The Band Played Waltzing Matilda - The Pogues

At school, I was lucky to have some extraordinarily good teachers.  Ian Howlett was a one-eyed man passionate about language and writing.  He wasn’t that bothered about imposing his will upon us.  He taught me English and some good life perspective too.

From a booklet of war poems we were given, I cut out the lyrics to The Band Played… by Eric Bogle and stuck it to the wall next to my study desk.  I used to sit there in the evenings, not studying, just reading the words of this poem over and over, marvelling at the simplicity and the bitterness and the ease with which the story was told.

I had an idea it was a song, but in these pre-You Tube and Spotify days it wasn’t like you could just go and look a thing up. At university, I met Tim Hayden and he introduced me to the Pogues.  Rum, Sodomy and the Lash remains one of my all-time favourite albums.  In 1989 I saw them at Easts Rugby League club.  It was a wild night, they didn’t play The Band… but it didn’t matter.  Folk music with a punk attitude, what more can you want?

On a cassette tape only 15 minutes per side I made up a playlist of songs to get me to sleep at night.  Songs for getting up, songs for going to sleep to…  I have no idea anymore what the other songs were, but The Band… was first.

Night after night, I’d listen to the Pogues start gently and bring in instruments one by one.  Shane McGowan interpreted the song in his own way.  I knew the words of the original version well at this point and I would lie there, having imaginary conversations with him, asking why he changed certain words and phrases that had always seemed fine to me. 

Later, on a road trip to Cairns, Mikey and listened to a John Williams live album.   Alongside of It's Good To Be Me and The Vasectomy song, he played a cracking, emotive version of The Band.   One thing I always loved about Willo is that he’s not afraid to sing in his own accent.  For a long time, I thought this was the definitive version.  We had an Eric Bogle tape with us on that trip as well, we listened to both and I couldn't work out why Willo could make it sound like his own song.

In the days when I stayed out drinking, it was common to stay out until I had no money and be forced to walk home.  Brisbane is a big place and even though I was fitter then, these were long walks, maybe an hour or so.  I'd tramp along Gympie Road, regretting spending that last twenty dollars instead of saving it for a cab.  To keep myself occupied, I’d sing all the verses of that song, out loud, while I ambled down the street.  Every Anzac Day, I mark the day by at least listening to the Pogues version.

In 2005, Gillian and I had our honeymoon in New Orleans.  On the second day we saw a poster advertising Eric Bogle, he was due to play a gig there that week.  We didn't see him.  Hurricane Katrina came to town before eric and missing him was the least of our worries that week. 

In 2017 I was invited to recite the poem at a Burns supper hosted by veterans of the Argyll Regiment in Grangemouth.  I’d met Paul, a veteran of several Northern Ireland tours, at a stag night.  He’d entertained us in various pubs of Stirling with his recitals of lewd, funny, and romantic poetry.  I had talked to him about Eric Bogle, a Scots-Australian folk singer and he had thought his comrades would appreciate an Australian anti-war poem.

I’d been nervous about performing what is essentially an anti-war poem for a bunch of ex-soldiers.  But they loved it.  My hands were shaking as I stood up, but afterward more than a few people came up, shook my hand, and told me how much it meant to them.