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8357.
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Where Are The Wonthaggi Miners
Where are they now the miners of Wonthaggi
The mighty men who tunnelled deep for coal?
Some of them resting in their graves forever
And of the youngest of them time is taking toll.
Their children and grandchildren in Wonthaggi
And at Murray Street each day at noon the siren blast
For to remind Wonthaggites just for a moment
Of their strong links to a coal mining past.
They worked so hard for to support their families
And life hard for the miner and his wife
They migrated to get rich in Australia
Yet they never got to know of the good life.
They were the migrant fathers of Wonthaggi
And a better life for their children they planned
And they laboured hard in harsh and unsafe surroundings
And they worked so hard far south of their Homeland.
The old coal mine is now a tourist attraction
A memory of the bleak times gone by
And a monument to the hard working miners
Where history is not allowed to die.
Where are they now the old miners of Wonthaggi?
Some in cemetery off of Cameron Street lay
They laboured hard in dangerous surroundings
Those fellows from the Northlands far away.
Francis Duggan
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8358.
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Where Are They Now
Where are they now those young ladies I used to know
My friends from just a few short years ago
They used to visit me at Claraghatlea
When I lived there in not too distant day.
Each time they came a rhyme for them I'd write
Which helped in no small way to make their night
And I felt glad to welcome them each time
And what better way to let them know than rhyme.
They called on me three times or maybe four
And I knew them for awhile and then no more
I needed them for friendship that was all
And I missed their visits I can well recall.
Joan Cotter such a nice person to meet
I wonder does she still live near Millstreet
Or has she gone to live on foreign shore
As many of the Irish did before?
The Dinneen sisters Carmel and Elaine
Good memories of them with me will remain
Did they leave Knocknapogue by Millstreet Town
For big city to live and settle down?
And what of Terrace lady Valerie Rea
A special girl in her own special way
Does she still live in Millstreet or did she
Like many others travel over sea?
And Sheila Reardon the quiet spoken one
A lovely girl for goodness next to none
Does she now live in Dublin or in Cork
Or further from home London or New York?
Where are they now those girls I used to know
My friends from just a few short years ago
Do they still live in Millstreet or have they
Gone to live in big cities far away?
Francis Duggan
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8359.
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Where Dead People Lay
Where dead people lay there is life to be found
On the graves and the headstones ants crawling around
And birds chirp and sing on the cemetery trees
Their notes seem to carry in the freshening breeze
That blows from the sea up through the coastal town
In day's fading light just before sundown
And life does go on where dead people lay
And day follows night and night follows day
And the Seasons they come and the Seasons they go
And on the roadway by the cemetery cars and trucks buzz to and fro
And as darkness descends on the quiet cemetery
Life it does go on in the town by the sea
And the boobook's voice can be heard in the moonlight
Where the dead people lay in the still of the night.
Francis Duggan
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8360.
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Where Everyone Knows Everyone
To where everyone knows everyone the Seasons come and go
And from the foot of the brown hill the creek to the river flow
And in the Town Park all day long the white backed magpie sing
And wildflowers in the sunshine bloom in the green prime of the Spring.
In where everyone knows everyone not everyone are friends
Unresolved disputes live on for years and in death only ends
familiarity can breed contempt as some are known to say
And where everyone knows everyone life too can be this way.
Where everyone knows everyone your business is not your own
And secrets that you thought were yours by everyone are known
And where everyone knows everyone secrets are very rare
And of every move you seem to make everyone seems aware.
The old creek from the foothills goes babbling down the height
And where everyone knows everyone tis a day of warm sunlight
And the whistling of the shrike thrush is carrying in the breeze
On a warm day in October close to twenty five degrees.
Francis Duggan
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