A TRIBUTE to an OLD DROVER
Australia lost some more of her bush history, just the other day,
When an old outback drover named Ron Cody, sadly passed away.
A stranger to me, although I spoke to him on the phone one time,
After his son Bill asked me to put some of his Dad’s story into rhyme.
From Dandenong to Winton via Muranji and all country in between,
Ron saw many things of which blokes like me can only dream.
For his yarns I would have gladly paid a yearly subscription price,
Hearing about the old days and perhaps getting an old stockman’s advice.
These days many believe his was a romantic, easy way of living,
On the road with cattle, away for months in country most unforgiving.
No doubt he followed the tracks of legends, along the Muranji for one,
That hollow, empty ground where bullocks spook with the setting sun.
His later years weren’t easy caused by a shortness of breath,
Something that stayed with him right up until his death.
Perhaps caused by cigarettes or the choking air behind a mob,
Lungs filled with cattle dust, it was just part of the drover’s job.
He’s droving somewhere different now, where stock routes are full of grass,
And there’s always a friendly wave for the drovers as they pass.
There is no more riding watch at night! No, it’s yarns around the fire,
The bullocks they just feed about as though held in by strands of wire.
Let Ron’s passing not go unnoticed outside the boundaries of Winton town,
Cattlemen one of our own has gone, so fill a glass and throw it down.
Let’s drink to the days of the drovers, when cattle walked Australia
When Queensland Kimberley
The feats of the past are misunderstood except by some still in the game,
Many of these men were pioneers but history does not record their name.
Ron Cody may you Rest in Peace, may the horses you ride be good,
And may I say you lived the life that I dreamt of while in my childhood.
Sleep easy Ron!
Ron Cody went to new stock routes on Friday September 24th 2010 .
© Corin Linch 28/9/2010
Below is the first poem I wrote about Ron at his son bill's request.
FROM DANDENONG to WINTON via the MURANJI TRACK
The STORY of RON CODY a Drover
I was looking at an old faded photo of a drover from yesteryear,
Thinking I’d like to meet him and maybe with him share a beer,
Sit down by a camp fire and listen to the droving stories he had to tell,
How early in the morning he’d listen for the sound of a Condamine bell.
“That’s Ron Cody” someone said “you most likely don’t know his name,
Lives in Winton now, born in ’26, long retired from the droving game.”
He was brought up on a Dandenong dairy; he enjoyed life on the land,
Left school at thirteen and while milking his working future he planned.
Fifteen bob a week was his wage, but he thought of Australia
So saying `Goodbye` to his mother for Brisbane
On good advice he headed west, arriving in Cloncurry in 1941
He’d been assured there’d be work on one of the big stock runs.
He got a job with Fred Quinlan droving 10,000 wethers to Julia Creek
It was a hard life for a lad that only had a fifteen year old physique.
Then the stock camp at Alcala; George Cummins and bullocks on the road,
A tough life for a kid but a good grounding and in his later life it showed.
Nugget Quinlan was buying horses for Vesty’s; they had to go to Waterloo
Ron signed up for the trip and became a part of Nugget’s crew.
They spent some time breaking in before they could get under way,
A total mob of four hundred horses, something you won’t see today.
The trip would take nineteen weeks, doing eight to ten mile a day,
A day’s duration depended on the conditions they found along the way.
From the ‘Curry to Wave Hill, via Newcastle
There among the Bulwaddy and Lancewood the bodies of dead men lie.
Men killed riding night watch while trying to stop a mad stampede,
It was no place for the faint hearted, on that all drovers are agreed.
The hollow ground of the Muranji would often gave the stock a fright,
No fences then in that country, they had to watch ‘em close at night.
Some men got crook with Yellow Fever the mob got held up four days,
But no worries to Nugget, there was no hurry, and he was used to delays.
It was all good experience, although it was experience hard earned,
But lessons taught the hard way are never forgotten once learned.
Ron stayed on with Nugget sometimes working in the camp at Waterloo
Or on the road to Wyndham with bullocks, helping to see them through.
Moving on, 1946 found him at Avon, ’47 at Alexandria
Working throughout Australia
As a horse tailor he went with Arthur Parker for five pound a week,
All the time learning about stock and the correct droving technique.
Bringing mobs into Winton he spent 22 weeks straight on the road,
It was all packhorses back in ’48, no trucks then to carry their load.
Around the age of 22, Ron met the woman, who was to be his wife,
But the call of the road was strong and he continued with the droving life.
He got a job with Pat Fogarty and was `Foges` horse tailor for a while,
As fat bullocks fed and walked the road to railheads, mile after dusty mile.
Things changed in nineteen fifty-six he got his own droving plant together,
Ron walked Kidman cattle to Winton through all types of weather.
Again things changed in the sixties, road transport became all the go,
And walking cattle to the rail heads was considered by many far to slow.
With trucks and a severe drought it seemed the drovers days were at an end,
So in nineteen sixty-three he sold his plant to Jack Stead a droving friend.
But over the years he made many mates on the stations near and far,
Now he swapped the bridle rein for a shovel, pliers and crowbar.
On Cork
And while tying wires or yard building he dreamed of his old lifestyle.
Walking and feeding cattle by day and watching them in shifts at night,
Singing quietly to the bullocks in the hope that none took fright.
Some names are legendary, perhaps some undeserving of their fame,
Now when the talk turns to drovers, be sure to mention Ron Cody’s name.
Because these men who walked the cattle where a special breed of men,
And sadly in this twenty first century we’ll never see their like again.
Theirs was a lonely vigil riding watch on the herd at night,
Beneath the open sky and stars, far from the cities neon light.
These men were my childhood heroes and they still are today,
Crossing a virgin country where now is a bitumen highway.
© Corin Linch 4/2/2010
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