John R NewlandAT THE SYDNEY Show & Tell meeting of December 2007 I showed a collection of C J Dennis books and some rather unique items in my possession. I am not all that much of a poet, but I do have a fascination for some of the earlier Australian poets who, in these current times, do not seem to be so well known as Henry Lawson, ‘Banjo’ Patterson and C J Dennis. This is a pity, that our early Australian poets have been overlooked; my English study curriculum for the 1951 Leaving Certificate course was restricted to English poets and essayists of the 19th century and, of course, a Shakespeare play.In 1973 my fiancée and I were browsing through a well-known bookshop in the Melbourne suburb of Prahran when we discovered a first edition of C J Dennis’ book The Moods of Ginger Mick. Various issues of some Australian books of the 1915–1920 era can be identified by the dates shown on the publisher’s adverts and reviews bound in at the rear of the book—in this case those of Angus and Robertson Ltd, 89 Castlereagh Street, Sydney, dated September 1916—and, yes, this appeared to be the first impression of the first edition.Turning to the front of the book to see the price, I found an inscription, “To my friend R.H. Croll with kind regards, [signed] C.J. Dennis, Melbourne, Oct. 13th 1916”, and another inscription, “To ‘Bob’ hoping the drawings within meet with his critical approval—Yours sincerely, Hal Gye [with a small caricature portrait of himself], 25/10/16”. Robert Henderson Croll was the author of the illustrated travel book Wide Horizons: Wanderings in Central Australia, published by Angus and Robertson in 1937, which is also in my possession and was shown at the meeting.But that wasn’t all: loosely inserted in the book were several pieces of folded paper. Unfolding these, I found: a book review published by The Sydney Morning Herald of 25 October 1916, a typewriitten four-line poem with a pencilled annotation, “Written by Den on the office blotting pad while waiting in the Lands Dept [Department]”, and a carbon copy of a three-page typewritten poem, The Battle of the Wazzir, bearing the signature in ink, ‘By C.J. Dennis’. The Battle of the Wazzir occurred in Cairo, where some Australian soldiers had visited a ‘doubtful establishment’ and contracted venereal disease. The Australian troops rioted, causing that local property to incur much damage. Publication of Dennis’ poem was restricted in order to ease Egyptian and Australian diplomatic relations. These poems and the Herald review are reproduced with this article.Another find, loosely inserted with the others, was a typewritten tribute to Ginger Mick written by ‘Tip’ Kellaher and published on 17 September 1942 in the Furphy Flyer, the Official Organ of the 2/24 Battalion. It is not known who typed ‘Tip’ Kellaher’s poem, but a footnote regarded him as “logical successor to Banjo Patterson”. This tribute was also published in 1942 in a book of poems by the Currawong Publishing Company of Sydney, The Digger Hat and Other Verses by ‘Tip’ Kellaher, with illustrations by C H Percival. This book is also in my possession.Although a fictitious character, Ginger Mick was ‘killed in action’ at Gallipoli; ‘Tip’ Kellaher was killed in action near El Alamein in 1942.Another of C J Dennis’ books shown by me at the meeting was a first edition of The Glugs of Gosh, also illustrated by Hal Gye. This copy has inscribed on its half-title: “Iris Brown with the Publishers Compts [Compliments]”. I cannot recollect how I came by this.But I do remember coming across a copy of The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke at a flea market. Although it was from an eighteenth impression of 3,000 copies printed at Sydney on 31st August 1919, this copy was no ordinary one, for spread across the front endpapers was a coloured pen and ink illustration signed by Hal Gye and dated 1957, with an inscription also by him of July 1957 to a “Dear Sally O’Brien”. These are also reproduced with this article.There came up for auction at a Sydney auction firm a first edition copy of The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke which was inscribed by C J Dennis, Hal Gye, Mr and Mrs J G Roberts (to whom the book was dedicated) and Henry Lawson, who wrote the Foreword. Small sized photographs of these people were also attached. Unfortunately, the bids far exceeded my modest ‘credit rating’. The half-title page to C J Dennis The Moods of Ginger Mick showing the inscriptions by the author and Hal Gye the illustrator to R H Croll. The coloured title page to C J Dennis The Moods of Ginger Mick, but reproduced here in greyscale monochrome. The illustrated dust wrapper to C J Dennis The Moods of Ginger Mick. The Illustration drawn by the a artist, Hal Gye, and the inscription penned by him in July 1957 to Sally O’Brienon the free endpaper of a 1919 printing of The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke.