Josna Rege

265. Swagmen

In Books, Childhood, Inter/Transnational, Music, Stories, travel, Work on April 22, 2014 at 10:38 pm

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Sheoak Sam, by George Washington Lambert, 1989

Sheoak Sam, by George Washington Lambert, 1989

As I travel in comfort, holding a train ticket, carrying a London Transport Oystercard (the world is your oyster?), pulling a neatly zippered suitcase on wheels, met and picked up by family in cars, I think of the many people who have no homes and no safety net and must continually move on from place to place exposed to the elements, dodging the law, carrying all their worldly belonging on their backs. They have been called by various names: bums, tramps, hobos, travelers, and swagmen.

Swagman-1Swagmen, as they are known in Australia and New Zealand, are an underclass of transient temporary workers who travel on foot from farm to farm, carrying their swags, or portable bedding, on their backs. There are numerous ballads featuring the swagman, most famously Waltzing Matilda, which is sometimes known as Australia’s unofficial national anthem. Here’s the tune I learned, but here is another, which may be the original. The swagman has been romanticized and become an iconic folk figure, as has the hobo in the United States, riding the boxcars in the era of the railroad. But in reality, the homeless life was not so romantic for the lonely men who had to live it. Read a moving post on the hard-traveling, (not-so-) Jolly Swagman on the Western Australian website, Words From the Dust.

If you’re of a mind to listen to some songs celebrating the life of the swagman, traveler, or hobo, try Harry McClintock’s Big Rock Candy Mountain, Shankar Jaikishan and Shailendra’s Mera Joota hai Japani from Raj Kapoor’s 1955 film Shri 420, Roger Miller’s King of the Road, Tom Paxton’s Rambling Boy, and John Prine’s The Hobo Song. [Note that all these songs are sung by men about men: today, women and children are swelling the ranks of the homeless in greater numbers.]

Aside from “Waltzing Matilda,” the other place I first encountered the figure of the swagman was in Norman Lindsay’s comic classic, The Magic Pudding, one of the favorite books of my childhood, given to us by Australian friends whom we had met in Greece. It too romanticized the traveling life, rejecting even the swag as too burdensome. In it, Bunyip Bluegum, the fastidious and well-bred hero, takes to the open road soon encountering and casting in his lot with two unlikely friends, Sam Sawnoff, the Penguin Bold and Bill Barnacle the sailor. But when our hero first leaves home he cannot decide “whether to be a Traveller or a Swagman,” and must consult the poet Egbert Rumpus Bumpus. Here is the poet’s response (duh), and his subsequent pearls of wisdom for the young bunyip:

gs009‘As you’ve no bags it’s plain to see
A traveller you cannot be;
And as a swag you haven’t either
You cannot be a swagman neither.
For travellers must carry bags,
And swagmen have to hump their swags
Like bottle-ohs or ragmen.
As you have neither swag nor bag
You must remain a simple wag,
And not a swag- or bagman.’

‘Dear me,’ said Bunyip Bluegum, ‘I never thought of that. What must I do in order to see the world without carrying swags or bags?’

The Poet thought deeply, put on his eyeglass, and said impressively—

gs012‘Take my advice, don’t carry bags,
For bags are just as bad as swags;
They’re never made to measure.
To see the world, your simple trick
Is but to take a walking-stick
Assume an air of pleasure,
And tell the people near and far
You stroll about because you are
A Gentleman of Leisure.’

‘You have solved the problem,’ said Bunyip Bluegum, and, wringing his friend’s hand, he ran straight home, took his Uncle’s walking-stick, and assuming an air of pleasure, set off to see the world.

                                  from The Magic Pudding (full-text with illustrations, Project Gutenberg)

Tomorrow is another day, when I shall arise and, assuming an air of pleasure, take to the open road. For tonight, signing off with the haunting Hobo’s Lullaby, by Woody Guthrie.

Down on his luck (Frederick McCubbin, 1889)

Down on his luck (Frederick McCubbin, 1889)

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264. Railways, Real and Imagined

In 2010s, Books, Britain, Family, India, Inter/Transnational, Music, people, places, reading on April 22, 2014 at 4:30 am

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The other day, racing to catch a close-up of a Severn Valley Railway train brought back all the romance of steam trains. The best ones were taken by Paul, who ran full-tilt up a steep slope to get to the station in time. Today, as I ride the Weymouth train to Bristol from Worcester (UK), looking out on fields of newborn lambs, leafing trees stacked with old rooks’ nests, here and there a church or an iron-roofed shed, horses grazing and hedges in bloom, I realize that although I take every chance I can to actually travel by train, the railway has figured most of all in my imagination.

Over the years I have ridden the rails in India, England, and the United States, but the romance of the railway has been instilled in me through fiction, poetry, film, and, most of all, song.

Railway-ChildrenAs a child, my favorite work of railway fiction had to be E. Nesbit’s The Railway Children, in which a family of children and their mother, left alone when their father is taken away by the police, have to remove from their middle-class surroundings to an old cottage by a railway line and are left to their own devices whilst their mother works for a living. The railway fills their days and eventually the railway saves the day.

A favorite among railway poems is T.S. Eliot’s Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat. The rhythm is the thing: try reading it out loud all the way through.

As soon as I associate railway and film I think of Satyajit Ray’s painfully beautiful Pather Panchali. Here’s the unforgettable train scene in it.

When it comes to train songs, dozens rush to mind, most of them American folk songs. When Nikhil was a baby I’d sing him one after another at bedtime. I can’t think of just one, but some of my favorites are  The Old 97, The Wabash Cannonball, Down in the Valley (Birmingham Jail), and Freight Train Boogie. For a couple that may not be among the usual suspects, here are Robert Johnson’s Love in Vain and The Who’s 5:15.


But as memorable as the journeys themselves have been, and however much I’ve been caught up in the romance of the railway, the train trips I remember most fondly have had destinations: beloved friends and family. In the end, the best thing about the railways for me is the people whom they take me to meet.

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263. Quiet

In Inter/Transnational, Nature, Stories, travel on April 20, 2014 at 4:46 am


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Sometimes it’s best to be quiet, best simply to be.

During this month of traveling, between the endless security checks at airports, the efforts to make oneself understood in a new language, the encounters and introductions, and the excited reunions with old friends and relations, there have been interludes of quiet.

This morning is one such blessed time. Outside my window, under an overcast sky, a breeze freshens the leaves and branches of the tall garden hedge, setting them all astir. A fine rain slants down like grace.

Today, instead of more words, I offer images. Wishing you peace, and the quiet through which renewal can arise.






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