This is a stub, to be completed later. It follows on from #2.
We will begin with Finnkirk Rock. The thing about Norway is fiords. The next thing is cross-cuts, so there are nests and nets of channels, and before there were maps, the early Scandinavians must have had something like what we Australians have learned to call song-lines. That meant naming features, and remember that this area was not just the Germanic Vikings: there were Russians, Sami people (Lapps, if you must), and Finns.
This follows on from an earlier post, but it is a work in progress.
As we came into Kirkenes, we saw our first sea-ice. These are slim planes of frozen fresh water. At first, they were less than obvious, but then they were more numerous and thicker.
I have been amusing myself catching snow flakes in my beard, and leaving tracks in the snow on the deck. After a first walk on snow, wearing spikes as overshoes, we have now mastered the art of spotting and avoiding slippery ice.
Skate-boarding and wheelchair work would be a challenge up here, but I was very much taken by this snow-ready version of a Zimmer frame, and I saw a man scurrying along on a ski-based push scooter.
Back at Kirkenes, I saw a snow cannon in action, and we asked why in such a place of deep snow, they needed to make more of it, but apparently there will be National championships in a ski-based motocross competition.
We nodded sagely, and went to get what we called a Norwegian hot chocolate. At least our sense of the ridiculous has not yet frozen solid.
We are one week into our travels, so its time to show and tell. This will come in dribs and drabs when I find time away from shore excursions (as I start this, we are near Nordkapp, as the very top of Norway. Anyhow, bookmark this page, and drop back in to read more.
We flew Sydney-Dubai -Oslo, got our bags and asked a young man how to get seniors' tickets to Oslo-S, and he said that as seniors went at half price, I should go through the turnstiles at full price, while he ushered Christine around them. We congratulated each other on our joint mathematical genius, and reached Oslo in no time at all.
William Woolls (1814 – 1893)
You get a sense for the way the old botanists worked, when
you read William Woolls adding extra comments like the following, wherein you
will recognise two recent acquaintances of ours [mentioned earlier in the book]:
There also I noticed the remarkable shrub Atkinsonia ligustrina, of the Loranthus
family, which is very dissimilar to the other species of the order. This plant,
at my request, was named by Dr. F. Von Mueller, in honour of my friend Miss
Atkinson (now Mrs. Calvert), who collected many interesting specimens during
her residence at the Kurrajong, and to whom the compliment was especially due.
Sydney Morning Herald, 31 March 1871, 2.
As we have already met the baron and Ms Calvert (née Atkinson), let us now consider these
three masters of 19th century Australian botany: Louisa Atkinson (Beata
Ludovica Calvert), Ferdinand von Mueller (who referred to Louisa in that
way) and William Woolls, but mainly the latter.
Woollsia pungens was always the first plant
collected by Botany II students in the 1960s, when we were sent off at the end
of Lent term to collect “70 native species”. Back before the glaciers started
tumbling, Woollsia was one of the few plants flowering in chilly May.
Prior to my diversion at 14 into the science stream, I
had acquired a smattering of Latin before I was told ex cathedra by
Wally the Deadmaster: “Boys who do Physics don't do Latin!”. This dictum was probably delivered at the
urging of the dragon lady who taught us Latin, but I digress. The point is, I
could make sense of most of the Latin names, but having collected and pressed
my specimens, I wondered “why Woollsia?”.
On the left, Dr, William Woolls, as he appeared in the Australian Town and Country Journal, 5 October 1872, on the right, Woollsia pungens.
I asked Professor Roger Carolin, who said it was named by
von Mueller for William Woolls. Jump forward to the twenty-noughts when I was a
Trove-fiend, working through old newspapers, and I either deduced or was told
that Woolls used to write about botany and nature as ‘W.’ for the Sydney Morning Herald, so one lazy
night, I searched out and tagged most of his articles with his name.
I still didn’t know what the plant was first called, but
as I am doing this second edition, I dug deeper. Antonio Cavanilles called it Epacris pungens in 1797, but Robert
Brown later moved the species to a Western Australian genus, Lysinema, something I had deduced from a
pencilled note in my copy of Florence Sulman’s little book, The Wildflowers of New South Wales. Some
prior owner had noticed the error and corrected it (while getting the spelling
wrong).
The correction that set me on the right track.
As an avid reader of old Herald
copies, I knew von Mueller had named Atkinsonia
after Louisa Atkinson, later Mrs Calvert, and here is how Woolls explained why
von Mueller did so:
This plant, at my request, was named by Dr. F. Von Mueller,
in honour of my friend Miss Atkinson (now Mrs. Calvert), who collected many
interesting specimens during her residence at the Kurrajong, and to whom the
compliment was especially due.
— Sydney Morning Herald, 31 March
1871, 2.
Now you are ready to tackle a mix of abbreviations and odd
Latin: the first line below tells us Antonio Cavanilles named it Epacris pungens, the second says Robert
Brown moved it to Lysinema. Line 6
tells us Louisa Calvert (her married name) collected it in the Blue Mountains,
and the author of the treatises (auctori
opusculorum) in line 7 is William Woolls.
Ferdinand von Mueller, Fragmenta phytographiæ Australiæ, 8. 1873, 55.
Woolls’ article was mainly about his Species Plantarum Parramattensium, or Plants of Parramatta, and that was the key, when you burrow into
von Mueller’s Latin. Keep in mind that in those days, scientists mainly learned
“on the job”.
Born in 1814, Woolls was his parents’ 19th
child, and shortly after his father’s death in 1830, the 16-year-old William
emigrated to Australia, where he soon became a teacher, and spent a generation
educating the sons of prominent colonists. While he was a staunch Anglican,
Woolls resisted ordination, but in 1873 became a deacon, and six months later a
priest at Richmond, and in 1877, became a rural dean.
In 1871, he received a Ph. D, from the University of
Göttingen for his work that we have already met as Plants of Parramatta, but they said of Christopher Wren, si monumentum requiris circumspice: to
see his monument, look around. Woolls’ monument is all over Australia’s east
coast.
Woollsia pungens, without a doubt one of the
hardest heath flowers to photograph.
 |
| William Strutt's depiction of an Australian giving a cooee. |
Here you see a refined selection from a far larger number of entries in my ms, and these all start with A. Right now, there are 1250 distinct expressions (you can find them all listed at the end of this page) and some 2600 quotations from carefully recorded and checked original sources, most of them online. In most cases, I have been able to push back the first recorded use date from what you will find in other similar works: each entry has been meticulously checked: I am right, and they are wrong.
The print sources are all sorts of books, the Trove newspaper archive, on which I am an active voluntrove. The collection presents Australian English at its most inventive.
Freebies: schools and scholars can get a 4.12meg PDF by emailing me at petermacinnis44@gmail.com. This PDF may be shared with other scholars, or loaded on school networks. No charge, but as I am pitching it to publishers, I would be happy to get nice reviews. More to the point, I want people, especially young ones, to enjoy being Australian without necessarily sounding like a footy player. (And "footy"?
The main surprises in this sample:
* how early some Australians realised that our indigenous people were being badly treated;
* how early some expressions crept into the language (33 entries from the 1790s);
* that alligator in The Rocks (it had to be a goanna);
* how we learned to make floors out of ant bed;
* how soon we started marking Anzac Day;
* when we started saying 'Australia'.
I could go on about the rest, but just scroll down to the list of sample entries below. Now get your chops around this lot, and ask when you last mullenised something. or wore a donkey-supper hat...they are both covered.
* * * * *
The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales
Advertiser, 5 May 1840, 4.
We
entirely concur with him also as to the course which it behoves the Archbishop
of Dublin and other Transportation Abolitionists
to pursue. Transportation stopped, they would be bound to promote emigration on
the greatest possible scale to the Colonies which had been Penal…
John Dunmore Lang, An Historical and Statistical Account of New South Wales, 2nd
edition, 1837, volume 1, 37.
There is black blood, at this moment, on the hands of individuals of good
repute in the colony of New South Wales, of which all the waters of New Holland
would be insufficient to wash out the deep and indelible stains!
The Diary of Emily Caroline Creaghe, Explorer,
28 February 1883, 26.
Mr. Watson has 40 pairs of blacks’ ears nailed round the walls collected during
raiding parties after the loss of many cattle speared by the blacks.
Rudston Read, What I Heard, Saw and Did at the Australian Gold Fields, 252.
