The theme for the JVG Radio Method March 4th, 2007 was “RUNAWAY”. The sad events of the week inspired this one.

Click to play Runaway…

Accompaniment supplied on accordion once again this week by the inestimable Dave Evans

Vale Billy Thorpe. 60 was way too short.


tracey anne was born on a wheat farm near murtoa,
half an hour by car outside the town
the youngest of five daughters to a man who wanted sons
a mother who felt she’d let her husband down

her father, he was old school, chauvinist at best
the kitchens’ where a teenage girl belongs
not allowed to watch the tv, radio, just abc
and an album of bing crosby christmas songs

couldn’t go to parties, had to come home straight from school
and dances, well she couldn’t go at all
rock’n’roll was senseless noise, not allowed to talk to boys
her world remained uncharted east of stawell

she did the weekly shopping in horsham with her mum
and on this occasion bumped into a friend
we’re heading down to melbourne trace, why not come along
there’s a concert on australia day weekend

for a second tracey pondered “if i really beg and plead”
but she knew exactly what her dad would say
to her surprise, and others, she said “alright, i’m coming”
she decided then and there to run away

they took off friday morning, while her dad was outside working
stopped to grab some lunch in ballarat
she asked where they were going, they showed her on the map
said sunbury, i’ve never heard of that

they walked down to the stage, tracey looked on stunned
a sea of people stood a thousand deep
only once before she’d seen this many in a field
on her uncle’s farm, rounding up the sheep

she had several invitations to share a tent or mattress
but chose to dance and party hard instead
those few days and nights, she was making up lost time
tracey never thought to go to bed

the toilets weren’t the cleanest, the food was pretty grim
nothing that would do you any harm
she heard a few complaining, but it didn’t bother tracy
she’d been brought up on a farm

spectrum, chain, wild cherries, company caine and friends
everything to her was fresh and new
you could have banged a beer can on your forehead, as some did
tracey would have listened to that too

nothing could prepare her for the aztecs or the crowd
they went ballistic, all chanting “suck more piss”
it was loud it was raw, it was real and even louder
to tracey it was near enough to bliss

billy played a solo and when he opened up his eyes
for a moment, he was looking straight at her
tracey still remembers, he gave a little wink
after that everything’s a blur

by the time the band had finished, her life had changed forever
like a bird who’s at last escaped the cage
she was just about to leave when a roadie trace befriended
asked her if she’d like to come back stage

she met billy only briefly, maybe ten or fifteen seconds
she tried to talk, but couldn’t make a sound
he smiled and shook her hand, and thanked her for coming
an autograph, then said “i’ll see you round”

when tracey heard of billy’s passing, to say the least she shed a tear
a piece of her life had passed away as well
doesn’t seem that long ago, but time can be deceiving
what’s in store, no-one alive can tell

tracey thought back to her youth and the farm outside murtoa
realised it was the last time she was bored
one weekend changed forever, what took sixteen years to fashion
sometimes running away can be a means of moving forward

“mark my words young lady”, her father always prefaced
just before he’d launch into a rave
“that crap that you call music is dangerous for your health
it’ll send you mad and to an early grave”

“that bloody billy what’s his name, that noisy bloody thorpie
he’ll end up dead and well before his time”
well he got that right, he was sixty, but her old man doesn’t gloat
cause the silly prick, he died at fifty nine

© Copyright 2007 Ian Bland

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