The Ringer's Last Defence
Out across the Queensland border where the Roma shearers camp,
Where the flats along the Condamine are lush for sheep to tramp,
Where wildflowers blaze to brightly blush the face of early spring,
There came upon the shearing shed a stranger to the ring...
Tom was tall and strapping, almost thirty he'd concede,
And his walk engaged a patent stoop, a vestige of his breed.
His brown slouch hat concealed a crop of curly hair grown thin,
Groomed o’er the years with sweaty hands, congealed with lanolin.
His large blue eyes surrendered to a broad and cheeky grin,
Above the wide distinctive jaw-line of his square and dimpled chin.
Yet something in those eyes betrayed his calm and friendly stare,
While now and then a frown confessed to something deeper there.
Tom was never one to socialise, though always had his say,
He was brought up to respect himself, the old Australian way.
He filled the open doorway with his tall and ample frame,
Then paused and called above the din, “Tom Ferguson's me name!”
The floor fell silent for a while, before the ringer up and spoke.
“Well what are we supposed to do, are you some flamin’ joke?”
“I'm only lookin’ for some work and Queensland’s best they say,
I did my time in southern sheds along the Castlereagh.”
The ringer looked him up and down, he huffed, then waved his hand,
“You’d best move on out further west, this shed is fully manned.”
“But I want to work in this here one.” came Tom's abrupt reply,
“I warrant I'm worth two of yours, I’ll prove it, let me try.”
Now the ringer he was getting on, but nowhere past it yet,
He sweated on young upstarts and was partial to a bet.
“Is it just you're hard of hearin’, or intelligence you lack,
Would you prefer I deal with you at smoko ‘round the back?”
Tom looked the ringer in the eye. “Your fisticuffs can keep,
I’d rather trade you blows upon the back of them there sheep.”
The ringer baulked a moment. “That’s a challenge I just heard!
Outshear me in one shift young Tom, your in, you have my word.”
Then as the ringer shook Tom’s hand he gently held his stare.
“I feel I've seen you somewhere else from other sheds out there.
I've chased these sheep all ‘round the state, wherever work may be,
There's something in your face young Tom, familiar to me.”
Now, word had passed all through the night, to stations further out –
That morning’s light would offer them a full on shearing bout.
The ringer’s name was pious through the districts far and near,
For when it came to shearing sheep, the ringer had no peer.
The shed was packed next morning, mostly locals end to end,
Who endorsed the ringer firmly for his title to defend.
Although Tom’s odds at ‘eight to one’ revealed their ignorance,
The ringer’s price at ‘five to four’ meant Tom had little chance.
The starting whistle sounded for the shearing to begin,
And ev’ry man had wagered for his favourite to win.
They were cheering for the stranger, chanting loudly for the gun,
Their enthusiasm wouldn’t wane till either of them won.
The ringer took to shearing with strong deliberate blows,
While Tom’s were gentler, sweeping from the waist down to his toes.
And glances from the onlookers who thought his chances weak
Were startled by the feature of the stranger’s smooth technique.
Though both were near exhausted when the ‘smoko’ whistle rang,
The ringer was encouraged by his loyal Roma gang.
Tom straightened up to stretch his back, he wiped his brow, then swore,
While scrutineers compared their notes and pencilled in the score.
The locals thought the match was tight, and so the ringer knew,
Eighty-three went down his chute, the stranger eighty-two.
And so throughout the morning break activity was tense,
The odds were being altered, for an upset, they could sense.
The shearers battled blow for blow and cut the fleeces free,
While classers threw them on the racks to check their quality,
And tar boys ran from sheep to sheep to patch each bleeding sore,
As fetid air through shafts of light descended on the floor....
The remaining verses from 'The Ringer's Last Defence', are available in my book - 'For All We Are'
