Congarinni is a small village at Nambucca, and one of it's pioneers was my great. great , grandfather , Patrick John Byrnes who farmed 295 acres in 1864, to later operate a general store and pub, to take advantage of stopovers to the
John Patrick Byrnes
In Ireland, in 1836, before the dock, in mortal fear he trembled
But the judge ruled in clemency, to the colonies transported
Go forth as a convict these shores now be departed
And so below in a filthy hold, as he was tetheredTo scheme all day, when his liberty was granted.
On shore he worked for slops and bread
Until the pardon came, then to the crooked river
To build an Inn, to farm the land, to raise a family,
Along the crooked river there was no better man.
To the Bullock trains passing by it was a favourite spotFor witty tales, for tasty ales, but not your only lot
For gentlemen seeking tweeds he sold a quality none better
And so in fame his fortune spread, along the crooked river.
To the cedar kings of high country where rivers just a speckTo the rivers mouth a graveyard for all the dreaded wrecks
He was the grand innkeeper, the one where all would stay.
This is the story of an Irish lad, who just stole for bread and butter
A pioneer whose fortune was told along the crooked river.