I
heard a native in the town of Sofala
… amusing a lot of diggers by chaffing a sergeant of mounted police … asking
him what business had he or any other white fellow to come and take his land, and rob him of his gold? What
would he … say, if black fellow went to England and “turn em Queen out”?
David Collins, An Account of the English Colony in New
South Wales, vol. 1, 454.
Conversing with
Bennillong after his return from England, where he had obtained much knowledge
of our customs and manners … I then asked him where the black men (or Eora)
came from? He hesitated; did they come from any island? His answer was, that he
knew of none: they came from the clouds (alluding perhaps to the aborigines of the country); and when
they died, they returned to the clouds (Boo-row-e). He wished to make me
understand that they ascended in the shape of little children, first hovering
in the tops and in the branches of trees; and mentioned something about their
eating, in that state, their favourite food, little fishes.
The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser, 10 December
1814, 1. This is a remarkable document, and well worth reading in full. The
governor in question is Lachlan Macquarie.
GOVERNMENT and
GENERAL ORDERS.
Government House, Sydney Saturday, 10th December 1814
HIS Excellency the Governor having long viewed with Sentiments of Commiseration
the very wretched state of the aborigines
of this Country; and having revolved in his Mind the most probable and
promising Means of ameliorating their Condition, has now taken the Resolution
to adopt such Measures as appear to him best calculated to effect that Object,
and improve the Energies of this innocent, destitute, and unoffending race …
The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales
Advertiser, 11 September 1803, 4.
JAMES WEST, a Convict-servant, By HIS
EXCELLENCY’S Permission taken off the Store.
All Persons are hereby strictly Cautioned against Harbouring and Employing the
said Absentee; and whoever will give
Information concerning him to Henry Kable, at Sydney, shall be handsomely
Rewarded.
Sydney Free Press, 13 July 1841, 3. In
1933, the Adelaide Advertiser called it
an ‘Americanism’.
A rumour is current in town that a country
gentleman, who was for some time resident here, has “absquatulated” with a large amount of the money of the public-ans [sic]. This gent has left several tailors’
bills long overdue, who of course will suffer much from his sudden
disappearances.
South Australian Gazette and Colonial
Register, 8 August 1846, 2.
When Governor Grey “absquatulated” to New Zealand, he carried off with him, by no other
authority than his own that we ever heard of, about £6000 of money belonging to
the colonists of South Australia …but [as] a second supply of money of nearly
the same amount is on its way to New Zealand, it is time to inquire by what
authority is the money of the colonists misappropriated?
Melbourne Punch, 20 November 1856, 3.
Humorous proposed slang dictionary entry.
ABSQUATULATE—Originally
written Absquostatulate. Verb neuter: To clear, to vamos, to mizzle, to cut one’s
stick, to hook it, to slide, to bolt to break out, etc. Derivation—From the
Latin—ab or abs-quo-status and latum from fero, i. e., to be carried or to
carry one’s self away from the place in which one previously was.
The
Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser, 2 August 1822, 4.
This, according
to Cocker, would be 60 per cent per annum on their nominal capital ; and
if, as I have been told, one half this capital was lost by the defalcation of
their late cashier, it will amount to 120 per cent annually on their real
capital.
The
Australian (Sydney), 27 September 1826, 2. This phrase means reliably or correctly calculated.
Consequently, only
one fourth of the whole number of flocks and herds in the Colony graze on the
waste lands. That is, according to
Cocker, out of profits amounting to one hundred thousand pounds, a
Government Regulation in one instant deducts twenty thousand pounds, and
abstracts that sum from the pockets of settlers…
The Maitland Mercury & Hunter River General Advertiser, 19
February 1874, 2. A charge under the Masters and Servants Act, heard at
Walgett.
He had hired her in
Sydney as cook at fourteen bob a week, and the “run of her Dover,” and she had
pleased him mightily these four months, but the other evening she skedaddled,
and left them potluck, and he didn’t think that according to Cocker. She had ten pounds odd coming as wages.
The Canberra Times, 18 April 1995, 24.
Peper was also told that the spectator was
drunk, and that he had also clashed with Norman last year. “Last year Greg
evidently told this guy to, ‘Start acting
your age, not your shoe size’. This guy held the grudge for a year.”
The West Australian, 24 November 1945, 5. Article ‘Brave New Words’.
The most popular
Army gamble is the “swi game,” from the German for two. Rugby is “organised
wrestling”; Australian rules football, “aerial
ping pong.” Any type of dessert is “pudding”; rice is “Ah Foo Ballast”;
sausages are “snaggers”; tea is “chi” or “brew.”
The West Australian, 22 April 1947, 5.
In 1941 he enlisted in the A.I.F. and joined
a unit which fostered rugby football. Renfrey did not join in the “mud bath”
and did not play “aerial ping-pong,”
as the rugby exponents in the army termed the Australian game, until 1946.
Daily Advertiser (Wagga Wagga), 12 July
1928, 5.
AEROPLANE JELLIES AND CUSTARDS
5½d Packet 5½d Packet.
The Canberra Times, 8 May 1983, 3.
Thinking up less-than-charitable
descriptions of people, it appears, is an art. The Federal Police Association
journal printed a number of them supplied by Trooper Charles Black, a police
officer, of Des Moines, Iowa. They included … hasn't seen the ball since the
opening kickoff; one of his walls is not plastered. The boys of the AFP made a
few additions: a sandwich short of a
picnic; if his brains exploded he'd be safe; his woodwind section is short
a flute; a middy short of a schooner; if his ears weren't watertight his brains
would fall out.
Torres News (Thursday Island), 7 October
1988, 3.
Considerable damage was done to the school
office. Mr Koster said the items meddled with include the photocopier,
electronic type writer, electronic calculator, telephone and electric urn. “The
culprits were obviously a few sandwiches
short of a picnic…”
Tribune
(Sydney), 5 August 1970, 2.
The present society
gives them their values, turning their aggressive revolt against their boring
school or factory existence into physical aggression (“aggro” in skinhead language) and a philistine hatred for culture.
The
Canberra Times, 23 September 1975, 2. It may have been an English term that we adopted.
The “soccer
specials”—which have made it possible for example, for young Visigoths from
Manchester to go to London for a day’s “aggro”
with Chelsea fans and have, a little pyromania on the way home at British Rail’s
expense for just £3.50 (about SA5.60) have been abolished. The same pleasures
will now cost £13 (about $A21).
Tharunka
(Kensington, NSW), 5 February 2002, 23.
If there’s
something that makes you angry, and you want to vent it in the most aggro fashion possible, without bashing
anyone, contact or email Tharunka. But please: guest columnists will not be
published if your pissed-offness pertains to really important stuff.
The Queenslander, 15 April 1899, 673, Column ‘Jottings by the Way’.
The aggy was a marble.
The Trades and
Labour Council of New Zealand is very anxious to get legislation to prevent the
individual acquisition of wealth… A law to prohibit the individual acquisition
of marbles would prevent the “muckers” of the school—such is the term by which
the crack marble players are known—gathering in the “chows” and “stonys” and “aggys” of his schoolmates.
Newcastle Morning Herald and Miners’
Advocate, 14 December 1889, 9.
Sympathy without something substantial is all froth and no beer.
The Age, 22 July 1950, 9.
The feature film at the Capitol is Bride for
Sale… In it Claudette Colbert Is a young financial genius who uses her, gifts
to secure the richest man in the U.S. as a husband… The crazy details keep the audience
rocking, but it is only afterwards one recognises it is all froth and no beer.
James
Cook, Captain Cook’s Journal During the First Voyage Round the World.
August 1770
In the rivers and salt creeks there are aligators.
Arthur Bowes Smyth,
Journal, HRNSW (2), 394. This was actually a lace monitor, or goanna.
16 February 1788 An
alligator, ab’t 8 feet long, was
seen close by where I go to birdlime just behind the camp, and has been seen
among the tents at night more than once.
Lt. P. P. King, Narrative of a Survey of the intertropical
and western coasts of Australia, vol. 1, 299.
In the evening
(since we had lately seen no appearance of sharks) the people were allowed to
bathe; but they had no sooner finished, and every one on board, than an alligator swam past the vessel.
Hobart Town Gazette and Van Diemen’s Land
Advertiser, 12 August 1825, 4. The Lord Chamberlain had banned a play in
London, so the phrase is imported.
The fact, however, is, if we judge aright,
that Mr. Colman and the Chamberlain have proved, by their rejection of this
play, that they consider our freedom to be “all my eye;” for if we be not permitted to speak of tyrants except
with respect and reverence, those who prevent us must certainly consider
themselves tyrants, and imagine that whenever we talk of tyrants our allusion
is to them.
