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The Carrier

Edward S. Sorenson

A family man was Gripp, whose home
    Was where his fire was burning,
Upon the high road to the Frome,
    Or ‘long the track returning:
And in and out in damp and drought
    The family shifted gaily,
With twenty miles or thereabout
    To move the dunnage daily.

With creaking wheels and jangling chains,
    Out from the Darling River,
I saw him creeping o’er the plains
    In haze that seemed to shiver,
Where little creeks, though tiny streaks,
    Were rough on bars and traces,
And roly-polies rolled for weeks
    Across the open spaces.

I saw him when his day’s long tramp
    On towards the lake was over,
And there were fowls about the camp,
    A tabby cat, and Rover;
A goat he flayed by tents arrayed
    To shelter saint and sinner,
Whilst ‘neath the trees the children played,
    And Mother cooked the dinner.

For them it was the Gipsy road
    Across wide plains extending,
And ever with a waggon-load,
    And picnics never ending,
Where bells below rang to and fro
    Among the trees adorning,
Until the travelled rooster’s crow
    Announced the break of morning.

Then harnessed he the team, with Don,
    His small but useful ally.
Whilst Nellie milked the goats upon
    The grass behind the galley.
With breakfast braced, soon Mum was placed
    Aboard with baby Willy;
The teamster’s cob with Don was graced,
    And Nellie strode the filly.

Spare horses, kids, and nanny-goats
    Were rounded up to follow;
A long array in shaggy coats
    They trailed o’er hill and hollow,
Whilst cooped-in fowls, like roosting owls,
    Swung underneath the decking,
And Rover helped with nips and growls
    To keep the laggards trekking.

Day after day he travelled on,
    High-piled with stores and rations,
Returning when the goal was won
  With wool from far-out stations;
And then, maybe, his family
    Would taste the sweets of dwelling
Hard by Wilcannia town a wee,
    Whilst weary nags were spelling.

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