I was dreaming in the Wolgan
On a lazy, hazy day,
When I thought I heard the whistle
Of a lonely, ghostly Shay
She was roaring up the canyon,
With a melancholy wail,
Heading for the Junction
With a load of Newnes shale.
Old No.4 was moaning,
A ‘clanking through the glade,
Her side winders a‘groaning,
On the 1 in 25 grade.
Jummer Edwards had the echoes ringing
While Billy Tack was heaving coal,
And the pop-valves were a singing
When they reached the first rat-hole.
They were dreaming of the pint pots,
Of the foaming Terry’s Ale,
Before they turned into their cots,
Ah - that bar room in the vale,
When the Newnes Hotel was ringing
With the miners’ lusty roars,
And the dingoes lonely singing,
Echoed through the gaps and draws.
They’ve all gone from the valley,
Even the rusty, silent Shays,
So there’s no need now to dally,
We’ve only memories these days,
But still on clear, cold nights,
When the moon is bright, they say,
You can hear her whistle for the lights,
Just a lonely ghostly Shay.
Music Score to be added
No comments:
Post a Comment