Port Lincoln Times (SA), 24 August 1984,
32.
Coffey tried hard all day and took some good
marks, but mistakes further down the line wasted these precious opportunities.
At the last change it was all over red
rover unless someone was able to perform a miracle.
The Canberra Times, 21 May 1994, 12.
If the moderates don’t make a decision and move
collectively and be seen to be the ones to make the change as bloodlessly as
possible, there’ll be less place for us in the new leadership group. We’ve got
to say to Hewson: ‘It’s all over red
rover, we’re going to X and he will be leader.’
Western
Mail (Perth), 27 December 1928, 2. Very early, but is it related?
“Ambo” (Perth) writes: “From what is the
word ambulance derived?” The word ambulance is derived from the Latin “Ambulare,”
to move about, and has come into English through the French, the substantive “ambulance”
being formed from the objectival participle “ambulant,” as in “hopital ambulant”
(moving hospital.)
Port
Lincoln Times (SA), 16 November 1999, 9.
He said he became
an ambulance officer after years in the printing industry. “I did 15 years in
the printing industry and they sent me to do a first aid course and I got such
a buzz out of it I thought I wouldn’t mind being an ambo,” he said.
Port
Lincoln Times (SA), 10 February 2000, 1. We can safely blame the Port Lincoln Times…
Ambo crisis deepens
The ambulance service crisis in Elliston has deepened with a poor community
response to a call for new volunteers.
The Canberra Times, 8 May 1983, 3.
The boys of the AFP made a few additions: a
sandwich short of a picnic; if his brains exploded he'd be safe; his woodwind
section is short a flute; a middy short
of a schooner; if his ears weren't watertight his brains would fall out.
Referee
(Sydney), 12 September 1900, 5. (A different meaning?)
But the optics of
the young millionaire fairly, glistened as they lit upon a speaking likeness of
Mr. E. H. Fry, side by side with an ‘ankle-biter’
of Mr. ‘Joe’ Thompson.
The
Canberra Times, 17 December 1982, 19.
She wades bravely
through the schmaltz of Annie’s enduring goodness and optimism until one finds
oneself almost liking the little ankle-biter.
The Maitland Mercury and Hunter River
General Advertiser, 2 February 1850, 3. Filler item from the US: the text indicates
the term’s origin.
Hurrying back to the bank, he informed the
paying teller that he had made a mistake. “We rectify no mistakes after the
parties have left the bank,” was the reply. “Yes, but you’ve paid me too much
money.” This was quite “another pair of
sleeves.” The officers of the bank were instantly on the qui vive. Mr. Jesserun handed in the
1000 and received a 100 in return, without even a “thank you!” by way of
difference. [New York Globe.]
Darling
Downs Gazette, 15 June 1892, 2. Protection, free trade and Federation.
Resentment in this case will cast about for
some method of returning tit for tat, and scourging Victoria with centipedes in
return for her scorpions. We cannot say we ever loved Protection, but
retaliation is another pair of sleeves.
Miles Franklin, Old Blastus of Bandicoot, 1931, chapter 1.
It was another pair of sleeves when Sandy
Lindsey and his son Ross came back from Sydney with a car of their own. Motor
cars became a personal and local concern from Canberra to Brindabullah, Bombala
to Yass, and back again to Bandicoot, and the kernel of gossip.
The Australasian (Melbourne), 12 July 1890, 43.
Consequently he
stopped, and going down upon his knees on the ant-bed floor, opened
his box, took out a bundle of papers and a small packet.
Mrs A. (Julia)
Blitz, ‘An Australian Millionaire’, serialised in Evening News, (Sydney), 18 September 1893, 7. At the close of the
19th century, Julia Blitz felt she needed
to explain ant bed to the readers of her novel. The drawing room she describes
was in a house that was once a station manager’s quarters.
The “drawing-room” floor
was of ant-bed, which, when crushed
to powder and mixed with water, hardens like cement; the walls were papered at
intervals with woodcuts from illustrated periodicals and some painted almanacs,
which served to partly conceal the ungainly fissures of the slabs and curtain
their ugliness.
K. (‘Katie’) Langloh
Parker, Australian Legendary Tales,
1896. The dardurr was the Yuwalaraay
name for the Eora gunya.
The young men did as they were bade. When they had the bark
cut and brought in, Wirreenun said: “Go you now and raise with ant-bed a high
place, and put thereon logs and wood for a fire, build the ant-bed about a foot
from the ground. Then put you a floor of
ant-bed a foot high wherever you are going to build a dardurr.”
The Northern Miner (Charters Towers), 11 November 1899, 5.
…office and store for tools, detonators, &c., combined,
12 by 10 tent, with the added luxury of an ant-bed
floor…
Kalgoorlie
Miner, 28 October 1896, 2.
In
about six or seven weeks hence the members of the local Presbyterian
denomination will worship in a new building in Cassidy-street … Bricks have
been used for the base work, and these have been covered with ant caps.
Sir Joseph Banks, The Endeavour Journal of Sir Joseph Banks,
vol. 2.
23 May 1770…upon the sides of the lagoon grew many Mangrove
trees in the branches of which were many nests of Ants, one sort of which were quite green. These when the branches
were disturbd came out in large numbers and revengd themselves very
sufficiently upon their disturbers, biting sharper than any I have felt in
Europe.
Louisa Ann Meredith,
Notes and Sketches of New South Wales,
69. This is a bull ant.
Many various kinds of ants
inhabit New South Wales and Van Diemen’s Land: I know about a dozen species
myself. One is a very formidable-looking personage, full an inch long, with a
shiny coat of mail gleaming purple and blue, and a threatening sting, which I
am told inflicts a most painful wound, as severe as that of the hornet.
F. Eldershaw, Australia as it really is, 46–7. The
largest known Australian ants are ~40 mm long.
Different kinds of Ants,
black, white, and red, lend their important agency towards the torment of the
dwellers in the Bush; they also play their part effectively as scavengers. The
Warrior-Ants, soldier or sailor, according to colour, are bold and formidable
insects; they are sometimes very large, between two and three inches in length,
and do not seem afraid of attacking anything …
The Advertiser, 8 June 1915, 12. At this early time, ‘Anzac’ is a
place, or HQ.
During the progress
of the fight I received information from Anzac
that enemy reinforcements had been seen advancing from Maidos towards Krithia.
Sunday Times (Perth), 4 June 1916, 7. A recipe contest: she got an
engraved electroplated butter knife. The leading winners were melon and lemon
conserve; chilli wine and wheaten meal biscuits.
Fourth prize is awarded to Mrs. M. Sutherland Grosvenor, Mt.
Kokeby, for recipe—
Anzac Ginger Biscuits.
Ingredients: One cup treacle, quarter-cup dripping or butter, quarter-cup
sugar, quarter-cup milk. Put on stove to make hot. Then put in dessertspoonful
of ginger, one teaspoonful of baking soda and enough flour to roll out stiff.
Cut round. Bake in moderate oven.
The Argus, 15 September 1920, 7. There had been no further mentions
of these biscuits during the war, so did Australian women bake and send them to
the troops? After that, there were many further recipes.
Anzac Biscuits or
Crispies. “Josephine” (E. Brunswick) has been kind enough to contribute the
following recipe for Anzac biscuits:—Two cups John Bull oats or flaked oatmeal,
1 cup flour, 1 table-spoonful golden syrup, half-cup of sugar, 1 teaspoonful
carbonate of soda, 1 good pinch salt, 2 tablespoonfuls boiling water, half-cup
melted butter. Put oatmeal, flour, sugar, and salt together. Pour on the melted
butter, mix syrup and boiling water, and stir in the soda. Mix all while
frothing. Put on the greased oven slide with a teaspoon, bake brown in a
moderate oven. They must be very ripe when ready for the table. They are
usually eaten with a spoon.
The Advertiser, 28 August 1915, 2. Note that this was to be October
13. The April 25 ANZAC day was still a long way ahead.
The Executive
Committee of the MONSTER PROCESSION, PAGEANT, and CARNIVAL to be held on
WEDNESDAY, OCTOBER 13, in aid of THE WOUNDED SOLDIERS’ FUND, has decided that
the day shall be known as ANZAC DAY.
The Souvenir offered by the Committee to the person whose suggestion for a
title was adopted has been awarded to Mr. Robert Wheeler, Prospect.
