The Reluctant Boot Scooter

[thestoryteller]

THE RELUCTANT BOOT SCOOTER

I s’pose you've heard of Tamworth and the shindig there each year,
where country music reigns supreme and all its stars appear.
They’re in the pubs and all the clubs and arcades 'round the town
and Peel Street is just full of pics all strumming up and down.

In years of late another breed of artists has appeared;
bush poets with their rhyming verse, who are now quite revered.
The Longyard and Imperial pubs and Leagues Club host a few,
while golf and bowls clubs house more mobs and Peel street has them too.

It happens that I'm one of them and have for six straight years
performed to folk my style of verse - The Laughter and the Tears.
You make them cry, you make them laugh, you keep your tales true blue,
for that is what the folk demand: be Aussie through and through.

Most folk they see us poets as the ocker type of bloke
and know we see line dancing as some kind of flamin' joke.
They stream to Tamworth every year and stretch out ‘long Peel Street.
These hordes of blokes and sheilas with their fancy prancin' feet.

They’re shapes and sizes are diverse, no two frames look the same,
with fancy shirts embroidered with the place from hence they came.
They tuck their thumbs behind their belts then line up in a row
and when the music kicks on in they boot scoot to and fro.

Each year they have this ritual, that really is a bore;
They try to break the record they procured the year before.
Like locusts they assemble and I watch them with disdain
'cause surely they've got Buckley's chance of doing it again.

But somehow they have done it and you can't help but admire,
the pluck of these boot scootin' folk ... they never seem to tire.
This year the faithful came again though couldn't help but doubt,
no matter how they wanted to their run of luck was out.

The M.C. kept on calling out, "All register now please.
If we don't keep the record folks it could go overseas."
The comment cut just like a knife. I thought, “you man or mouse?”
'Cause, what if they were just one short? You'd really feel a louse.

The more the M.C. made his plea the more it gnawed at me,
until I cracked and ran on up and paid the flamin' fee.
I stuck my ticket on my shirt and joined the middle row
and wished they'd kick the music off and get on with the show.

My biggest fear was if my mates were watching in the crowd.
They'd never let me live it down. The M.C. cried out loud.
"It's time folks," and the music played. I thought I'd take a punt
and pranced along by following the tall chick there in front.

Then when the music stopped at last I made a quick retreat,
relieved that I had not been seen boot scootin' in the street.
We broke the record once again and felt real good deep down,
but please don't tell me poet mates - they'd run me out of town!


Each year as I've sat in front of Grace Bros. Store at the Tamworth Country Music Festival, performing our show and selling our product, I have observed the ritual of bootscooters gathering in Peel Street to break the record for the largest number of boot scooters gathered in one place. A record they have broken annually for some years now in the Guinness Book of Records. Each year I have grappled with the thought - what if they were short by one? - so I had to tell the story.

© Merv Webster

From the book Keeping the Culture