NEW  ZEALAND
FOLK * SONG		 My Dugout in the True/Matruh/Vietnam
The Dying Shearer/Bushman
Tune, 1871

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In 1871, De Little Old Log Cabin in De Lane, a black minstral vaudeville song from Kentucky USA, had a this verse.

"I'm gettin' old and feeble and I cannot work no more
I've laid de rusty bladed hoe to rest... full text

From those lines came the Dying Shearer/Dying Bushman songs of New Zealand.

I am just a worn out shearer and my shearing days are o'er
My gear I've left behind the whare door ... full text


"Oh I'm just a worn out bushman, me chopping days are o'er
I'll soon be over on that other shore ... full text



And De Little Old Log Cabin had this chorus

"De chimney's falling down and de roof all cavin' in,
and de roof lets in de sunshine an' de rain."

which gave rise in the American West to songs about The Little Old Sod Shanty

"Oh the hinges are of leather and the windows have no glass
the boards, they let the howling blizzards in."

From the lines came the Dugout in the True / Dugout in Matruh songs of New Zealanders.

"Where the windows are of netting and the doors of four by two
And the sandbags let the howling dust storm in." ... full text

1871
The Little Old Log Cabin In The Lane

By vaudeville songwriter, Will Hayes.

I'm gettin' old and feeble and I cannot work no more
I've laid de rusty bladed hoe to rest
Ole massa an' old miss'am dead, dey're sleepin' side by side
De spirits now am roamin' wid de blest

De scene am changed about de place, de darkies am all gone
I'll neber hear dem singing in de cane
And I'se de only one dat's left wid dis ole dog ob mine
In de little old log cabin in de lane

De chimney's falling down and de roof's all cavin' in
I aint got long around here to remain
But de angels watches over me when I lays me down to sleep
In de little old log cabin in de lane

Dar was a happy time to me, 'twas many years ago
When de darkies used to gather round de door
When dey used to dance and sing at night I played de ole banjo
But alas I cannot play it any more

De hinges dey got rusted and de door has tumbled down
And de roof lets in de sunshine an' de rain
An' de only friend I got now is dis good ole dog ob mine
In de little old log cabin in de lane

Oh I ain't got long to stay here what little time I've got
I want to rest content wile I remain
'Til death shall call this dog and me to find a better home
And a little old log cabin in the lane

 

1875-1895
The Little Old Sod Shanty on the Plain

De Little Old Log Cabin's vivid description of life in a tumble-down shack struck a chord with many who had moved out to the edges of society, and many variants of it appeared over the next 20 years, and on the treeless grass-covered plains of Kansas and Nebraska the little old log cabin in the lane became "The Little Old Sod Shanty on the Plain."

I am looking rather seedy now while holding down my claim
And my victuals are not always served the best,
And the mice play shyly 'round me as I nestle down to rest
In my little old sod shanty in the West.

Yet I rather like the novelty of living in this way
Though my bill of fare is always rather tame,
But I'm happy as a clam on the land of Uncle Sam
In my little old sod shanty on my claim.

The hinges are of leather and the windows have no glass
While the board roof lets the howling blizzard in;
And I hear the hungry ki-yote as he slinks up in the grass
'Round my little old sod shanty on my claim.

Oh when I left my eastern home, a bachelor so gay
To try and win my way to wealth and fame,
I little thought that I'd come down to burning twisted hay
In the little old sod shanty on my claim.

My clothes are plastered o'er with dough, I'm looking like a fright
And everything is scattered 'round the room,
But I wouldn't give the freedom that I have out in the West
For the table of the Eastern man's old home.

Still, I wish that some kind-hearted girl would pity on me take
And relieve me from the mess that I am in,
The angel, how I'd bless her, if this her home she'd make
In the little old sod shanty on my claim.

And we would make our fortunes on the prairies of the West;
Just as happy as two lovers we'd remain.
We'd forget the trials and troubles we endured at the first
In the little old sod shanty on my claim


Soddies were freestanding homes made of ploughed turf and were built on the flat loamy plains. But in drier, more rocky, country they dug their homes out of the sides of ravines or hills and called them dugouts. Some homes were a combination of both methods. Utah Phillips sings of "My little dugout soddie on the plains."

They have been the subject of much romanticizing, especially by those who never lived in one. But they were dark, always dirty, attracted rats, mice and snakes, and the roof continued to leak long after the rain had ceased.