Barrier Miner, 13 October 1915, 3. This is the 161st instance of “Anzac
Day” in Trove, and the first from outside South Australia (but it is from
Broken Hill, which always looked to Adelaide).
Mr. James referred
to the “Anzac Day” celebration
which, was to be held in Adelaide in connection with the Eight Hours’ Day
celebrations there the proceeds from which were to be utilised to swell the
South Australian Wounded Soldiers’ Fund.
Sydney Morning Herald, 14 October 1915, 10. Before this event,
there were almost 220 “hits”. This one was in the interstate press notices—on
page 10!
ADELAIDE,
Wednesday. This year the Eight-hours Day committee sacrificed the identity of
its celebration by conducting a carnival in aid of the wounded Soldiers’ Fund.
The committee was enlarged to embrace all sections of the community, and the
day was observed as Anzac Day. Many
thousands of people witnessed the street procession.
The Advertiser, 20 October 1915, 14. A brawl had broken out between
drunken soldiers and police.
THE STREET RIOT.
Incidents connected with the riot in King William-street on Anzac Day were again related in the
Adelaide Police Court on Tuesday, when Allen Dalziell was charged with having
hindered Constable Feudeloff in the execution of his duty, namely, while he was
arresting John Davoren on a charge of drunkenness.
Gippsland Times, 16 December 1915, 3: yet another date for “the day”,
17 December. There were more than 400 instances of “Anzac Day” before this.
The … Lord Mayor’s
Central “Button” Committee has fixed to-morrow as “Anzac” day, and have issued at special “remembrance” button to be
sold throughout the Commonwealth at the usual price of 1/ [one shilling], the
proceeds to be divided between all the tents working for the welfare of those
under arms either at home or the front, viz., Y.M.C.A., Churches of England,
Presbyterian, Roman Catholic, Methodist, and Salvation Army.
The Brisbane Courier, 10 January 1916, 8. And now the pattern was
set: ANZAC day would be April 25.
Proposed
Celebration in Brisbane. A public meeting will be held in the Exhibition Hall this
evening to discuss the steps to be taken for the celebration of Anzac Day on April 25.
The Register (Adelaide), 10 January 1916, 4. He was an early adopter!
(‘Well, I was 70
years old last birthday,’ remarked the gentleman from Blackrock, ‘and I am not
likely to forget it, because it was April 25, Anzac Day.’
Western Mail, 18 December 1941, 35. This and the next entry both
come from W.A.
Darkness, was
approaching, so the three anti-tank gunners, reconciled to their unhappy
position, placed the ammunition in a handy place ready for use … The corporal
came along and during a “once over” found that in the hurry of the previous
night the ammunition had not been primed! Imagine the feelings of the three
anti-tank gunners! After the first dread thoughts had passed away out came the
postal orderly’s final remarks: “Wouldn’t it——. Anyhow, she’s apples.”
The West Australian, 24 November 1945, 5. Article ‘Brave New Words’.
Anything
satisfactorily arranged or done is sometimes “sewn up” but more frequently: “she’s apples” or “she’s caster.” The
roots of both phrases are unknown.
Shepparton Advertiser (Vic), 16 August
1888, 1. Note that this is Scots dialect.
I winna argy-bargy
wi’ ye, Tammas; but I dinna see hoo ye cud get at it by presentiment.
Northern Star (Lismore), 4 November
1893, 6. Here, Alan Breck Stewart in Stevenson’s Kidnapped (serialised in Australian newspapers) speaks a less dense
form of Scots.
“Captain,” said Alan, “I doubt your word is
a breakable. Last night ye haggled and argle
bargled, like an apple wife, and then passed me your word, and gave me your
hand to back it, and ye ken very well what was the upshot. Be damned to your
word!” says he.
The Sydney Morning Herald, 22 December
1858, 4. They talked about, but knew nothing.
By the formation of dams, the construction
of tanks, and the sinking of artesian
wells, water may possibly be supplied in adequate quantities to this
enormous district. And the increasing price of meat will be an inducement to
squatters to make this outlay, if popular jealousy will show them a reasonable
tenure of the lands.
Gippsland Mercury (Sale, Vic), 5 May
1881, 3.
By
direction of the mayor, the artesian
well water was allowed to stream into the street during the afternoon
hours, and considerable interest was manifested by our visitors in the, to
them, unusual sight.
The Sydney Mail and New South Wales
Advertiser, 17 September 1881, 513.
The great under current is tapped at last.
Mr. J. H. Angas has got Artesian water
2.5 miles north of the Blinman, and it runs to the surface. We shall have the
real Australian rivers upon the surface yet.
The Sydney Morning Herald, 4 August
1882, 4. It needed explaining.
An artesian
well is simply the end of a pipe. It requires that water should exist
somewhere at a greater elevation, and should pass continuously from that
elevation to the outlet. There is only one part of Australia where the
requisite elevation is furnished, and that is in the great Cordillera Range,
and it is only there that there is a sufficient rainfall to be practically
useful. Even there, it depends upon the character of the rock whether the water
shall roll down the slopes along or near the surface, or whether it shall sink
in to come out elsewhere.
Banjo
Paterson, The Bulletin, 17, 1896.
‘Song of the Artesian Water’
Sinking down, deeper down,
Oh, we’re going deeper down:
If we fail to get the water, then it’s ruin to the squatter,
For the drought is on the station and the weather’s growing hotter;
But we’re bound to get the water deeper down.
Daily Mirror (Sydney), 7 September 1943, 6. The fish wrapper
newspapers carried syndicated propaganda stories like this. There is an
indecipherable instance of Arthur or Martha, in the Inverell Times 16 May 1941.
Some of the warships built a smokescreen on either flank and
the landing boats surged forward into the valley in between. Others steamed
offshore from Lae and pounded the town and the ‘drome. Bombers dropped their
loads on Lae until the Japs didn’t know whether they were Arthur or Martha. Then the shelling of the beach suddenly ended and
the time for wondering was over and the time for action had come.
Truth (Sydney), 14 March 1948, 17. See Rafferty’s rules.
THE LATE lamented Mr. Rafferty would have jumped with joy
had he been at Erskineville Oval yesterday, when Eastern Suburbs and Newtown
staged trials for the coming League season. Players were all over the place
like Brown’s cows, and most didn’t know whether they were Arthur or Martha. Still, the season’s only beginning, and Rafferty
will be put to shame later.
Sydney Mail, 25 August 1926, 16.
‘And the shivoo’s this arvo?’
‘Er—yes.’
She slipped over to the window. Red and Alf were still busy with the car.
‘Slip off yer shoes,’ she said curtly. ‘Now follow me.’
Northern Star (Lismore), 8 June 1929,
14. “Unless a determined effort be made to overcome this modern tendency to
contract and mutilate, the criticisms of the Australian use of the Mother
tongue will have a great deal more justification than has been heretofore
bestowed upon such as our nasal vowels, etc.”
A
most regrettable feature of the present day speech is the tendency to mutilate
or, to say the least, contract—many words of the English language. In addition
to the recognised contractions, “isn’t,” “don’t” “that’s,” etc., on every side
we hear the objectionable and wrong “ain’t” (I cannot spell this). Then again
are heard the almost universal use of “exam.” and lately another objectionable
expression “this arvo” for this
afternoon, seems to have taken a firm hold of the younger members of the
community.
The Brisbane Courier, 10 September 1932,
18. At least they were blaming the movies and not the teachers!
Films
and Their Influence. By “HYGIEA.” “GEE, it was a beaut picsher—six blokes shot,
and you could see fair-dinkum blood on some of ‘em,” said one of the small boys
excitedly. “Oh, yeah,” said the other, superciliously. “Well, I bet it wasn’t
half as good as the fillum that I saw this
arvo. There was a bloke in it strangled with wire after he’d shot a man,
and was just going to burn down his house with the woman and kids in it.
The Australian (Sydney), 11 August 1835,
3.
Mr. Burton, from his Commission as a Judge
at the Cape, being dated before that of Mr. Dowling for this Colony. The latter
is the elder Barrister. Between such high contending powers it would ill become
us to interfere— “When Doctors differ” as the poet says, “who shall decide?” To
us however the case seems as “clear as
mud”…
The Canberra Times, 18 February 1990, 9.
Here is one more piece of very important
advice. Check the expiry date on your card before your leave home. If it
expires while you are overseas, it will be as useful as an ashtray on a motor bike.
The
Farmer and Settler (Sydney), 13 July 1915, 2. Letter from Private P. G.
Stephens.
