Do You Remember When, Clyde?

 

Clyde,

Do ya remember when?

This town was all the go

Only seems like yesterday

Twas such a busy little place,

 

Clyde,

Do ya remember the Johnsons?

They used to run the bakery

Had the best bread around

And their sticky buns

And their lamingtons too,

Were top of the range.

 

Clyde,

What was that chappies’ name?

Lawson, no Mawson,

Yes Dawson,

Bob Dawson that was it,

Really good mechanic

Don’t make them

Like him nowadays,

Could fix any donk

Whether it was a diesel

Or a petrol motor.

 

 

Clyde,

Petty about the old Dairy Factory

When it had to close,

Made bloody good cheese

And butter,

And the factory

Well it always made a profit,

Then the bastards went and sold it

To that Co-Op mob in the city,

Twenty people from around here

Out of a job

What a bloody stupid move.

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​Clyde,

That Ronnie O’Toole

Twas a bloody good butcher,

Always had good meat,

Best snags

Pound for pound around,

Nowadays never taste the same

Like they’re using sawdust as fillers

And honest was that Ronnie

You’d always knew

It was your cow he was butchering

When he cut it up.

 

Clyde,

Sad about the grain place

You know old Smithey

Run it well for years,

Then that townie mob

Took it over

And then over to Oakey shifted,

Petty that they sacked

All the local mob,

Old Smithey

Was such a good bloke ya know?

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Clyde,

Remember what’s name

Ya know that bloke,

Who was our local Station Master?

When the last train came to town.

Oh, they were the days,

Four services a week,

And everything came out by the loco,

Yes! Bob Bundy that was his name

Ya know he was here for fifteen years

Then the bloody stupid government

Closing down the line

Like they did.

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Clyde,

Who was that barber bloke?

But let me recall

Was it Wacko Jacko?

A real sandwich short of a picnic,

No that’s right,

Wacko Jacko had the mail run

And his missus run the exchange,

Bloody old town gossip wasn’t she

Now that I’d recall.

 

Clyde,

But I remember now,

Pop Daniels was the barber

Had the barber shop for years

Was really good on the short back n sides

Then Phil his dill of a son

Took it over

The bastard couldn’t shear a sheep

Let alone a head of hair,

And you couldn’t forget the day

He took a great chunk

Outa Big Tom the cow cockie’s ear.

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Clyde,

Oh the shop has gone backwards,

Used to be a little gold mine that,

And one could never forget Mrs Kay

And all of her girls,

Good lookers one and all,

Used to have a fancy

For that Nancy

The youngest one of all,

Never had a hope in Hades

What with that chocolate salesman

Coming to town once a week,

Heard they’d called their first kid,

‘Chocolate Wafer Biscuit’

Bloody funny name for a billy lid.

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Clyde,

Bloody shame ya know

About the local bank,

Had an agency here for years,

Rationalization was the word

And validation was the key

For the shift to Toowoomba,

Fifty miles away,

Bloody long way to go

Just to draw a quid

Lame old excuse

Forthcoming from the bank,

Not worthwhile having one here

For the good customers of this town

Now abandoned, forsaken and discarded

All in the name of progressive banking.

 

Clyde,

Wonder why we don’t

Have dances anymore

Once a month was good,

Those were the good old days

A Waltz, a Fox Trot,

And what about the Barn dance

Then out to Eddie’s McGuire’s Ute,

For suck on a Bundy Rum

Then in time for a Quick Three Step.

Funny though don’t ya remember this one night,

When young Kanga Marshall,

Got his middle leg caught

In his Holden steering wheel

Having a pash and a dash

With that cute little Kristy Brown.

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Clyde,

How can I ever forget?

Slash and Bash

Good old Dickie Moore the headmaster,

When we were in grade four.

Hundred and fifty-two kids

At the school back then.

Lucky to make a footy team now

Gotta blame it on the pill.

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Clyde,

Gotta laugh at the time though,

Down behind the shiela’s dunny

When ya set the grass on fire,

From smoking an elephant,

Of rolled up dunny paper

And tobacco from your dad’s pouch,

Two cuts each

From good Old Slash and Burn.

 

Clyde,

Don’t you think?

The weather’s getting lousy now

But you could always plant a crop,

Far too many droughts,

And mice plagues too,

Can’t rely on

When it’s going to pour,

Far too much cotton being planted

Shouldn’t be grown out here,

Gotta spray and spray and spray,

This cotton only grows on

Pesticides, insecticides

Chemicals, fertilizers and all the rest.

 

Oh Clyde,

You are a real dumb bastard

And can talk nineteen to the dozen,

And pity your bloody mother

Didn’t button your bottom lip,

So I’ll see ya tomorrow

 

If you remember when………

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