Another Fall of Rain is one of those great descriptive shearing songs going back to the days when the shears used the clipping blades. The fleece had to be in exactly the right condition as if it had been dry for a long period the fleece would be gritty and hard to shear as with if it had been raining then the fleece would be too wet. Similar to the fishermen in Cornwall who would hold a candle out of the window to see if there was enough wind to go out fishing. If the wind did not blow the candle out they knew that there was not enough wind to go out and if the wind blew the candle out, then they knew there was too much wind out there so they would not go out either.   Martyn


  Words by John Neilson

                                                   Tune  Little Low Log Cabin in the Lane

Now the weather had been sultry for a fortnight’s time or more 

The shearers had been driving might and main 

For some had got the century who’d ne’er got it before 

And now all hands are waiting for the rain. 


For the boss is getting rusty and the ringers cavin’n in 

For his bandaged wrist is aching with the pain

And the second man I fear will make it hard for him

Unless we have Another Fall of Rain. 

Now some had taken quarters and were coilin’ in their bunks 

When we shore the six tooth weathers from the plain 

And if the sheep get harder then a few more men will funk 

Unless we get Another Fall of Rain.

But the sky is clouding over and the thunders muttering loud

The clouds are heading eastwards ore the plain 

And I see a flash of lightning from the edge of yon black cloud

And hear the gentle patter of the rain.


So lads put on your stoppers and let us to the hut 

We’ll gather round and have a friendly game 

While some are playing music and some play ante – up 

And some are gazin’ outwards at the rain. 

Well now the rain is over let the pressers spin the screw 

Let the teamsters back the wagons in again

And we’ll block the classes table by the way we push ‘em through 

For everyone is merry since the rain


And the boss he won’t be rusty when his sheep they all are shorn 

The ringers wrist won’t ache much with the pain 

Of pocketing a cheque for fifty pounds or more 

And the second man will press him once again.

Let the boss bing out the bottle and we’ll wet the final flock 

For some of us may not meet here again 

Some will meet next season and some not even then

And some of us will vanish like the rain 

Some of us will vanish like the rain.