Dawn Fraser: Echoes From Labor's War

Out of My House.
No Child of Mine Will Be a Boy Scout

My Father was a carpenter,
Who worked hard every day.
His back was bowed, his hands were hard,
His locks were thin and grey.
That was many years ago.
The Locals then were small.
And every man who met the Boss
Would touch his hat and crawl.
But Father had a rebel's heart.
And often he told me
Of how he hoped I'd see the day,
When workers would be free.

I went to school each morning.
But most that they taught me
Was how old England licked the world,
And was mistress of the sea.
Of Wolfe and Blake and Nelson,
Half the day they would brag.
And tell how glorious it was
To die beneath some flag.
They would tell us of the Dargia Heights
And of Majuba Hill.
They taught it was a noble act
To kill and kill and kill.

One day we had a visitor
Of military mien.
He had the slickest uniform
We kids had ever seen.
He gave a little lecture
And it was all about
How would we like to go to camp?
And be a Boy Scout?
We would march each day, away, away.
It would be jolly fun.
We would get a pretty uniform
And maybe have a gun.

I ran right home to father
And hopped upon his knee.
I was going to be a scout.
Wasn't he proud of me?
The man would call the teacher said
And fix it up with Dad.
She said she knew each Parent
Would be most proud and glad.
But Daddy didn't hear the news
With any show of pride.
He kind of hugged me tighter
And then he kind of sighed.

One evening I was playing home
With what little friends I had.
The military fellow called
And asked to see my Dad.
But when my Father spied him,
This well dressed Master Scout,
My Father grabbed the poker
And I heard my Father shout.
Out of my house. No child of mine
Will be a Boy Scout.
Out of my house you useless tool
I know what you're about.
The soldier of tomorrow
Is the Boy Scout of today.
Our very blood and bones you'd use
Against us in the fray.
You rob the worker of his child
And dress him like a clown.
You put a gun into his hands,
To shoot his father down.
Give you a child of mine to train?
You take me for a fool.
You keep your hands off me and mine
You capitalist tool.

That military man so grand
Was timid as a mouse.
Last thing I remember,
Father chased him from the house.
And then he took me in his arms
And kissed me once or twice.
I never saw him cross before,
He was always sad but nice.
Before I went to bed each night,
He would tell me stories fine.
And the one he told that evening
Was about the HOMESTEAD MINE.
Somewhere far away, he said,
There was a little town
Where he had seen the soldiers come
And shoot the workers down.

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