Glad you appreciated it, kat; it's one of my favourites. Peter was very good at investing it with just the right mood.

And I've just realised I've inserted a typo leading the champion to swing a bullock around rather than a whip. The relevant passage should read;
First he threw the whip up to the leaders, and then threw it back to the polers. He stepped in as though to dig the near-side pin-bullock under the arm with the handle of the whip, then stepped back and swung the big bullock-whip around. He kept on talking, and the whip kept on cracking until a little flame ran right along the top of the fence.

Don't worry about the Oz references beachcomber, the sentiments cross all borders. And here's another on an old theme.

INCOGNITO
Anon.

Every station in the country keeps a pony that was sent
Late at night to fetch a doctor or a priest,
And has lived the life of Riley since that faraway event;
But the stories don't impress me in the least.

For I once owned Incognito – what a jewel of a horse!
He was vastly better bred than many men,
But they handicapped him so savagely on e very local course
I was forced to die him piebald now and then.

For I needed all the money that a sporting life entails,
Having found the cost of living rather dear,
And my wife, the very sweetest little girl in New South Wales,
Was presenting me with children every year.

We were spreading superphosphate one October afternoon
When the missus said she felt a little sick;
We were not expecting Septimus (or Septima) so soon,
But I thought I'd better fetch the doctor quick.

So I started for the homestead with the minimum delay
Where I changed and put pomade on my moustache,
But before I reached the sliprails Incognito was away
And was heading for the township like a flash.

First he swam a flooded river, then he climbed a craggy range,
And they tell me (tho' I haven't any proof)
That he galloped through the township to the telephone exchange
Where he dialled the doctor's number with his hoof.

Yes, he notified the doctor and the midwife and the vet,
And he led them up the mountains to my door,
Where he planted, panting, pondering, in a rivulet of sweat
Till he plainly recollected something more.

Then he stretched his muzzle forward, he had something in his teeth,
Which he dropped with circumspection in his hand,
And I recognised his offering as a contraceptive sheath,
So I shot him! It was more than I could stand.

But I've bitterly repented that rash act of injured pride –
It was not the way a sportsman should behave;
So I'm making my arrangements to be buried at his side,
And to share poor Incognito's lonely grave.


Cheers, Rowan