FullReads

. . . . .

The race came on — with no display,
Nor any calling of the card,
But round about the pub all day
A crowd of shearers, drinking hard,
And using language in a strain
‘Twere flattery to call profane.

Our hero, dressed in silk attire —
Blue jacket and a scarlet cap —
With boots that shone like flames of fire,
Now did his canter on The Trap,
And walked him up and round about,
Until the other steeds came out.

He eyed them with a haughty look,
But saw a sight that caught his breath!
It was! Ah John! The Chinee cook!
In boots and breeches! Pale as death!
Tied with a rope, like any sack,
Upon a piebald pony’s back!

The next, a colt — all mud and burrs!
Half-broken, with a black boy up,
Who said, ‘You gim’me pair o’ spurs,
I win the bloomin’ Melbourne Cup!’
These two were to oppose The Trap
For the Wargeilah Handicap!

They’re off! The colt whipped down his head,
And humped his back and gave a squeal,
And bucked into the drinking shed,
Revolving like a Cath’rine wheel!
Men ran like rats! The atmosphere
Was filled with oaths and pints of beer!

But up the course the bold Ah John
Beside The Trap raced neck and neck:
The boys had tied him firmly on,
Which ultimately proved his wreck,
The saddle turned, and, like a clown,
He rode some distance upside down.

His legs around the horse were tied,
His feet towards the heavens were spread,
He swung and bumped at every stride
And ploughed the ground up with his head!
And when they rescued him, The Trap
Had won Wargeilah Handicap!

And no enquiries we could make
Could tell by what false statements swayed
Ah John was led to undertake
A task so foreign to his trade!
He only smiled and said, ‘Hoo Ki!
I stop topside, I win all ‘li!’

But never, in Wargeilah Town,
Was heard so eloquent a cheer
As when the President came down,
And toasted, in Colonial Beer,
‘The finest rider on the course!
The winner of the Snowdon Horse!’

‘You go and get your prize,’ he said,
‘He’s with a wild mob, somewhere round
The mountains near The Watershed;
He’s honestly worth fifty pound,
A noble horse, indeed, to win,
But none of US can run him in!

‘We’ve chased him poor, we’ve chased him fat,
We’ve run him till our horses dropped,
But by such obstacles as that
A man like you will not be stopped,
You’ll go and yard him any day,
So here’s your health! Hooray! Hooray!’

. . . . .

The day wound up with booze and blow
And fights till all were well content,
But of the new-chum, all I know
Is shown by this advertisement —
‘For Sale, the well-known racehorse Trap,
He won Wargeilah Handicap!’