Writing on board a
transport (May 3) a few hours before landing at Gallipoli from Egypt, he said: “Rare
yarns are being told about the ‘Aussies’
at the front. On Thursday night I saw a train of wounded being unloaded … my
stomach turned somersaults, and I broke out into a cold sweat…”
Sydney Sportsman, 8 December 1915, 3. This seems to be the earliest
instance of “an Aussie”, but see Aussie
rules, below, for an earlier use of the adjectival form: it was clearly
around in the spoken language.
Archie poked that little red demon about, and ran between
the wickets like an Aussie chasing
the Turks in Gallipoli. It really was refreshing to see Archie exciting himself
so. You surely wouldn’t expect it from a cove with the appellation of Archie.
The
Forbes Advocate (NSW), 6 July 1917, 7.
Aussie (pronounced “ozzy”). An
Australian soldier.
Bairnsdale Advertiser and Tambo and Omeo Chronicle, 17 October
1917, 2.
Rumor hath it that the Americans are to take over portion
and we are to go elsewhere. The ‘Aussies’
(Australians) have had a ‘box-on’ with the Americans already. One of the Yanks
said ‘The Australians are no good now, and they had to send for us to finish
the war.’ An ‘Aussie’ ‘all dressed,’ flew at him, with the result that there
was a free fight, which resulted in favor of the ‘kangaroo’.
Coolamon-Ganmain Farmers’ Review, 19 July 1907, 11.
JUNEE SLOW TO START IN AUSSIE
RULES GAME.
On Saturday, Junee Australian Rules team went down to Holbrook after a very
slow start. Junee, it will be remembered, were very slow to get going against
Yerong Creek after pushing The Rock to 10 points the week before, but on
Saturday they slept through the first half until awakened by coach Roy Hart in
the dressing room … but they had shut the gate too late.
The Bunbury Herald and Blackwood Express (WA), 5 September 1924, 6.
Short news report, quoted in full. (See also Australian Rules.)
AUSSIE RULES. Under the Australian rules the semi-finals
were entered into last Sunday when Yarloop met Mornington at Brunswick and
after a stirring game Yarloop won by 8 points.
The
Mail (Adelaide), 21 May 1921, 3. What might this salute have been? We will
never know…
Mr. Roberts gave a
capital skit on soldiers saluting, and brought forth rounds of applause for his
interpretation of the Aussie salute.
The
Australian Women’s Weekly, 1 June 1966, 10. Almost there…
On to Alice Springs, where Pat said she was
given the traditional Aussie salute—flies!
“Not that they bothered me much. Those fly sprays are pretty good.”
The
Canberra Times, 9 April 1989, 23.
Many people are
asked to speak frankly about their problems with the fly, which seems to have
become one of our national symbols: witness the worldwide acceptance of the Great Aussie Salute as we swat or swipe
at the little devils.
The Sydney Morning Herald, 20 May 1905, 14. Note that this is a 1905
account of an earlier usage.
Shaw evidently
favoured Australia while Smith in the “Transactions of the Linnaean Society”
vol. iv, p 213 (1798), uses Australasia
for the continent several times. Neither name however, passed then into general
use… 1793 G. Shaw and J. E. Smith, “Zoology and Botany of New Holland,” p. 2:
“The vast island, or rather continent, of Australia, Australasia, or New
Holland, which has so lately attracted the particular attention of European
navigators and naturalists…”
The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser, 6 November 1808,
2. Incorrectly rendered in one TROVE correction as “Australia”. It actually
reads “Australasia”. Some Trove volunteers are dills!
“MR. PRINTER,”
“Your sage Correspondent affects to describe,
“The HABITS that grace Australasia’s
Black Tribe;
“But if Habit means Dress, you’ll permit me to call
“The Dress of HER Natives—No Habit at all.”
George Shaw and
James Edward Smith, Zoology and Botany of
New Holland, vol. 1, 2, 1793.
The vast Island or rather Continent of Australia, Australasia, or New Holland…seems to abound in scenes of
peculiar wildness and sterility…
The Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser, 30 January 1813,
3. A poem called ‘Effusions of Gratitude’, by Michael Massey Robinson. First
Australian use in print. This is the first of six verses.
FROM Albion’s blest
Isle have we cross’d the wide Main,
And brav’d all the Dangers, of Neptune’s Domain—
The Hurricane’s Whirlwind, the Tempest’s loud Roar,
An Asylum to find on Australia’s
rude Shore
For the Genius of Britain sent forth a Decree,
That her Sons should be exil’d—once more to be free!
M. Flinders, “Voyage to Terra Australis,”
introduction, 3, and footnote.
“I have…ventured upon the readoption of the
original Terra Australis, and of this term I shall hereafter make use, when
speaking of New Holland, and New South Wales, in a collective sense.”
Footnote:
“Had I permitted myself any innovation upon the original term, it would have
been to convert it into Australia,
as being more agreeable to the ear, and an assimilation to the names of the
other great portions of the earth.”
The History of New South Wales From the Records, vol. 1, s. 1.11,
n8, 1889.
Despatch to Lord Bathurst, of April 4th, 1817, from Governor
Macquarie: “Lieutenant King expects to be absent from Port Jackson between
eight and nine months; and, I trust, in that time, will be able to make very
important additions to the geographical knowledge already acquired of the
continent of Australia; which, I
hope, will be the name given to this country in future, instead of the very
erroneous and misapplied name hitherto given to it of New Holland, which,
properly speaking, only applies to part of this immense continent.”
R. E. N. (Richard)
Twopeny, Town Life in Australia, 1883.
The circumstances of a new colony naturally cause additions
to the word-stock of the mother country. New occupations and modes of living
need new words to describe them, or, as often as not, the settler not being of
an inventive disposition, old words are used in a new sense … There is room for
a very interesting dictionary of Australianisms.
But I have no time to collect such a list.
Western Mail (Perth), 28 January 1888, 15. The writer’s spelling is
less reliable than we might wish.
But much might be done by the teachers of our higher schools
to correct the coarser Australianisms
of speech, so unfortunately common amongst the children of the colony, and to
form the pronounciation [sic] of our
future men and women in fair accordance with educated English models. Nothing
is so dreadful as to find a pretty and ladylike Australian girl open her mouth
and deliver her words with a wretched nasal drawl.
The Mount Barker Courier and Onkaparinga and Gumeracha Advertiser
(SA), 1 May 1891, 2.
A writer in London
Notes and Queries points out: that “there are several good dictionaries of
Americanisms,” and he wants to know whether there is “such a thing as a
dictionary of Australianisms.” … He
quotes from a recently-published Australian novel such words as “new chum,”
“stuck-up,” “cattle-duffing,” “nobblers,” “bail-up,” &c., which, he says,
require explanation in order to be intelligible to English readers.
The Sydney Morning Herald, 10 October 1891, 7.
But against objection to the inclusion of new words of
aptness and expressiveness in our current vernacular, in the name of British
liberty we protest. For why should we not increase the wealth of our native
language by “Australianisms” as they
are contemptuously called, provided only that, we find them useful to our hand?
Truth (Sydney), 7 January 1894, 1.
That Imperialism generally gives Australianism a back-hander or a bribe.
Clare’s Weekly (Perth), 18 December 1897, 10.
There’s one exception, and that’s a brilliant one. The
Sydney Bulletin is the snappiest
paper in the world. Suggested by the Americanisms of some American comics, it
has created a new “ism” and flooded the world with “Australianisms.”
* * * * *
Creating the list of topics below took two hours, and I don't have the time, right now, so here's an out-of-date list.
