“Once a jolly swagman camped on a billabong under the shade of a Coolabah tree”.
This is the opening lyric of arguably Australia’s best known and most loved song Waltzing Matilda. Penned by Banjo Paterson in 1895 this ballad cemented forever the legend of the Australian swagman, Waltzing (walking) his Matilda (swag) slung over his back in the Australian bush.
Like the old nomadic swagman of the past, the modern swaggy and their swags have evolved in a uniquely Australian way. The swagmen have changed, the swags have changed, the types of transport have changed, but the Australian nomad sleeping in his Matilda somewhere in the Australian bush or outback has not changed for me and many other Australians.
Miss Linda and I recently purchased new swags and upgraded our 25 year old extremely well used and worn out old swags. When removing the bedding and rolling up my old faithful, possibly for the last time, it occurred to me that, “If only that swag could talk”. The extraordinary places, the beaches, the rivers, the mountains, the stars, all those amazing places where this worn out old piece of canvas has been rolled out as my shelter.
The old swag has been strapped to the back of motorcycles, chucked on the back of utes, tied on the front of tinnies, thrown on roof racks and stuffed into old wooden boats. It has sheltered me during music festivals, motorcycle runs and after nearly every party I have attended for the last 25 years.
It has crackled with breaking ice as I have stirred in the frozen canvas, it has kept me dry during torrential downfalls and has guarded me against squadrons of mozzies and midgies. Not only has the old girl been my shelter but on some cold nights I have woken to find other animal species enjoying the lodging.
I remember one night on the banks of the Murray River when camping with an old mate. We may have had just one beer to many by the campfire when we sunk into a warm slumber in our swags. At around 3am I woke up with a start yelling “What the f#*k is that?” Leaping out of my swag because there was something fury and alive not only in my swag but at my feet inside my sleeping bag.
Turns out that my mate’s fox terrier dog Skipper was renowned for waiting for the humans to nod off before he would creep into the bottom of the nearest warm swag. It was at this point I realised why the dog’s nickname was Needle-beak. That dog could thread its way undetected into any swag and I wasn’t the first unsuspecting dry-nose to have leapt out of a swag in the wee hours and danced around the bush in my underwear.
Our shiny new swags have indeed evolved.
They have poles and are raised off of the occupant and are part swag, part tent. They have lots of features like a mozzie net complete with zips, little pockets for keys and things and they even have a sealed boot bag on the outside. However, they are still made of canvas and will roll up small enough to strap on the back of my motorbike when it is required.
Such luxury I am not used to when sleeping out, but we are about to head off to a large remote station in the Northern Flinders Ranges in South Australia for a few months’ work. There will be plenty of time for exploring the region and I can’t wait to roll out the new swag and break it in. My new shelter will have to earn its stripes as the old faithful did but I am not getting any younger and the comfort of the new swag will only enhance the adventures that await.
It’s exciting to head off exploring with a brand new piece of kit on board but I can’t help feeling a little guilty about retiring the old faithful that has served me so well for so long. After its final roll up I turned to Miss Linda and said, “Even if it only collects dust in the shed, I can’t throw it away”.
Who knows maybe it will surface again and give me one more night of shelter even though the canvas is now thin and ripped and the mattress is worn and flat and is about as comfortable as sleeping on a second hand kitchen sponge.
So, it’s out with the old and in with the new but I tell you,
“If only that swag could talk!”
