|
a.
|
Note: Known as Hec. Taken from www.bdm.nsw.gov.au: Registration Number: 30795/1891; Year: 1891; Last Name: LAWLER; First Name(s): James H.; Father: Alfred; Mother: Elizabeth. Occupation: Railway Guard. BAKERS CREEK CRICKET CLUB A poem by 'Hec' LAWLER "It was somewhere in the country, in the land of cane and scrub, That they formed an institution called the Bakers Creek Cricket Club, They were long and wiry natives from the dried up cane field side, But their style of playing cricket was irregular and rash, They had mighty little science, but a mighty lot of dash. And they played on bumpy wickets, but their popularity was strong, Though their bats were quite unpolished, and their seasons very long. And they used to train their bowlers throwing stones at Jim Cook's Pub, They were demons, were the members of the Bakers Creek Cricket Club. It was somewhere in this district in the city's smoke and steam, That a rival club existed called the Railway Cricket Team, As a social institution 'twas a marvellous success, For its members were distinguished by exclusiveness and dress, Freddie Moore their googly bowler was so nice and smooth and sleek, For Hec Lawler and the others only coached him once a week. So they went out in the country in pursuit of sport and fame, For they meant to show the "Creek Boys" how they ought to play the game, And they took their mallets with them, just to give their boots a rub, Before they started cleaning up the Bakers Creek Cricket Club. Now my reader can imagine how the contest ebbed and flowed, When the Creek Boys got going it was time to clear the road. And the game was so terrific that ere half one innings gone, A spectator's leg was broken just from merely looking on. For they bashed at one another till the ground was strewn with dead, While the score was kept so even, that neither got ahead. And "Old Hec" the Railway Captain, when he layed down to die, Was the last surviving player, so called the game a tie. Then the Captain of the Creek Boys raised him slowly from the ground, Though his wounds were mostly mortal yet he fiercely gazed around, There was no one to oppose him, all the rest were in a trance, And he tried to run a single with his last expiring chance. For he meant to make an effort to get victory for his side, So he struck for four and missed it, and just fell down and died. By the old Greyhound Hotel where the breezes shake the grass, There's a row of little gravestones that the sportsmen never pass, For they bear the rude inscription saying "Stranger drop a tear", For Hec Lawler and his players and the Creek Boys all lay here, And on misty moonlit evenings while the booze kings hang around, You can see their shadows flitting down the phantom cricket ground. You can hear the loud collision as the running batsmen meet, And the rattle of the wickets and the flying fieldsmen's feet, Till the terrified spectator goes like blazes to the pub, He's been haunted by the spectres of the Bakers Creek Cricket Club."
|