Aboriginal blood: 1837; Aboriginal land: c. 1852; aborigines: 1798; absentee: 1803; absquatulate: 1841; according to Cocker: 1826; act your age, not your shoe size: 1995; aerial ping pong: 1945; Aeroplane jelly: 1928; aggro: 1970; aggy: 1899; all froth and no beer: 1889; alligator: 1788; all over, red rover: 1984; ambo: 1928; ankle-biter: 1900; another pair of sleeves: 1850; ant bed: 1890; ant caps: 1896; ants: 1770; Anzac: 1915; Anzac biscuits: 1916; ANZAC Day: 1915; apples (she’s): 1941; argy-bargy: 1888; artesian water: 1881; Arthur or Martha: 1943; arvo: 1926; ash tray on a motor bike: 1990; Aussie: 1915; Aussie Rules: 1907; Aussie salute: 1921; Australasia: 1793; Australia: 1793; Australian Rules: 1865; babbler: 1904; back-blocks: 1862; back chat: 1895; backhander: 1894; back of beyond: 1830; back of Bourke: 1871; bad trot: 1914; bagman: 1841; Bagman’s Gazette: 1900; bail up: 1844.; balls-up: 1970; Bananaland: 1881; bandicoot: 1799; banker, running a: 1866; barbie: 1973; bar, bull: 1979; bark hut: 1815; barney: 1855; barrack: 1883; barracker: 1881; barracking: 1878; bar, roo: 1977; bash hat: 1950; basket weavers: 1982; bastard: 1945; bastardry: 1945; bathers: 1911; bathing: 1810; bathing dress: 1830; Bathurst burr: 1850; battler: 1901; beak: 1838; beanie: 1945; beano: 1908; bean (without a): 1891; beauty bottler: 1957; bee’s knees: 1874; belly buster: 1933; belly-flop: 1924; Belyando spew: c. 1864; berko: 1988; berley: 1871; bicycle: 1851; big hat no cattle: 1994; big note: 1938; big smoke: 1854; big wigs: 1825; bike: 1898; bikkies: 1890; bikkies (money): 1977; bilby: 1886; billabong: 1838; billy: 1827; billycart: 1898; billy lids: 2000; billy-o: 1887; bindi-eye: 1907; bingey: 1882; bint: 1945; bite his lug: 1900; bitser: 1926; bitumen, leave the: 1926; blackbirding: c. 1827; blackfellow: 1831; blackleg: 1865; Black Maria: 1868; black stump: 1865; black tracker: 1828; Blind Freddy: 1907; bloke: 1848; blokey: 1990; bloodhouse: 1901; bloody: 1853; blow: 1929; blowfly: 1829; blowie: 1911; Blucher boots: 1821; bludger: 1897; bluegum: 1803; blue (in the sense of lose money): 1898; Blue Mountain parrot: 1823; Blue Mountains: 1793; blue, start a: 1938; bluetongue: 1849; Bluey: 1845; bluey: 1880; blunt: 1826; bob (shilling): 1838; bodgie: 1950; Bogan: 1987; bogey: 1788; bog roll: 1988; boiling down: c. 1843; bolter: 1827; bombora: 1901; Bondi tram, like a: 1943; bonzer: 1851; boodle: 1898; Boofhead: 1924; boofy: 1993; boomerang: 1804; boots and all: 1838; borak: 1893; boring as batshit: 1999; boshter: 1903; bosker: 1912; boss cockie: 1875; Boss-of-the-Board: 1900; Boss-of-the-Board: 1900; Botany Bay: 1786; boundary rider: 1860; bowerbird: 1894; bowlo: 2004; bowyangs: 1889; box tree: 1834; brass razoo: 1927; breakaway: 1893; brekky: 1900; brickfielder: 1829; brickie: 1902; brick short of a load: 1992; bright-eyed and bushy-tailed: 1954; Brown’s cows: 1841; brown-eye: 1981; brum (penny): 1861; brumby: 1871; brush: 1788; bubbler: 1912; Buckley’s chance: 1887; budgerigar: 1845; budgie smugglers: 2006; bugger me dead: 1975; buggy: 1806; Bullamakanka: 1948; Bulletin: c.1880; bullock driver: 1813; bull-roarer: 1888; Bundy clock: 1905; bunger: 1891; bunny: 1952; bunya bunya: 1841; bunyip: 1845; bunyip aristocracy: 1853; burning off: 1805; burrawang: 1831; bush: 1801; bush bashing: 1943; bush carpenter: 1902; bushed: 1847; bushfire: 1831; bush inn: c. 1850; bush lawyer: 1835; bush lemon: 1910; bushman: 1832; bushranger: 1805; bush store: 1847; bush telegraph: 1863; bush tucker: 1884; bushwoman: 1869; busier than Bourke street: 1877; busier than Pitt Street: 1869; B.Y.O.: 1968; Cabbage Garden: 1842; cabbage tree hat: 1799; cabbage tree mob: 1841; cabs: 1852; Cab Sav: 1974; cackleberry: 1918; call a spade a bloody shovel: 1897; camp: 1788; canary: 1853; cane toad: 1935; cark: 1983; cart: c. 1854; caser: 1892; cask wine: 1975; Catherine Hayes: 1859; cedar: 1795; celestials: 1856; chalkie: 1928; champagne tastes on a beer budget: 1941; chap: 1898; chardonnay socialist: 1987; charged like a wounded bull: 1976; chateau cardboard: 1987; chats: 1917; cheap as chips: 1875; chewy: 1922; Chico roll: 1958; chocolate crackles: 1937; chockers: 1990; choof off: 1965; chook: 1889; chook raffle: 1956; chook with its head chopped off: 1982; Chow: 1855; chow: 1899; Christmas beetle: 1893; chuck: 1838; chuck a u-ey: 1975; chuck a wobbly: 1986; chunder: 1954; churchyarder: 1900; chyack: 1873; cigar: 1859; Circular Quay: 1836; civvies: 1946; Clayton’s: 1983; clean skins: 1868; clearing: 1788; clear out: 1831; clobber: 1884; clothes hoist: 1911; clothes props: 1846; coach travel: 1821; coal: 1797; cobber: 1890; cobbler: 1827; cobbler’s pegs: 1864; cockatoo: c. 1854; cockatoo fence: 1842; cockatoo (lookout): 1991; cock-eye bob: 1884; cockies: 1878; cockie’s joy: 1901; coffee: 1902; coffee tent: 1852; coldie: 1985; Collins street cocky: 1924; come good: 1948; come in spinner: 1919; comic cuts: 1922; Compo: 1921; concertina: 1892; conchy: 1917; constables: 1826; cooee: 1826; coolamon: 1854; coot: 1915; corduroy road: 1856; corn: 1834; Cornstalk: 1827; cossies: 1903; cot case: 1915; could eat a horse and chase the rider: 1934; country store: 1834; Cousin Jack: 1864; cove: 1817; cow cocky: 1907; cracker night: 1890; crack hardy: 1897; crack onto: 1974; crawler: 1864; creek: 1790; cricket: 1804; crimson: 1883; crinoline: 1839; cronk: 1900; crook: 1896; cropper, come a: 1859; crow-eaters: 1870; cry crack: 1871; cuddy: 1826; cultural cringe: 1951; currency: 1822; cut lunch: 1913; cut out: 1867; cycling: c. 1895; cyclists: 1899; dacks: 1982; dag: 1971; dags (wool): 1928; Dagwood dog: 1951; dam: 1869; damper: 1825; darg: 1879; date: 2003; dead cert: 1877; dead flat: 1900; dead marine: 1856; dead set: 1954; deaf adder: 1832; deaner (shilling): 1892; death adder: 1845; death warmed up: 1922; demo: 1952; derro: 1976; devon sausage: 1994; didgeridoo: 1918; did his block: 1904; didn’t come down in the last shower: 1893; digger: 1817; digging: 1849; dill: 1946; dilly bag 1829; dilly-dallying: 1826; dingbat: 1887; dingo: 1788; dinkum: 1917; dinky di: 1914; diphthong ships: 1852; dipstick: 1982; disperse: 1805; divvy: 1885; Dixie: 1918; do a Melba: 1950; dob in: 1953; dodgy: 1856; dog’s breakfast: 1903; do his lolly: 1954; doing the Block: 1854; dole: 1915; dole bludger: 1975; dollop: 1833; Dolly’s wax: 1909; donah: 1889; done like a dinner: 1838; done me dash: 1915; donkey engine: 1852; donkey-supper hat: c. 1897; donkey vote: 1894; don’t bust your foofer valve: 1884; don’t give a rat’s: 1994; doover: 1941; double dink: 1914; double-headed coins: 1885; dowak: 1848; down the gurgler: 1979; down under: 1907; drafting: 1836; drag the chain: 1840; dray: 1820; drink with the flies: 1898; drongo: 1837; drop bear 1967; dropsies: 