American railroad men altered the words to sing about their life in their Little Red Caboose Behind the Trainwhile migrants to Newfoundland sung nostalgically of My Little German Home Across the Sea.

In England, the newly-formed Salvation Army used its tune for I Have Found a Friend in Jesus.

And it reached Australia where outback farmer John Neilson used the tune to write of shearers getting desperate Unless We Have Another Fall of Rain.
New Zealand
The Dugout in the True
On the treeless South Island plains of New Zealand, similar shelters were built by poor pioneer farmers. In 1867 Lady Barker wrote, "When a shepherd has saved a hundred pounds, the favourite investment is in freehold land... The next step is to build a sod hut with two rooms on their property, thatching it with swamp grass." Station Life in New Zealand

This version was collected in 1974, and it is probably a remnant from an older, longer shearers song that became the WW2 Matruh song. "Happy as a clan" points to the Scottish settlement of Otago.

I am just a poor old shearer,
I am stationed on the board,
I've got my little handpiece in my hand

Chorus
But I'm happy as a clan
In this land of ewes and lambs
In my tick-bound, bug-bound dugout in the True.

Oh the place is strewn all round
with sheep wool and sheep dags
Of rouseabouts there are so very few

Chorus

Oh the walls are made of iron
and the windows made of bag
And the doorways let the howling rousies through

Chorus

Oft times I wish I had a girl
to sit upon my knee
Relieve me of the pain that I am in

Chorus
That girl how I would love her
If she'd come and live with me
In my tick-bound, bug-bound dugout in the True.


1970s Central Otago dugout

That shearers' song was obviously the source of this song sung by New Zealand soldiers in North Africa in 1940.

I'm just a greasy private
in the infantry I am,
I've a little dugout in Matruh,
And the flies crawl all around me
as I nestle down to sleep,
In my flea-bound, bug-bound
dugout in Matruh.

Where the windows are of netting
and the doors of four by two
And the sandbags let the
howling dust storm in;
I can hear that blinkin' Eytie1
as he circles round at night
In my flea-bound,bombed-out
dugout in Matruh.


Where the floor is littered round
with Bully and Meatloaf
For marmalade and jam
we never see.
We're a happy little band
in this bloody land of sand
In my flea-bound bombed-out
dug-out in Matruh.

Now there's Messerschmidts
and Stukas flying all around
Hurricanes and Spitfires very few
When the bombs and shells start flying
That's where you'll find me lying
In my flea bound, bombed out
dugout in Matruh.

Oh I wish I had a sheila
to sit upon my knee,
To relieve me of the misery
that I'm in,
For I'd woo her and caress her,
if this her home she'd make
In my flea-bound, bombed-out
dug-out in Matruh.

1 Eytie - an Italian night bomber. It stayed at high alitude and didn't hit much.

And a 1943 version -

I'm a lonely Kiwi digger,
I'm stationed at Matruh,
I've my little dugout in the sand
Where the fleas play tag around me
as they circle round at night,
In my flea bound, bug bound
dugout in Matruh.

Oh the walls are made of hessian
and the windows four by two,
And the doorway lets
the howling sandstorm thru'.
You can hear those blinkin' Ities
as they circle round at night,
In my flea-bound bug-bound
dug-out in Matruh.

Now oft times I wish I had a girl
to sit upon my knee,
To free me from this pain
that I am in,
My God how I would bless her,
if she'd only sit with me
In my flea bound, bombed out dugout in Matruh.

Now the place is strewn all round
with bully and meat loaf -
Of bread and marmalade
there's blinkin' few.
I'm as happy as a clown
in his land of heat and sand
In my flea-bound bug-bound
dug-out in Matruh.

Oh take me back, oh take me back
To my flea-bound bug-bound
dug-out in Matruh.
Where you can hear those blinkin' Ities
as they circle round at night,
In my flea-bound bug-bound
dug-out in Matruh.






And that in turn mutated into this 1960s song of a gunner in the NZ Army's 161 Battery in Vietnam.

Oh I'm just a greasy gunner
From One-Six-One2 I am
And I've a little dugout in Vietnam,
But the boys they took no notice
As they nestled down to rest
In that flea-bound, bug-bound
Dugout in Vietnam.

I wish I had a Maori girl
To sit upon my knee
To give me all the comforts I have lost
But the boys etc.

The Captains and the Colonels
Are stuffing us around
Sarge, he says the bombs are everywhere
But the boys etc.

