PETE AND BILLY

[Maureen K Clifford]

Bill posted a yarn on site about a stockman - which tickled my fancy, so have added some dogs for me and some horses for Kym and a bit of imagination and come up with this...hope you like it - and yes it is my firm belief that all of my dogs are up there waiting for me, and what else do you think is happening up there when you see all those little clouds racing along and then gathering in a mob, and the thunder cracks like stockwhips and the wind raises the dust as the mob sweeps by - got to be somebody mustering., don't ya reckon?


Pete and Billy


Billy Joe was a stockman, mission born and mission raised.
Taught to read and write; on Sundays as an altar boy gave praise
to the good Lord for his blessings, and never once got on the grog.
He was known as a top ringer – and he owned a darned good dog.
As a child he’d learnt his prayers, each night knelt beside his bed
and who knew what prayers he offered – or what was inside his head,
but he yearned to be a stockman and I reckon he just might
have asked the Lord to heed his prayers as he knelt there every night.

And a stockman he became – it just took a little time,
he broke the wild bush brumbies – made them horses very fine.
Billy Joe was softly spoken – never voice in anger raised.
Every horse he taught was different – Billy’s efforts highly praised.
If you got a horse from Billy – you’d a sure and steady mount.
Soft mouthed, solid, reliable – a horse on which to count.
Not some flighty high bred thoroughbred – just a brumby from the bush,
who sure footed through the gidgee all day could cattle push.

But alas one day young Billy fell upon the round yard floor
and was trampled by the brumbies he had run in just before.
They were flighty from the chasing and the sweat still soaked their hides
and nobody saw what happened but it was Billy’s last ride.
He was buried in the graveyard that stood high upon the hill
overlooking the deep valleys where Brumbies are running still,
and I reckon when his footsteps get him to the Pearly Gates
they’ll be opened by St Peter and he’ll say ‘Come right in Mate.

I have got so much to ask you – for I’ve watched you now for years.
I recall you as a little lad – shared your sadness and tears.
But I see you’ve led a happy life if taken overall
for you’re known as the best stockman – such a shame you had a fall.’
‘Yea, well Peter mate’ young Billy said ‘I don’t rightly recall
just what happened there, I think the girth gave out and made me sprawl.
It was just an accident, and the horses weren’t to blame
they were spooked, and I got trampled, just part of the stockman’s game.

So I don’t hold them accountable – malice was not their intent.
Such is life – accidents happen. It was my time, off I went.
And though I would have liked longer – still I guess I’ve no regrets.
For I’m a stockman, a horse breaker – one folks will not soon forget.’
‘Oh that’s so true’ said St Peter and his tone was sympathetic
for the plight of the young stockman, a fit bloke and quite athletic
which was partly from the job he did plus natural ability.
For a stockman to make old bones they need great agility.

“Billy I’ve got a job here Mate that you might like to take on.
You could do it single handed, but luckily there’s a throng
of working dogs lying idle – and I reckon you’re the man
to take them out soul mustering. What d’ya reckon? Think you can?’
‘Oh that doesn’t sound to hard Mate – well I’ll give it my best shot.
You should have my old dog Rosie – she was always hot to trot.
And if Buster and old Bluedog are all up here as well
we will muster all those souls Mate and not one will go to Hell.’

So Saint Peter now was happy and so it seems was Billy Joe.
The dogs were all excited, working dogs like work you know.
And if perchance you look up high and see clouds madly racing
then I reckon Billy and the dogs are up there all soul chasing.

Maureen Clifford © 03/11

[r.magnay]

Good onya Maureen, I enjoyed that.

[Maureen K Clifford]

Thank you Ross - I am so happy that you enjoyed it - that means a lot to me.

Cheers

Maureen