Such Is Life by Joseph Furphy (children's books read aloud .TXT) đ
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Such Is Life is an Australian novel written by Joseph Furphy under a pseudonym of âTom Collinsâ and published in 1903. It purports to be a series of diary entries by the author, selected at approximately one-month intervals during late 1883 and early 1884. âTom Collinsâ travels rural New South Wales and Victoria, interacting and talking at length with a variety of characters including the drivers of bullock-teams, itinerant swagmen, boundary riders, and squatters (the owners of large rural properties). The novel is full of entertaining and sometimes melancholy incidents mixed with the philosophical ramblings of the author and his frequent quotations from Shakespeare and poetry. Its depictions of the Australian bush, the rural lifestyle, and the depredations of drought are vivid.
Furphy is sometimes called the âFather of the Australian Novel,â and Such Is Life is considered a classic of Australian literature.
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- Author: Joseph Furphy
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âBut why didnât you hobble them?â
His face reddened slightly. âMe âobble my âosses! Tell âe wot, lad: âatâs fâr wây âe Câlonian âosses beanât no good, aside oâ Hinglish âosses. Ainât got nâ moor g-ts ân a snoipe. G-ts shooked outen âem a-gallerpinâ in âobbles. Tell âe, Oi seed my (horses) a-gallerpinâ foor good heaours, ânâ me ahteh âem all âe toime. Noo âosses âud dure sich gallerpinâ in âobbles. Doanâ âe preach âobbles ter me, lad. Oi got good âosses; noo man betteh; âosses fit fâr a gentleman; onây Câlonian âosses âes Câlonian fauâtsâ âahd ter ketchâ ââell ter ketch. Fifteen monceâ âhevery day on itâ âwet ânâ droy; day hin, day heaout; tiew, three, foor heaours runninâ; ânâ âey (horses) spankinâ abeaout, kickinâ oop âer âeels loike wun oâclock, ânâ gittinâ wuss ânâ wuss, steed oâ betteh ânâ betteh. Toimes, Oi see me aâmoosâ losinâ tempeh.â
I turned away my face to conceal my emotion. Sollicker went onâ â
âAccohdblâ, wun moâninâ lasâ winteh, heaout Oi goos, oâ course; ânâ my âosses âednât nâ moo ârn stahted trampinâ loike; ânâ heverythink quiet âs zabbath, ânâ nubbody abeout fâr moiles; ânâ horf goos âem âosses loike billy-o; horf âey goos âarf-ways reaounâ âhe paddick, ânâ inter âe stockyaad ânâ âere âey boides; ânâ âat dorg a-settinâ in âe panel, a-watchinâ of âem, loike Neaow, âow dâye ceaount fâr âat, lad? Doanâ âat nonpulse âe? Coomh!â
âIt does, indeed! You didnât put him on the horses?â
âNoa, sâelp me bob. Neveh clapped heyes honter âim, not tâ Oi seed âim hahteh my âosses, a-yaadinâ of âem fâr me. My Missus, she âlows a hangel fetched âe (dog) deaown fâm ebm! Atâs wây Oi calls âm âJack.âââ
âI see!â said I admiringly. Which, the censorious reader will not fail to notice, marked a slight deflection from my moral code. âAnd he stayed with you, sir?â
âFollered hahteh me âossâs âeels heveh since. (Dog) dews heverythink loike a Christianâ âheverythink bât tork. Hevery moâninâ, hitâs âCyows, Jack; weâs yâ cyows?â Anâ horf goos Jack, âees hown self, ânâ fetches âe cyows. Hahteh breakfasâ hitâs âosses, Jack; fetch yâ âossesâ. Anâ horf trots Jack, ânâ presinkly âe âosses be in âe yaad, ânâ âe (dog) a-settinâ in âe panel, a-watchinâ of âem.â
âBeats all!â I murmured, thinking how the Munchausens run in all shapes; then, desiring to minister occasion to this somewhat clumsy practitioner, I continued, âI suppose you drop across some whoppers of snakes in your rounds, sir?â
âSceace none. Hainât seed bât wun fâr tiew year pasâ; ânâ âe (reptile) wahnât noo biggeh ân me wâip-anâl.â
âGrand horse youâre riding,â I remarked, after a pause.
This neatly-placed comment opened afresh Solickerâs well of English undefiled; and another hour passed pleasantly enough, except that Alfâs bullocks preyed on my mind, and I wanted them to prey on Yoongoolee instead. I therefore modestly opened my mouth in parable, recounting some half-dozen noteworthy reminiscences, as they occurred to my imagination, and always slightly or scornfully referring to the magnanimous and indomitable hero of my yarn as âone of these openhearted English fools,â or as âan ass of a John Bull that hadnât sense enough to mind his own business.â These apologues all seemed to point toward chivalrous succour of the helpless and afflicted as a conspicuous weakness of the English character; and Sollicker listened with a stolid approbation unfortunately altogether objective in character.
I never dealt better since I was a man. No one has dealt better since Antony harangued the Sollickers of his day on dead Caesarâs behalf; but I differed from Antony so largely in result that the comparison is seriously disturbed. There was no more spring in my auditor than in a bag of sand. The honest fellowâs double-breasted ignorance stood solidly in the way, rendering prevarication or quibble, or any form of subterfuge unnecessary on his part. He merely formed himself into a hollow square and casually glanced at the impossibility of those particular bullocks loafing on his paddock. If they came across the river again, he would hunt them back into Mondunbarraâ âhe would do that muchâ âbut Muster MâIntyreâs orders were orders. Two bullock drivers (here a truculent look came over the retainerâs face) had selected in sight of the very wool-shed; and now all working bullocks found loafing on the run were to be yarded at the stationâ âthis lot being specially noticed, for Muster MâIntyre had a bit of a derry on Alf.
By way of changing the subject, Sollicker became confidential. He had been in his present employ ever since his arrival in the country, ten years before, and had never set foot outside the run during that time. He was married, three years ago come Boxing Day, to the station bullockdriverâs daughter; a girl who had been in service at the house, but couldnât hit it with the missus. Muster MâIntyre wanted to see him settled down, and had fetched the parson a-purpose to do the job. He had only one of a family; a little boy, called Roderick, in honour of Muster MâIntyre. His own name (true to the 9th rule of the Higher Nomenology) was Edward Stanley Vivianâ ânot Zedekiah Backband, as the novel-devouring reader might be prone to imagineâ âand his age was forty-four. If I knew anyone in straits for a bit of ready cash, I was to send that afflicted person to him for relief. He liked to oblige people; and his tariff was fifteen percent per annum; but the security must be unexceptionable.
I gave him some details of Alfâs sickness, and asked whether he had any medicine at homeâ âPainkiller, by preference. I have great faith in this specific; and Iâll tell you the reason.
A few years before the date of these events, it had been my fortune to be associated, in arduous and unhealthy work, with fifteen or twenty fellow-representatives of the order of
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