KOSCIUSZKO HUTS ASSOCIATION

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On a mountain bleak, in Monaro,

Bypsssed by the tourist trade,

To me there's magic in the word,
Be it scats, poo, crap or turd.

As you pound along the track

With eye well out and ears pinned back

So we snared an old man Wombat

And we tied him to a pole

PDF scan of the publication of this poem in the 1980 Cooma Monaro Express.

To ride those hills and valleys
Where once I used to roam

Emily McGufficke (Handwritten)

In 1918 at a picture Theatre in (?Cosmo)

Gladys and I was there and at the interval Banjo (sic) Paterson was asked to come on the stage & he told the audience that the poem 'The Man From Snowy River' was a tribute to the riders of the mountains, not just  'one particlar (sic) man'

 

"I'm looking for a wife," he said

"And there's plenty I can give

Sad captive now, her stumbling fettered feet,

No longer free to dance the hours away.

MOTHER SNOWY, LIVE OR DIE???

(AN OPEN LETTER TO THE POLITICIANS WHO LIED)

Oh! hurry little river,

How you prattle, how you quiver,

FROM THE RECOLLECTIONS OF OSSIE & DON WELLSMORE

THE DAY THE FIRES CAME 1939.