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Club Humour 1914
March 13 1914...
the chief topic
in Busselton this week has been bowls. I wended my way with the rest of the
population to the bowling green one day, and found it a nice sedate kind of game
played by gents of all ages and denominations of waist girth. There does not
appear to be anything violent about it, except the opinion of the skippers
towards their men who fail to get the shot, and those are generally expressed at
a safe distance from the culprit. The most peculiar feature of the game to the
uninitiated is the number of times the players go into conference...it beats
trade unions hollow. After trundling a couple of wooden spheres along the sward
they regularly adjourn to a room decorated with bottles and debate the next
phase of the game. The debates are of extremely short duration, and by smiles
that decorate the countenances as they emerge from the room, one is led to
believe that the decisions are always unanimous. I'm given to understand that
there are numerous mottoes observed by the bowlers, one of which is , "If
bowls interferes with your business, give up business". Busseltonians will
be pleased to learn that their representatives have at least been successful in
living up to that for the week.
The Fremantle Bowler's yarn
..." Busselton bowlers! Want to know my opinion of 'em? Certainly. I divide
them into three classes. The first lot are decent fellows; the second crowd ,
pure cayenne, and the third---well they ought to be electrocuted. You see, my
pal Joe, who isn't long married, evolved the idea of furnishing his sideboard at
the Busselton Carnival. He comes to me and says " 'Arry, whats wrong with
going to Busselton and picking up a bit of silver". Very well I agrees,
round up some of the gang- I mean dear boys - and let's swoop down on the
villagers. Somebody told us on the train of the simplicity of these country
fellows, but the information was decayed, to say the best of it. First of all
they put Joseph jun. ( we have two Joes in our team) up against a chap about 90.
"Soft thing" they remarks, "only plays once a year". Joseph
puts in an agonising 100 minutes, and returns to tell us he's done in his half
dollar. Then the handicapper puts about 16 stone onto Syd., and he finished
second in a field of two. Joe (the original) strikes another tired looking
rustic with an Italian name. He's no good chirps the cheerful Busselups. Spends
26 weeks a year chasing jumbucks on his farm, and another 25 prospecting for tin
at the 'bushes. Your man's a moral. Joe wobbled into the bar later on streaming
with perspiration, and announced that he diddnt care a continental who won the
blanky singles. The jumbuck chaser had beaten him in a walk. I had the luck to
get into the fourth round, where I met another fellow who was anxious to win the
grog bottles, so I let him get into the semi-final. Grog bottles are no good to
us. But the two innocents we met in the Pairs were the limit. The leader gets
off some more kid to Joe, while the skip simply staggered me. Only played a
couple games in about 40 years, he lies. Nobody plays bowls in Busselton. the
club lets the green for a dairy farm. Last week the grass was three feet high on
it, and we only mowed it last Sunday to get a bit of practice. When he'd
finished talking they'd won; we also ran. Yes Busselton is a lovely little
place. Lovely girls, lovely climate, lovely trees. Everything is lovely down
here, even the Ananias disciples in the bowling club.
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