Songs for France House – Henry Danvers

Henry Danvers: This is a song that I put together when we had the do at the Eskdale Hall, and we dedicated the clock that the France House boys donated to the Hall. It’s sung by Henry Danvers, and accompaniment by Alan Payne.

[Guitar and singing]

Now I’ve got a little ditty that I’d love to sing to you

’Bout the times we had at France House and the things that we would do

I’m not much on a microphone and I haven’t got a point

But you the patient audience, you haven’t got much choice

Baldy Shaw, oh Baldy Shaw, I really did love you

When you caught us pinching fruit, I tell you what he’d do

He’d cuff us with his big right hand and if you’d hesitate

He’d bring right up his No 9 and kick you in the date

Mrs Shaw, oh Mrs Shaw, her boobs hung to her knees

She tore around round-shouldered and very hard to please

Make our beds and dust the sills and polish out our rooms

And if you didn’t do it right you’d get the wooden spoon

I remember old Miss Baker, she used to help the cook

She used to drink hot water to help her make a poop

And when the time for showering came her eyes would kind of drop

She’d look over the bigger boys just to see what they had got

I remember old fat Andy, she was the France House cook

She’d head off to the dunny with her favourite little book

There were claps like thunder and smoke came out the door

We had to call the fire brigade before there was much more

Now not far down the valley lived a girl called Mary Blair

She had the cutest smile and lovely soft brown hair

The boys would sneak down through the park just to say ‘Gidday’

But the old man with his .44 says, “You get on your way”

I remember old Miss Murray, she was the lady at the shop

Two of us would call on her just to see what she had got

One would keep her talking while the other looked around

And when it came to lunch time there’d be two pies on the ground

We did a lot of swimming in the river down on the flats

We had a lovely swimming hole, we called it Mammy’s Crack

We’d rush right in all frolicky, to find when we got out

That the local girls had flogged our clothes – well, you should’ve heard us shout

Well we chased those sheilas up the flat, and hell, how they could run

They knew that if we caught them we would smack their pretty bums

They knew they had to get away for we had the upper hand

For we were fit and frisky, and they would see the promised land

I recall the water tower, it stood up forty feet

Some of the boys would climb up there just to prove a feat

I remember one young farmer who was kind of in a trance

When he hit the bottom he found he’d filled his pants

I remember down the valley was a man called Cobber Smith

We used to pinch his watermelons while he was on the piss

We’d sneak right through the big tall wheat so as not to be seen

But when we finally opened up the bastards were all green

Now every flamin’ Sunday we all went off to church

We had our shoes all shiny, not a mark upon our shirts

We’d bow our heads in silent prayer not up to ring a peep

But when the Reverend finished it every bugger was asleep

We used to cook our tucker in our huts down by the creek

We got a spud and onion, and a nice big piece of meat

We were trying to cook a damper on a twisted willow stick

But when we tried to eat the stuff, well it nearly made us sick

There came a brand-new teacher, he was called Claude Holyoake

He told us to behave ourselves and this was not a joke

You could have your lunch break anywhere so we climbed on the roof

When he finally caught us there, well he didn’t need no proof

Now there is a girl called Margaret, kinda plump and very sweet

All of the boys would have her on, she was ever so discreet

She’d come to all our dances and she flipped around the floor

If she can carry on like that well, she won’t reach ninety-four

We used to play good rugby and we played it in bare feet

Teams would come from miles around so as to [?] would compete

And when our boys would score a try I would kind of boast

When Garth Trengarth their score kid there put the ball between the posts

Now we used to milk the cows, you know, and we did it twice a day

We did the ducks and fowls and pigs, then feed out the hay

Then a cow would come on heat and we’d take her down the track

And watch the smile on Fergie’s face as he’d complete his act

We used to play on Magog and we did some sledging too

We used to chase the goats around and we did catch one or two

And we’d go up to Ohish bush, a peacock we would find

And we’d pinch a pretty feather from her elegant behind

Now Donaldson as he stood up and he said, “Boys, do stand tall

We want to donate our hall clock for the lovely Eskdale Hall”

So we tossed it round and we all dug deep, and we came up with a dime

So you can look upon the Hall and tell the bloody time

Hello there, folk. This is another little ditty I’ve put together as a follow-on from the first one I did about the France House boys, and this one’s about some of the oldies that [who] used to live in the Eskdale Valley.

Now I’ve told you of the France House boys, and donating of the clock

I’d love to take your memories back ‘fore it’s all forgot

You must remember Mrs Beattie, and lovely old Miss Clark

They did so much for the France House boys, they really were a part

And there was the family at Herepo, the name was Mrs Clark

She seemed to live forever and she always looked so smart

She reared a lovely family, the girls good looking too

And Eden now he tends a farm, there’s always lots to do

I told you of poor Cobber Smith, best melons ever seen

He used to get us down to hoe his precious peas and beans

The hoes we used were far too sharp and days after we had gone

He finally discovered not a bloody plant had grown

I can’t forget Miss Kirkham, for she meant so much to us

She used to play the piano, there was never any fuss

We would gather round and sing with her, sing with all our might

It really was quite punchy to see this happy sight

You must remember Morrie, Williams his surname

He had a herd of dairy cows, he knew them all by name

They’re only fit for blood and bone, but he loved them just the same

And the people he sold milk to are dead now, that’s a shame

I remember Willy Kirkham had a trucking firm for years

He used to tell us naughty yarns, had us in bloody tears

We would try and cadge a lift to school but he would shake his head

So we’d give him the fingers and hurry on instead

I remember Mary’s father, we called him Mr Blair

His son has taken over now so don’t you all despair

And if you go to Taupo a crowbar is a must

To help you from the potholes, the shingle and the dust

I remember old Waikato, yes old Waikato grey

The dog that wore a collar lived forever and a day

Used to watch us pinching grapes, he could never say a word

We’d leave a bunch upon his gate, acknowledgment unheard

Now further up the valley lived Mr and Mrs Payne

They had two lovely bubbly boys, but it was all in vain

They turned out bloody horrors, must’ve broke their hearts

But now they’ve finally grown up we will give them all top marks

Old Inky Smythe has shifted now, to Taradale he has come

He left the windy city to come up for some fun

We will bring him to our dances and we’ll show him how it’s done

We might even get him sewn up on our Coruba Rum

There are names I can remember, Frank Wilson just for one

There was the Tuxford girls and Mr Wood and Mr Yule and son

There was the Ellises and Wallace, Lopdell, King and Swain

He used to be an All Black and he had quite a name

I love these country dances, they really are well run

The orchestra is hard to beat, they all have lots of fun

The ones that do the supper, they do a sterling job

A lot of organisation to feed this hungry mob

I remember old Bert Goldsacks and very pretty wife

They lived in the Eskdale Valley near all their married life

They were a lovely couple we were privileged to know

But when the good Lord calls on you well, you just gotta go

This valley’s like a magnet, it kinda draws you back

It’s great to meet the locals and stand round for a chat

When the twilight years start creeping on as they do so year by year

But this lovely Eskdale valley, it always will be here

Now the older generation has helped to pave the way

For you younger ones to borrow up, for it is yours today

The future lies before you like a sheet of untrodden snow

Be careful what you do with it for every mark will show