The Ballad Of A Cane Farmer

By a retired cane farmer

There was movement at the farm shed
when the word was passed around,
That the price of export sugar had fallen to the ground.
As farmers we are takers, we have no right to choose,
Sometimes we come out winners and then sometimes we lose.

They say we are complainers but we’re lovers of the land,
All we ask is a fair go and perhaps a helping hand.
The lifestyle is the greatest, you nominate your hours.
Sometimes we work from dawn to dark and
sometimes between the showers.

We’ve built up some fond memories as
we’ve journeyed through the years.
We also have some hard ones that reduce a man to tears.
We recall the young gun cutters, the rails, the knives, the file.
You couldn’t keep up or catch them to within a country mile.

They came across from distant lands,
they stayed around a while,
they left behind a legacy and they made the farmers smile.
The hours they worked were long and hard
and what they earned was small.
They were the backbone of the industry
and they still stand strong and tall.

Then came the 515 harvester, the damn thing wouldn’t go!
After working twelve long hard hours
only thirty bins you had to show.
But things are all done different now, it’s done within the hour.
All the farmer does now is go home and take a shower.

Along comes the contractor, he is looking for more dough.
“The price of things is rising, I can’t survive you know.
This is the price I’m asking that’s what you have to pay,
You take it or you leave it, we’ll talk another day.”

So then the tracks start turning, it's money in the bank.
We get pain upon delivery, the mills we have to thank.
Then the bills start rolling in, they’re
coming, coming thick and fast.
That’s when you have to hope and pray
the money’s going to last.

Along come all the greenies but they’re not all that green.
They say they’re out to save the world
but they’re not all that they seem.
They say that all the farmers are endangering the reef,
We’ll not take it laying down let’s hand them out some beef.

We’ve got all this new technology, GPS and traffic lane.
But with all this increased knowledge
we seem to grow less cane.
We have all of these computers and also the spreadsheet,
but the bottom line is always we have to make ends meet.

Then there are the politicians with
their theories and their tales,
“You’ve never had it so good” but something jumped the rails.
You’re told to work hard and smart,
that’s what they have to say.
While there are more inquiries, they
get an increase in their pay.

We struggle with diseases, RSD and smut and rust.
We have numbers of varieties but in many we can’t trust.
We battle with the elements, sometimes the rain won’t come.
We get long hot summer days and lots and lots of sun.

Then you look to heaven and pray the rain will fall.
You take a look around your farm, the crop it will be small,
and then the heavens open and the rain just tumbles down.
The rivers are all running, there is water all around.

The cane is going under and you can’t get to town,
“We’ll pack a few belongings and head for higher ground!”
There are the Larrys and the Yasis with wind and driving rain,
you estimate the damage and you try to wear the pain.

That’s when you get up and learn to start
again with faith and trust and hope.
With heart in hand and courage, we pray that we will cope.
You look around the district with farmers old and grey.
They can’t afford to get out and they can’t afford to stay.

The children have all but left home,
they've left behind the land.
They don’t want to build their home life upon the shifting sand.
They’re gone away to better things, their futures to explore,
some headed for the cities and some to distant shore.

They leave behind them this fair land,
they shall return no more.
So we’ll work a little harder to keep the banker from the door.
You begin to wonder was it all worthwhile,
all the anguish and the pain.
The striving and the hardship for oh, so little gain.

And then the time will come around when
you knock on heaven’s door.
You no longer have to worry if the price falls through the floor.
Then you ask yourself the question, “Did I really pass the test?”
You heard the voice say, “Welcome home my
son, you’re the best of all the best!"

"You’re a cane grower!”

The Author wished to remain anonymous, and we thank them for their contribution to the Hinchinbrook Life as it echoes many of the lives of our regions growers.