In Tilba, historic village on the New South Wales south coast recently, I had a nice morning busking. I started under a jacaranda but it was pretty cool so a cafe owner invited me to sit under their awning. I sat facing the cafe, footpath in front of me, grass verge behind. They offered me tea or coffee at regular intervals.

An old dog – a kindred spirit? - sat behind me. At one stage another local asked him what he was doing there and told him to go home. Sam (I think) ignored him. Yes. Kindred spirit. About an hour later some people went past with a youngish Staffie. Sam got up and they had a ritualised fight, lasting perhaps five seconds. Sam then marked the end verandah post and came up to me, smiling, tail wagging and put his chin on my knee. His whole demeanour seemed to say 'I saw him off all right, didn't I, mate?'

Naturally I patted him and told him he was a very good dog. Exhausted he flopped down on the footpath, so that people had to step over him or go around on the grass verge. Luckily, no prams or walking sticks came along at that stage. One young woman wanted to pat him and thinking he was mine, paused with her hand over the dog and raised her eyebrows at me. I shrugged. How would I know whether Sam only wants patting when he has earned it?

I'm not sure how good the old dog's hearing was. He did not show any preference for harmonica, accordion or whistle. Next day I went to the Bermagui market, held each Thursday arvo near the wharf. I had been once before. Got about $10 in the tin and another ten in the box and when the cool breeze got the better of me I told the organiser I was going. She presented me with a jar of her prize winning marmalade, whereupon the baker in the next stall gave me a loaf of his great ‘Honorbread’, and a woman with cakes and biscuits added a little packet. I thought I should have paid to be there!

The origin of the word ‘busk’ is unclear. It seems to have entered English via another European language: Italian buscare, Spanish buscar, French busquer, or Old Norse via Scots buask. All had slightly different meanings such as bush, search, scavenge, prepare or hunt and gather.

Busking is performing in the street, usually for money. Mostly I carry a Leukaemia Foundation donation tin and in the first year raised over $1200 for that cause. I probably had a similar amount placed in my instrument box in that time. Some people insist on putting money in both. One young man gave $50 when I was playing carols on whistle, saying that I had ‘made his day’. On another day, my most successful in money terms, I made $170. While the money is nice, so too are the kind comments people make. I think that they appreciate that buskers contribute to the ambience and the feeling of community.

I have busked in the Blue Mountains west of Sydney, the Central West of New South Wales, Canberra, Yass, Bundanoon, Bermagui, Cobargo and Tilba, and Bright and Mansfield in Victoria.

Anyone thinking of busking should check local council regulations. If in a confined area you should ask permission. I am reluctant to carry official registration and pay council fees as this seems contrary to busking’s ‘gypsy’ origins. Mind you, I think the same about artificial forms of amplification and see busking as an acoustic activity. I do carry public liability insurance, a chair, water, a hat, sunblock and lip cream.

Buskers should try to have a reasonably wide repertoire. While people on the move might hear only one tune, those in shops hear the lot! It does not hurt to have a few children’s tunes ready because parents often send the little ones over with coins. It is also good to consider seasons, Christmas being an obvious one, but other special days such as Valentines Day and St Patrick’s Day suggest some variations in the repertoire. Make sure your ‘pitch’ is not too noisy or unsafe.

I always say ‘thank you’ for any contribution. I also tacitly pay respect to the traditional custodians of the lands where I busk, the elders of the local Indigenous peoples.

I stick to instruments and do not use voice, but busking is the subject of a few songs. The warm and witty Irishman Colum Sands has a great song called ‘Buskers’ in which he mentions the Cellist of Sarajevo. I do not think I would have the courage to play while bombs are falling around me. https://soundcloud.com/colum-sands/03-buskers

The late Australian songwriter John Dengate wrote a poem – about me and a busker (him)! https://soundcloud.com/the-sheep-teacher/the-man-from-forest-grove

Late Scottish-Australian songwriter Alistair Hulett penned ‘Playing for the Traffic’. Roaring Jack’s ‘punk’ version is at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SkzhAeZ5pdQ

Alistair does a quieter version with the Wheelers and Dealers at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PNRRujdVEsI

The Dubliners sing Glyn Hughes’ song about Seth Davey of Liverpool in ‘Whiskey On A Sunday’.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_A5CHEmTT5s

Steve Wilson ‘The Man With The Concertina’, coincidentally, raises funds for leukaemia research. See http://www.concertina.net/forums/index.php?showtopic=17377&page=1

Steve uses the ‘Autre marionette a la planchette’ with a foot pedal. You can watch ‘Rupert and Tony Busking’ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=elAj35NgY9o

Readers might enjoy too the ‘punk’ accordion player at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q0P0EvJOfRQ

Busking is a great tradition. Long may it continue.

A former academic, Tony Smith has written extensively on a wide range of subjects as diverse as folk music and foreign policy issues in the Australian Review of Public Affairs, the Journal of Australian Studies Review of Books, Overland, the Australian Quarterly, Eureka Street, Online Opinion and Unleashed.