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SOUVENIR-CHARTERS TOWERS, 1872 TO JULY, 1950

FOOTBALL DAYS

(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.
F'our 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
	away.
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,
	dressing-shed;
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.