A poem by Laurie Pointing, honouring a mate lost
JOSEPH WILLIAM TAYLOR
1923-1954

YORKSHIRE JOE by Laurie Pointing

He was born in Mother England – and he spoke a Yorkshire strine
Made his home in western Queensland, at a place named Gwambegwine.
He embraced the country lifestyle – he was liked by all the crew,
Learnt the trade from fellow stockmen, became a bushman through and through.

He was with us at the station when the drought was on the land.
He was with us when the floods came, was the first to lend a hand.
When we shifted starving cattle at the risk of life and limb,
The stockmen didn’t realise – poor Joe just couldn’t swim.

We had lost communication as the phone lines were all down,
The homestead creek was flooded with no hope of reaching town.
Supplies were badly needed and with rations in decline,
To prevent a sure disaster, we must ride the party line.

Party lines were common in the years before the war,
And essential for survival back in 1954.
They provided needed comfort to the people out of range,
And eased the isolation through the local phone exchange.

Should the single strand of wire strung from tree and post,
Suffer major damage from weather, fire, or both,
Then communication faltered and the outside world was lost,
Though repairs were soon effected at the station owners cost.

The boss gave out his orders to ford the flooded creek,
Then ride the track to Palm Tree – before the waters peak.
Then Mother Nature played her hand as the riders left the bank,
The chestnut mare refused to swim, Joe disappeared…
Then sank.

We buried him there at the station the day his body was found,
Dressed in the clothes he was wearing on that fateful day he drowned.
Yes he hailed from Mother England, and he spoke a Yorkshire strine,
Now he lies at one with nature, on the banks of the Gwambegwine.

“Joe Taylor was a small man with a big heart, and he’d do anything for the boss.”
-Laurie Pointing, ringer mate 1954