Click on pictures for full-screen image
Dale & John, 1983 (Bob Bolton photo)
Some
thoughts about John Dengate from
Roseann Dale Dengate.
John
was still in primary school at West Epping, when he started telling
yarns and reciting the works of Banjo Paterson. He had a phenomenal
memory and could recall traditional songs when others forgot the
fourth and fifth verses late in the night. I am really going to miss
that assuring prompt when singing.
His
mother said he was an easy child to take anywhere as long as he had
paper and pen because he would just write or sketch. At the funeral,
his cousin Carol told me that one of her first memories of going to
school was seeing John surrounded by a group of kids in the
playground listening to his reciting or story telling and how
proud she felt that he was her big [9 year old] cousin. John was
Influenced by his father Norman Dengate, when he began writing rhymes
about the people and everyday life around him . Many years later
wrote about playing cricket on the roads,
Over
the paddocks I’ve run,
Drugged with summer cicadas song;
Drunk
with freedom and sun …. in lines from Song of
Childhood.
With
his passion for Australia, life with John Dengate was a wonderful
adventure recorded in his polished verses. His ability to write about
the foibles of humanity, including himself in aptly chosen and
colourful terms was unique. His lampoons of politicians from the
1960s provided a political commentary over those years. His deep
interest and incisive observations of people started with his family.
He wrote verses about them all including the cats and dogs. He will
be remembered for his well loved song Bare Legged Kate' about
the struggles faced by a country girl. It was based on his mother
Kathleen ' Kit'. Many have sung the Song of the Sheet Metal
Worker, about his father from whom he was instructed about the
importance of unionism in ensuring a fair share of the profits for
the workers. His song and stories about his uncles in My Name's
Eric Dengate capture Australian life just after the war was
won.
Many
were inspired by his workshops on writing about lives of one’s
family with his admonition that we own our history. He was passionate
about Australian history and his knowledge of the experience of the
Diggers in WWI and II was not only encyclopedic, but entertainingly
told. He held audiences for hours with his retelling of the details
of Australian during the war years. He could often be found in the
bar of a folk festival surrounded by avid listeners and it is here he
would be happiest sharing his songs with an interested small
group rather than singing to huge audiences of people wanting
to be entertained ... or catering to the tastes of the mindless
mob big business likes to rob.
Although he never
belonged to any political party, his interests in the individual
extended to the lives of politicians of all shades; indeed the
history of the devious action or follies of most leaders
and members of state and federal parliaments were covered by John's
songs in clever parody with hilarious rhymes and curses for the
arrogant and greedy.
Bush Music Club Concert Party, 1971 (Bob Bolton photo)
No subject was off
limits for John and he wrote with wry humour about every aspect of
the life of 'everyman' in the Australian setting including male
illnesses such as rectal bleeding and bags associated with bowel
cancer. His topics ranged from aspects of our lives rarely found in
the text books in songs such as: The Answer's Ireland, The Battle
of Castle Hill, Anti Metrics, Ballad of Les Darcy, Big Ben pies and
Coopers Sparkling Ale, train trips and in Bill from
Erkineville, about the difficulties faced by many workers trying
to provide a home and support a family. He engaged with men and women
from all walks of life and often made them feel they were his special
friends. The amazing number of tributes that have poured in
certainly confirmed these friendships.
================================
John Dengate - a rich
life
By Tony Smith*
Individual human
existence has limits. While we all have a birth and a death, most of
us celebrate the fact of our beginnings but resist and regret our
ends as though they were not inevitable. Religions have developed
ways of trying to take the sting out of death, but paradoxically, as
western societies become more secular and rational, it is common to
experience death ceremonies that are positive celebrations of the
preceding life.
Such was the funeral
of John Dengate. Publicly, John was known as a teacher, sportsman,
folksinger, busker, songwriter, raconteur, humorist and political
activist. Privately, as slides displayed during his recorded
rendition of ‘Song of Childhood’ demonstrated, he was a son, a
brother, husband, father, grandfather and friend. As John’s son
Sean said in his eulogy, his father had a good life, a rich and full
life. The secret to having such a life, Sean suggested, was to keep
things simple and to place your energies into the things you love.