1952; drought: c. 1842; drought: 1878; drover: 1814; drover’s dog: 1868; dry-blower: 1869; duchess (v): 1944; duck’s disease: 1940; dud: 1918; duds: 1900; duffer: 1853; duffing: 1856; dummy: 1896; dumper: 1912; dunny: 1942; earbash 1944; echidna: 1828; ecology: 1905; education: c. 1830; elastic-side boots: 1896; elderly: 1900; emu: 1788; emu eggs: 1829; emu oil: 1860; enemy origin place names: 1916; Eora: 1798; every man and his dog: 1902; exclusionists: 1826; fair cop: 1897; fair crack of the whip: 1902; fair dinkum: 1880; fair go: 1863; fairy bread: 1915; fairy floss: 1906; fart-arse around: 1975; fat lamp: 1827; fed up to the back teeth: 1919; fell off perch: 1857; Female Factory: 1826; fence: 1788; ferals: 1992; fibro-cement: 1905; finger talk: 1934; first fleet: 1817; fizzer: 1861; Flash Jack: 1826; flash your dover: 1872; flat chat: 1986; flat out like a lizard drinking: 1930; fleahouse: 1935; fleas: 1803; flick, give him the: 1979; flicks: 1918; flies: c. 1842; floater (pie): 1923; Flying Doctor: 1922; flying fox: 1793; fly veil: 1849; football: 1829; foot in mouth disease: 1910; footpath: 1803; footrot: 1822; footy: 1894; forester: 1861; fossick: 1852; four by two: 1898; freebie: 1991; Fremantle doctor: 1873; Freo: 1947; fruit fly: 1862; full as a goog: 1942; full board: 1875; funnelweb: 1927; Furphy: 1915; gaff: 1901; galah: 1861; gallows: c. 1838; gammon: 1826; gander: 1939; garbage: 1823; garbo: 1950; gas lamps: 1855; g’day: 1848; gee-gee: 1898; geek: 1953; gerries: 1991; get a guernsey: 1902; gibber: 1793; gilgai: 1868; gin: 1831; ginormous: 1942; Gippsland earth-worm: 1889; give it a burl: 1911; give me the drum: 1925; glory box: 1904; goanna: 1832; goat (act the): 1881; go bush: 1871; goldfield: 1849; gold mine: 1788; gone bung: 1868; good fist of it: 1856; good oil: 1914; good on ya: 1973; goog: 1914; goolies: 1922; goonack: 1873; goon: 1972; go-slow: 1916; go you halves: 1870; gramma: 1874; grass-tree: 1831; grazier: 1804; green bough: 1896; greenhide: 1836; greenies: 1982; gremlins: 1942; grog: 1788; groupers: 1946; gully-raking: c. 1837; gum-sucker: 1849; gum tree: 1788; gunya: 1798; gutless wonder: 1936; gutser: 1917; had it: 1945; hairy eyeball: 1982; half a mo: 1898; half drunk half the time: 1967; hambone: 1964; handkerchiefs: 1901; hang around like a bad smell: 1941; hanging up: 1853; happy as Larry: 1857; hard: 1896; hard case: 1900; hard up: 1827; hardwood: 1823; harness cask: 1827; hashmagandy: 1883; hatful of arseholes: 1957; hatter: 1858; have a bash: 1943; have a lash: 1892; have the wood on: 1889; have your guts for garters: 1888; hawker: 1818; hidey: 1863; history, Australian: 1888; hobble: c. 1830; homestead: 1817; hoon: 1983; hooroo: 1916; horizontal scrub: 1860; hospital paddock: 1888; hot-cross bun maker: 1903; Hoyts, man outside: 1935; humpy: 1838; hundreds and thousands: 1899; Hungry Tyson: 1877; hunk: 1883; huntsman spider: 1914; Hyde Park: 1810; Hyde Park Barracks: 1829; icebergs: 1905; ice block: 1934; idiot box: 1959; illywhacker: 1985; indications: 1885; inexpressibles: 1824; inland: 1806; in good nick: 1878; invasion: c. 1798; ironbark: 1803; iron gang: 1826; iron lace: 1919; iron lace: 1944; itchy grub: 1925; jackeroo: 1845; jack jumper: 1882; Jack the Painter: 1846; Jacky Howe: 1900; jake: 1918; jigger: 1898; jilgie: 1873; jimmy brits: 1942; Jimmy Grants: 1850; Jimmy Woodser: 1876; jinker: 1861; jirrand: 1827; joey: 1841; John Chinaman: 1839; Johnny cake: 1827; Johns: 1915; journo: 1969; jumbuck: 1841; jumper: c. 1853; jump-up: 1828; Jungle juice: 1941; kangaroo: 1770; kangaroo dog: 1806; kangaroo feathers: 1900; kangaroos in the top paddock: 1987; kangaroo paw: 1892; kangaroo skins: 1898; kangaroo tail soup: 1837; keep nit: 1890; keg: 1803; kelpie: 1879; kerfuffle: 1935; kerosene: 1854; kibosh: 1835; kick the bucket: 1832; kindergarten: 1890; kindy: 1933; king hit: 1938; kip (swy): 1910; Kiwi: 1918; knock off: 1825; knockabout: 1856; knock your socks off: 1978; koala: 1804; Kokoda track: 1908; Kokoda trail: 1942; kookaburra: 1829; koori: 1972; koradji: 1834; kylie: 1842; laced lizard: 1789; Lady Blamey: 1942; lag, old: 1831; lagerphone: 1946; lagging: c. 1830; lagoon: 1803; lamb down: 1838; lamb’s fry; Lamington: 1901; land mullet: 1916; larrikin: 1870; lawn tennis: 1874; leaks like a sieve: 1840; leeches: 1817; leg in: 1871; legless: 1986; leg pulling: 1890; like a hairy goat: 1913; like the clappers: 1920; lime burners: 1804; lime-juicer: c. 1855; lime-juicer: c. 1855; line ball: 1849; lingo: 1825; lippy: 1927; little bottler: 1855; little ripper: 1912; lollies: 1846; long neck: 1827; long service leave: 1898; lower than a snake’s belly: 1914; lubra: 1838; lumper: 1843; lurk: 1904; lurk merchant: 1945; lumber: 1805; lyrebird: 1800; mad as a cut snake: 1946; makarrata: 1937; make a crust: 1860; making wages: 1851; mallee: 1882; mallee bull: 1862; march fly: 1843; marmalade: 1808; marsupial: 1829; matches: 1841; mate: 1860; mateship: 1857; meatworks: 1872; meet the eye: 1827; Melbourne: c. 1895; metho: 1922; mia-mia: 1847; miles to Griffiths tea: 1913; milko: 1904; Minties: 1924; missed the bus: 1893; mixed-bathers: 1911; mob (of animals): 1834; moleskin: 1823; mongrel: 1889; moniker: 1888; monotreme: 1876; moonlighter: 1878; moonlight flit: 1834; more hide than Jessie: 1925; mosquitoes: 1828; motza: 1923; mouse spider: 1947; mozzies: 1922; mucker: 1899; muck up: 1896; muck up: 1904; mud map: 1896; mug: 1888; mug lair: 1924; mulesing: 1939; mulga: 1858; mullenise: 1884; mulligrubs: 1832; mullock: 1889; mushies: 1904; mushies: 1915; muso: 1956; mutton dressed up as lamb: 1893; myall: 1829; my stomach thinks my throat’s been cut: 1933; myxomatosis: 1938; nark: 1885; native raw materials: 1798; nature strip: 1928; neck, to get it in the: 1893; Never Never: 1861; new Australians: 1940; new chum: 1827; New year’s day: 1789; nick: 1889; nines, dressed up to the: 1835; Norfolk Island pine: 1829; not backwards in coming forward: 1991; nothing between the ears: 1938; not much chop: 1857; not the full quid: 1947; not worth a crumpet: 1947; no worries: 1970; nulla nulla: 1808; numbat: 1854; Ocker: 1971; off her kadoova: 1883; old hand: 1827; offsider: 1871; off the beaten track: 1855; old hand: 1902; omnibus: 1851; one armed bandits: 1939; one oar in the water: 1994; on his hammer: 1932; on his hunkers: 1851; on spec: 1845; on the nose: 1942; on the ran-tan: 1854; on the wallaby: 1858; onion, to be off: 1879; open go: 1882; open slather: 1916; ophthalmia: 1819; other-sider: 1865; outback: 1868; out station: 1824; overlanders: 1840; packer: 1873; Paddle Pop: 1954; paddock: 1807; pademelon: 1842; patta: 1803; Pavlova: 1934; Peach Melba: 1912; penny farthing; peppered: 1851; perish, doing a: 1881; perve: 1968; petrolhead: 1986; piano 