And well pondered too Drifter.
We must be nuts to live here.
But our saviour commeth... The Southerly Buster!
There was a song about it long ago I remember played on the grans' wind up gramophone, but can't find it anywhere now. All I remember is the last line.
Wheeeen the Southerly, Southerly, Southerly Buster coooooomes!
here's one for the melters down south. Hang in there.
From our arguably greatest bush poet.
Last two verses...
’Tis a glorious mission, Old Sydney’s Physician!
Broom, Bucket, and Cloth of the East,
’Tis a breeze and a sprayer that answers our prayer,
And it’s free to the greatest and least.
The red-lamp’s a warning to drought and its scorning—
A sign to the city at large—
Hence! Headache and Worry! Despondency hurry!
Old Southerly Buster’s in charge
Old Southerly Buster! your forces you muster
Where seldom a wind bloweth twice,
And your ‘white-caps’ have hint of the snow caps, and glint of
The far-away barriers of ice.
No wind the wide sea on can sing such a poean
Or do the great work that you do;
Our own wind and only, from seas wild and lonely—
Old Southerly Buster!—To you!
Henry Lawson
