A
peaceful spot is Piper's Flat. The folk that live around
They keep themselves by keeping sheep and
turning up the ground
But the climate is erratic, and the
consequences are
The struggle with the elements is everlasting
war.
We plough, and sow, and harrow-then sit down
and pray for rain
And then we all get flooded out and have to
start again.
But the folk are now rejoicing as they ne'er
rejoiced before
For we've played Molongo cricket, and McDougal
topped the score!
Molongo
had a head on it, and challenged us to play
A single-innings match for lunch-the losing
team to pay.
We were not great guns at cricket, but we
couldn't well say no
So we all began to practice, and we let the
reaping go
We scoured the Flat for ten miles round to
muster up our men
But when the list was totaled we could only
number ten.
Then up spoke big Tim Brady: he was always
slow to speak
And he said "What price McDougal, who
lives down at Cooper's Creek?"
So we
sent for old McDougal, and he stated in reply
That he d never played at cricket but he'd
half a mind to try.
He couldn't come to practice -he was getting
in his hay
But he guessed he'd show the beggars from
Molongo how to play.
Now, McDougal was a Scotchman, and a canny one
at that
So he started in to practice with a paling for
a bat.
He got Mrs Mac to bowl to him, but she
couldn't run at all
So he trained his sheep-dog, Pincher, how to
scout and fetch the ball.
Now,
Pincher was no puppy; he was old, and worn, and gray
But he understood McDougal, and-accustomed to
obey.
When McDougal cried out "Fetch it!"
he would fetch it in a trice
But, until the word was "Drop it!"
he would grip it like a vice.
And each succeeding night they played until
the light grew dim
Sometimes McDougal struck the ball-sometimes
the ball struck him.
Each time he struck, the ball would plough a
furrow in the ground
And when he missed, the impetus would turn him
three times round.
The
fatal day at length arrived - the day that was to see
Molongo bite the dust, or Piper's Flat knocked
up a tree!
Molongo's captain won the toss, and sent his
men to bat
And they gave some leather-hunting to the men
of Piper's Flat.
When the ball sped where McDougal stood, firm
planted in his track
He shut his eyes, and turned him round, and
stopped it-with his back!
The highest score was twenty-two, the total
sixty-six
When Brady sent a yorker down that scattered.
Johnson's sticks.
Then
Piper's Flat went in to bat, for glory and renown
But, like the grass before the scythe, our
wickets tumbled down.
"Nine wickets down for seventeen, with
fifty more to win!"
Our captain heaved a heavy sigh, and sent
McDougal in.
"Ten pounds to one you'll lose it!"
cried a barracker from town
But McDougal said, "I'll tak it,
mon" and planked the money down.
Then he girded up his moleskins in a
self-reliant style
Threw off his hat and boots and faced the
bowler with a smile.
He
held the bat the wrong side out, and Johnson with a grin
Stepped lightly to the bowling crease, and
sent a "wobbler" in
McDougal spooned it softly back, and Johnson
waited there
But McDougal, crying "Fetch it!"
started running like a hare.
Molongo shouted "Victory! He's out as
sure as eggs,"
When Pincher started through the crowd, and
ran through Johnson's legs.
He seized the ball like lightning; then he ran
behind a log
And McDougal kept on running, while Molongo
chased the dog!
They
chased him up, chased him down, chased him round and then
He darted through the slip-rail as the scorer
shouted "Ten!"
McDougal puffed; Molongo swore; excitement was
intense
As the scorer marked down twenty, Pincher
cleared a barbed-wire fence.
"Let us head him!" shrieked Molongo.
"Brain the mongrel with a bat!"
"Run it out! Good old McDougal!"
yelled the men of Piper's Flat.
And McDougal kept on jogging, and then Pincher
doubled back
And the scorer counted "Forty" as
they raced across the track.
McDougal's
legs were going fast, Molongo's breath was gone
But still Molongo chased the dog-McDougal
struggled on.
When the scorer shouted "Fifty" then
they knew the chase could cease
And McDougal gasped out "Drop it!"
as he dropped within his crease.
Then Pincher dropped the ball, and as
instinctively he knew
Discretion was the wiser plan, he disappeared
from view
And as Molongo's beaten men exhausted lay
around
We raised McDougal shoulder-high, and bore him
from the ground.
We
bore him to McGinniss's, where lunch was ready laid
And filled him up with whisky-punch, for which
Molongo paid.
We drank his health in bumpers and we cheered
him three times three
And when Molongo got its breath Molongo joined
the spree.
And the critics say they never saw cricket
match like that
When McDougal broke the record in the game at
Piper's Flat
And the folk are jubilating as they never did
before
For we played Molongo cricket-and McDougal
topped the score!