[nggallery id=12] Above:The coloured illustrated dust wrapper to C J Dennis The Glugs of Gosh, but reproduced here in greyscale monochorme.Right:The Publisher’s inscription to Miss Brown written on the half-title page.Reproduction of the book review published in the Herald on 25 October 1916.The Battle of the WazzirIf ole Pharaoh, King uv Egyp’s ‘ad been gazin’ on the sceneE’d ’ave give the A.I.F. a narsty nameWhen they done their little best to scrub ’is dirty Kingdom clean.An’ to shift ’is ancient ’eap uv sin an’ shame.An’ I’m tippin’ they’d ’ave phenyled ’im an’ rubbed it in ’is ’ead.But ole Pharoe, King uv Egyp’ ’e is dead.So yeh don’t ’ear much about it; an’ it isn’t meant yeh should,Since ’is Kingship wusn’t there to go orf pop.An’ this mishunery effort fer to make the ’eathen goodWus a contract that the fellers ’ad to drop.There wus other pressin’ matters so they ’ad to chuck the fun.But the Battle uv the Wazzir took the bun.Now, Ginger Mick ’e writes to me a long excited note,An’ ’e writes it in a whisper, so to speak,Fer I guess the Censor’s shadder wus across ’im as ’e wrote,An’ ’e ’ad to bottle things that musn,t leak.So I ain’t got orl the strength uv it; but sich as Ginger sendsI rejoice to decent English fer me friends.It wus.part their native carelessness, an’ part their native skite;Fer they kids themselves they know the Devil well,’avin’ met ’im, kind of casu’l on some wild Australian night—Wine an’ women at a secon’ rate ’otel.But the Devil of Australia ‘e’s a little woolly sheepTo the devils wot the desert children keep.So they mooches round the drink shops.* an’ the Wazzir took their eye,An’ they found ole Pharaoh’s: daughters pleasin’ Janes|;An’ they wouldn’t be Australian ’less they give the game a fly.An’ Egyp’ smiled an’ totted up ’is gains.’E doped their drinks, an’ breathed on them ’is aged evil breath.An’ more than one woke up to long fer death.When they wandered frum the newest an’ the cleanest land on earth,An’ the filth uv ages met ’em, it wus ’ard.Fer there may be sin an’ sorrer in the country uv their birth;But the dirt uv cenchuries ain’t in the yard.They wus children, playin’ wiv an asp, an’ never fearin’ it.An’ they took it very sore when they wus bit.First, they took the tales for furphys when they got around the camp.Uv a cove done in fer life wiv one night’s jagBut when the yarns grew ’ot an’ strong an bore the ’all-mark stamp,Uv dinkum oil, they waved the danger flag.An’ the shudder that a clean man feels when ’e’s su’prised wiv dirtGripped orl the camp real solid; an’ it ’urt.There wus Bill, frum up the Billabong, ’oo’s dearest love wus cow,An’ ’oo lived an’ fought, an’ acted clean.’E wus lately frum ’is mother wiv’er kiss wet on ’is. “brow;But they snared ’im in, an’ did ’im up reel mean.Fer young Bill wus gone a million, an’ ’e never guessed the game.Now ’e’s down in livin’ ’ell, an’ marked fer shame.An’ Bill wus only one of ’em to fall to Eastern sin:Ev’ry comp’ny ’ad a rotten tale to tell,An’ there must be somethin’ doin’ when the strength uv it sunk inTo a crowd that ain’t afraid to clean up ’ell.They wus game to take a gamble; but this dirt dealt to a mate,Well, it riled ’em; an’ they didn’t ’esitate.’Ave a seen a crowd ’uv fellers takin’ chanes on a game,Crackin’ ’ardy while they thought it on the square?’Ave yeh ’eard their ’owl uv anguish when they tumbled to the same,’avin’ found they wus the victims uv a snare?It wust jist that sort uv anger when they fell to Egyp’s stunt.An’, remember, they wus trainin’ fer the front.I ’ave notions uv the Wazzir. It’s as old as Pharaoh’s tomb;It’s as cunnin’ as the oldest imp in ’ell;An’ the game it plays uv lurin’ blokes, wiv love songs, to their doomWus begun when first a tart ’ad smiles to sell.An’ it stood thro’ the ages; an’ it might be standin’ stillIf it ’adn’t bumped a clean cove, name o’ Bill.An’ they done it like they done it when a word went to the pushThat a nark ’oo’d crooled a pal wus run to ground.They done like they done it when the blokes out in the bushPassed a telegraft that cops wus nosin’ round.There wus no one rung a fire-bell; but the tip wus passed about;An’ they fixed a night to clean the Wazzir out.Yes, I’ve notions uv the Wazzir. It’s been pilin’ up