His Colonial Oath

"His Colonial Oath" is a compelling short story by Australian author Henry Lawson, set against the backdrop of the early 20th century. The narrative explores themes of patriotism, identity, and the complexities of colonial life in Australia. Through the experiences of a central character, Lawson delves into the challenges faced by individuals torn between loyalty to their homeland and the burgeoning sense of an Australian identity. The story captures the emotional and moral dilemmas of its characters, reflecting Lawson's keen insights into the social and cultural realities of his time.

• Short story

								
I lately met an old schoolmate of mine up-country. He was much changed.
He was tall and lank, and had the most hideous bristly red beard I
ever saw. He was working on his father's farm. He shook hands, looked
anywhere but in my face--and said nothing. Presently I remarked at a
venture “So poor old Mr B., the schoolmaster, is dead.”

“My oath!” he replied.

“He was a good old sort.”

“My oath!”

“Time goes by pretty quick, doesn't it?”

His oath (colonial).

“Poor old Mr B. died awfully sudden, didn't he?”

He looked up the hill, and said: “My oath!”

Then he added: “My blooming oath!”

I thought, perhaps, my city rig or manner embarrassed him, so I stuck
my hands in my pockets, spat, and said, to set him at his ease: “It's
blanky hot to-day. I don't know how you blanky blanks stand such blank
weather! It's blanky well hot enough to roast a crimson carnal bullock;
ain't it?” Then I took out a cake of tobacco, bit off a quarter, and
pretended to chew. He replied:

“My oath!”

The conversation flagged here. But presently, to my great surprise, he
came to the rescue with:

“He finished me, yer know.”

“Finished? How? Who?”

He looked down towards the river, thought (if he did think) and said:
“Finished me edyercation, yer know.”

“Oh! you mean Mr B.?”

“My oath--he finished me first-rate.”

“He turned out a good many scholars, didn't he?”

“My oath! I'm thinkin' about going down to the trainin' school.”'

“You ought to--I would if I were you.”

“My oath!”

“Those were good old times,” I hazarded, “you remember the old bark
school?”

He looked away across the sidling, and was evidently getting uneasy. He
shifted about, and said:

“Well, I must be goin'.”

“I suppose you're pretty busy now?”

“My oath! So long.”

“Well, good-bye. We must have a yarn some day.”

“My oath!”

He got away as quickly as he could.

I wonder whether he was changed after all--or, was it I? A man does
seem to get out of touch with the bush after living in cities for eight
or ten years.
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