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A Disqualified Jockey's Story

by Banjo Paterson (Andrew Barton)

You see, the thing was this way, there was me,

That rode Panopply, the Splendor mare,

And Ikey Chambers on the Iron Dook,

And Smith, the half-caste rider on Regret,

And that long bloke from Wagga, him that rode

Veronikew, the Smowy River horse.

Well, none of them had chances, not a chance

Among the lot, unless the rest fell dead

Or wasn't trying, for a blind man's dog

Could see Enchantress was a certain cop,

And all the books was layin' six to four.

They brought her out to show our lot the road,

Or so they said: but, then Gord's truth! you know,

You can believe 'em, though they took an oath

On forty Bibles that they's tell the truth.

But anyhow, an amateur was up

On this Enchantress; and so Ike and me,

We thought that we might frighten him a bit

By asking if he minded riding rough,

"Oh, not at all," says he, "oh, not at all!

I heard at Robbo Park, and if it comes

To bumping I'm your Moses! Strike me blue!"

Says he, "I'll bump you over either rail,

The inside rail or outside, which you choose

Is good enough for me", which settled Ike.

For he was shaky since he near got killed

From being sent a buster on the rail,

When some chap bumped his horse and fetched him down

At Stony Bridge; so Ikey thought it best

To leave this bloke alone, and I agreed.

So all the books was layin' six to four

Against the favourite, and the amateur

Was walking this Enchantress up and down,

And me and Smithy backed him; for we thought

We might as well get something for ourselves,

Because we knew our horses couldn't win.

But Ikey wouldn't back him for a bob;

Because he said he reckoned he was stiff,

And all the books was layin' six to four.

Well, anyhow, before the start the news

Got around that this here amateur was stiff,

And our good stuff was blued, and all the books

Was in it, and the prices lengthened out,

And every book was bustin' of his throat,

And layin' five to one the favourite.

So there was we that couldn't win ourselves,

And this here amateur that wouldn't try,

And all the books was layin' five to one.

So Smithy says to me, "You take a hold

Of that there moke of yours, and round the turn

Come up behind Enchantress with the whip

And let her have it; that long bloke and me

Will wait ahead, and when she comes to us

We'll pass her on and belt her down the straight,

And Ikey'll flog her home, because his boss

Is judge and steward and the Lord knows what,

And so he won't be touched; and, as for us,

We'll swear we only hit her by mistake!"

And all the books was layin' five to one.

Well, off we went, and comin' to the turn

I saw the amateur was holdinig back

And poking into every hole he could

To get her blocked; and so I pulled behind

And drew the whip and dropped it on the mare.

I let her have it twice, and then she shot

Ahead of me, and Smithy opened out

And let her up beside him on the rails,

And kept her there a-beltin' her like smoke

Until she struggled past him, pullin' hard,

And came to Ike; but Ikey drew his whip

And hit her on the nose, and sent her back

And won the race himself, for, after all,

It seems he had a fiver on The Dook

And never told us, so our stuff was lost.

And then they had us up for ridin' foul,

And warned us off the tracks for twelve months each

To get our livin' any way we could;

But Ikey wasn't touched, because his boss

Was judge and steward and the Lord knows what.

But Mister, if you'll lend us half-a-crown,

I know three certain winners at the Park,

Three certain cops as no one knows but me;

And, thank you, Mister, come an' have a beer

(I always like a beer about this time) . . .

Well, so long, Mister, till we meet again.