Gang-gang: Tomahawks at Tuggranong

Back to this, to our Eurovision vision, in a moment. But first, down the coast to Shoalhaven Heads where bird authority and witty and accomplished photographer Geoffrey Dabb has just been struck by the relative aplomb with which pelicans manage to stand on lamps.

He praises them as birds that have somehow evolved to be "Lampgrippers" even though for millions of years they had no man-made lamps to learn to grip. This pelican is gripping, with spectacular feet, a flashing light installed at Shoalhaven Heads to help small boats find the boat ramp. Look at the contrast between the great, prehistoric, leathery feet (they could almost belong to a pterodactyl!) and the sophisticated 21st century device they're gripping.

But back to shearing at Cuppacumbalong and to dreams of Eurovision, by a circuitous route that begins with the question what does it mean to "tomahawk" something? Did the parliamentary Liberal Party begin on Monday to "tomahawk" its leader? When, inevitably (long before the next election and to national rejoicing) it chops him out of its leadership, will it have "tomahawked" him?

No, the olde word's meaning is not as violent and is more interesting than that. Are you sitting comfortably? Then we begin by reminding readers of how Wednesday's column rejoiced at the frabjous news of a grand donation to the Hall School Museum. It has been given the entire collections (125 boxes of them!) of the papers and objects amassed by the towering historian of early Canberra, the late Lyall Gillespie (1919-2006).

In passing we mused that it was typical of Gillespie's obsessive thoroughness in researching and chronicling early Canberra that he even fossicked for, collected and published (one of his many books) his Early Verse of the Canberra Region.

This collection of obscurities and curious even includes two poems (one written in 1895 the other in 1915) about Tuggranong. We marvelled, smart arsedly, that somewhere so wondrous as ancient pastoral and now modern suburban Tuggranong/Tuggeranong had not inspired more poets.

Now Lyndal Thorburn alerts us to the fact that "There is at least one, much earlier [than the two quoted on Wednesday] poem that mentions Tuggeranong, and indeed other locations in the region - Cuppacumbalong and Queanbeyan, to be exact."

"The poem in question is called The Shearing at Cuppacumbalong and it was published in the Queanbeyan Age in 1876.

"Local singer/songwriter Tom Jordan (who happens to be my husband - we, plus our daughter, are members of local folk group Hither and Yon) has set this to music. I have attached a copy of his music and a recording of Tom singing two of the verses - unfortunately we haven't made a proper full-song recording yet, but the song itself had its World Premiere at a private music party in Chapman last month, to an appreciative audience (we say)."

Yes, the recording is really rather cute (albeit a little too Slim Dustyish for our taste) and perhaps, warbling it to the world, Hither and Yon might represent us in our Eurovision debut.

Now, the olde 1876 verse turns out to be a cheerful, rollicking ballad narrated by a top shearer of our sheepish region. He describes the shearers' work and boasts about being the star shearer (steady-paced but immaculately thorough, never nicking his grateful sheep) at Cuppacumbalong and Tuggranong. And, handsomely paid for being so brilliant, he offers to shout us all some "social nobblers" at the bar at Land's hotel in Queanbeyan. One of the long ballad's many verses goeth like this:

Before I tells my story, if you asks me who I are, I'm the shearer from the Billybong who never called for tar: And on this first occasion I came out very strong, Stripping off the fleeces at Cuppacumbalong. Good shearing there, you bet - no man might tomahawk; For if he did, he got the sack, and from the shed might walk.

Lyndal Thorburn reports that "I inquired of the Australian National Dictionary Centre the meaning of the "no man might tomahawk" phrase. It turns out to mean, apparently, to roughly shear a sheep - so they must have been a caring and well-mannered lot, looking after their animals."

Indeed, another RSPCA-pleasing verse of the ballad has the narrator lobbying for roomier sheds so that sheep are able to shelter when it rains.

This long-lost 1876 concept, to tomahawk, is so lovely and so evocative that we really must rehabilitate it. Men visiting their barber might request him not to tomahawk their heads. Gardeners should take care to painstakingly prune, not just frenziedly tomahawk, their roses. My writing always needs trimming but I do hope that between my writing of this column and its publication here, sub editors haven't tomahawked it.