The Maid Of Yarralumla

[A Parody on A.B. (Banjo) Paterson’s “The Man From Snowy River”]

There was panic in the parties as the poll results came down:
For Left and Right dead-heated on that day;
The Government’s survival stood on very slippery ground
And the hacks and experts all had heaps to say.
All the journalists and politicians came from near and far
To add their sound and fury to the fight,
And all you heard on ABC was Blah Blah Blah Blah Blah
While the Murdoch Press screamed Right is Right is Right!

There were Liberals like Joe Hockey, a fat and lazy blob,
Who had fallen at the first jump when he’d tried,
Malcolm Turnbull, once-and-wanna-be, and poor old Andrew Robb
While Phony Tony Abbott ran and lied.
There was an effete puffed-up pansy, known as Whining Chrissie Pyne,
Creepy Kevin Andrews, washed-out Warren Entsch;
Token female Julie Bishop, who thinks plagiarism fine;
That about exhausts the Liberals’ front bench.

They were confident of victory, and hubris they suffused,
And they claimed that they’d won power by a nose;
They squealed that they weren’t guilty of what Treasury accused:
Multi-Billion Dollar Holes, and things like those.
They claimed they had the better of the pan-Australian vote;
They called themselves the Government-in-Waiting;
They said they’d stop invasion of Australia by boat,
While the Media pitched in with Labor-baiting.

And on the Left was Kevin Rudd, who’d won the last time ’round,
But fallen at a hurdle months before,
With Wayne Swan on Economy, a stayer well-renowned,
And of Labor fancied runners, many more.
Stephen Smith, Nicola Roxon, Combet, Albanese, Crean,
The list was long of talents deep and broad:
They were clever and committed, and experienced and keen:
A well-matched team compared to Abbott’s horde.

And one was there, Our Ranga Lass, of feisty fighting breed,
Like a Queen Boadicea, well-advised,
Flashing Gaelic wit and glamour, with Crow-Eater in her creed,
And Makybe Diva fire in her eyes.
She had led the charge for Labor, but she’d very nearly failed,
(Though equally, she’d very nearly won),
But Julia Gillard held her nerve while lesser beings quailed,
And stayed the course while Abbott made his run.

There was one Sandgroper National, a new bloke, Tony Crook,
And no-one really knew which way he’d vote,
But he seems so undetermined, even bookies won’t make book,
Though he’s paraded in the Coalition’s float.

Andrew Wilkie, (Independent), and young Adam Bandt, (a Green)
Pledged on certain terms to join with Gillard’s crew,
And not bring down the Government, for both of them were keen
Not to support a Coalition coup.
And the way that Gillard wooed them was a credit to them both,
From decent forthright dealings to a mutual binding oath;
So though Abbott now claimed 73, Gillard had 74 -
But she really needed 76 – She had to score two more!

There were three more Independents, no-one knew how they might jump;
Robert Oakeshott, Tony Windsor, and Bob Katter:
And the way the hurdles tumbled, all the Force was with that rump,
And the Fourth Estate was full of Twitter twatter.
Those three were ex-Nat mavericks, from effin’ FNQ,
Where brumbies weird as unicorns abound:
Would they jump together? - Left or Right? - Split 2-1? Or, 1-2?
This whole race was on entirely unknown ground!

Then from the Murdoch stables all the hustlers made their run:
They were breathing fire and brimstone every breath:
That Labor’s illegitimate, that Abbott’s mob had won,
And that any tryst with Brown and Greens was Death.

Bloated with his self-importance was conniving Laurie Oakes,
And Piers Ackermann, most bigoted of all,
And the first one to throw stones, that loathsome, hateful Alan Jones:
They’re three key bricks in the Murdochratic Wall.
There was Andrew “Anal” Bolt , and that Glenn Milne, the drunken thug,
Grabbing sleazily at any sleazy grab,
And that ABC lickspittle, Chris Uhlmann, smooth and smug,
And Annabel, the slyly-sidling Crabb.

There was sour Red Kez O’Brien, seemingly forever trying
To skewer Julia with some cunning stab;
And Tony “Look-Me” Jones, interrupting her in tones
That show he thinks he holds sole Royal Right of Gab.
There was Fran ‘’Ms Jelly” Kelly, Michelle Grattan lacking teeth,
And Miss Trivia, Virginia Trioli;
And that smartarse Barrie Cassidy, with his snide asides and acidy,
In ABC alliances unholy.

So Our Ranga Lass was targeted by jibes and sexist jokes:
Her Titian locks were tweaked, her finely-chiselled nose took pokes
From those of the moral wee-ness of a teensy flaccid penis –
And unkindest cut of all came from that wimp-out by Megalogenis!
Thus was Julia besieged: just Laura Tingle stood her friend,
And challenged Abbott on her comments page;
In chivalry and courage she was loyal to the end:
The one fair Australian journo of The Age.

But still the Fascist minions, led by Phony Tony Abbott,
Went a-raging and a-fulminating on:
How they’d really won the Government, and they were gonna grab it,
Until many in the Left feared we were gone.

But while Abbott fumed and fretted, bumbling bully through and through,
Trying bribery and histrionic threats,
In attempts to win the Indies (and he needed at least two),
Julia Gillard was as subtle as it gets.
She was thoughtful, diplomatic, in conciliatory tone,
And the Indies saw that what she says she means,
Until even weird Bob Katter, mad as Alice’s mad Hatter,
Said he’d found some common values with the Greens!

So we waited, hopeful, fearful, as the weights were counted in:
Were we losers, were we winners? Would we wince, or would we grin?
We were hanging on the numbers, on the comments, on the hints -
If not a gleeful grin, then an excruciating wince!
But throughout 16 long days, while all us Aussies held our breath,
Our Ranga Lass ne’er wilted from the hate:
She fought to win the issue as if it were life or death:
It was grand to see that Lass negotiate!

But still, no-one knew the outcome, until on Day Seventeen,
When Bob Katter called a conference at one:
And when he did, he voted (as some said they had foreseen),
With Abbott – Just one more seat, we’d be done!
For the parties now were neck-and-neck, three-score-and-14 all:
The margin would be minimally thin;
If those last two Independents split, the Government must fall,
For Labor needed both of them to win.

Now all the weight of government was held in two men’s hands:
And never had the balance been so fine;
Would they take a national view, or yield to parish-pump demands?
We held our breath, and waited for a sign.
And at last just two hours later, those two last men made their move:
Our hearts in trepidation wildly throbbed:
One party would be jubilant as winners they would prove,
While the losers all would scream that they was robbed!

First to speak was Tony Windsor, and he gave his solemn word
He’d faithfully support the Labor side;
Effectively he said that Tony Abbott was absurd -
The Coalition cause was now denied!
But that still left Robert Oakeshott: if he went the other way,
The parties would be deadlocked, which would mean
There would have to be a new election, and without delay,
The likes of which this land had never seen.

So still we waited, heart in mouth, while Oakeshott took his time
To explain in full his reasons for his vote;
Though the media was furious, as if it were a crime
They had to listen first before they wrote.
And seventeen minutes later, as the almanac will show
He gave Julia the seat she sorely craved;
And after all the arguments, at long last now we know: -
HOORAY! The Labor Government is SAVED!

Now up at Yarralumla, where the diplomats may raise
Their glasses of Chateau Lafitte on high,
Where the chandeliers of crystal through the frosty evenings blaze,
And the VIP jets streak the azure sky,
And where around the Parliament the votes of aye or nay
Decide the laws by which we must abide,
The Maid of Yarralumla holds the Vandal hordes at bay,
And we Lefties hail Our Ranga Lass with pride.