Come all you pulp-choppers, come listen to me.
A story of John Lowe's camp, in back of P.D. (Port Dufferin)
I'll sing you this song, and I hope it will prove good.
Concerning nineteen men a-cutting pulp-wood.
Now the first man I'll mention is John Lowe our boss.
He is always good-natured, and never gets cross.
He knows the pulp business from A to Z.
And he sees that his men at nine o'clock are in bed.
We get up every morning at quarter to six.
We hunt up our trousers, our socks and our mitts.
We go to the table our breakfast to eat.
Of cornflakes and baked beans and everything sweet.
Alvin Lowe is our cook, and has dark wavy hair.
His age is about twenty, his complexion is fair.
He belongs to Moser River, a place you all know.
Where the people will welcome you, whenever you go.
The cook's brother, Basil, I will now relate.
He goes to Port Dufferin, and hauls in the freight.
He drives a twitch-horse that twitches the logs.
Over barrens and hummicks and slough holes and bogs.
Next comes Billy Lowe, I'll speak of him now.
And his partner, Jack Bezanson, junking pulp on the brow.
They junk up from five to eight cords every day.
They keep the saw busy, there's no time to play.
We have four men swamping and cutting the roads.
So the horse can haul, when the snow comes, big loads.
Adam Jewers, Ernie Moser, Wes Dingle, Noble Pye.
They deserve much credit, and that is no lie.
They go out every morning, and go in a rush.
They saw off the stumps, and clear away the brush.
They all know their business, and they all do it well.
They are hard-working men, the truth I now tell.
We have one more teamster, a good one I think.
He comes from Marie Joseph, his name is Ralph Zinck.
He's a jolly good fellow, and well liked by the men.
He goes home every two weeks, to spend the weekend.
There's Jerry MacDonald, George MacDonald, likewise.
They are cutting long lengths, cutting trees large size.
Two better choppers you won't find anywhere.
They can make the chips fly from the spruce and the fir.
Next comes Douglas Mason, he's been left out so far.
He comes up every morning in his new Maxwell car.
He is a good chopper, so the boys they have said.
He belongs down the road, at the town of Moosehead.
Next comes Thomas Atkins, I'll speak of him now.
He is working alone over back of the brow.
His partner, Ralph Powell, he got hurt here one day.
And he's not coming back, so the boys they all say.
Now comes Walter Monk and Weldon DeBay.
They're experienced men, so the both of them say.
They belong to Ship Harbour, a place up the line.
They intend on working here till around Christmas time.
Of Russell Jewers and Campbell I'll now speak a word.
They've been working at pulp since October the third.
They walk up every Monday, it's five miles or more.
They belong to Harrigan Cove, quite handy the shore.
Now the camp it is built in a nice little nook.
It's built on the bank, right across from Rocky Brook.
It's built out of logs, stuffed all around with moss.
It was built in September, by the men and the boss.
Now the scaler comes round with his stick and his tape.
And he goes through the pile, for the measure to take.
He puts all the figures down in a row.
Now the man's name I'll tell you, is Claude Drillio.
Now a few words about our employer I'll tell.
He's a big business man, and you all know him well.
He's been in the pulp business for five years or more.
And he has in Moser River, a big general store.
We're expecting the snow to come anytime now.
Then the wood will be hauled out as far as the brow.
The whips they will crack and the horse bells will ring.
And the wood will go down Rocky Brook in the spring.
Now Friday night regular is our shaving night.
There's black beards, and red ones, and some almost white.
Adam Jewers is our barber and will always be, I hope.
A shaving brush with five hairs, and old surprise soap.
When Saturday night comes the men bid adieu.
To the wood and the camp, for their work is through.
They come back on Monday, feeling frisky and gay.
To slay down the old pulp and earn a weeks pay
There's new men a-coming to the camp every day.
To take the place of the old one that's going away.
There's old ones and young ones and fat ones and slim.
When two leaves here, there's two more comes in.
The twenty-fourth of December is Christmas Eve.
The boys will be merry, the old camp they leave.
To spend old Christmas, spend it merry and bright.
With their sweethearts, their children, parents and wife.
Now my song it is ended, there's no more to say.
You can all get a copy, there'll be nothing to pay.
I've told you the story, a long time it took.
Of all the men that work in the woods at Rocky Brook.
Russell Jewers
Composed in 1922