Charles Henry Soutar
Charles Henry Souter , medical practitioner and writer, was born on 11 October 1864 at Aberdeen, Scotland, eldest son of John Clement Souter, general practitioner, and his wife Helen, née Coutts. John, an accomplished pencil and water-colour artist, collected 'rare classical books and old English china and coins'. The family shifted to Nottingham, England, and in 1872 to Upper Holloway, London. Charles went to Highgate and University College schools, and at 14 was registered as a medical student under his father's tuition at the Royal College of Surgeons.
Sailing in the clipper City of Corinth as ship's surgeon, John brought his family to Sydney in March 1879; on the advice of ... more »
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Charles Henry Soutar Poems
When the cranky German waggon, With its ten or fifteen bag on Comes a-jerkin’ and a-joltin’ down the dusty, limestone street,
The Mallee Fire
I SUPPOSE it just depends on where you’re raised, Once I met a cove as swore by green belar! Couldn’t sight the good old mallee-stump I praised; Well!—I couldn’t sight belar, and there you are!
Bound for Sourabaya!
OH, the moon shines bright, and we sail to-night, And we’re bound for Sourabaya! So it’s ‘Farewell, Jane!’ for we’re off again With the turning of the tide!
Do you see that post a-stickin in the sand? Just the point of it a-poking thro' the sand? Me and Madge put in that fence. Yes! We should have had more sense!
Comments about Charles Henry Soutar
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
When the cranky German waggon,
With its ten or fifteen bag on
Comes a-jerkin’ and a-joltin’ down the dusty, limestone street,
And the “Norther’s” blowin’ blindin’,
And the rollers are a-grindin’,
And the agent jabs his sampler thro’ the sackin’ to the wheat,
Let ’em slide along the plank! slide along! slide along!
Sixty bushels for the Bank; slide along!
When your back is fairly breakin’
And your very fingers shakin’
With the heavin’, heavin’, heavin’, in the blarsted, blazin’ sun;
And the agent finds the spots out
And takes all his sample lots ...