Words & Music: Pat Drummond (3.55)
For Philomena Drummond Nee Chaumont 1916-1990
Poet, storyteller, wife, mother, mentor and
Dateline... Croydon, NSW
She's so old now she creaks when she walks;
and her voice is kind of crackly now when she
But she's got more stories than you've ever
and her grandchildren hang onto every word.
Of ponies that bolted and farms that went bad;
of people who shared of what little they had;
of a different time and a different world;
of things she got up to as a slip of a girl.
Chorus: Grab a cup of tea from that old tin
She's going to feed your friends whether they
want it or not.
And her memory is like a window in time; you
can see to 1929.
How long has it been since you've seen your
world out of Grandma's eyes?
Tales of laughter and stories of tears.
The one about the jollop in the policeman's
Running away to Surfers' Paradise,
before the high rise buildings blotted out
If you bring a girl home, it's true without
all of her best china cups will come out
and the afternoon will drift away
in fabulous stories and lamington cakes.
Orchards in Orange and farms up in Forbes;
the times in the bush between the two World
There's a girl inside with a wonderful smile,
jet black hair and acres of style and
I can her see her waving to me out of Grandma's
Back To Laughter Like a Shield tracklist/ Back to Pat Drummond Homepage / Back To The Chess
- My mother and father were always great storytellers.
Country people, exiled to the city by history and circumstance,
they bequeathed to their children, through the tales they told,
a sense of pride and place. A cup of tea, a yarn, and a political
debate around our dining room table could, and did, last for
hours. Against the backdrop of Basin Mountain, Forbes Lagoon
and The Bonewood Scrub, a bizarre cast of characters, with names
like 'Wormy Wright','The Carbine Heifer',and 'Old Tarnation';
creatures far too fantastic for mere invention; lived out lives
of hardship and high adventure. They were, to my brothers and
I, stories of a foreign world; a place inhabited by aunts and
uncles we had never met, and by dangerous creatures and fabulous
sights that we had never seen. But they were also, for city kids,
a tenuous link to 'The Bush'; that fantastic place of myth and
legend; of snakes, crocodiles, horsemen, shearers and beer; which
existed somewhere west of Strathfield, in the uncharted lands
of a suburban childs' imagination.