I had written him a letter which I had for want of better knowledge sent to where I met him down the Loughlin years ago.
He was shearing when I knew him so I sent the letter to him just on spec addressed as follows, glancy of the overflow.
And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected and I think the same was written with a thumbnail dipped in tar.
It was his shearing mate who wrote it and verbatim I will quote it, glancy's gone to Queensland rolling and we don't know where he are.
In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me a glancy gone a-droving.
Down the cooper where the western drovers go.
As the stock are slowly springing glancy rides behind them singing.
For the drover's life is pleasures that the town folk never know.
And the bush has friends to meet him and their kindly voices greet him.
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars.
And he sees the vision splendid of the sun.
And the sunlit plains extended and at night the wondrous glory of the everlasting stars.
And in place of lowing cattle I can hear the fiendish rattle of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street.
And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.
And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.
And the hurrying people daunt me and their pallid faces haunt me.
As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste.
With their eager eyes and greedy and their stunted forms and weedy.
For town folk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.
And I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to change with clancy.
Like to take a turn a-droving.
Where the seasons come and go.
While he faced the round eternal of the cash book and the journal.
But I doubt he'd soothe the office, clancy of the overflow.
In my wild erratic fancy, visions come to me of clancy.
Gone a-droving down the cooper, where the western drovers go.
As the stock are slowly stringing, clancy rides behind them.

Singing, for the drover's life has pleasures that the town folk never know.