THE MUDDLE FAMILIES

THE LINEAGE & HISTORY OF THE MUDDLE FAMILIES OF THE WORLD

INCLUDING VARIANTS MUDDEL, MUDDELL, MUDLE & MODDLE

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A Poem by Charles Alfred Murray

This poem is published with the permission of the heirs of Charles Alfred Murray and they retain the copyright.

The Emigrant Boy

by Charles Alfred Murray

1928-1929

(Charlie left England to emigrate to Australia, alone,

when he was only 15 years of age)

The steamship Thermistocles was nosing through the sea,

Down the boisterous Irish Channel, with old England in its lee,

She was heading for Australia, with some forty lads on board,

Who hoped to see the sunshine, and a life of good accord.

And, so the dear old ship of eleven thousand ton,

And a top speed of eleven knots, was on her favourite run.

She pitched and swung and heaved her way across the Biscay Bay,

With rolling, blustering seas, and heaving flying spray.

Then down the coast to anchor in the fair Canary Isles,

Where the trading folk from Teneriffe came out in fancy styles,

With boats of great bananas and lots of other trade,

To join in happy banter until daylight time did fade.

Next morning early, before the sun did rise,

The old Thermistocles was on the move, the skipper thought it wise,

Then down the coast of Africa, through seas of sparkling blue,

The course was set for Capetown, where we stayed a day or two.

And forty hopeful boys, on Capetown trams that day

Did ride up to the plateau which overlooks the bay.

And the sunshine and the scenery of this South African scene

Was such a change for these lads, from the gloom where they had been

And a feeling of adventure, and bright hopes that lay ahead,

Made them feel more joyous, as they all went off to bed.

Well up came the jolly anchor, and out upon the seas,

Did sail these forty boys on the old Thermistocles,

And across the Indian Ocean for thirty joyous days,

With the sun upon the waters, as the flying fishes play,

And the Dolphins ride the breakers, and the albatross doth fly

With giant wings outspreading between the earth and sky.

Five cabins in the steerage beside the thundering screw

Housed eight lads each in bunks that would just barely do,

And in its gloomy darkness, with heat and engine noise

And stuffy stagnant air and the smell of unwashed boys,

Caused “Curly” Monty Parsons and Charles of tender years

To seek the decks above them and freedom from their peers.

The place they found was marvellous, with plenty of fresh air,

In the swaying, swinging rescue boats which swung in happy pair,

They swung upon their davits, in sweet motion with the sea,

And so we slept at night, beneath their canvas canopy.

(3 pages of the poem then describe times on the boat when Charlie nearly got swept off the boat, in various adventures, such as climbing on the pipes along the outside of the hull, and hanging onto large steel rings with “Curly” while the seas washed over the bow and swept over them …then to the last page of the poem)

And so the great adventure held us in its lovely hand,

As we sailed along in harmony, towards the sunshine land,

And the blue seas crowned their wave tops with dashing pure white spray

And an exhilarating feeling was in our minds each day.

We knew we’d love Australia, we never had a doubt,

And the old Thermistocles sailed surely with rugged strength so stout.

We had sailed the Indian Ocean for nigh on thirty days

And now we neared our dreamland, on which we soon did gaze.

When first we saw the landfall, it was a heartening sight

And as we neared the shoreline, we were filled with such delight

The hills were clothed in green and the sky an azure hue

While the sands were golden yellow and the sea a sparkling blue.

For this lovely Port of Albany, with colours clear and bright,

Was a feast of pleasure for our eyes, at such a splendid sight.

Now here I lost my “Curly” mate, who was so good a friend,

I’ve never seen him since that day, as shoreward he did wend.

And went to work on a great farm, to grow fat sheep and wheat as well,

I shall remember him with gratitude, and a feeling hard to tell,

Of a comrade with a sense of fun, but loyal as could be,

He’d never let the wilder boys do any harm to me.

We had a little time ashore, to walk the golden sand,

To walk up swiftly past the shops, with no money in our hand,

So, soon the rest of us were back on board again, and swinging

Through the sea,

To cross the Great Australian Bight for Melbourne next to see.

And up into Port Phillip Bay to the muddy Yarra’s shore,

And so, we were in port again at Melbourne’s sea front door.

We left at dawn on the last leg of seven weeks at sea.

And, so, from Phillip Bay, through Bass Strait and up to old Sydney

As we entered through the heads I could hardly believe my eyes

As I saw the clear blue waters, and boats of every size,

And a wonderland of bays and shores, and greenclad hills ablaze.

With sunshine glancing from red tiles, seen through a green tree haze,

With gum trees to the water’s edge, and boats in every bay.

We wended through the harbour scene of beauty every way.

So, then to the final rest we came to wharves in Pyrmont Bay.

And, so, the journey was at last at end, on this momentous day,

And as we slowly disembarked, I took a long, long backward glance,

Because in that seven weeks I’d sure grown up and now had come

my chance.

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