The Geebung Polo Club.

Manawatu Herald, 7 February 1895, Page 3

The Geebung Polo Club.

Under the above heading appears in the Antipodean some verses by " The Banjo," and illustrated by Frank P. Mahony, which will appeal to polo players and non-polo players alike. We reprint the lines :— 'Twas somewhere up the country in a land of rock and scrub, That they formed an institution called the Geebung Polo Club. They were long and wiry natives from the nigged mountain side, And the horse was never saddled that the Geebungs couldn't ride ; But their style of playing polo was irregular and rash — They had mighty little science, but a mighty lot of dash; And they played on mountain ponies that were muscular and strong, Though their coats were quite unpolished. and their manes and tails were long ; And they used to train those ponies wheeling cattle in the scrub, They were demons were the members of the Geebung Polo Club. It was somewhere down the country, in a city's smoke and steam, That a Polo Club existed called "The Cuff and Collar Team." As a social institution 'twas a marvellous success, For the members were distinguished by exclusiveness and dress. They had natty little ponies that were nice, and smooth, and sleek, For their cultivated owners only rode 'em once a week : So they started up the country in pursuit * of spit and fame. For they meant to show the Geebungs how they ought to play the game ; And they took their valets with them— just to give their boots a rub Ere they started operations on the Geebung Polo Club. Now my readers can imagine how the contest ebbed and flowed, When the Geebung boys got going it was time to dear the road ; And the game was so terrific that ere half the time was gone A spectator's leg was broken— just from merely looking on. For they waddied one another till the plain wsß strewn with dead, While, the score was kept so even that they neither got ahead. And the Cuff and Collar Captain, when he tumbled off to die, Was the last surviving player— so the game was called a tie. Then the Captain of the Geebungs raised him slowly from the ground, Though his wounds were mostly mortal, yet he fiercely gazed around | There was no one to oppose him— all the rest were in a trance, Bo he scrambled on his pony for his last; expiring ohance, For he meant to make an effort to get victory to hi 9 side, So-he struck at goal— and missed it— then he tumbled off and died. By the old Campaspe River, where the breezeß shake the grass, There's a row of little gravestones that the stockmen never pass, For they bear a rude inscription, saying, "Stranger, drop a tear, .For the Caff and Collar players and the Geebung boys lie here." Jknd on misty moonlit evenings, while the diifgbes howl around, You can? see their shadows flitting down th*t phantom polo ground ; Yotf'csn hear the loud collisions as the flying players meet, And the rattle of the mallets and the rush of ponies feet, Till the terrified spectator rides like blazes to the pub — lie's been haunted by the spectres of the Geebung Polo Club.