They're firing H and I3
At Charlie all night long
Victor Company's4 got them on the run
But the boys etc.


2 One-Six-One, 16/1, is the First Battery of the 16th Field Regiment.
3 Harassment and Interdiction fire.
4 Victor and Whiskey Companies were the units of the RNZIR that fought in Vietnam.

In 1994 Kiwi Company was posted to Bosnia, and were based a Santici Camp near Vitez, 60 kilometres north-west of Sarajevo. The words of the Dugout song were absorbed into the 1940s songs " Pa Mai" and "Hoki Mai."

Oh I'm just a baggy body
In K Company I am
Give me all the comforts I adore.
Well the boys they took the trouble
In this old town tonight
In my 3-man 2-man
Portacom in Santici.

I wish I had a Kiwi girl
To sit upon my face
To give me all the comforts I have adore
Well the boys etc.

The Captains and the Majors
Are fucking us around
The Corporals and the Sergeants everywhere
But the boys etc.

1930s New Zealand

The Dying Bushman

This bushman seems to have been from the part of the West Coast where rimu and southern rata grows, that is, from the Taramakau River down to Haast Pass. (In other parts of the Coast there is beech forest)

Oh I'm just a worn out bushman,
me chopping days are o'er
I'll soon be over on that other shore.
For the rimu and the rata
have got so mighty tough
I just can't seem to chop 'em any more.

My slasher is all rusty, axe-handle it is broke
I've hung them up behind the whare door
For the rimu and the rata
have got so mighty tough
I just can't seem to chop 'em any more.

In all the West Coast bush
there was none could chop like me
And I long again to hear the felling's roar
But the rimu and the rata
have got so mighty tough
I just can't seem to chop 'em any more.

The Dying Shearer

"I am just a poor old shearer, I am stationed on the board" took on a complete North Island New Zealand identity, probably sometime in the 1930s.

 

I am just a worn out shearer
and my shearing days are o'er
My gear I've left behind the whare door
For the ewes and rams and whethers
have got so mighty tough
I just can't shear them any more

In all of the Taihape
there was none to work like me
And I long once more
to hear the Lister roar
But the ewes and rams and whethers
have got so mighty tough
I just can't shear them any more.

 

The Lister one-cylinder stationary engine was used to power shearing handpieces between 1910 and 1935, before mains electricity reached farms in the Taihape district (Central North Island New Zealand), so this puts this song at the end of that era.


Big City Homeless in the 2020s.

Once again there are now many New Zealanders in the same situation in our cities, with more than 20,000 in Auckland alone.

I'm just a washed-up worker and I'm lying on the street,
I've got old cardboard boxes for my bed.
Christmas shoppers walk around me and pretend that I'm not here
That shopkeeper 'accidentally' kicks my head.

(Ch) Oh the street is littered round me with foods scraps from the bins
This methylated spirits numbs my pain
Still I'm happy to be here, surrounded by my gear
And not like Ted who's passed out in that drain



I wish I'd never met that witch who gave me such distress
She always wanted more than I could give
She spent all of my savings and got me in this mess
I lost me m'job an' where I used ter live

(Ch) Now I must get up from here an' get behind that Jumbo bin
Or else I'm gonter piss my pants again
Still I'm happy to be here, surrounded by my gear
Not yet like Ted who's dead there in that drain.

 

Kansas 1880s


Cleveland
Songs We Sang

Cleveland manuscript
Italy 1943

Crowl manuscript

Colquhoun 1974

I'm looking rather seedy now
while holding down my claim
And my vittles are not always
served the best.
And the mice play shyly round me
as I nestle down to rest
In my little old sod
shanty in the west.		   I'm just a greasy private
in the infantry I am,
I've a little dugout in Matruh,
And the flies crawl all around me
as I nestle down to sleep,
In my flea-bound, bug-bound
dugout in Matruh.

I'm a lonely digger here
and I'm stationed at Matruh,
I've my little dugout in the sand
Where the fleas play tag around me
as they circle round at night ,
In my flea bound, bug-bound
dugout in Matruh.

I'm a lonely Kiwi digger
and I'm stationed at Matruh;
I've got my little dug-out in the sand
Where the fleas play tag around me
as they circle round at night,
In my flea-bound bug-bound
dug-out in Matruh.

I am just a poor old shearer,
I am stationed on the board,
I've got my little handpiece in my hand

 

Oh, the hinges are of leather
and the windows have no glass.
The boards they let the
howling blizzards in.
And I hear the hungry coyote
as he sneaks up through the grass
To my little old sod
shanty on the plain.

