OLD BILLY—battered, brown and black
With many days of camping,
Companion of the bulging sack,
And friend in all our tramping:
How often on the Friday night—
Your cubic measure testing—
With jam and tea we stuffed you tight
Before we started nesting!
How often, in the moonlight pale,
Through gums and gullies toiling,
We’ve been the first the hill to scale,
The first to watch you boiling;
When at the lane the tent was spread
The silver wattle under,
And early shafts of rosy red
Cleft sea-born mists asunder!
And so, old Billy, you recall
A host of sun-burnt faces,
And bring us back again to all
The best of camping places.
True flavour of the bush you bear,
Of camp and its surrounding,
Of freedom and of open air,
Of healthy life abounding.
You bring us more—with those we love
We watched you boil and bubble,
And in the sunny skies above
Forgot each schoolboy trouble
So not without a kindly glance
We eye you in the study,
Although you’ve met with some mischance,
Although you’re black and muddy!
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Comments
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We still get 'Billy Tea' I love the rhythm of this poem, it suits the memories of childhood on the cusp of adulthood. It's a good poem and, surprisingly, it doesn't have the characteristic 'hiccup' that the author's poems generally have.
It takes me back to many hikes with my trusty black Billy. -
Ah the billy! Who would have thought that a tin with a handle could have been one of the MOST necessary items in a man's pack. Still used today (I have one) - the black muddy ones were considered to make the very best cup of tea. The first mass produced packs of Tea were called 'Billy Tea' (brand name) and there is an art to making a cuppa in the traditional way.
I like this tribute to a battered old tin.
~Von~
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