My Home, Eunice Leahy, 1942
Courtesy Val Rogers. Photograph by Sandra McEwan.
Eunice Bougoure was born in the Central Hotel on 17 October 1923 to John and Lola Leahy. She had four siblings. The family moved between Springdale, Stanthorpe and Gunyan at Texas before settling at Springdale in 1935. A skilled horsewoman, Leahy also enjoyed writing poetry and drawing, always about her great loves, horses, dogs, and the land. She led a hard life in her time and found comfort in her ability to compose and create from poetry and drawings to crochet and knitting.
My Home by Eunice Leahy
You’ve heard the stories that are told,
Of countries o’er the sea.
Of Palaces and cities fair.
Most beautiful to see.
But there’s a land that’s far beyond
all cities bright and fair.
A piece of land that I call home.
With which none can compare.
Ten thousand acres every bit.
Of mountains rough and blue.
This is how I picture it.
And every word is true.
Whilst riding home quite late one night.
On a mountain high.
I stood and gazed into the night
Through a clear moon lit sky.
And down below a thousand feet,
The Severn River ran.
Through pine clad mountains tall and steep.
The fairest in this land.
The rippling stream ran slowly by.
T’was all as plain as day.
The mopoke gave his lonely call,
And brumbies came to play.
The moon shone down with golden rays
While baby foals played ‘round,
The cool breeze whispered thro’ the trees
To the mokpokes mournful sound.
I stood in silence wrapped in wonder
And thinking o’er and o’er.
No person living in this world,
Could ever wish for more.
In 1943 Eunice Leahey, poet, featured in a newspaper The Northern Miner (Charters Towers, Qld. : 1874 - 1954) Tue 11 Apr 1944.
Some months ago Mr. R. C. Pearce. a "Track" poet at Hughenden, contributed a verse to these columns, and it concerned Miss Eunice Leahy, of Stanthorpe, who, besides being: a talented young lady, is a promising rodeo rider. Miss Leahy is just one of many typical bush girls we have in this State, and Mr. Pearce had this in mind when he made her the subject for a poem. Below is Miss Leahy's reply:
TO A FLINDERS POET
What the dickens is this about?
What's all this I hear?
An' who the deuce is R. C, Pearce,
Sober or on the beer?
What next is "Bowyang" goin' to-print?
Is he clean orf his head?
With all this drivil about meself,
Just 'cause what I said.
That bit I wrote, it's what I meant.
Every word is true.
Bit what the deuce is wrong with me.
Is this all somethin' new?
Am I the only "dame" you know?
The only one of the breed ?
Well I love the bush an' all its life.
An' proud of it indeed.
They bred me out here in the scrub,
O'er twenty years ago.
An' taught me how to boil me quart
At three or four or so;
An' ridin' it just come to me
As walkin' did to you.
An brandin' calves an' breakin' in.
To me it's nothin' new.
But seems as tho' I'm just a cull.
Me sister's not that way.
She went orf to this city life.
An' married a "quack" they say.
Me brother he got married, too,
An' went to live in town.
Lord, spare me days, no good to me,
I'd never live it down.
Them blokes wot don't wear Oxford boots
It's them that's in my line.'
Sun tanned hide an' moleskins,
They suit me mighty fine.
So if by chance I makes me way
Up North on a rodeo spree.
Now Mr. Pearce don't you forget
That promised cup of tea.
EUNICE LEAHY.
Calm Downs, Stanthorpe.