1788; picnic: c. 1854; piece of piss: 1987; pig’s arse!: 1977; pig-root: 1896; piker: 1909; Pinchgut: c. 1842; pissed: 1984; pissed off: 1981; Pitt Street farmer: 1918; Pivot City: 1855; plant: 1835; platypus: 1821; plonk: 1916; plute: 1900; poler: 1848; Pompey dodger: 1855; pong: 1928; portable soup: 1821; pobblebonk: 1990; poddy: 1864; pointing the bone: 1901; poison bait: 1847; poisoner: 1900; poke in the eye with a burnt stick: 1887; poke mullock: 1912; poker machine: 1895; pokies: 1967; Pommy 1912; pooch: 1927; possie: 1917; possum: c. 1839; possum skin cloak: c. 1840; post: 1827; preselection: 1857; prezzies: 1998; prickly pear: 1827; Prince Alberts: 1894; printing press: 1795; privy: 1813; Progress Association: 1860; prospecting: 1849; prospector: 1849; puddling: 1851; punt: 1834; purler: 1848; Push, the: 1899; put the acid on: 1898; put the boot in: 1906; put the frighteners on: 1973; quarantine: c. 1842; Queen Street cocky: 1926; quid: 1866; rabbit-oh: 1894; rabbit-proof fence: 1886; rabbits: 1860; rack off: 1976; Rafferty’s rules: 1906; ratbag: 1925; rat with a gold tooth: 1953; rawhide: 1849; real corker: 1886; redback: 1883; redgum: 1816; red ned: 1949; reffo: 1945; rego: 1972; rellies: 1978; remittance: 1864; ribuck: 1891; ridgy didge: 1974; riding attire: 1900; right as rain: 1874; righto: 1902; ring-barking: c. 1844; ringer: 1870; road: 1788; road train: 1913; ‘rock carvings’: 1788; roof rabbit: 1891; ropeable: 1847; rort: 1901; rosiner: 1930; rotgut: 1831; rough around the edges: 1952; rough as bags: 1911; rough as guts: 1920; rough end of the pineapple: 1950; rough spin: 1868; rouseabout: 1907; rum: 1826; run: 1834; runners: 1961; runs like a dream: 1919; rustbucket: 1949; ruthless and toothless: 1945; sacred sites: 1927; Saint Andrews spider: 1939; saltbush: 1848; salted: 1854; sand: 1846; sandgroper: 1881; sandy blight: c. 1865; sandshoes: 1884; sandy blight: 1900; sanger: 1987; saucy: 1860; sausage roll: 1842; sawney: 1826; scab: 1842; scads: 1925; scallops: 1994; scalp: 1852; scalper: 1898; schools: 1796; scrammy: 1857; screen door: 1903; scribbly gum: 1886; scrub up well: 1977; scrub-bash: 1929; scungy: 1927; sea-breeze: 1830; search party: 1833; selector: 1862; selfie: 2013; semaphore: 1836; semi-detached: 1850; Send it down, Hughie: 1910; sent out: 1882; Seppo: 1998; serve, give him a: 1986; servo: 1985; settler: 1803; shag on a rock, a: 1843; shandygaff: 1848; shanty: 1830; shanty: 1832; shearing: c. 1840; sheep dog: 1821; sheila: 1921; she’ll be right: 1848; sheoak: 1803; sheoak: 1803; shicer: 1853; shicker: 1883; shindy: 1828; shingle, lost or loose: 1846; shirty: 1865; shivoo: 1881; shit for brains: 1984; shivoo: 1882; shonky: 1958; shoot through: 1944; shoot (wave): 1910; short and curlies: 1982; short arms, deep pockets: 1951; shout: c. 1852; show pony: 1940; shypoo: 1881; sick as a dog: 1830; sickie: 1952; silent cop: 1921; silly coot: 1900; silver-tails: 1879; Simon Pure: 1832; sin bin: 1968; since sliced bread: 1952; skedaddle: 1874; skid lid: 1953; skite: 1887; sky-pilot: 1900; slab of beer: 1911; slanguage: 1896; sledging: 1979; sleepout: 1914; sling off: 1891; sling off: 1892; sling your hook: 1884; slip rails: c. 1845; slop clothing: 1805; slope: 1852; slow as a wet week: 1923; sly grog: 1825; smallgoods: 1865; smalls: 1945; smoke: 1891; smoke-oh: 1893; smoodger: 1907; snaggers: 1945; snow-dropper: 1827; Snowy Mountains: 1825; Snowy River: 1834; snuffle buster: 1875; soldier settler: 1917; songman: 1949; sool: 1901; sort: 1945; southerly buster: 1854; sparrow’s fart: 1942; SP bookie: 1920; Speewah: 1892; spider: 1858; spieler: 1881; spifflicated: 1848; spine bashing: 1941; spitting chips: 1899; spit the dummy: 1979; split: c. 1833; spruik: 1905; squatter: 1825; squiz: 1905; standover: 1936; station: c. 1860; St George’s Terrace cocky: 1914; sticky beak: 1917; stiffener: 1906; stir the possum: 1894; stock horse: 1837; stock station: 1823; stockwhip: c. 1858; stockyard: c. 1838; stone the crows: 1913; stonkered: 1918; stony: 1899; stony broke: 1883; storekeeper: 1899; stork (as a bringer of babies): 1920; stoush: 1887; strapped for cash: 1924; stretcher: 1828; strides: 1913; stringybark: 1803; Struth: 1895; stubby: 1965; stunned mullet: 1902; such is life: 1880; sucked in: 1863; sulky: 1810; sulky: 1900; sundowner: 1906; sunnies: 1961; suss: 1994; swag: 1851; swag, humping the: 1851; swag, humping the: 1852; swagman: 1861; swy: 1945; Sydney Harbour: 1822; Sydney or the bush: 1849; Sydney side; Sydneysider: 1852; TAFE: 1974; taipan (snake): 1932; Tallowfat: 1862; tall poppy: 1864; tanks: 1791; tanks: 1803; tar pot: 1870; tart: 1898; Tassie: 1878; Taswegian: 1940; tea: 1834; telephone: 1880; Territorian: 1868; The Ashes: 1882; the pip: 1872; the raw prawn: 1942; The Rocks: 1803; thick as two short planks: 1975; thief: c. 1855; thingummybob: 1945; thongs: 1959; thumb buster: 1873; tickets of leave: 1806; tickets on self: 1901; tinny (beer): 1976; tinny (boat): 1986; tip the bucket: 1947; tomahawker: 1873; tommy: 1850; too-hard basket: 1950; too right: 1917; Top End: 1923; track: 1817; tracky daks: 2000; traps: c. 1831; Traymobile:1919; trey (threepence): 1900; triantelope: c. 1845; troppo: 1942; truckie: 1945; true blue: 1826; tucker: 1852; tucker bag: 1871; tucker box: 1867; turn dingo: 1940; turps, on the: 1929; turps, on the: 1962; two-bob watch: 1922; two men and a dog: 1887; two shakes: 1839; two up: 1855; typhoid fever: 1883; underground mutton: 1903; under wet cement: 1978; union: 1896; union camp: 1887; up a gumtree: 1845; up the country: 1788; up the duff: 1975; up the pole: 1915; up the spout: 1832; urger: 1921; Vandemonian: 1842; veg out: 1986; verandah: 1802; vote with the feet: 1940; waddy: 1801; wag: 1885; Walers: 1859; walkabout: 1859; wallaby: 1798; wallaby stew: 1859; wallaroo: 1828; wanker: 1974; waratah: 1797; warrigal: 1841; washing (for gold): 1849; wash house: 1901; water: 1788; water bag: 1858; wattle: 1789; Wattle Day: 1895; weather-board: 1838; weirdo: 1968; wet behind the ears: 1935; whacko: 1934; whaler: 1900; wharfie: 1911; wharf lumper: 1875; What do you think this is? Bush week?: 1945; what the cat dragged in: 1923; wheelie bin: 1986; whinger: 1907; whiskers: 1829; white-ant: 1919; white ants: 1804; wide awake hat: 1846; widgie: 1950; widow maker: 1990; wigwam for a goose’s bridle: 1916; wilga: 1879; willy-willy: 1875; wire: 1899; within a bull’s roar: 1934; within cooee: 1858; wombat: 1799; women in trousers: 1835; Woolloomooloo: 1829; woomera: 1793; Woop Woop: 1910; wouldn’t be dead for quids: 1921; wowser: 1903; wrinklies: 1969; wurlie: 1839; yabby: 1861; yacker: 1875; yarraman: 1846; yobbo: 1975; yonks: 1981; your blood is worth bottling: 1903; zack (sixpence): 1912; Zambuck: 1926; zonked: 1943;
