The Warrahben Annual Cup

It was Warrahben in the month of May, the time for the picnic meet.
The town was full of city folk, it was them they had to beat.
They'd come up from the Big Smoke in their great big flashy cars,
towing fancy horse floats 'quipped with stereos and bars.
And they'd brought up to the country the fine Thoroughbreds they prized,
making all the outback nags look somewhat undersized.

But, never mind, an oath was sworn when they'd won the Cup last year,
That Warrahben would win it back, of that they had no fear.
And everything was ready now for the Annual Picnic Race
And Warrahben had it all set up to fill the major place.

Now the station nags were an ill-bred lot, they ranged in breed and height
and up against the city steeds they were a sorry sight.
But what they lacked in beauty they doubled up in heart,
And that included Crippled James, Dust-eater and The Tart.

And one more came to Warrahben from way out in the bush
His presence on the race track caused a subtle hush
For his eye did glint like metal and his coat shone fiery red
And proud he bore his rider while aggression fuelled his tread.

And the girl that perched upon him was a young and slender slip
The silks that fluttered on her back matched the make-up on her lip
And the city jockeys chuckled for they thought she'd lack the guts,
But she simply said "Move over, boys. The horse I'm on is Nuts.
We've come to claim the trophy, on you his wrath he'll reek,
And I warn you not to get in his way 'cose he comes from Ethel Creek."

Then care-fully she scanned the field remembering all their names;
Rocketman, Insidious, Speed Chief, Crippled James,
Apple Jack from further north. The Demon from the south.
Then casually she re-applied the lipstick to her mouth.
And on her right she noted White Lightning and King Tuts,
The Tart, Dust-eater, Crowbait, and her chestnut colt called Nuts.

And there the Starter took his place as she took up the rein,
and took a fist for added strength of fiery chestnut mane.
And as the gun retorted loud. Nuts he reared up,
dumping her upon the line at the start of the Warrahben Cup.
And over the sound of thunder as the horses tore away
she heard the rising laughter of the crowd who watched the fray.

Anger rose within her as she snatched the reins again,
smarting and a-cursing with embarrassment and pain.
and putting foot to stirrup she was only part astraddle
when Nuts took off to join the field landing her behind the saddle.
And there she stayed throughout the race a-struggling on his back
as Nuts did close the distance to the horses on the track.

And closer, ever closer to the bouncing bums ahead
while hers was bruised from jolting, all sensations going dead.
And through the field did gallop, that wretched chestnut cur,
with her behind the saddle seat unable to whip or spur.

And pounding mid the runners, passing Crippled James and Tart,
Apple Jack and Rocketman who was fuelled by a constant fart.
And neck and neck with Speed Chief they streaked the endless mile
And as Nuts bolted to the lead she deigned to turn and smile.

Then off towards the leaders, it was them she had to beat
And passing now Insidious, she regained her saddle seat.
And grunting hard in anger Nuts strived with all his might,
passed the one called Demon and the Lightning that was white.

Dust-eater was the next to yield to the chestnut's fiery wrath,
And his snorting roars at Crowbait's heels made the rangy bay veer off.
And now was but just one horse left, the foamed and frothy Tuts,
The race was now a two way thing, just him and the fiery Nuts.

Ahead the bay did gallop, his body white and wet,
With Nuts on his heels in hot pursuit, he'd not yet raised a sweat.
And into view did enter the line that signalled the end
of the Annual Warrahben Picnic Cup, it was just around the bend.

King Tuts was racing out m front now soolled by the jockey's whip,
It beat a rhythmic pattern from his shoulder to his hip.
But still the chestnut pounded out long strides upon the track,
his rider perched in stillness, barely moving on his back.

And 'go' she stirred him kindly, "You darling little cur,
I have no need to whip you nor rake you with the spur.
Come on now, just two strides left," and he took her on to win,
his nose in front of King Tuts head, his eyes and nose flaring.

And while the other riders slowed and stopped to rest awhile
Nuts continued galloping, he did another mile.
And while the Cup was handed to the Mayor of Warrahben,
Nuts and his pulling rider, they went round once again.
But her face was now a grimace, all twisted up with pain,
as she still stood upon the irons a-hauling on the reins.

As for the city jockeys who had laughed when she'd arrived
they looked quite dismal now that of the Cup they'd been deprived.
And sitting now in their defeat they cowered mild and meek,
as off into the scrub did fly that Horse from Ethel Creek.
And Cup in hand, the Mayor did say, "For one and all, free beer."
And he prayed to God that pair could be found in time for the race next year.

Copyright; Helen Isles