We'all All Be Rooned, Said Hanrahan

We’all All Be Rooned, Said Hanrahan

Taken from an Anthology called “Around The Boree Log:, by John O’Brien, whch was first published in 1921. “John O’Brien” was the pen-name of Patrick Joseph Hartigan [1879 - 1952]. He published only one book of verse, Around The Boree Log, written while he was parish priest of Narrandera, New South Wales.

Thus it is, that about one hundred years ago, somewhere in Outback Australia.

“We’all all be rooned,” said Hanrahan,
In accents most forlorn,
Outside the church, ere Mass began,
One frosty Sunday morn.

The congregation stood about,
Coat collars to the ears,
And talked of stock, and crops, and drought,
As it had done for years.

“It’s lookin’ crook,” said Daniel Croke,
“Bedad, it’s cruke, me lad,
For never since the banks went broke
Has seasons been so bad.”

“It’s dry, all right,” said young O’Neill,
With which astute remark
He squatted down upon his heel
And chewed a piece of bark.

And so around the chorus ran
“It’s keepin’ dry, no doubt.”
“We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanrahan
Before the year is out.

“The crops are done; ye’ll have your work
To save one bag of grain;
From here way out to Back-‘o-Bourke
They’re singing out for rain.

“They’re singing out for rain,” he said,
“And all the tanks are dry.”
The congregation scratched its head,
And gazed around the sky.

“There wont be grass, in any case,
Enough to feed an ass;
“There’s not a blade on Casey’s place
As I came down to Mass.”

“If rain don’t come this month,” said Dan,
And cleared his throat to speak ..
“We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanrahan,
“If rain don’t come this week.”


A heavy silence seed to steal
On all at this remark;
And each man squatted on his heel,
And chewed a piece of bark.



“We want an inch of rain, we do.”
O’Neill observed at last;
But Croke “maintained” we wanted two
To put the danger past.

“If we don’t get three inches, man,
Or four to break this drought,
We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanrahan,
“Before the year is out.”

In God’s good time down came the rain;
And all the afternoon
On iron roof and window-pane
It drummed a homely tune.

And through the night it pattered still,
And lightsome, glidesome elves
On dripping spout and window-sill
Kept talking to themselves.

It pelted, pelted, all day long,
a-singing at it’s work,
Till every heart took up the song
Way out to Back-o’-Bourke.

And every creek a banker ran,
And dams filled overtop;
“We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanrahan,
“If this rain doesn’t stop.”

And stop it did, in God’s good time;
And spring came in to fold
A mantle o’er the hills sublime
Of green and pink and gold.

And days went by on dancing feet;
With harvest-hopes immense,
And happy eyes beheld the wheat
Nid-nodding o’er the fence.

And, oh, the smiles on every face;
As happy lad and lass
Through grass knee-deep, on Casey’s place
Went riding down to Mass.

While round the church in clothes genteel
Discoursed the men of mark,
And each man squatted on his heel,
And chewed a piece of bark.

“There’ll be bush-fires for sure, me man,
There will, without a doubt;
We’ll all be rooned,” said Hanraham,
“Before the year is out.”