Doc Bland

I’m a Welsh-born bush poet and artist. In previous lives, I was a driving instructor in Sydney, a taxi driver and tractor driver around Wagga Wagga, NSW, a graphic artist and art teacher around Ballarat, Victoria, and a lecturer at a Brisbane university. Now I write bush poetry, some of it humorous (I think), some of it not intended to be. I'm also a singer/song-writer, having performed in the 1980s with 'Colonial Folk' in Ballarat, and I can be heard performing my own and traditional bush poems and songs with the North Pine Bush Poets, Petrie, and Poets of the Park at Sandgate. I’ve performed in bush poetry competitions in Queensland and NSW. The photo was taken at the 2019 Henry Lawson Festival in Gulgong with my Loaded Dog ‘emerging poet’ award.

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'Birth of a Bush Poet', soft cover book containing 54 pages of original poems.

Poets/Writers Work

A career in finance has long been a sure way of making it to the top.....

The Very Polite Bushranger

© Doc Bland

The stagecoach turned a corner near the creek at Wangaroo and was bailed up by a bushranger who called out “How d’yer do! Please disembark now, easy – I mean no threat to your health. I wish only to relieve you of the burden of your wealth”.

He beamed, a wide apology, his pistols straight and level. “Audacious”, thought his victims. “The man is the very devil”. “The inconvenience will be brief”, he said with quiet demeanour, “And I humbly apologise”, his smile becoming keener.

“Now please, unload your pockets,” he requested of the men, then smiled and kissed the ladies’ hands as he was robbing them. He took their jewellery and their gold, he took their bags of cash, and mounting on his horse declared, “Excuse me, I must dash”.

He called to the small company before he rode away, “Well, Thank you all, it’s been so nice, now have a pleasant day,” He raised his hat and headed off at quite a gentle pace to leave looks of bewilderment on every victim’s face.

“Well, that was cordial,” someone spoke, the thief now out of sight. “Could have been worse,” another said, “And he was so polite”. They all agreed the bushranger was quite a gentleman, “So charming,” said one lady, blushing red behind her fan.

It wasn’t long before the stories of his exploits spread. A bounty of five-hundred pounds was placed upon his head. But everywhere he went, his victims spoke of him with pride, each one of them beguiled and each one seemed to take his side.

In time, his reputation had surpassed that of the King and instead of being captured, he was cheered when entering each new town where he’d plunder their post offices and banks, while always smiling courteously, and offering his thanks.

And in due course, in Wangaroo, he was elected mayor, his ill-gotten fortune used to help the townsfolk there. He joined a certain party, attracting many votes, smiling for photographers, delivering smooth quotes.

His charm and winning ways soon took him to the very top, becoming the prime minister* and vowing he would stop His wayward ways of bushranging as, now, he could relax and take all that he needed from the people’s income tax.