associate nursery rhymes with faraway times and other countries. But in the nineteenth century and well into the twentieth, they continued to be an important part of growing up in Australia. There was a surge of interest in creating distinctively Australian rhymes and many writers as well as interested amateurs contributed their efforts to magazines and newspapers. Ethel Turner, author of the famed Seven Little Australians, came up with a number, including this one:

  Have you seen the cat of Dorothy Lee?

  The one she calls her Catty-Puss?

  If she’s proud of her pet, then what should I be?

  I’ve got a duck-billed Platypus.

  Some were dreadful, but many provide an insight into the times in which they were written.

  A couple of efforts relate to the gold rushes:

  Little Brown Betty lived under a pan,

  And brewed good ale for digger-men.

  Digger-men came every day,

  And little Brown Betty went hopping away.

  And:

  Little Tommy Drew

  Went to Wallaroo

  To search for a mine.

  He walked by the road

  And found a big load,

  And said, ‘What a rich man am I.’

  Not surprisingly for a country that owed much of its wealth to wool, many nationalistic nursery rhymes involved sheep:

  The man from Mungundi was counting sheep;

  He counted so many he went to sleep.

  He counted by threes and he counted by twos,

  The rams and the lambs and the wethers and ewes;

  He counted a thousand, a hundred and ten—

  And when he woke up he’d to count them again.

  These simple rhymes could even be made to serve a political purpose, as in the ‘Nursery rhyme for young squatters’:

  Baa baa squatter’s sheep

  Where is all the wool?

  Lost by the floods and drought,

  Save three bags full.

  One for the mortgagee

  And one for debts to meet;

  And one for the greedy boys

  Who rule Macquarie Street.

  Sydney also featured in one or two ditties:

  Johnny and Jane and Jack and Lou;

  Butler’s Stairs through Woolloomooloo;

  Woolloomooloo, and ’cross the Domain,

  Round the Block, and home again!

  Heigh, ho! Tipsy toe,

  Give us a kiss and away we go.

  A more ambitious treatment of children’s rhymes came from William Anderson Cawthorne, who provided an Australianised version of the classic ‘Who Killed Cock Robin?’

  Who killed Cockatoo?

  I, said the Mawpawk,

  With my tomahawk:

  I killed Cockatoo.

  Who saw him die?

  I, said the Opossum,

  From the gum-blossom:

  I saw him die.

  Who caught his blood?

  I, said the Lark,

  With this piece of bark:

  I caught his blood.

  Who’ll make his shroud?

  I, said the Eagle,

  With my thread and needle:

  I’ll make his shroud.

  Who’ll be chief mourner?

  I, said the Plover,

  For I was his lover:

  I’ll be chief mourner.

  Who’ll dig his grave?

  I, said the Wombat,

  My nails for my spade:

  I’ll dig his grave.

  Who’ll say a prayer?

  I, said the Magpie,

  My best I will try:

  I’ll say a prayer.

  Who’ll bear him to his tomb?

  I, said the Platypus,

  On my back, gently, thus:

  I’ll bear him to his tomb.

  Who’ll be the parson?

  I, said the Crow,

  Solemn and slow:

  I’ll be the parson.

  Who’ll carry the lin
k?

  I, said the Macaw,

  With my little paw:

  I’ll carry the link.

  Who’ll chant a psalm?

  I, said the Black Swan,

  I’ll sing his death song:

  I’ll chant a psalm.

  Who’ll watch in the night?

  I, said the Wild Dog,

  As he crept from a log:

  I’ll watch in the night.

  Who’ll toll the bell?

  I, said the Pelican,

  Again and again:

  I’ll toll the bell.

  Then droop’d every head,

  And ceas’d every song,

  As onward they sped,

  All mournful along.

  All join in a ring,

  With wing linking wing,

  And trilling and twittering,

  Around the grave sing:

  Alas! Cockatoo,

  How low cost thou lie;

  A long, sad adieu!

  A fond parting sigh!

  Not satisfied with one attempt, Cawthorne went on to pen a second instalment to the story:

  Then came the Wild Cat,

  And the bushy-tail Rat,

  With a squeak and a mew;

  While, in a hop,

  Up came, with a pop,

  The big Kangaroo.

  The Quail, and the Rail,

  Were there without fail;

  And the pretty Blue Wren,

  With master Emu,

  And screeching Curlew,

  From a beautiful glen.

  And the bird of the Mound,

  In Murray-scrub found,

  With its eggs in a row;

  And the Parrot with crest,

  In a green and blue vest,

  As grand as a beau.

  And the Lyre Bird, grand,

  That ne’er still will stand,

  Came in on tip-toe.

  And straw-colored Ibis,

  Once worshipped with Isis,

  Was present also.

  And the Bronze-winged Pigeon,

  And the roly fat Widgeon,

  From hill and from dell;

  And he that doth build

  A bower well filled

  With spangle and shell.

  Then flying very fast,

  Came Laughing Jackass,

  Hoo hoo hoo! ha ha ha!

  While he gobbled a snail,

  And wagged his big tail!