The Devil's Daughter
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| My impression of the late Ernie Slow |
The Devil’s Daughter
Ernest (Ernie) Slow was quite a character, well known in the Mackenzie
Country of New Zealand
As far back as the 1920s men and women throughout the Mackenzie have
spoken of Ernie with a certain amount of respect. In some quarters, he became legendary for his
poetry, his humour and his ballads. To
others, he became branded for his addiction to the drink. The Devils
Daughter.
Drunk or sober, he had an uncanny ability for composing colourful verses
and ballads, unfortunately much of it remained in his head. Seldom did he put pen to paper. It was only with the aid of Ernie’s friend
and confidante, readers from around the world can now read his work.
It was long after his death in 1960 that any sort of celebrity status, for
the want of a better portrayal, was ever bestowed on this man. When he was alive, Ernie’s poetry was seldom
taken seriously. He would sit in the pub
when he had time off work and if in the mood, and recite from memory to a well
oiled audience. In exchange for a few
wee drams of highland nectar he would recite a few verses of the Godley Ghost.
The sadness is, it took the misfortune of Ernie’s death, for his work to
take on a whole new significance in the overall heritage of the Mackenzie
Country.
Here was a man who loved the highlands of the Mackenzie Country. He loved the wide open spaces, felt at home
with the sun on his face and the wind in his hair,(what there was of it) and
had a deep respect for Mother Nature. He
appreciated and valued the ruggedness and sometimes inhospitable Mackenzie
Country and never at any time did he abuse it.
He treated the land of his birth as one would a lover.
Never married, Ernie lived a solitary life on various back country
stations as a musterer, a shearer, a rabbiter and a boundary keeper, or at his
cottage in the Reserve, at Fairlie.
A likable bloke, who during World War One, served his country. Wounded, he was shipped home to continue his
life in the land he loved. He did
however, have a couple of vices, he loved telling stories, and exercising his
elbow at the bar in the pubs at Fairlie or at the Kimbell, where he recited his
poetry.
I suppose there is a touch of irony here.
On Ernie’s death, a Fairlie resident, Mrs Edith Williams set too and
wrote, with affection, an epilogue to Ernie’s life and his demise. Although it was written along the lines of
Ernie’s own work, this is one piece of poetry he never had a hand in writing.
Ernie Slow alone could boast
He was the one who loved the Ghost
Ernie never did drink water
He loved to court the Devils Daughter
I never knew as a child
Why this man was so wild
Tho’ a mild man with only water
He’d forget about the Devil’s Daughter
He’d stay at home in civilization
Leaving her to her own gyration
While he drank his fill, not of water
But from a brew of the Devils Daughter
He emerged from the clouds, alas, alack
His pockets empty, he’d have to go back
Back to the Glenmore Plain
There, his Ghost would come again
He could never drown the Devils Daughter
Ernie would work with a will
Like an ox you couldn’t kill
In these hills of rocks and burns
He had no fear or other concerns
His famous bag, alas, alack
Hanging empty from his back
To him a continual reminder
‘Twas time he went on another binder
Ernie really was a snorter
For tempting the Devil’s Daughter
When Kimbell saw him stagger from the mist
They knew the Devil’s Daughter he had kissed
Again she whetted his appetite
Know he could no longer fight
The pub was there with open door
For a few more weeks he’d work no more
His cheque he’d hand across he bar
And shout for all, near and far
A pull at Scotland
And Ernie spouted a poem or two
While Jack Skinner fell over rocks and water
Trying to escape the Devil’s Daughter
Ernie grew old and he grew weak
One night he fell in Kimbell Creek
Up to his neck in cool clear water
Ernie cursed the Devils Daughter
His bag had fallen from his back
On to stones with a mighty crack
He heard the tinkling laughter of the Devil’s Daughter
As Scotland
Stone cold sober, Ernie made a vow
He’d retire from the High Country, here and now
The Devils Daughter has had her day
So to Fairlie, Ernie just retired
Leaving all he had admired
From now was to the straight and narrow
No more he’d freeze right to the marrow
He’d live as he always oughter
And to hell with the Devil’s Daughter
But those Ghosties working in the hills
They could bend strong men’s wills
Jack Skinner took off like a hare
As blood curdling wails they rent the air
The Devil’s Daughter she did scorn
She’d make that Ernie wish he’d never been born
So up the Godley that Ghost was laid
Now, even John Hop need not be afraid
No more mixing whiskey and water
The Godley Ghost had lost his daughter
But Ernie Slow, asleep in bed
Had brought her wrath upon his head
Spitting sparks, she set alight
That little home, his hearts delight
Ernie slept and never knew
The Devils Daughter was with him too
The firemen fought in vain
Poor Ernie was never seen again
For when the hoses they ran dry of water
Their lay drowned, the Devil’s Daughter
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