it’s dirt,Since it mated wiv the Devil in year One;An’ spawned a breed uv evil things to do a man a ’urtSince the lurk uv snarin’ innercents begun.But it’s an’ it’s cleaner since one wild an’ woolly nightWhen the little A.I.F. put up a fight.Now, it started wiv some ’orseplay. If the ’eads ’ad seen the look,Dead in earnest, that wus underneath the fun,They’d ’ave tumbled there wus something’ that wus more than commin’ crook.An’ ’ave Te stopped the game before it ’arf begun.But the fellers larfed like school-boys, tho’ they orl was more than narked.An’ they ’ad the well an’ truly marked.Frum a little crazy balkiney that clawed agin a wall,A chair come crashin’ down into the street;Then a woman’s frightened screamin’ give the sign to bounce the ball,An’ there come a sudden rush uv soldiers’ feet.There’s a glimpse uv frightened faces, as a door caved in an’ fell;An’ the Wazzir wus ’owlin’ screamin’ ’ell.Frum a winder ’igh above ’em there’s a bloke near seven feet,Waves a bit uv naked Egyp’ in the air.An’ there’s squealin’ an’ there’s shriekin’ as they chased ’em down the street.When they dug ’em out like ‘ rabbits from their lairThen down into the roadway gaudy ’ouse ’old gods come fast,An’ the Wazzir’s great Spring Cleanin’ starts at last.Frum the winders came the pianners an’ some giddy duchess pairs;An’ they piled ‘em on the roadway in the mire,An’ ’eaped ’em ’igh wiv fal-de-rals an’ pretty parlor chairs,Which they started in to purify wiv fire.Then the Redcaps come to argue, but they jist amused the mob;For the scavengers wus warmin’ ‘to their job.When the fire reels come to quell ’em — ’struth! — they ’ad no bloomin’ ’ope;For they cut the ’ose to ribbons in a jiff.An’ they called upon the drink-shops, and poured out their rotten dope,While the nigs ’oo didn’t run wus frightened stiff.An’ when orl wus done an’ over, an’ they wearied uv the strife,That old Wazzir’d ’ad the scourin’ uv it’s life.Now, ole Ginger ain’t quite candid; ’e don’t say where ’e cum inBut ’e mentions that ’e don’t get no C. B.,An’ ’e’s ’ad some pretty practice dodgin’ punishment fer sinDown in Spadger’s since ’is early infancySo I guess, if they went after ’im, they found ’im snug in bed;Fer ole Ginger ’as a real tactician’s ’ead.An’ ’e sez that when’e wandered down the Wazzir later onIt wus like a ’ome where ’cliness reposed;Fer its sinfulness wus ’idden, an’ its brazenness wus gone.An’ its doors, wiv proper modesty, wus closed.If a ’ead looked out a winder as they passed, it quick drew in,Fer the Wazzir wus a wowser, scared frum sin.If ole Pharaoh, King uv Egyp’ ’e ’ad lived to see the dayWhen they tidied up ’is ’eap uv shame an’ sin.Well, ’e mighter took it narsty, fer our fellers ’ave a wayUv completin’ any job that they begin.An’ they might’ave left ’is Kingship nursin’ gravel-rash in bed.But ole Pharoah, King uv Egyp’ is dead. Vol. 2 No. 63. “FURPHY FLYER” 17th September, 1942. (Official organ of the 2/24“GINGER MICK”By “Tip” KELAHER 2/2 MGsNow if a mortar cops me when the shells are falling thickI hope I’ll go where battlers go and meet old “Ginger Mick”.He’s the cove that Dennis wrote about who came and had a “go”On the rugged slopes of Anzac over twenty years ago.This “Mick” was dinkum Aussie and his mates were all the sameI hope they’ll come end greet me when the devil calls my name;For we’ll all have much in common ’spite of twenty years betweenThey will know the tracks I’ve travelled and the places where I’ve been.1 know I’ll mix with all those blokes—they’ll speak my language tooThey’ll talk of beer and fights and fun the way they used to do.We’ll all sit down and roll a smoke and yarn of this and that,Bulyeroi to Bendigo—from Bourke to Ballarat.But, “Ginger Mick”—I’m dreaming: For you’re here with us to-day:With a fag stuck in your hatband in the same old careless wayAnd “Lofty” Craig of Queensland is walking by my sideEating miles up like a camel with his lanky four-foot stride.And Little Smith of Collingwood—you bet he’s with us tooGiving cheek to Sergeant Majors in the way he used to do.There’s the bloke who wore pyjamas—Yes, the bloke who cleaned his teethAnd the chap who’s neat and natty with a polished bayonet sheath.I guess they’re much the same to-day as Diggers ever wereThey play up while on Cairo leave and drink and fight and swearThey’re considered hard to handle and they moan about the stewBut it’s “SEND THE BLOOMING ANZACS” when there’s dirty work to do!PERSONALITIES.TIP KELAHER, who wrote the above, is regarded as the logical successor to“BANJO PATSRSON”. I believe he was killed in action at ALEMEIN.