  Where the windows are of netting
and the doors of four by two
And the sandbags let the
howling dust storm in;
I can hear that blinkin' Eytie
as he circles round at night
In my flea-bound,bombed-out
dugout in Matruh.		 Oh the walls are made of hessian
and the windows four by two,
And the doorway lets the
howling sandstorm thru'.
You can hear those blinkin' Ities
as they circle round at night,
In my flea-bound bug-bound
dug-out in Matruh.
Oh the walls are made of hessian
and the windows four by two,
And the doorway lets the
howling sandstorm thru'.
You can hear those blinkin' Ities
as they circle round at night,
In my flea-bound bug-bound
dug-out in Matruh. 		Oh the walls are made of iron
and the windows made of bag
And the doorways let the
howling rousies through
Yet I rather like the novelty
of living in this way
Thought my bill of fare
is always rather tame
But I am happy as a clam,
on this land of Uncle Sam
In the little old sod
shanty on my claim.		   Where the floor is littered round
with Bully and Meatloaf -
For marmalade and jam
we never see.
We're a happy little band
in this bloody land of sand
In my flea-bound bombed-out
dug-out in Matruh. 		Now the place is strewn all round
with bully and meat loaf -
Of bread and marmalade
there's blinkin' few.
I'm as happy as a clown
in this land of heat and sand
In my flea-bound bug-bound
dug-out in Matruh.
Now the place is strewn all round
with bully and meat loaf -
Of bread and marmalade
there's blinkin' few.
I'm as happy as a clown
in his land of heat and sand
In my flea-bound bug-bound
dug-out in Matruh. 		Oh the place is strewn all round
with sheep wool and sheep dags
Of rouseabouts
there are so very few
But I'm happy as a clan
In this land of ewes and lambs
In my tick-bound, bug-bound
dugout in the True.
My clothes are plred o'er with
dough, I'm looking like a fright.
And everything is scattered
round the room.
But I wouldn't give the freedom
that I have out in the west.
For the table of the Eastern
man's old home.		  

Now there's Messerschmidts
and Stukas flying all around
Hurricanes and Spitfires very few
When the bombs and shells start flying
That's where you'll find me lying
In my flea bound, bombed out
dugout in Matruh.

Oh take me back, oh take me back
To my flea bound bug bound
dugout in the sand
Where you can hear those blinkin' Ities
as they circle round at night,
In my flea bound bug bound
dug-out in Matruh. 		Oh take me back, oh take me back
To my flea-bound bug-bound
dug-out in Matruh.
Where you can hear those blinkin' Ities
as they circle round at night,
In my flea-bound bug-bound
dug-out in Matruh. 		 
Still I wish that some kd-hted girl
would pity on me take.
And relieve me from the mess
that I am in.
Oh, the angel, how I'd bless her
if this her home she'd make
In the little old sod
shanty on the plain.		   Oh I wish I had a sheila
to sit upon my knee,
To relieve me of the misery
that I'm in,
For I'd woo her and caress her,
if this her home she'd make
In my flea-bound, bombed-out
dug-out in Matruh.		 Now oft times I wish I had a girl
to sit upon my knee,
To free me from this pain
that I am in,
My God how I would bless her,
if she'd only sit with me
In my flea bound, bombed out
dugout in Matruh. 		  Oft times I wish I had a girl
to sit upon my knee
To relieve me of the pain
that I'm in
That girl how I would love her
If she'd come and live with me
In my tick-bound, bug-bound
dugout in the True.

 

Note

B. F. ("Mick") Shepherd, a World War 2 veteran of Auckland, New Zealand, commented on the line "Where the walls are made of hessian and the windows four by two." He points out that the standard size for timber framing during this period was four inches by two inches by whatever length was appropriate.

As for the dugout, it could be a comic reference, not to a slit trench or some kind of sandbagged position, but to a troops' latrine. "A dugout has no windows, nor does a latrine, but if it had them they would have a four-by-two frame. The walls would be of hessian and the doorway would let everything through."

Shepherd also dates the earliest known performance of this song in the Second New Zealand Expeditionary Force as September 1940, when the force's Third Echelon landed in Egypt. They then went to Greece and Crete, and it was many months before they got to Matruh, so was probably the shearers version of the song that was sung.

 

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Put on web - August 2007