(These were hastily written at the 2016-17 Gulgong Folk Festival following the performance of a jingoistic ‘patriotic Australian’ song by a couple of Irish immigrants in the Commercial Hotel. The performance concluded with the modified Nazi salute beloved of the flag-wearing ratbags who now infest every ‘patriotic’ occasion from Anzac Day to Australia Day; from Christmas to the cricket. Worse still, it was greeted with roars of approval from the miners (it’s ‘their pub’ these days) who, from what I saw, are anti-everything old Gulgong. I can remember standing with my old friend, ex shearer, union delegate – and later, farmer – the late Lennie Norris, handing out how-to-votes during an election. He turned to me and sadly said: “I never thought I’d live to see coalminers votin’ for the National Party.” Incidentally, the Commercial has a footpath sign that reads. “Workies Hour Thursday, 5.00 to 6.00 pm (it may be 5.30 to 6.30 but the rest is accurate). Presumably the rest of Gulgong’s residents are not workies. Does this mean that older residents on pensions are not welcome either?
The new immigrants
To think in our Australia
(The thought has my head a-swimmin’)
There’s blokes thinks it’s patriotic
To spit on Muslim women.
‘What about the workers?’ indeed, sir.
The pub of which I’ve spoke before,
It boasts a “Workies Hour”;
Each Thursday between 5 and 6,
It turned my stomach sour.
Is that where they go on Thursdays,
To spend their pay like nobs;
And gripe about the Muslims,
Who’ve taken all their jobs?
Where’s your flamin’ mateship gone,
The battlers of this world;
The Saleems and the Flanagans,
With the workers’ flag unfurled?
But you know what gets me boilin’
What really gets my goat?
You let that snide prick Murdoch,
Tell you how to vote.