In the middle of the floor, in his cane bottomed chair,
is the boss of the board with his eyes everywhere.
Notes well each fleece as it comes to the screen,
paying strict attention if it’s taken off clean.
Click go the shears boys, click click click!
Wide is his blow and his hands move quick.
The ringer looks around and is beaten by a blow,
and curses the old snagger with a bare-bellied yeo.
The tar boy is there awaiting in demand,
with his blackened tar-pot in his tarry hand.
Sees one old sheep with a cut upon its back,
hears what he’s waiting for.
‘Tar here Jack!’
This series, taken today on my farm (16/12/08) is in honour of my Dad – a wool industry man his entire life. I grew up listening to his stories of the wool sheds, complete with tales of drunkard shearer’s cooks!