Waltzing Mathilda

There is a lot of controversy about who actually wrote 'Waltzing Mathilda' and also when it was written. I gathered the following info from the National Library of Australia.

Banjo Paterson has long been considered the creator of the lyrics of ‘Waltzing Mathilda’. Some commentators believed he adapted the words from an existing bush ballad, but he is now mostly thought to have written its original song lyrics in 1895.

Confusingly, there are three main streams of the ‘Waltzing Mathilda’ song, each with its own history, related versions and status.

In 1972 Eric Bogle wrote lyrics to "And The Band Played Waltzing Matilda" incorporating the melody and a few lines of the lyrics of the 'original' "Waltzing Mathilda" at the conclusion; in other words, a major adaptation of the original Waltzing Mathilda.

For over 100 years ‘Waltzing Mathilda’ has been passed on by word of mouth, in written forms, in sound recordings and other media.

What the words mean:

WALTZING Mathilda - The act of carrying the ‘swag’ (an alternate colloquial term is ‘humping the bluey’). Mathilda is an old Teutonic female name meaning ‘mighty battle maid’.

BILLABONG - A blind channel or meander leading out from a river.

COOLIBAH - Sometimes spelled coolabah: a species of gum or eucalyptus tree.

SWAGMAN - An Australian tramp, so called on account of the ‘swag’, usually a chaff bag, containing his ‘billy’, provisions and blankets.

BILLY - An open topped tin can, with a wire carrying handle, used as a kettle for boiling water into which tea was thrown.

TUCKER BAG - A bag for ‘tucker’ or food; part of the ‘swag’.

JUMBUCK - A sheep. The term is a corruption of ‘jump up’ (Macquarie Dictionary, 3rd rev. ed. Sydney: Macquarie, 2001)

SQUATTER - A grazier, or station (ranch) owner. Note that the meaning of the word changed later in the twentieth century to mean a person who occupied or resided at a property illegally.

There is also controversy over whether it is "Mathilda" or "Matilda" but I am not going there.

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Lyrics

Now when I was a young man I carried me pack,
And I lived the free life of a rover,
From the Murray's green basin to the dusty outback,
I waltzed my Mathilda all over,
Then in 1915 my country said, Son,
It's time to stop rambling, there's work to be done,
So they gave me a tin hat and they gave me a gun,
And they sent me away to the war.

And the band played Waltzing Mathilda,
As the ship pulled away from the quay,
And amid all the tears, flag waving and cheers,
We sailed off for Gallipoli.

It's well I remember that terrible day,
When our blood stained the sand and the water,
And how in that hell they call Suvla Bay,
We were butchered like lambs in the slaughter,
Johnny Turk he was ready, oh he primed himself well,
He rained us with bullets and he showered us with shells,
And in five minutes flat we were all blown to hell,
Nearly blew us back home to Australia.

And the band played Waltzing Mathilda,
When we stopped to bury our slain,
And when we buried ours, the Turks buried theirs,
Then it started all over again.

Those that were living just tried to survive,
In that mad world of blood, death and fire,
And for ten weary weeks I kept myself alive,
While around me the corpses piled higher,
Then a big Turkish shell knocked me arse over head,
And when I awoke in me hospital bed,
And saw what it had done, Christ I wished I was dead,
Never knew there were worse things than dying.

For no more I'll go Waltzing Mathilda,
All around the green bush far and near,
For to hump tents and pegs, a man needs both legs,
No more Waltzing Mathilda for me.

They collected the wounded, the crippled and the maimed,
And they shipped us back home to Australia,
The armless, the legless, the blind and insane,
Those proud wounded heros of Suvla,
And when the ship pulled into Circular Quay,
And I looked at the place where me legs used to be,
I thanked Christ there was nobody waiting for me,
To grieve and to mourn and to pity.

And the band played Waltzing Mathilda,
As they carried us down the gangway,
But nobody cheered, they just stood there and stared,
And they turned all their faces away.

So now every April I sit on my porch,
And I watch the parade pass before me,
And I see my old comrades how proudly they march,
Renewing their dreams of past glories,
I see the old men all tired, stiff and sore,
Those weary old heroes of a forgotten war,
And the young people ask what are thy marching for,
And I ask myself the same question.

And the band played Waltzing Mathilda,
And the old men still answer the call,
But year after year their numbers get fewer,
Some day no one will march there at all.

Waltzing Mathilda, Waltzing Mathilda,
Who'll come a Waltzing Mathilda with me?
And their ghosts may be heard as they march by the billabong,
Who'll come a Waltzing Mathilda with me.