There was an article in the local news paper about some young people in Charters Towers, who were having a wild party on Towers Hill, when they swore that a huge and hairy naked man ran through their party and scared the living daylights out of them. Although the towns folk believed that it was only a huge kangaroo that they had seen, the story inspired the following poem.

BIG JIM HIGGINS AND THE DYNAMITE

It was here, in Charters Towers,
And, although it wasn’t ours
Some dynamite was found just out the back.
It seemed the blacksmith owned it,
And when we accidentally found it,
It was leaking all the nitro from its pack.

So, the blacksmith went and bought a
Bucket full of water,
And he soaked that lethal substance for a week.
Then when the casings were disposed of,
Seemed the danger was all over,
But for the bucket, into which that nitro leaked.

And yet he didn’t think he oughta
Throw away all that good water,
So he poured the stuff into his cooling bin,
And then what happened after
Was a total damned disaster,
I tell you mate, there weren’t much left of him.

You see, dynamite, it’s new,
And there’s more than just a few
Who have used it, and blown ’emselves to bits.
Gunpowder's used to set it off,
And even that, its dangerous stuff,
Yet they store them both together down the pits.

And in them pits it’s black as night,
That’s why them miners carry lights,
Like candles and other naked flames.
God them safety boys are nappin’
Cos one day it’s gotta happen,
And no company boss will ever wear the blame.

Last month a miner met his fate,
And I lost a damn good bloody mate.
He was settin’ off a charge down in the mine,
He took the full blast in the chest,
And though there wasn’t too much left,
We buried all the pieces we could find.

Two plugs and then some powder
And because he knew no better,
He rammed that charge down with a copper rod.
One tiny spark was all it took,
And hell that mine shaft fairly shook,
Now he’s livin’ with the Devil, or with God.

That’s the reason why they hired a Pro,
An expert who would actually know
The dangers of that new explosive clap.
And when he first rode into town
The word soon got around
He was the powder monkey bloke from Ballarat.

Big Jim Higgins was his name,
And dynamiting was his game.
He was a huge and hairy man, but not too bright.
And when he spoke, his words where slow,
But, didn’t take us long to know,
That he knew the ins and outs of dynamite.

He could blast one rock from out the wall,
And not another stone would fall.
He was an artist, a master at his trade,
And since the day of his commencement
There ain’t been a single accident,
He was worth every penny he was paid.

But Jim Higgins had a fear
Which he whispered in the ear
Of a mate of his one night while drinkin’ rum,
“Absorbin’ nitro every day,
Could have a monstrous price to pay,
Hey, do you think I might become a walkin’ bomb?”

Well, two louts were sittin’ near
And couldn’t help but overhear.
So, they planned to play a little joke on Jim,
If he thought that he’d become
A living, walking human bomb,
They were gonna scare the daylights out of him.

So, with some powder from the mine
Wrapped in packing, bound with twine,
They made the biggest bunger you could make.
And they thought it kind of funny,
Crouching there behind the dunny,
As they watched Jim Higgins comin’ down the track.

Now that hole there in the ground
It was more than twelve foot down,
And I tell you mate, that dunny was well used,
Then just as Jim broke wind,
They dropped the bunger in,
With no more than a half an inch of fuse.

Well from the depths there come a rumblin’,
Roof and walls began a tumblin’,
And a bellow like a mad bull pierced the air.
Then through the dust and smoke and clap
Staggered Jim without his daks,
With mud and blood and stuff all through his hair.

On that very day, Jim disappeared,
And the search was stopped, ‘cos people feared,
He’d crawled into a shaft, and finally died.
But they don’t realise,
That he actually survives,
In the hills and mullock heaps, where now he hides.

And in those hills ‘round Charters Towers,
In the dark and early hours,
You might see a huge and hairy man run by,
But he won’t venture near
‘Cos he has this awful fear,
That if he farts my friend, then you are gonna die.

Now when there’s lightning and there’s thunder,
I often sit and wonder,
Is that a storm behind the hills, or is it Jim
Running naked in all his glory,
Too afraid to tell the story,
Of the day he blew the local dunny in …… The Anointed.