Monday, November 29, 2010

Dedication - a poem by Blue The Shearer

* a collection of stories and memories, in no particular order, from the life and times of John Clarke, who served as a policeman in the Australian Police Force, a great practical joker, he also had a great affinity with people and wildlife, was a champion swimmer, snooker player, loved golf, still loves fishing and is also an artist. I hope you enjoy his recollections - cheers, karin (his daughter)

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I'll set the background a little for you, my father was transferred to a town out west in NSW, Australia, by the name of Wellington (near Dubbo) and out that way was a very well known poet called Blue the Shearer who wrote fascinating tales about the local folk and narrated them on the radio, he's pretty famous and you might have heard him on the radio reciting his works ..  I contacted Blue (sometimes known as Col) recently to see whether he'd mind if I related the poem to you on this blog, as it's so funny and marks a  crazy incident that John my father was involved in as a Police Officer in the town.  I am reprinting this here with the permission of Blue, who I'd like to thank for being so generous in allowing me to share his poem about my father John Clarke with you all.  Thank you Blue (Col) and Blue has a website and can be found in numerous places on the www.  links to Blue the Shearer

Blues Archive of poetry
Listen to Blue on ABC Western Queensland

Dedication by Blue the Shearer

There's a sense of Dedication in the men who join the Police,
They often risk their lives and limbs, when they're out keeping
but every now and then, you hear of some outstanding feat:
And I'll tell you all a story, of one that's hard to beat.

Try and picture, in your mind.  A piece of country road,
An 80 KPH sign, (as per the highway code)
A Radar trap, two Policemen, the time just after dark.
One Policeman was a Sergeant - I think his name was Clarke.

The catch that night was pretty good.  But then disaster struck,
The Radar Scope went on the blink. Oh! What rotten luck.
It looked as though the night was shot, they'd have to pack it in.
But the Sergeant sat there deep in thought, his hand upon his chin.

He said: "It may be possible, for me to fix this 'scope',
He wiggled this, and waggled that, with expertise and hope.
Then suddenly he gave a cry.  "You bloody little beauty.
I think it's fixed, I'll try it out, and go and do my duty'.

He told the Constable to watch the figures on the dial,
And back he went, three hundred yards, to instigate the trial.
Straightened up his uniform, squared his Policeman's cap,
And kneeled down in a racing crouch, this dedicated chap.

He yelled: 'OK! I'm coming", as he leaped out, lightning fast,
The Constable was startled as the Sergeant thundered past.
The Sergeant, somewhat out of breath, asked him. "did it show?"
He said: "I wasn't ready.  Have another go".

So back he went, a bit annoyed, but dedicated still,
Determined now to register, this man of iron will.
Four more times he belted by, in furtherence of his cause,
The crowd, who'd gathered near the car, gave generous applause.

but sad to say, his efforts, remained without result,
And all could see this dedicated man had shot his bolt.
He viewed the Radar, then he gasped his voice was almost gone.
"You bloody stupid bastard.  You're supposed to switch it on".

The Constable resigned, they say.  He couldn't stand the strain,
Of working with a Sergeant with hate upon his brain.
And the Sergeant?  He discovered the ereward for dedication -
Three days of exhaustion, and one of medication.

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