The Hymn of a Fed-up
p. 54 · Read in the full issue
Planter
(Sung to the tune of “Bless ’Em All.”) They say that New Guinea’s a very fine place— Oh, what a story to tell!
They must have been drunk when they first saw the place— It’s more like a corner in hell!
Anopheline skeeters they bite you all day, And all night they bite you as well; And your only safe bet is to crawl in your net, And sweat like a sinner in hell.
Swat some more, swat some more, The fat and the thick and the poor— Fill all the holes up and puncture the tins, Cover the craters and empty the bins.
We’re getting fed up with it all, As thousands more answer the call, We don’t want the fever —there is no reliever — So swat ho, me lads, swat ’em all!
They say that Brown Brother’s a very good bloke — Oh, what a story to tell!
He hasn’t the savvy to make one good stroke For the planter who lives in this hell.
He wanders about with his knife in his hand Thinking of meri and hut, It is only at night that the gent is in sight, When he dances and kais betel-nut.
Bless ’em all, bless ’em all.
The Sepik and Buin and all!
Bless all his brothers and sisters and kids— They’re not worth a pennypiece let alone quids, When monthly they’re handed their Pay “This man is a muggins,” they say.
They know nothing at all about con tracts and all — Maybe they’ll learn it some day.
They tell me the “policy’s” all very fine— Oh, what a story to tell!
It sets out the rations, and how they must dine, And instructs us in what we can sell.
There’s not an instruction on how they must work, Only pages of penalties, fines.
We can’t do a thing except blinkin’ well sing As we hand the tobac to the lines: Bless ’em all, bless ’em all — The long and the short and the tall!
Bless all the powers that blinkin’ well be, Bless the red tape and the great “policy”— For we’re saying goodbye to them all, As back to old UNO they crawl.
There’s no satisfaction before resurrection — So cheer up, my lads, bless ’em all!
—Paul Stewart.
New Guinea.