A poem inspired by the thirst of American troops

The following poem was written by Dan Sheahan, an Irish sugarcane-farmer of Ingham, North Queensland, Australia (originally from Newmarket, Ireland).

It is a story about a cane-farmer who rode his horse into town on Saturday morning during the Second World War in 1943.  At that time, everything – butter, bread, etc., including beer – was rationed, as an invasion by Japanese forces was a possibility.

A garrison of U.S. troops was stationed outside Ingham, and on this particular Friday night, they were given liberty and descended upon the many pubs in the town.  They drank the town dry of beer.

After going about his business, he attended the Day Dawn Hotel, now known as the Lees Hotel, to have a quiet drink before riding home.

The cane-farmer learned from the publican, Gladys Harvey, that the Yanks had drunk the town dry the night before.  She offered him a house wine to console him.

He retreated to a table with the glass of wine and penned this poem:

A Pub With No Beer

It's lonesome away from your kindred and al
By the campfire at night where the wild dingos call
But there's nothin' so lonesome, so dull or so drear
Than to stand in the bar of a pub with no beer

Now the publican's anxious tor the quota to come
There's a faraway look on the face of the bum
The maid's gone all cranky and the cook's acting queer
What a terrible place is a pub with no beer

The stockman rides up with his dry, dusty throat
He breasts up to the bar, pulls a wad from his coat
But the smile on his face quickly turns to a sneer
When the barman says suddenly: "The pub's got no beer!"

There's a dog on the verandah, for his masters waits
But the boss is inside drinking wine with his mates
He hurries for cover and he cringes in tear
It's no place tor a dog round a pub with no beer

Then in comes the swagman all covered with flies
He throws down his roll, wipes the sweat from his eyes
But when he is told he say, "What's this I hear?
I've trudged fifty flamin' miles to a pub with no beer?"

Old Billy, the blacksmith, the first time in his life
Has gone home cold sober to his darling wife
He walks in the kitchen: she says: "You're early, me dear"
Then he breakes down and tells her that the pub's got no beer

It's lonesome away from your kindred and all
By the campfire at night where the wild dingos call
But there's nothin' so lonesome, so dull or so drear
Then to stand in the bar of a pub with no beer

The following poem was written by Dan Sheahan, an Irish sugarcane-farmer of Ingham, North Queensland, Australia (originally from Newmarket, Ireland).

It is a story about a cane-farmer who rode his horse into town on Saturday morning during the Second World War in 1943.  At that time, everything – butter, bread, etc., including beer – was rationed, as an invasion by Japanese forces was a possibility.

A garrison of U.S. troops was stationed outside Ingham, and on this particular Friday night, they were given liberty and descended upon the many pubs in the town.  They drank the town dry of beer.

After going about his business, he attended the Day Dawn Hotel, now known as the Lees Hotel, to have a quiet drink before riding home.

The cane-farmer learned from the publican, Gladys Harvey, that the Yanks had drunk the town dry the night before.  She offered him a house wine to console him.

He retreated to a table with the glass of wine and penned this poem:

A Pub With No Beer

It's lonesome away from your kindred and al
By the campfire at night where the wild dingos call
But there's nothin' so lonesome, so dull or so drear
Than to stand in the bar of a pub with no beer

Now the publican's anxious tor the quota to come
There's a faraway look on the face of the bum
The maid's gone all cranky and the cook's acting queer
What a terrible place is a pub with no beer

The stockman rides up with his dry, dusty throat
He breasts up to the bar, pulls a wad from his coat
But the smile on his face quickly turns to a sneer
When the barman says suddenly: "The pub's got no beer!"

There's a dog on the verandah, for his masters waits
But the boss is inside drinking wine with his mates
He hurries for cover and he cringes in tear
It's no place tor a dog round a pub with no beer

Then in comes the swagman all covered with flies
He throws down his roll, wipes the sweat from his eyes
But when he is told he say, "What's this I hear?
I've trudged fifty flamin' miles to a pub with no beer?"

Old Billy, the blacksmith, the first time in his life
Has gone home cold sober to his darling wife
He walks in the kitchen: she says: "You're early, me dear"
Then he breakes down and tells her that the pub's got no beer

It's lonesome away from your kindred and all
By the campfire at night where the wild dingos call
But there's nothin' so lonesome, so dull or so drear
Then to stand in the bar of a pub with no beer