my poem and Dad's
Posted: Sun Sep 04, 2011 4:31 pm
I know these have been posted before but what the hell....it's fathers day!
"Draught Horses"
© Earle Magnay 28/6/06
I used to drive a team of three,
but sometimes two or one,
but no matter what the number,
at twelve I thought it fun.
With three abreast I’d plough all day’
on an old sun twin disc plough,
with gentle blossom furrow horse
I still can see them now.
Monty was the flighty one so
centre spot old mate,
and on his left to keep him quiet;
we put old lazy Kate.
Dad showed me how to harness them,
on go the winkers first,
Then the collar next the hames,
with bot flies at their worst.
“Inside the legs you’ll find their eggs,
there see them all down there?
Just get a piece of kero rag,
and wipe it down the hair.”
“Now this is how to work the plough,,
that lever keeps it straight,
so do a round, I’ll watch awhile,”
and then “You’re going great.”
If we ploughed an acre,
we’d had a real good day,
a bit extra in the nosebags,
“You’ve all done well today!”
When harrowing, Kate got a rest,
Just two were needed then,
That job I reckon, looking back,
was harder on the men!
Now if carting water,
from the well across the flat,
old lazy Kate got harnessed up,
‘cause she could handle that.
The draught horse friend, has had its day,
A pity but it’s true,
But I’ll always remember;
what the staunch old horse could do.
But the tractor’s taken over,
though I think it lacks the charm,
back then the good old draft horse,
was the engine of the farm.
“PULLING THE PLOUGH”
© Ross Magnay 26/05/06
“Stand up” I utter gently, as I slip the winkers on
and latch the old brass buckle in its place.
I stroke his greying muzzle pat his wither as I pass,
then grab the chains and hook him to the trace.
His team-mate standing calmly nods his head and stamps his foot,
as if to say “I’m ready for the grind.”
I flap the reins and bark “Git up!” the mouldboard lurches forth,
and soon we have a furrow out behind.
The fresh turned earth attracts the birds, in search of daily fare,
they understand the product of the plough.
We’ll get our acre easy if it keeps on going right,
and the boys keep pulling like they’re pulling now.
The sun is over centre and the acre must be close,
their nosebags will be pretty full tonight.
I stop them in the corner, drop the traces to the ground,
and praise them for their show of strength and might.
Tomorrow it is Sunday so the horses get a spell,
Dad says you just can’t work them every day.
But sons, well they are different and tomorrows’ job for me,
is get to work and try and fix the dray!
"Draught Horses"
© Earle Magnay 28/6/06
I used to drive a team of three,
but sometimes two or one,
but no matter what the number,
at twelve I thought it fun.
With three abreast I’d plough all day’
on an old sun twin disc plough,
with gentle blossom furrow horse
I still can see them now.
Monty was the flighty one so
centre spot old mate,
and on his left to keep him quiet;
we put old lazy Kate.
Dad showed me how to harness them,
on go the winkers first,
Then the collar next the hames,
with bot flies at their worst.
“Inside the legs you’ll find their eggs,
there see them all down there?
Just get a piece of kero rag,
and wipe it down the hair.”
“Now this is how to work the plough,,
that lever keeps it straight,
so do a round, I’ll watch awhile,”
and then “You’re going great.”
If we ploughed an acre,
we’d had a real good day,
a bit extra in the nosebags,
“You’ve all done well today!”
When harrowing, Kate got a rest,
Just two were needed then,
That job I reckon, looking back,
was harder on the men!
Now if carting water,
from the well across the flat,
old lazy Kate got harnessed up,
‘cause she could handle that.
The draught horse friend, has had its day,
A pity but it’s true,
But I’ll always remember;
what the staunch old horse could do.
But the tractor’s taken over,
though I think it lacks the charm,
back then the good old draft horse,
was the engine of the farm.
“PULLING THE PLOUGH”
© Ross Magnay 26/05/06
“Stand up” I utter gently, as I slip the winkers on
and latch the old brass buckle in its place.
I stroke his greying muzzle pat his wither as I pass,
then grab the chains and hook him to the trace.
His team-mate standing calmly nods his head and stamps his foot,
as if to say “I’m ready for the grind.”
I flap the reins and bark “Git up!” the mouldboard lurches forth,
and soon we have a furrow out behind.
The fresh turned earth attracts the birds, in search of daily fare,
they understand the product of the plough.
We’ll get our acre easy if it keeps on going right,
and the boys keep pulling like they’re pulling now.
The sun is over centre and the acre must be close,
their nosebags will be pretty full tonight.
I stop them in the corner, drop the traces to the ground,
and praise them for their show of strength and might.
Tomorrow it is Sunday so the horses get a spell,
Dad says you just can’t work them every day.
But sons, well they are different and tomorrows’ job for me,
is get to work and try and fix the dray!