For John this meant rejecting the rat race and careerism and
eschewing products such as cars and fancy clothing pushed by
advertising. It meant giving priority to family and friends and
standing firm by the values of working class Australians.
This adherence to
things simple required great determination, which John’s marathon
running showed he had in abundance. In John’s case a great sense of
humour helped keep his priorities in order. Growing up as he did in
the years immediately following the Second World War, he was infected
with that dry, sometimes bitter sense of humour often associated with
the Anzac spirit. While John always managed a wry smile at the
world’s general unhappiness, he did not spare himself during
personal misfortunes as shown by the self-deprecating humour in songs
such as Skin Cancer Blues and Rectal Bleeding Calypso.
John spent his
childhood around Carlingford near Parramatta in western Sydney. In
the 1950s, this was a semi-rural district with orchards and other
small farms. He went to teachers’ training college in Armidale then
taught in the ‘Far West’ town of Menindee. He then moved back to
the city and taught at the school in the Burnside Homes at North
Parramatta. He did casual teaching round the inner city and retired
early to concentrate on his interests. Fans and friends are grateful
for that decision because it enabled John to hone his song writing
skills and put more energy into activism.
Speaking on ABC Radio,
folklorist Warren Fahey said that he thought of Dengate as the
successor of Henry Lawson. Both Lawson and Dengate had the ability to
look at the plight of ordinary Australians and tell their stories
back to them. There are distinct parallels in the words of the two
poets and Lawson would certainly have enjoyed songs such as Bill
from Erskineville, Poker Machine Song, Tab Punter’s Song and
The Randwick Races. It is unlikely that the Northern Suburbs
Crematorium has seen a coffin covered in wattle flowers before. It
seems less likely that it has heard the singing of Lawson’s
‘Freedom on the Wallaby’ and Banjo Paterson’s ‘Waltzing
Matilda’.
Jamie Carlin, 2013 (Sandra Nixon photo)
Those attending the
funeral were greeted by the strains of the concertina. It is usual to
call people attending a funeral ‘mourners’ and there is no doubt
that the packed assembly regretted John Dengate’s passing. However,
following the example of Dale, John’s wife of almost fifty years
and his sons Sean and Lachlan, his friends expressed their love of
the man with laughter and occasional applause rather than tears.
While a death is always tragic and reason to grieve, John’s legacy
has been humour and inspiration. He will be sorely missed, but his
words will not be forgotten. Already, folkies are planning tribute
concerts that will feature performances of his works and works about
him by his many admirers. Another criterion for attributing a good
life to someone is that they left the world a better place than they
found it. John Dengate certainly did that.
See also:
John Dengate singing
‘Bare Legged Kate’ at the Loaded Dog Folk
Club
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BIyiOx-74dE&nofeather=True
JAM, NSW Folk
Federation: John Dengate passes
away,
http://jam.org.au/moxie/articles/miscarticles/john-dengate-passes-away.shtml
Obit: John
Dengate 1 August
2013,
http://www.mudcat.org/thread.cfm?threadid=151740&messages=8
Bush Music Club articles &
photos
http://bushmusicclub.blogspot.com.au
http://my.opera.com/BushMusicClub/about/
Shoestring Records:
John Dengate
Homepage,
http://www.shoestringrecords.tv/Australianrootsseries/JohnDengate/dengateindex.html
*Author of:
‘Master of Dissent: the Music of John Dengate’, Australian
Quarterly, 76(2), March-April 2004
=======================
First published in the September 2013 Illawarra Folk Club Newsletter & used by permission.
Saying
Goodbye:
I
sing my songs and I say goodbye and I leave on the morning train
And
I thirst for a private apocalypse as the paddocks thirst for rain.
I
think of the stilted, sad good-byes and the handshakes through the
years,
And it sometimes seems I have spent my life in a battle to
hold back tears.
I struggle against the words ‘good-bye’;
I
struggle against the pain:
I write in fear, for the day is near
for saying ‘good-bye’ again.
