Rather rowdy,
Dingy, cloudy,
Dusty, dirty, dim and dowdy,
Thirsty throats to mock.
Can’t mistake her,
Good drought slaker,
Six pubs to the bloomin’ acre,
Weary hummers,
Beery bummers,
Cadging ‘deeners’, ‘zacks’ and ‘thrummers’,
Mooching in a flock,
Frontispieces hard and chilly,
Sparring pots off ‘Dick’ and ‘Billy’
(‘Nough to drive a barman silly)
On the Boulder Block.
Sulphur frying,
Kinchins crying
Cyanide from sand dumps flying,
Senses reel and rock.
Whistles squealing,
Black smoke reeling,
Bingie gets a curious feeling
On the Boulder Block.
Drunks all fighting,
Crowd delighting,
Grimy derelicts exciting
Sympathy from mugs;
‘Have-beens’ viewing
Past with rueing
(Watching for the chance of chewing
Ears of tender ‘lugs’).
Miners drinking,
Crib-cans clinking –
Just off shift and no one shrinking
(Never mind the clock!)
Ragged shirt, gleaming collar,
Empty ‘kick’ and mighty dollar;
Health, and wealth, and grief, and squalor –
That’s the Boulder Block.
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Moya Sharp
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Do you have any photos of the Boulder Block Hotel from the 70s era