The Western Soarers Club
With apologies to Banjo Patterson
It was somewhere ‘cross the country
In a land of rock and scrub
That they formed an institution
Called the Western Soarers Club
They were rough and wiry natives
From the rugged western side
And a glider’s not been built
That those soarers couldn’t fly
Well you’d think that to go gliding
You’ve just got to have a hill
But they didn’t let that stop ‘em
Well there’s a way if there’s a will
They went east to Wyalkatchem
Just a tiny little town
For the rope and Dragonfly were there
To lift them from the ground
Up into a sky so blue
With not a cloud in sight
Why not hold the Nationals here?
Federation said all right
So here we are in Wylie
Where the wind howls fierce and strong
As the trees blow down around us
We all wonder what’s gone wrong
For it seems a pressure trough
Is parked just overhead
Another day, blown out again
So I hop back in to bed
Well eventually the weather turns
As we all know it must
So I pull out my trusty glider
And clean off all the dust
Hook onto tow and it’s GO, GO ,GO
Up into western sky
Stop wondering what we came here for
Just go ahead and fly