John
Dengate
It’s a farewell that
you would think our old mate John Dengate had written for his own
obituary. In fact he wrote it for another giant in the Australian
Folk Scene, Declan Affley when he died some years ago and to me it
encapsulates the real emotion that John’s work has always
contained.
John died on August
1st and as he was a keen punter (songs such as the Trifecta song
and
the Randwick Races reflect this) he would have appreciated the irony
of saying goodbye to this world on the horses birthday. He was just
two months short of his own 75th birthday.
John at Bulli, 2009 (Sandra Nixon photo)
John was a
particularly good friend of the Illawarra Folk Club and on many
occasions performed at our club nights. He always stopped down here
when he performed as he didn’t drive nor possess a car. Train was
his usual method of transport and it was only natural that both the
best and worst aspects of railways appeared in his songs (Train
Trip to Guildford, The Apricot Express, The Lidcombe train and
the Bus To Broken Hill). Whenever possible he performed at our
tripe dinners though I can’t recall him ever writing a song about
that delicacy.
I do recall however
his generosity of spirit - his songs were there for everyone and he
freely shared them. One of my prized possessions is a tape that John
made in Alan Musgrove’s lounge room one day in the early eighties.
John and Alan had a bottle of whisky (maybe two) and John played as
many songs as he could remember, (Alan reckoned that John had
forgotten more of his songs than most people had written) Alan
recorded them on tape – they were about Bob Menzies, the Vietnam
War, Joe Bjelke and a lot of songs I had never heard before (or
since)
He also recorded a
couple of songs for me in my bathroom (sitting on the dunny- the seat
was down) because that was the best acoustics in the house. I’ve
thought perhaps I should get a plaque on the door and call it the
‘Dengate Memorial Dunny’.
John was our ‘Folk
Legend’ at the Illawarra Festival - When our previous legend, Alan
Scott, died almost 20 years ago the club replaced him with John. This
meant he was automatically invited to every festival without having
to apply. This was a good thing because he was no great shakes at
filling in forms. He attended every year until ill health stopped him
in 2012 and 2013. He either ran or performed in our memorial concert
that we hold annually for his friend Alan Scott.
We will of course be
having an annual memorial for John though at this stage we are not
sure what form it will take. John’s wife Dale has given us a beer
mug that she gave him in their callow youth as a trophy. It is of
course an appropriate award for the Woolly Yarns Spinning Competition
which John often judged and told a demonstration yarn so that yarn
spinning novices knew what it was about. He also enjoyed a cold drink
on a hot day, sometimes more than one as I can attest to. (Dale and
my wife Bev thought we were bad for each other after a particularly
bad ‘solving the problems of the World’ night at Albion Park)
The ‘Tumult and the
Shouting’ has died - the packed funeral, the wake at Friends in
Hand Pub in Glebe, the poetry the speeches and songs at the wake, the
obituaries in all the folk magazines, A major obituary by Warren
Fahey in the Sydney Morning Herald and tribute concerts are under
way. The legend of John Dengate will however live on.
I know whenever some
conservative politician does something outrageous – as they always
do, no longer will I get a copy of the Dengate ‘take’ on the
subject through the email to share with friends. But I know what folk
will say over a beer on the subject - “I wonder what Dengate would
have said about that?”
I wonder what Dengate
would say about all the fuss that’s now being made of him. He’d
probably write a poem or song about it.
‘Long’ Jim
Chapman, one of our club members and a bush poet sent this
appreciation to the newsletter;-
“He was certainly
an inspiration to this old Pom! He was the bloke
who actually remembered me at the next Folk Festival after the
one at which I first took the stage - not only did he remember
my name, he remembered my poem! That was a tremendous encouragement,
believe me!
Above all Bush
poets I've encountered he was the one who most convinced me that one
can create a poem out almost anything! Listening to John
reciting taught the lesson that if one had a tale to tell one should
up and tell it - tall or otherwise!. Struth did he ever tell
some tall ones!”
In case you didn’t
catch the Herald Obituary here are some of Warren’s reflections.
