Recently in Tall Stories Category

The Gigolenes by C.J. Dennis

| No TrackBacks
Twenty Brisbane girls, known as gigolettes, have been enrolled as foundation members of the Hostesses' Club. For a modest fee they provide entertainment and pleasant companionship for lonely men.

Long since I had this story true
      From a jolly sailor-man I knew.
   He'd a whiskered face and truthful eyes;
   And I know he wouldn't tell me lies.

When a ship was wrecked on a tropic isle,
      From seaways distant many a mile,
   Two souls were saved from the fierce sea's fret --
   A gigolo and a gigolette.

A lonely missionary there
      In matrimony joined the pair,
   Who reared, amid these sylvan scenes,
   A family of gigolenes.

When half a score of years had fled --
      Or maybe more (my sailor said),
   He came there in his own good ship.
   ("Blowed off 'er course that blinking' trip").

And there, upon the sandy shore,
      Was the strangest sight (my sailor swore)
   Man ever seen, so strike him pink
   ("And me not 'ad a drop o' drink").

For standing there in rows an' rows,
      All tricked out in the queerest clo'es,
   Amid the palms and tropic scenes,
   Were scores of little gigolenes.

And every little gigogirl,
      With perm'nent waves and hair a-curl,
   In Paris models braved the gales,
   Plucked brows and painted finger-nails.

And every little gigolad
      In faultless evening clothes was clad,
   Ties of the very latest wear,
   And dancing pumps and marcelled hair.

They bowed and smirked and said, "Bai Jove!
      Thrice welcome to our tropic grove,
   May we escort you, sailors gay,
   To a supper dance, with cabaret?"

This tale the sailors told to me
      As an instance of heredity.
   And I know he scorned to tell a lie;
   For truth beamed out of his sea blue eye.

First published in The Herald, 4 February 1937;
and later in
The Queenslander, 18 February 1937.

Tall Timber by C.J. Dennis

| No TrackBacks
According to recent news, a snake which fastened on to a man's leg at Burnie, Tasmania, was much disgusted upon finding that the leg was a wooden one.

That sort o' reminds me of ole days (said Bill)
In the bush at Toolangi, at Switherton's mill --
   A sor-mill, you know -- an' the sawyer we 'ad
   Was ole 'Oppy McClintock, a wooden-legged lad.
'E was walkin' one day for to tighten a peg,
When a tiger snake grabs at 'is ole timber leg;
   An' there it 'angs on, till I fetched it a crack,
   But ole 'Oppy jist grins as 'e starts to walk back.
An' then, somethink 'appens.  We seen 'Oppy stop,
As 'e stumbles a bit, an' looks down at 'is prop
   With a dead funny look.  Then 'e lets out a yell:
   "'Ere boys!  Take it off me! it's startin' to swell!"
Well, we unstraps 'is leg, an' it swole an' it swole.
Snake pisen?  Too right!  'Twas a twenty-foot pole
   In less than five minutes!  Believe me or not,
   An' as thick -- It's as true as I stand on this spot!
We was 'eavin it out, when the boss starts to roar:
"'Ere!  Why waste good wood?  Shove it on to the sor!"
   So we sors it in two, down the middle, an' then,
   Them there slabs swole an' swole; so we sors 'em agen
An' we sors, an' we sors; an' it swole an' it swole
Till the end of the day, when the tally, all tole,
   Was two thousan' foot super.  You doubt it? (said Bill)
   You ask any ole 'and at Switherton's mill!

First published in The Herald, 31 January 1933;
and later in 
An Australian Treasury of Popular Verse edited by Jim Haynes, 2002; and
Two Centuries of Australian Poetry edited by Kathrine Bell, 2007.

About this Archive

This page is an archive of recent entries in the Tall Stories category.

Swimming is the previous category.

Time and Change is the next category.

Find recent content on the main index or look in the archives to find all content.


Powered by Movable Type 4.23-en