"Th- lu,; j!. J f'.i-'y, ].l.e most of the c.e ij-couutiy iifhi- v.as a m irrind atait."— News itriri. Ycmr f r; *' ! * lf my o r i r '". nights of <IHM,i. Anrl your man and m\ man May <m\ >Jav be dead ItrckWs Mtq'V nd(-,-=, Who f-no-v the ri-~k th'v nmj Th'v lightly chaff and rind i vn When wo bid them fl in. TIK-re is a widow lonesome V, ho lives a mile nw,iv, And her man, like our men, Till ju<H the other dayHe w»> a rrcklc-js rider That no horse cscr rowed: Thrv changed his broken body from The colors to a shoud. To-morrow there's a steeplechase, To-nioiiow wo w.ll wan , Asticn-fac.d an 1 eager till The paj,?r's a* th ■ gate. How can the sporting public know The anguish of the wive? Whose men go forth to Fiemington To gamble with their lives? To-morrow there's a steeplechase. And al! the town's elite Will watch the reckless horsemen Drive the 'chafers' fleet To victory or disaster Past the crowded stands, Undaunted by the, danger, wher« Their lives are in their hands. What's a jockey injured? What's a jockey dead? But your man and my man. And, oh, the. day of dread. Better wed the poorest wight, Who drives a horse anrl cart, Than be a jockey's woman with A terror-stricken heart. —II. Sweeney, in the Melbourne ' Winner.'
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JOCKEYS WIVES, Evening Star, Issue 15694, 7 January 1915