“He never left home
without a pen and paper.
John Dengate was the closest heir to
the legacy of Henry Lawson that this country has known. He was a free
thinker, poet, artist, teacher, songwriter, singer and street busker,
ever ready to recite or sing, and always ready to take the mickey out
of politicians, misguided business leaders and any visiting sports
team.
Recently, he had become a familiar city sight, playing
his tin whistle and singing at the corner of George and Market
streets or at Central Station. Although he played guitar, his whistle
playing worked better in Sydney’s noisy streets. His beautiful old
Irish and bush tunes wafted over Henry Lawson’s ‘‘ faces in the
street’’ . Like Lawson, Dengate enjoyed a drink or three
but a few years ago, when he was ordered off the grog, he quit
immediately. However, surgery for cancer, a weakened heart and the
humiliation of the Aussie cricket team’s defeat by the Poms has
dealt him a final wicket.
John Robert Dengate
was born on October 1, 1938, and grew up in Carlingford. Three
of his best known songs reflect on his early life: When I Was A Lad
in Carlingford , Bare-Legged Kate, about his mother, and The
Song of the Sheet-Metal Worker dedicated to his father,
Norman.
There is no doubt that Dengate’s songs will live on.
Many have already passed into that hazy territory where the song is
known and the songwriter anonymous. He would agree to such musical
freedom , especially as most of his songs were set to traditional
tunes. Witty satirical verse was his stock in trade and he was
brilliant in pressing the point while pressing the funny
bone.
Dengate was a republican and loved Australia and its
stories but he was never an angry man and preferred to make his point
with humour. His last songs included Please Save Me from the
Mad Monk and an attack on Rupert Murdoch’s phone-tapping
spree.
He never left home without a pen and paper, scorning
computers with their spellchecks and rhyme lists. He wrote thousands
of songs, satires and poems and also had a repertoire of hundreds of
traditional songs and knew the great Australian poems. His life has
been documented in oral history interviews at the Australian National
Library, and in three songbooks and various recordings.
John
Dengate is survived by Roseann (Dale), sons Lachlan and Sean,
daughter-in-law’ Mandy, grandchildren Roisin and Cal, mother
Kathleen and, of course, his songs.
Russell Hannah.
==============================
Gone is the
seannachie, the satire that raised the blister.
Gone the sharp,
intellectual, the schoolmaster we all feared,
The gales of
laughter over the pint,
And the tears for the bronze smith’s
acid scarred hands.
He’s gone like Declan before,
And like
Declan will his voice and face stay with us.
But more of the man
lives in his songs,
That agile scalpel wit, barbed
ambiguities,
precision of rhyme and metre.
Grieve for this
bard, but mourn with pride,
For we have known him.
Vale John
Dengate.
John and
Jenni Cole Warner.
Murrumbateman.
======================
Bill
and I are very sad to hear the news. One of the things I particularly
appreciated about John (and Dale) was how readily they welcomed me into
the folk scene. Also, I often used to see John playing his whistle at
Central as I went past in the bus on my way to work. It was a lovely
way to start the day. The most fitting way to pay tribute seemed to be
to follow his example and give a good tune another set of words, and so:
Farewell to John Dengate to the tune of The Wild Colonial Boy (the tune used by Dr Hook - sorry to be so un-folk, but it's the first one I heard.)
There was an Aussie songwriter,
His name was John Dengate.
To those of us who knew him
He was the best of mates.
He liked a beer or two or three,
When with friends he gathered round
And when he sang his latest song
There was a joyful sound.
Lampooning politicians - it was John's favourite sport.
And there was a song of warning
When skin cancer he caught.
The track, the booze and train platforms
All featured in his songs
And many included a chorus,
So that we could sing along.
John wasn't just a songwriter,
He was a poet too.
He did the best Geebung Polo Club
I ever heard anyone do.
His own verse featured golf clubs
Sending cats to kingdom come
And Scott of the Riverina
Wasn't done better by anyone.
So farewell to our good friend John
And lots of love to Dale.
We'll miss John at election time
And when politicians fail.
