THE STRANGER’ S FRIEND

The strangest things, and the maddest things, that a man can do or say,

To the chaps and fellers and coves Out Back are matters of every day;

Maybe on account of the lives they lead, or the life that their hearts discard —

But never a fool can be too mad or a‘ hard case’ be too hard.

I met him in Bourke in the Union days — with which we have nought to do

( Their creed was narrow, their methods crude, but they stuck to‘ the cause’ like glue ).

He came into town from the Lost Soul Run for his grim half-yearly‘ bend,’

And because of a curious hobby he had, he was known as‘ The Stranger’ s Friend.’

It is true to the region of adjectives when I say that the spree was‘ grim,’

For to go on the spree was a sacred rite, or a heathen rite, to him,

To shout for the travellers passing through to the land where the lost soul bakes —

Till they all seemed devils of different breeds, and his pockets were filled with snakes.

In the joyful mood, in the solemn mood — in his cynical stages too —

In the maudlin stage, in the fighting stage, in the stage when all was blue —

From the joyful hour when his spree commenced, right through to the awful end,

He never lost grip of his‘ fixed idee’ that he was the Stranger’ s Friend.

And the chaps and the fellers would speculate — by way of a ghastly joke —

As to who’ d be caught by the‘ jim-jams’ first?— the Friend or the hard-up bloke?

And the‘ Joker’ would say that there wasn’ t a doubt as to who’ d be damned in the end,

When the Devil got hold of a hard-up bloke in the shape of the Stranger’ s Friend.

It mattered not to the Stranger’ s Friend what the rest might say or think,

He always held that the hard-up state was due to the curse of drink,

To the evils of cards, and of company:‘ But a young cove’ s built that way,

And I was a bloomin’ fool meself when I started out,’ he’ d say.

At the end of the spree, in clean white‘ moles,’ clean-shaven, and cool as ice,

He’ d give the stranger a‘ bob’ or two, and some straight Out Back advice;

Then he’ d tramp away for the Lost Soul Run, where the hot dust rose like smoke,

Having done his duty to all mankind, for he’ d‘ stuck to a hard-up bloke.’