FUNNIEST POEM? -

Many Australian Folklore books contain more than the odd bush ballad or two. These are not really folklore and I think they tend to fill up what would otherwise be a bunch of blank pages, or at least lead to much skinnier folklore books. I don't intend to fill this book up with bush ballads but there is one in particular that I think deserves a mention. It is a parody of Banjo Paterson's classic 'The Man from Snowy River' it is called 'The Man from Kaomagma' and there is a bit more to the story of this version at the end. - When I first heard it I just about died with laughter This version is unique and I thought I had lost it, thankfully after a frantic search I did manage to find a copy I had backed up.

It was first told to me at Cleaverville by my friend Bluey Coppin from South Australia.

THE MAN FROM KAOMAGMA

There were movements at the station
for the wog had passed around
salmonella I regret had got away
It makes you run like wild bush horses
Sorbent made a thousand pounds
and every body’s crack began to fray

All the tried and noted bush quacks
from the stations near and far
had mustered at the homestead overnight
but their cures were ineffective
from cement to Stockholm tar
and it wasn’t plugged with trusty Araldite

There was Harrigan who strained his piles
when a hard'n got caught up
the effort turned his face as white as snow
so he took to liquid paraffin
and drank it by the cup
but now he don’t need that to make him go

And Clancy with his overflow came to lend a hand
his gripes had had him crippled with the pain
there was ne’er a dunny held him
nor pedestal could take
the hundred cusecs rushing down the drain

And one was there, a stripling with his backside tightly shut
against the wogs that cut a mountain man to size
but he wouldn’t go out back boys
to that lonely little hut
no diarrhoea from that one could be prized

He was hard and tough and wiry and he fumbled for his fly
There was courage in his quick impatient tread
And he bore the badge of courage in his bright and fiery eye
but it didn’t stop him straining on the head

He was still so slight and weedy, one would doubt his power to stay
an old man said, ‘He’s headin’ for the loo’
But a shout from inside, ‘Stay away!’ slowed his
gallop up ‘There isn’t any room in here for you!’

So he waited sad and wistful as he strained his rear end
‘I think you ought to let me go,’ he said;
'I cannot hold much longer, and on that you can depend.’
for his face was turning absolutely red

He dashed across the paddock, fair to the other side
and then he stopped, as if he’d had enough
he screamed aloud, bent double and tore apart his strides
and vented his frustration in the rough

And Clancy came a running, his face was quite a fright
his wails would echo far into the hills
for he couldn’t find a laxative to save him from the blight
no senna pods or paraffin or pills

When the wog was at its zenith
even he was seen to weaken
but surrender? no! he’d not sit on the can
till intestinal agony gripped him
and suddenly he shrieked
‘Look out boys I’m going’ and off he ran

He was right among the leaders as they headed for the loo
And the watchers lying round were struck down mute
As he waved his stockwhip fiercely, and his desperation grew
And he raced across the clearing in pursuit.

Then they halted for a moment, while he swung the dreaded lash,
But they saw their well-loved dunny full in view,
And they charged beneath the stockwhip with a sharp and sudden dash,
And off into the lavatory they flew.

He sent the flint stones flying
with the patter of his feet
he cleared his fallen comrades in his stride
and the man from Kaomagma
safely gained a toilet seat
it was grand to find a loo unoccupied

Well he strained there single handed
till his sides were white with foam
though he ne’er allowed his sphincter to go slack
but it was a false alarm, so he turned his head for home
and alone and unassisted staggered back

And this hardy little mountain man
could barely raise the trots
while Kaomagma settled his insides
from intestinal paranoia
you may believe or not
but without it he’d have surely filled his strides

Next morning we were sitting by the wood heap in the sun
not saying much, just resting there quite idle
with one eye on the dunny just in case we had to run
then the mountain man came outside with his bridle

He saddled up his pony and he slowly rode away
till his figure was a speck against the sky
and we watched in thoughtful silence
no one had a word to say
then he violently exploded by and by

And down by Kaomagma
where the little houses raise
their weather beaten shingles to the sky
where the stockman go from habit
you can strain for seven days
but you can’t get water from a well that’s dry

And where along the overflow they often tell the tale
of mountain men who never know defeat
the man from Kaomagma is a household word today
how he exploded not admitting he was beat

Sadly I can't claim credit for this little gem but I did add 6 verses to the original.

Some time later we were sent some information on the origins of this poem and were given permission to reproduce it. Obviously there has been a lot of re-working of this poem over time as the version we got from Bluey is quite different to the one that follows. In my own way I am proud to have continued the tradition of changes to this little gem with the 6 verses I added. Hopefully Banjo's spirit has had a giggle or two about the changes to his epic ballad as well.

Following is the information sent to me by Tony Sprent.

Comments: I came across your version of the Man from Kao-Magma. I thought you might be interested to know the original version of this and its history.

This was originally written by Alan Beswick and Janeen Grimes, both members of the University of Queensland Speleological Society in 1971 to commemorate the ceremonial burning of Cyril Cesspit, an outside dunny on my family's property at Moggill near Brisbane, and the opening of a new septic tank toilet in its place. I lived there in a little cottage while I was an undergraduate student. I built the new toilet when Simon, my son was born with the need for better sanitation. Various people mentioned in the poem were members of UQSS. The term cusec refers to cubic feet per second, a measure of volume, while Hunter Brothers was the company that removed the nightsoil in Brisbane for many years.

The original words are:

The Man From Kao-Magmav
by
Bedpan Splatterson

There was movement at the station for the wog had passed around;
Salmonella, I regret had got away.
Made us run like wild bush horses; Sorbent made a thousand pound
And Hunter Brothers brought their super dray

All the tried and noted cure-alls from the quacks both near and far
Had been mustered at the homestead overnight
But they all were ineffective, from cement to Stockholm tar
It wasn’t even plugged by Araldite

There was Herricane who got her piles when a hard’un got caught up
The exertion turned her hair as white as snow
Now she armed herself with paraffin and drank it by the cup
She could go as oft as Simon Sprent could go.

And Lacey with his overflowing came to get a hand
A master horseman crippled up with pain
There was not a Sh’ouse could hold him not a pedestal could stand
A hundred cusecs rushing down the drain.

And one was there ‘twas Ant Sprent, a small and weedy beast,
He was something like a Headland undersized.
He had a touch of dreaded lurgi, tho’ three parts gone at least
He refused the cures that everyone advised.

For he hailed from Kao-Magma, up by Sulphanilamide
Where the germs are twice as big and twice as tough,
Where the guts are lined with leather; they’re impregnable inside,
The man that holds his own is good enough.

When the lurgi neared its climax even Sprent was having strife
It well might make the strongest sphincter yield
His intestines were in turmoil for the first time in his life
But he struggled like a man to keep it sealed.

He was hard and tough and wiry, just the sort that won’t say die-
He had courage, even though confined to bed
And he bore the badge of gameness in his bright and fiery eye,
He stood up: “Look out I’m going”; that’s what he said.

He sent the flintstones flying as he raced off the excrete
He cleared his fallen comrades in his stride
Till the man from Kao-Magma landed safely on the seat;
It was grand to find a loo unoccupied

He sat there, lone and stranded till his sides were white with foam
By mortal combat, Lo! He forced it back,
Till it halted, cowed and beaten; then he rose and headed home;
The cheeks of his behind were blue and black.

Down on the Sprent selection where the new toot stands alone
And Cyril’s ghost still stalks the dead of night,
The man from Kao-Magma will be forever known
For the story of his great internal fight.

Tony Sprent

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