We'll miss his smile, his wicked grin,
His welcome to new Folk.
And so we gather now to say,
"Farewell" to a top bloke.
Jane Scott 2/8/13
========================
John Dengate
A man of integrity and principle
A man of simplicity and complexity.
A man of fitness in mind and body.
A family man, a friend, a folkie, a poet,
A singer and a modern day Lawson.
A good bloke
Vale John Dengate Geoffrey W Graham
To Dale and family--Be proud & celebrate
========================
John Dengate - A tribute
We
have few giants alive in Australia, and now we have one less. John
Dengate has not however passed into the silence – he has instead
embraced his forebears and now provides from a different side of the
mortal divide a navigable bridge between the troubled Australia of the
present and that of its Irish-Australian past. As he rejoins
bare-legged Kate and the peach-pickers of his childhood, the kids at
Carlingford for whose cricket games cars would drive off the single-lane
bitumen road, his father the orchardist and sheet metal worker, and
drinks Coopers Ale with his uncles, sprawling with them on the grass in
the sun, he will continue to haunt conservative politicians, bumbling
administrators, dodgy bookmakers, corrupt businessmen and tall poppies
of all descriptions.
And he won’t merely do it from the grave, he will
do it with the living voice of all those he inspired, who will sing his
songs, recite his poems, and create new works spurred on by his
example.
There has never been a more potent songwriter in this country,
and nor has there been a more dedicated Australian. He loved this
country with a passion for which words are manifestly inadequate, and he
spurned with a vengeance cant and toadyism of any colour or dimension.
Had he been prepared to sell his genius to the highest bidder, to
kow-tow to the sanitized sensitivities of television executives and
advertisers, or even to make the slightest effort at self-promotion, his
would be a household name across this country.
Instead, he chose
passionately to identify always with Bill from Erskinville and all his
battler mates, to spurn compromise and live forever an indominable free
spirit. His is a life to celebrate. Let us do that, and by our actions
do justice to his memory.
Keith McKenry
========================
The
Sydney folk scene is much poorer now that John is gone.
I can remember BMC folkus nights in the 80s, one in particular (just
one of many) where John was the featured performer - his political
caricatures and satirical songs were a delight. He called that night
"No matter how much you stir the dunny can, the shit always floats to
the top."
Jennie Richards
========================
Thanks so much for informing us of this sad passage. We have
very fond memories of John, having first met him and Dale at
Blackheath for a concert; I was doing the opening set and John
and Dale invited Judy and me over to their table before
performing. Afterwards we enjoyed several song parties at their
wonderful house in Sydney. Please convey our condolences to
Dale.
Charlie Ipcar and Judy Barrows (Maine, USA)
========================
I worked at UNSW for three or four years in the early two
thousands, and often saw John busking at Central in Eddy
Ave. It was always a pleasure to hear him sing, and he
gave out such a positive vibe it was impossible to not to
be distracted and taken to a better place, if only for a
moment.
Of course singing his songs in Solidarity Choir was fun
too.
To his family and friends, I share your loss or this lovely
man.
Best wishes,
Col Hesse
========================
In an age where economic rationalism and self interest are presented as the only way to approach life and the community, it serves us all to remember the example John set us.
We have lost our best, but his spirit lives on. Also, the superb body of songs he left us all.
Thanks,
Len Neary in Sydney
========================
John was one
of the most imaginative writers we have ever had in this
country.
A genius with words and always with empathy for all people but
vitriol for phonies and parasites.
Henry, Banjo, the Duke and
all of the others would be proud to work with
him.
I don't
think we will see his like again.
Bob Hart (via Chris Woodland)
========================
Singer,
songwriter and close family friend passed away last Thursday 1st
August. John Dengate - you will be sorely missed, but your memories
and music will live on. There’s at least one agitator in heaven
now!
John Woodland (Facebook)
========================
From the Office of Director- General of National Library of Australia, - Anne-Marie Schwirtlich.
John
was a friend to staff, as well as a musician, artist, teacher and
scholar.
