Following on from the story on the annual Bricknells Picnic I came across this poem about the
‘performance or lack of, in the Married Ladies Race’.
The Sun 4 Oct 1908
Carrying Over Weight
An After Dinner Sheffield
Bricknells Hannan Street Kalgoorlie
From the Bricknell Bros Picnic:
The event contested immediately after the fine spread had been done justice to was the ‘Married Ladies Race’ More than one of the competitors voiced the complaint that she couldn’t show her true form (as a runner) immediately after a meal — a very reasonable excuse.
There was fluttering of laces, and a glimpse of curving graces,
As the darlings’ tiny tootsies toed the mark;
But their hearts were palpitating in a manner agitating,
As the gleeful Johnnies murmured, “Here’s a lark! ”
For ’twas said that “Flo” and “Winnie”
Had a pain beneath their pinnie,
And that Ermintrude had tipped herself no winner,
And the ladies all felt ” shirkey ” After double helps of turkey,
And how COULD they show their true form after dinner?
Oh, the draperies were flowing when the starter set them going,
And we caught a hint of hose and dimpled knees;
And it set our hearts a- thrilling when a flash of fairy frilling
Here and there like snow-flakes flickered on the breeze.
And the pace- was made- a cracker, – For each wifelet had a backer ;
And the ” tommy rooks ” were chortling o’er a skinner—
For the favorite was beaten By the pie that she had eaten,
And she couldn’t show her true form after dinner!
Mrs. Blank was well supported, but the sports got up and snorted
When they found their fickle fancy “running crook”
But she didn’t care a button for she said, ” It was the mutton—
Or the plate of oyster patties that she’d took.”
And we lost a lot of money over Mrs. Garden Honey,
Who is fat (or say at least she might be thinner)
For we thought she might be trusted, But her corset laces busted,
And she nearly showed her true form after dinner!
Now I challenge the committee for a spark of manly pity,
And some consolation prizes for the joke.
For a woman— chubby fairy— when she fills her ” little Mary,”
Can’t sit back and ease her “weskit” like a bloke.
Tho’ I lost a lump of boodle, on my armful of canoodle
(For there wasn’t e’er a punter picked a winner),
Still by every imp in Hades – All my heart goes with the ladies,
For – They ‘NEVER’ show their true form,” after dinner “ !
BY T.H W.
Moya Sharp
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