Thanks for the memories

Watty had spent 77 of his years — 1928 to 2005 — in Kyabram, where he was born, and in that time became one its best known citizens because of his ability to entertain through his gifts of comedy sketches, and writing and performing poetry.

He was the Banjo Paterson or Henry Lawson of Kyabram.

He is survived by daughter Jennifer and son David, 11 grandchildren and six great-grandchildren.

There will be a celebration of Watty’s life this Friday, February 27, at 10am at St David’s Church in Church St, Kyabram, starting at 10am which will be followed by his burial at the Kyabram Cemetery and then refreshment at the Kyabram Club.

Grahame ‘Watty’ Watt 1928-2026

Most country towns have one.

A local with a passion for something that is a sideline to his normal life and work, but something he is very good at.

Kyabram was blessed to have one of those people.

His name was Grahame Watt and he was a long-time Kyabramite with a gift for entertaining, writing and performing poetry with more than a touch of humour and which resonated with everyone.

‘Watty’ spent the greater part of his life working as a refrigeration engineer at the Kyabram Cannery.

But entertaining people with his anecdotes in verse was his forte.

He had the ability to expand writings on subjects and stories that may have seemed trivial to many at the time but ended up a best-seller.

One of his works, Skew Wiff Kelly, which related a true story of a Wyuna farmer named Kelly whose building techniques left a lot to the imagination, earned him an instant second nickname — Skew Wiff.

But Watty or Skew Wiff was more than just a good poet in a country town.

In his Kyabram days he was always generous with his time, was a long-time member of Kyabram service clubs and organisations and a foundation president of the Kyabram and District Bush Verse Group.

He was always keen to promote in verse the town and district he lived in and a Night Around The Campfire featuring bush poets from everywhere was an annual event he started and looked forward to.

He was just a great human being who has left us with a lot of fond memories.

Below are some of Watty’s best-known works

‘SKEW-WIFF’ KELLY

His name was ‘Skew-Wiff’ Kelly and everything he built,

Was either at an angle, or leaning at a tilt.

In all of his construction jobs, he used the rule of thumb.

He’d close one eye and line it up, and reckon it was plumb.

He would use the best of timber and take a lot of care,

But every job completed was a little bit off-square.

His reputation grew and grew, as ‘Skew-Wiff’ moved around.

The cockies overlooked his faults, for his workmanship was sound.

So as you travel round the place, you can see where ‘Skew-Wiff’s’ been.

That hayshed leaning sideways, that verandah with a lean.

You’ve seen his good old tank-stands, they’ve a wind-blown look with time.

His fences have a stagger, and wander just off line.

You’ve seen a ‘Skew-Wiff’ chimney, you’ve seen a ‘Skew-Wiff’ door.

His buildings stand – defiant – of the gravitation law.

Yet a funny thing about it, though his buildings aren’t quite straight,

They always look so comfortable – as if they’d time to wait.

Now ‘Skew-Wiff’ died some years ago, but I reckon he’d be pleased,

For his tombstone’s got a lean on – at forty-five degrees.

MAIN STREET

I see through misted vision as clouds of time come down

the sight of things and ways that used to be.

I recall the dusty ‘Main Street’ of my home country town,

and walk again that street of memory.

We always called it ‘Main Street’… the only name we knew,

a name conceived by time and ‘hand of fate’.

The street was long and narrow, by the railway line it grew,

but oddly it was nowhere near as straight.

I see Jack Grahame’s the Grocers with bright red painted sign;

he’d flour and spuds and cheeses in a rack.

The floor had creaking floor-boards of sawdust covered pine,

and a doorway led to stables out the back.

Next was Kerlin’s Butcher shop where beasts hung in a row;

raw carcasses of beef and mutton stock,

and standing there to serve you with knives all set to go

was Kerlin in striped apron by the block.

And there is Barrett’s baker shop – I see it straight ahead,

where the ovens would be fired up in the night.

I still can smell the sweetness of that early morning bread,

And hunger for that ‘High Tin’ crusty white.

I well recall the Saddlers and the bike shop further west.

where Jimmy was a self-taught engineer,

as a ‘mender’ and a ‘fixer’ he was regarded as the best,

and next along was George the auctioneer.

The hardware store of Hallidays was two doors further down,

With ‘odds and ends’ to suit your meagre purse.

He also had a motor van, to deliver ‘round the town,

which doubled on occasions as a hearse.

I wander on in memory to the pub I knew so well –

‘twas two doors down just past the vacant block.

where Molly kept decorum with the drinking clientele,

then threw them in the street at six o’clock.

As I wander on in dreaming down past the local hall,

I cannot help but think of happy days.

For all along our ‘Main Street’ were friendly ports of call,

where I was welcomed in so many ways.

In these days of ‘flash’ self service and cards that cannot speak

I miss the friendly chit-chat of the day,

when a visit to go shopping was the highlight of the week,

and people gave you ‘time’ along the way.

The Grocer and the Baker would greet you by first name,

then on the latest gossip you would thrive.

There were no daily ‘specials’ – prices always were the same,

and you shopped for things you needed to survive.

Yes, Main Street was our life-blood, but time has passed us by –

the street is now deserted sad to say.

With drought and empty silos and rivers running dry,

the shops have closed and people moved away.

But I still go in memory to that place so far away

where the world was somehow smaller so it seems.

I hear again the hoof-beats and the chatter of the day,

and walk once more down Main Street – in my dreams.