Library staff knew him as an observer, wry commentator and
brilliant wit, who commented with insight on society and politics
through his writings. His prodigious output of songs and poems
documented and described in the tradition of ballad writers and folk
singers over centuries. John’s writings and memories were recorded
regularly; first by John Meredith, then by Chris Woodland and others.
He
was interviewed by many people who had an interest in the origins of
the Australian Folk scene. Many of the nearly 50 hours of recordings
made by John are available from the Library’s website at his request,
typical of his generous attitude to sharing his work. This record of his
achievements is testament to the impact he had on the contemporary
performance of folk music in Australia.
John’s
influence through his writings has been substantial, and the recordings
he made will continue to provide a fascinating insight into our social
and cultural history for generations to come.
The significance of his contribution to Australian cultural life will continue to grow.
link to blog article giving list of NLA Oral History interviews with John
========================
The
Legend of John Dengate
There
is a song called Train
to Guildford.
I heard it one night played at The Bush Music Club and I have loved
it ever since.
It
is one of the few songs that made me rethink what it was to be a
songwriter, what topics I could broach, how I could use humor, how to
structure verses and the perfection of my rhymes.
Waiting,
waiting for the twenty past four to arrive
The
twenty past four doesn’t run any more
the
next train’s at a quarter to five
Time
is money they say
So
I must get to Guilford today
Did
they say platform nine for the Liverpool line
Do
I have to change trains on the way?
It
was written by a man called John Dengate.
In
2009 I went to the Illawarra Folk Festival, I was hanging around with
some bush poets when I told a stranger about my love affair with this
song. My new friend stopped me mid sentence and scanned the room.
“The
bloke who wrote it is sitting down there,” he said, pointing to a
small elderly man sitting at a table.
As
a songwriter it is very rare that you get to meet one of your idols,
more often than not they are from another country or another
generation or even deceased, but for me here was my chance. I walked
up to him and stood behind his shoulder.
“Excuse
me Mr Dengate,” I said, ever careful of my manners. “I just
wanted to say how much I love your song Train
to Guildford.
“Thank
you mate,” he replied, giving me a smile.
Around
that time I was starting a folk night in Erskineville. The aim of the
night was to combine old and young poets and performers on the same
stage.
Given
how influenced I had become by John’s work, it was important for me
to get him to perform on the first night. I felt compelled to share
this man with a young audience, to allow them to see all the
brilliance that I had witnessed. I asked him over the phone one night
and fortunately he agreed.
So
that night, armed with his amazing wife Dale and his acoustic guitar
he came along and entertained the youngish audience. He played a few
traditional songs along with some of his hits like Bill
from Erskineville,
Bare
Legged Kate
as well as a recital of The
Lanes of Woolloomooloo.
I
was SO proud to have him there.
As
he was playing I was thinking to myself, “people this IS folk, this
is IT! You need to listen!”
And
listen they did.
For
two years I ran the club. We had singers cover Bob Dylan, Leonard
Cohen and a sway of popular songwriters, however without a doubt the
songwriter that was covered the most was John Dengate.
A
year later I saw John outside a school where he used to work in
Marrickville. I didn’t know he had been a primary school teacher
and was buoyed by this, as now John and I had one more thing in
common.
We
went for a drink that night and John told me about his busking down
at Central Station on a Friday morning. A few Coopers Pale Ales later
I had agreed to meet him outside the Commonwealth Bank on Elizabeth
Street.
At
8 o’clock I arrived. Sure enough John had been there since 6:00 tin
whistle in hand. Dressed in an oversized coat he was standing amongst
the crowd singing. It was a wonderful scene, here amongst the bustle
of the rush hour was one of Australia’s greatest songwriters
seemingly oblivious to the chaos of peak hour, and instead standing
proudly amongst it all, singing his songs.
I
loved it. I stood behind him and leaned against the walls, taking in
his perfectly enunciated lyrics and listening closely to the melodies
he piped out of his tin whistle.
Often
after a song John would turn to me and explain the song’s origins.
“That was an old Civil War song,” he would say.
After
the busking we retired to a café for a coffee. Once seated our
conversations would start small and then build and build momentum.
