The Croquet Match by Peter Pentland is a rollicking bush yarn about a lone swagman who decides to take a mob of boastful shearers down a peg or two.
Set beside a country pub and played with sledgehammers, paddy melons and a rule book that exists only in Stinky’s head, the match becomes a wonderfully lopsided contest full of dust, cheek and bush humour.
The Croquet Match
By Peter Pentland
The shearers in the bar were bragging of the great deeds they’d all done
When it all came down to tin tacks it seemed they all could shear the ton
And as they heard each other’s yarns and said they could better each by far
No one heeded the lone swaggy, brooding darkly at the end of the bar.
For all the years he tramped about getting work wherever he could,
This bloke had always suffered from shearers and their yarns are how they’re so good.
So now as he listened to their talk, he was burning up inside,
And to bring them down a peg or two he did there and then decide.
Now the biggest and ugliest shearer was a bloke called Bluey Spon
And he chanced to remember this swaggy from a station he’d once been on
He recalled him as a duffer who was troubled to open a gate
So, with a wink to the rest of his cronies he yells “Well, if it isn’t Stinky me old mate!”
Now as Stinky was at the time engrossed in the foulest schemes
This shearer blurting out his name must have upset him in his dreams
Because his stool gave way beneath him, and with a little cry of dismay
He disappeared from the sight of all and to the ashtray found his way
Well amidst much coughing and spluttering, Stinky casually regained his seat
And with as much composure as he could muster, this shearer he then did greet
“Why it’s Rupert Spon I do declare. Just fancy meeting you here.”
And to a chorus of laughs from the shearers, he proceeded to spill his glass of beer.
“Get over with you” the barmaid cried. “Leave the poor little bugger alone.”
“If you don’t mind miss” the swaggy said. “I can handle this on my own!”
“Now you shearers think you’re pretty smart, though far be it from me to say”
“But there’s something I think I can beat you at; that is if you’re willing to play.”
Well Bluey damn near cacked himself in and his sides near split apart
From laughing at this little bloke who seemed to be so flame and smart.
So when he finally caught his breath and eased his face of its toothless grin
He says I’ll take you on at anything mate and here’s ten quid to say I win.
Now this caused Stinky out a bit I guess it’s needless to say
but there wasn’t a game on all the earth that the silly bugger could play
But he decided in this time of stress that he’d better play it cool
and he reckons we’ll have a go at croquet mate, though I don’t suppose you know the rules.
Now when it came to reckoning and all was said and done
When you compared their knowledges of croquet, they matched up none to none
But Bluey opened up his trap and said “I haven’t got a clue”
So Stinky sighs “We’ll need an umpire, I guess I’ll just have to do.”
They assembled then outside the pub and the croquet course was set
But Stinky wouldn’t strike a blow until all the rules were met.
And as mallets and croquet balls weren’t bountiful up the bush
They had to use dried paddy melons with sledgehammers to give them a push
They tossed a coin and Bluey he won and elected thence to bat
He thought he could give the stick a shake if he had a decent whack
So he lifted high his hammer and swung through nice and clean
To be lost in a great big cloud of dust rising where the ball had been
“To break the ball is not allowed” old Stinky said with glee”
“And rule 27 clearly states that’s 50 points to me.”
And learning thus from Bluey’s blue he gently tapped his ball
But it stopped well short of its goal the peg, in fact it didn’t move at all.
Well, the game went on and likewise style through that weary afternoon
And though Stinky’s ball never moved that much; his lead it grew and grew
Because Bluey always made mistakes whenever he hit the ball
Because he didn’t know the rules … but Stinky knew them all.
Well at last more Bluey had had enough and had to admit defeat
This was certainly not a game at which Stinky could beat
When the score was tallied up the swaggy had clearly won
With a total of 3572 to the Shearer’s 21.
Watch Peter Pentland Perform The Croquet Match
The words are only half the fun. Watch Peter bring The Croquet Match to life with the timing, characters and dry bush humour that make the yarn so memorable.
Keeping The Verse Alive
The Croquet Match is shared with permission from Peter Pentland through Keeping The Verse Alive, Country Campfire’s bush poetry preservation project.
By preserving poems like this, we’re helping ensure the stories, humour and characters of country Australia continue to be enjoyed for generations to come.
Peter Pentland
Bush Poet • Folk Performer • Storyteller • Comedian • Broadcaster
Peter Pentland, known on stage as Hayseed, performs traditional-style songs and bush poetry rooted in farm and bush life across South-Eastern Australia. His long career has taken him through folk festivals, stand-up comedy, radio and television, while his stories and recordings keep rural Australian characters and humour alive.
Poems, recitals, photographs, stories and original works remain the property of their original creator and are shared by Country Campfire with permission.
