- bush tea
With my swag all on my shoulder
Black billy in my hand
I travelled the bush of Australia
(With my Swag upon my Shoulder)
The old black billy has, for many years been part of my life, both at work and play.
We'd brew the tea for lunch when working out in the bush and often accompanied by wife and kids. Great stuff.
And bushwalks weren't 'bushwalks' without the billy.
- my trusted billy(s)
Billies were and still are messy things when used on the good old camp fire, and yet there's nothing quite like a cup of billy tea. (Not 'smokey old fire tea' though.)
When I married, our honeymoon was spread about the highlands of Tassie.
My wife reminded me when I started writing this, of her toils as a brand new wife of just a few days, of making billy bags for our escape to that vast interior of Tasmania.
It was on the floor of our newly acquired house, no table, sewing machine straight on the floor! Oops!! I'd forgotten that event!
Tales of Billy Life probably really started there.
I'd go bush for a weekend or so and return with all my gear in various states of cleanliness.
I always tried to clean the billies in the scrub, gravel, sandy riverbeds make great cleansers but probably unacceptable in today’s ways.
But there were times when it would be the laundry sink and I guess that often left a residue that guess who would clean up!
The billy is a great container for putting food in with a hefty log or stones at night to protect it from the marauding devils, quolls etc.
They provide a means to collect water from difficult locations. Lowered or swung on a rope suitably weighted with a stone, into an inaccessible creek or lake and dragged back up to dry land.
These days the fire has been replaced with trusty Trangia and yet the billy survives but in a cleaner environ.
The billy with spout was my parents. I didn't take that bush.
I reckon there's many that can relate to this true blue Aussie icon and the memories they bring back.
Cold, frosty starry nights, flames sending eerie shadows across the landscape, sparks shooting into the night sky.
Conversations were limited for me - mainly had myself to talk to. Once our kids were old enough then that obviously changed and we had many a delightful yarn and of course it wasn't a campfire for them without billy tea or hot choc and marshmallows.
Another association with billies is the burning of different wood that would bring interesting aromas to the fore. The scent of King Billy is heavenly.
Then there's the smell that lingers. It’s an aroma that nothing matches. To me it’s a clean beautiful aroma intertwined with pleasant memories.
I was surprised my daughter remarked on that when I talked to her about 'bushwalking with children'.
Poems and ballads go before us
I've humped my bluey in all the states
With my old black billy the best of mates;
For years I've camped and toiled and tramped
Over roads that are rough and hilly;
with my highly sensible indispensable,
Old Black Billy
Chorus:
My old black billy, my old black billy;
whether the wind is warm or chilly,
I al-ways find when shadows fall,
My old black bill-y's the best mate of all!
I've carried my swag on the parched Paroo,
Where water is scarce and the houses few:
On many a track on the great outback,
Where the heat would drive you silly;
I've carried my sensible, indispensable,
Old Black billy.
When my tramping days are o'er.
And I drop my swag at the Golden Door,
Saint Peter will stare when he sees me there,
Then he'll say, "Poor wandering Willie,
Come in with your sensible, indispensable,
Old Black Billy."
Words: Edward Harrington.