Often it would be a piece of forgotten Australian history that John
would bring up, such as the presence of US marines in Brisbane during
the Second World War. John would tell stories of barbed wire across
Brisbane streets, or skirmishes between the soldiers spilling out of
pubs. Although starting in Brisbane in the 1940’s, our conversation
would then shift across decades and continents.
Entwined
were poets and verses, Shakespearean characters, soldiers, cricket
stars and politicians. I could never keep up; every story was as rich
and enticing as the last, full of vivid information. But there was
just too much and often I would leave our meetings feeling like a
soaked sponge in a bucket of water, holding only a fraction of
information.
Our
meetings became a semi-regular event. Sometimes we would meet for
busking, other times we would meet at The Friend in Hand for a pint
of Guinness. In the afternoon light we would carry on our
conversations, moving from Grafton beer (Jacaranda Juice) to
etymology and then across to Papua New Guinea and the Kakoda Trail.
While
these conversations were going on John was still for me a
singer-songwriter first and foremost. So often I would pester him for
stories of songwriting. While addressing my songwriting questions
inevitably a host of characters from his past would find their way
into his tales.
“Duke
Tritton once told me,” said John one afternoon, “if the audience
can’t understand the 8th
word of the 16th
verse, you’ve buggered the song up”.
During
the school holidays I would pop over to see John and Dale for a cup
of tea. As usual the conversation, while starting at school and
teaching, would evolve into something else. Soon we were talking
about the Catholic influence in the Labor Party in the 1950’s; we
would then move onto Gough Whitlam and Pine Gap before doing a
complete 360o
and begin a conversation on cricket.
I
can still remember John’s advice on being an opening batsman: “when
the bastard at the other end tries to knock your block off, you just
take it on the body and stare him down, as if you want some more.”
So
why was he a legend?
For
me it was in his songs. His songs are amazing, amazing like very few
others are. They are the absolute cream. He used his words with such
care it as if they had been sculpted instead of written. They also
possess a sing-ability to them that most songwriters would die for. I
have seen it and heard it so often, from my own folk club to the
stages of the National Folk Festival - when someone plays a John
Dengate song the crowd joins in.
His
scope as a songwriter is exceptionally broad. There are songs about
struggle and oppression, song about underdogs, songs about workers,
songs about horse racing and songs about soldiers.
Then
there was his humor. Many of John’s most famous songs involve
humor, sometimes it was observational humor while often it was
political satire. His political satire is arguably without equal and
he turned his pen on a vast number of politicians and business
figures who have littered the Australian electorates and newspapers
for over five decades.
Apart
from John as an artist, part of the legend stems from John as a
character. He was a man who stood for something. He was a man of
principles and beliefs. These beliefs, while permeating his songs and
his poems, were also lived out every day by John. He didn’t just
write union songs, he stood for unions, spoke for unionism and was
proud of it. In the same way he wrote songs that mocked big business
and economic rationalism. These were not issues exclusive to John’s
songs, they were beliefs he held and adhered to everyday.
Some
of the last words John wrote reflect the anti-establishment beliefs
he held and which were part of this legend of character.
We
won’t surrender, won’t give in, although our hair is graying;
We
come from tough rebellious kin…
Sometimes
we lose, sometimes we win…
We
go on disobeying.
The
last time I saw John was during the Easter holidays this year. We
were sharing a cup of tea when I asked him, “what are you John? Are
you a singer/songwriter? Are you a storyteller? Are you a poet? Are
you a unionist? Are you a cricket tragic? Are you rebel? What are
you?”
John
paused for a brief moment, thought about it and said. “I’m an
educator.”
John
Dengate, my inspiration and friend died on the 1st
of August 2013, just shy of his 75th
birthday. I was shocked and saddened when I heard he had passed.
Goodbye
Mr Dengate, songwriter, hero, rebel, husband, father, teacher,
humorist, satirist, unionist, cricketer, golfer, poet, friend … and
educator
Cj
Shaw
11th
August 2013
*************************************************************************************************
*************************************************************************************************
