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(Written by T. O. SULLIVAN.)

    They were vintage years round nineteen-eight,
    when the game was at its peak;
    When Sundays seemed a month between, so
    slowly passed each week;
There was football talked in homes at night,
    there was football talked in schools,
    And there was little that we didn't know about
    the football rules;
There was football talked in hotel-bars, and
    up on the cabby's rank,
By old men too, with delivery vans in Deane
    Street by the bank.
In the dust of the Victory's levels, in the hell
    of the Brilliant Deeps.
Down the bowels of the great Extended, and
    on big grey mullock-heaps;
But it's no wonder that we talked so much,
    or lauded those who played,
F'or the team we sent away that year-mark
    the record that it made;
It swept the State from end to end, then
    trounced the Rest combined,
While we at home had a good team still, with
    the meu who stayed behind.
Four teams played throughout those years
    the best we'd ever seen,
Thev were the Natives and the Tourists the
    Rainbows and the Queens;    .
How we gathered in our thousands, to fill the
    old Reserve,
How we watched with pulses pounding, how
    we thrilled in every nerve,
We had champions too at barracking, they
    were a feature of the day.
Voicing loud    their    wise-cracks,
    spirit to the play,
Remember Paddy Hui11ter-he dropped play in
    nin eteen-nine,
But he was two men then for Rainbows-when
    he barracked on the line;
His team was seldom beaten, but in games
    when Hope was gone,
'Twas Paddy's grand unwavering faith, that
    spurred the Rainbows on;
When other voices all were drowned, Paddy's
    still rang clear,
Urging on the lagging ones, giving fighting
    ones a cheer.

And all you Towers natives, with some years
    Upon your brow,
You recall that glorious football. as your minds
    play backward now;
When you heard those voices cheering, and
    you felt the "goose-flesh" rise,
And you fill in all the details, you say then
    with your eyes,
Could we only shed those years between-re
    live some by-gone hours,
And be again what we were then, that time on
    Charters Towers.

We'd see the cabs go flashing by, from the
    Waverly round the Park,
And we'd join that great procession, and not
    get back till dark;
We'd see sulkies and the buck-boards converg
    on the roads,
Leading to the football-springs flattened by
    their loads;
Men on bikes from Liontown, full thirty miles
In time to get their football clothes, and go on
    the field to play.

From the Pinnacles and the Broughton, and up
    from Sellheim too,
We'd see those sporting players come, to help
    their teams win through;
The boys would clutter round the gate, listen
    ing to the din,
Marking time on big bare feet, till someone
    let them in;
Their eyes all fixed on "Hunger," just waiting
    for the word,
Then away they'd charge and scatter, like a
    .wild stampeding herd;
We'd see Natives in their blue and white, the
    Tourists in their red,
Filing past the squash-bar,
Charlie Loughrey leads the Natives, and he's
    eager for the fray,
They're bunching now a little, but we pick out
    Bill Tredrea;
There's Bradshaw, "Hoops" and "Maori-Jim,"
    great forwards for the paclk.
J ack Tippett a grand centre. George Boyd to
    play full-back.

Two Andersons and "Smiler" and we see
    Ranji's curly hair,    .
That's bustling "Snowy" Arnold, and Freddy
    Wellington's there,
Bob Dagleish for the Natives, will take the
    other wing;
And excitement now is simmering, in the crowd
    around the ring,
Then a cheer breaks out for Tourists, who
    follow in a trice,
Iooking splendid too from "Rusty," right back
    to "Snigger" Brice;
They won "Dad'! Benham's trophy for the best
    dressed team that year,
But why they didn't win more matches. to
    me was never clear.
They had a world class man in "Rusty," and
    J immy Gilligan behind,
They had Jack Spillane and "Butcher"-better
    men were hard to find:
There was the acrobatic "Rooster," Bert Flet
    cher safe and sound,
What a winger too. in "Wicky," as Newtown
    later found.
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