Clara Waters - Slim Dusty

I was drivin' out through Mitchell

Heard a lonesome railroad whistle

So I stopped beside the highway for a spell

And in this pleasant place

Was a notice well displayed

With a story I am now about to tell

The notice was a roll of those who’d paid the toll

While working on the railroad to the west

Wives and workers perished

With the children that they cherished

And in lonely graves were gently laid to rest

Then I found my vision misted

As among the many listed

The name of Clara Waters caught my eye

I imagined my own daughter

In the place of Clara waters

While the busy highway traffic hurtled by

How short her life had been

She was only seventeen

Yet her story may be very simply told

A doctor might have saved her

From the fever after labour

Her baby died when he was four days old

Then the scene before me shifted

As back in time I drifted

As back in time a hundred years I went

And through my muddled dreaming

A morning sun came beaming

On a battered billy steaming by a tent

For here was pretty Clara

With her husband there to share a

Simple meal before their daily task

I am anxious now to meet her

So I hurry on to greet her

With the questions that I feel I have to ask

And when the day is breaking

Is there happiness in waking

Have you had your share of laughter joy and cheer

You were very young to marry

And the baby that you carry

Does it make you wish your mother could be near

In the coolness of the morning

In the piccaninnie dawning

Does your husband tell you often of his love

While the magpies merry singing

In the higher branches ringing

Is bringing morning greetings from above

Does the gentle evening breeze

Wave the smoke up through the trees

Do you see the shafts of sunlight drifting down

Or has drudgery and duty

Made you blind to every beauty

While the camp is turning dusty bare and brown

(spoken)

With a bed of planks and sacking

And with every comfort lacking

Growing heavy as your time is drawing near

In your shabby tent so dreary

Are you very often weary

And do you sometimes shed a silent lonely tear

(sung)

And when her son was born

On a hot December morn

And the deadly fever started on its quest

Was there time for her to hold him

And in her love enfold him

Was there time to give him comfort at her breast

Of course there’s no replying

To my questions and my prying

And suddenly I know it’s time to go

But I reckon I’ll remember

What happened that December

In the summertime a hundred years ago

And then a road train passes

There’s a ripple through the grasses

As if to wave a fleeting sad goodbye

To Clara and her son

Their lives so briefly run

And the busy highway traffic rushes by