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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=350478" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Babs Malone</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Babs Malone Now the squatters and the cockies, <br>Shearers, trainers, and their jockeys <br>Had gathered them together for a meeting on the flat; <br>They had mustered all their forces, <br>Owners brought their fastest horses, <br>Monaro-bred—I couldn't give them greater praise than that. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas a lovely day in Summer— <br>What the blacksmith called a hummer— <br>The swelling ears of wheat and oats had lost their tender green, <br>And breezes made them shiver, <br>Trending westward to the river— <br>The river of the golden sands, the moaning Eucumbene. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">If you cared to take the trouble <br>You could watch the misty double, <br>The shadow of the flying clouds that skimmed the Boogong's brow, <br>Throwing light and shade incessant <br>On the Bull Peaks' ragged crescent, <br>Upon whose gloomy forehead lay a patch of winter's snow. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Idly watching for the starting <br>Of the race that he had part in, <br>Old Gaylad stood and champed his bit, his weight about nine stone; <br>His owner stood beside him, <br>Who was also going to ride him— <br>A shearer from Gegederick, whose name was Ned Malone. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Gaylad felt disgusted, <br>For his joints were fairly rusted: <br>He longed to feel the pressure of the jockey on his back; <br>And he felt that for a pin he'd <br>Join his mates, who loudly whinnied <br>For him to go and meet them at the post upon the track. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">From among the waiting cattle <br>Came the sound of childish prattle, <br>And the wife brought up their babe to kiss his father for good luck. <br>Said Malone: ‘When I am seated <br>On old Gaylad, and am treated <br>With fairish play, I'll bet we never finish in the ruck.' <br>But the babe was not contented, <br>Though his pinafore was scented <br>With oranges and sticky from his lollies, for he cried— <br>This gallant little laddy, <br>As he toddled to his daddy, <br>And raised his arms imploringly—‘Pease dad! div Babs a wide!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then the father, how he chuckled <br>For the pride of it! and buckled <br>The surcingle, and placed the babe astride the racing pad: <br>He did it, though he oughtn't; <br>And by pure good luck he shortened <br>The stirrups, and adjusted them to suit the tiny lad, </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Who was seemingly delighted: <br>Not a little bit affrighted, <br>He sat and twined a chubby hand among the horse's mane: <br>His whip was in the other; <br>But all suddenly the mother <br>Shrieked, ‘Take him off!' and then the field came thund'ring down the plain! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Twas the Handicap was coming, <br>And the music of their drumming <br>Beat dull upon the turf that in its summer coat was dressed: <br>The racehorse reared and started; <br>Then the flimsy bridle parted, <br>And Gaylad, bearing featherweight, was striding with the rest! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">That scene cannot be painted— <br>How the poor young mother fainted! <br>How the father drove his spurs into the nearest saddle-horse! <br>What to do he had no notion; <br>For you'd easier turn the ocean <br>Than stop the Handicap that then was half-way round the course. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">On the bookies at their yelling, <br>On the cheap-jacks at their selling, <br>On the crowd there fell a silence as the squadron passed the stand; <br>Gayest colours flashing brightly, <br>And the baby clinging tightly, <br>A wisp of Gaylad's mane still twisted in his little hand. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Not a thought had he of falling, <br>Though his little legs were galling, <br>And the wind blew out his curls behind him in a golden stream; <br>Though the motion made him dizzy, Yet his baby brain was busy: <br>For hadn't he at length attained the substance of his dream? </div><div style="margin:10px 0">He was now a jockey really! <br>And he saw his duty clearly <br>To do his best to win and justify his father's pride; <br>So he clicked his tongue to Gaylad, <br>Whispering softly, ‘Get away, lad!' . . . <br>The old horse cocked an ear and put six inches on his stride. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Then the jockeys who were tailing <br>Saw a big bay horse come sailing <br>Through the midst of them with nothing but a baby on his back; <br>And this startling apparition <br>Coolly took up its position <br>With a view of making running on the inside of the track. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Oh, Gaylad was a beauty! <br>For he knew and did his duty: <br>Though his reins were flying loosely, strange to say, he never fell; <br>But held himself together, <br>For his weight was but a feather. <br>Bob Murphy, when he saw him, murmured something like ‘Oh, hell!' </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Gaylad passed the filly; <br>Passed Jack Costigan on Chili; <br>Cut down the coward Wakatip and challenged Guelder Rose . . . <br>Here it was he showed his cunning— <br>Let the mare make all the running: <br>They turned into the straight at stride for stride and nose for nose. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Babs was just beginning <br>To have fears about his winning: <br>In fact, to tell the truth, my hero felt inclined to cry; <br>For the Rose was still in blossom; <br>And two lengths behind her Possum <br>And gallant little Sterling, slow but sure, were drawing nigh. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Yes! Babsie's heart was failing; <br>For he felt old Gaylad ailing: <br>Another fifty yards to go! . . . he felt his chance was gone. <br>Could he do it? much he doubted: <br>Then the crowd—oh, how they shouted! <br>For Babs had never dropped his whip, and now he laid it on! </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Down the straight the leaders thundered <br>While the people cheered and wondered, <br>For ne'er before had any seen the equal of that sight; <br>And never will they, maybe, <br>See a flaxen-headed baby <br>Flog racehorse to the winning-post with all his tiny might. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">But Gaylad's strength is waning— <br>Gone, in fact, beyond regaining: <br>Poor Babs is flogging hopelessly, as pale as any ghost: <br>But he looks so brave and pretty <br>That the Rose's jock takes pity, <br>And, pulling back a trifle, lets the baby pass the post. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">What cheering and tin-kettling <br>Had they after at the settling! <br>And how they fought to see who'd hold the baby on his lap; <br>As President Montgomery, <br>With a brimming glass of Pommery, <br>Proposed the health of Babs Malone, who'd won the Handicap.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Barcroft+Henry+Thomas+Boake">Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=350478" data-title="Babs Malone de Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake" data-description="Babs Malone Now the squatters and the cockies, 
Shearers, trainers, and their jockeys 
Had gathered them together for a meeting on the flat; 
They had mustered all their forces, 
Owners brought their fastest horses, 
Monaro-bred—I couldn't give ..."></div>
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