Banjo Paterson

(17 February 1864 – 5 February 1941 / New South Wales)

Banjo Paterson
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Banjo Paterson was born at the property "Narrambla", near Orange, New South Wales, the eldest son of Andrew Bogle Paterson, a Scottish immigrant from Lanarkshire and Australian-born Rose Isabella Barton, related to the future first Prime Minister of Australia Edmund Barton. Paterson's family lived on the isolated Buckinbah Station in the Monaro until he was five when his father lost his wool clip in a flood and was forced to sell up. When Paterson's uncle died, his family took over the uncle's farm in Illalong, near Yass, close to the main route between Melbourne and Sydney. Bullock teams, Cobb and Co coaches and drovers were familiar sights to him. He also saw horsemen from the ... more »

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Comments about Banjo Paterson

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  • Rhoda Hall (8/5/2018 4:26:00 AM)

    I am looking for a poem by Patterson with the last verse

    Not a single pyle of a loch we drive, but a few mean dams we scratch. For the fate of a nation nought compares to the turn of a cricket match

  • Martin Doyle (5/29/2018 1:11:00 PM)

    Patterson's work is remarkable in its imagery and ability to bring clarity of emotions to break through.

  • BILLIAM BAKESPEARE (5/7/2018 9:36:00 PM)


  • i cant be bothered anymore (5/7/2018 9:36:00 PM)

    what the hELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL is that

  • nick crompton (5/6/2018 10:46:00 PM)

    you know its nick crompton and my collar stay poppin
    yes i can rap and no i'm not from compton
    england is my city and if it weren't for team 10 the us would be
    i'll pass it to chance cuz you know he stay litty

  • ThatKidEatingAPickledPickle (4/9/2018 8:18:00 PM)

    get doubled pickled fam

  • loony face (4/5/2018 1:44:00 AM)

    (͡o ͜ʖ ͡o) ahahahhaha

  • (?° ?? ?°) (4/5/2018 1:43:00 AM)

    lenny face

    wait wrong way around

  • Banjo Paterson (4/5/2018 1:37:00 AM)


    p.s hi lol

    p.p.s jk

  • LOL IDK ANYMORE IS MY NAME? ? ? IDK (4/5/2018 1:30:00 AM)


Read all 22 comments »
Best Poem of Banjo Paterson

A Dog's Mistake

He had drifted in among us as a straw drifts with the tide,
He was just a wand'ring mongrel from the weary world outside;
He was not aristocratic, being mostly ribs and hair,
With a hint of spaniel parents and a touch of native bear.
He was very poor and humble and content with what he got,
So we fed him bones and biscuits, till he heartened up a lot;
Then he growled and grew aggressive, treating orders with disdain,
Till at last he bit the butcher, which would argue want of brain.

Now the butcher, noble fellow, was a sport beyond belief,
And instead of ...

Read the full of A Dog's Mistake
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