"It's true what they say, Banjo Paterson did meet the Man from Snowy River, Jack Riley, all those years ago.
Jack was the legendary horse man who migrated from Ireland to Australia as a 13-year-old in 1851.
Jack worked as a tailor near Omeo but found his true passion as a stockman, he worked for the Pierce family of Greg Greg, near Corryong.
Jack lived in isolation in a hut high up in the hills at Tom Groggin. He loved the Snowy Mountain Country, a good yarn and enjoyed a social drink or two. Jack was also a good mate of the late Walter Mitchell of Towong Station, who introduced Jack Riley to Banjo Paterson when the pair was on a camping trip. They trekked the Kosciusko Ranges and the Snowys, shared many campfires and yarns too. Jack Riley was the Man from Snowy River who provided an inspirational journey and material for Banjo to write his now famous poem.
Banjo Paterson also wrote a poem about Jack Riley's cow. This is further testimony to a meeting with Jack and the friendship they shared.
Corryong was the closest township to Riley and the locals remember he would visit three or four times a year for supplies. When friends found him very sick and attempted to get him to a doctor it was Corryong Hospital they brought him, although he died along the way.
Jack Riley was buried at the Corryong cemetery in 1914 however Jack's spirit comes alive every year in Corryong at the Man from Snowy River Bush Festival. The festival is a celebration of the famous poem, bush folklore, the arts, music and Australia's finest horsemanship."
Credit: Towong Shire Council (
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Excerpts from the poem - The Man from Snowy River:
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There was movement at the station, for the word had passed around
That the colt from old Regret had got away,
And had joined the wild bush horses - he was worth a thousand pound,
So all the cracks had gathered to the fray.
All the tried and noted riders from the stations near and far
Had mustered at the homestead overnight,
For the bushmen love hard riding where the wild bush horses are,
And the stockhorse snuffs the battle with delight.
When they reached the mountain's summit, even Clancy took a pull,
It well might make the boldest hold their breath,
The wild hop scrub grew thickly, and the hidden ground was full
Of wombat holes, and any slip was death.
But the man from Snowy River let the pony have his head,
And he swung his stockwhip round and gave a cheer,
And he raced him down the mountain like a torrent down its bed,
While the others stood and watched in very fear.
He sent the flint stones flying, but the pony kept his feet,
He cleared the fallen timber in his stride,
And the man from Snowy River never shifted in his seat -
It was grand to see that mountain horseman ride.
Through the stringybarks and saplings, on the rough and broken ground,
Down the hillside at a racing pace he went;
And he never drew the bridle till he landed safe and sound,
At the bottom of that terrible descent.