A Poem “Courage” by Ron Bostock, recited by brother Blue (Mervyn) Bostock at the Drover’s Reunion, Camooweal Qld 1993
Ronnie was a quiet, unassuming stockman, horse breaker, and rodeo cowboy. He had many talents, including a gift for boxing (Golden Gloves runner-up); training animals (favouring his own kind and gentle methods); drawing, painting, and writing.
Ronnie wrote many poems as he rode along, jotting down lines in his pocket notebook as he thought of them. The moving poem “Courage” is one written from his lived experiences in the bush, most likely at Glenhaughton Station in the 1950s-60s.
COURAGE by Ronnie Bostock
Recited by brother Blue (Mervyn) 1993 at Drover’s Reunion, Camooweal, Qld
Where cattle run wild in the Carnarvon ranges,
These mobs run free and are shy of all strangers.
To muster these scrubbers took large packhorse teams,
In those early days no choppers were seen.
Hobble chains and bells on the clear night air,
Soothe the cattle that are camping there.
The night watch sees a dark form appear,
It’s the shadowy silhouette of a brumby mare.
Wild dash at daylight, a hard ride on the wing,
That woke the echoes of swift hoofbeats ring.
She crashed through timber, frantic not to be caught,
Away from her captors and the stockwhips’ report.
Forced from the path of her mountain retreat,
Shut off by surprise that just couldn’t be beat.
Outnumbered by odds, she hadn’t a hope,
She became the prize of my catching rope.
By a station sire from a brumby mare,
Long shaggy tail and burrs in her hair.
Four black feet with a black velvet coat,
Over rough stony ridges, she just seemed to float.
Catch her and break her station style,
Mouthed in the round yard, side-line a while.
Handle her gently, she won’t learn to shy,
We became real friends as each day went by.
She bent to my will as we became a mean pair,
A slim, youthful stockman, and a young brumby mare,
Of my team of stock horses I fancied her best,
At catching wild cattle, we both stood the test.
She would stop and listen, then toss her head proud,
Give me the message – bush cattle ahead.
These hardy stock horses are so keenly sought,
Like their famous kin from the Snowy, they couldn’t be bought.
On the tail of a bull in the thickest of scrub,
She protected my knees, not even a rub.
Covering the country, half a mile in full flight,
No error of judgement, you’re the one in the fight.
She’d carry me safely and position me just right,
When you step off to a scrubber, it’s an uneven fight.
You’re alone on his tail, no help is in sight,
They’re back holding the mob, unaware of your plight.
This big old scrub bull charged out of the mob,
Catch, throw and tie him, that’s part of my job.
He’s no match for my mare, she’s on her home ground,
He’s just as determined; we won’t turn him around.
One hook from a horn that’s as sharp as a lance,
Has let out her stomach, she hasn’t a chance,
No escape from the terror, we are trapped by a bank,
Again and again, she is gored in the flank.
Blood covered his head, her screams filled the air,
Real life was so vivid, we would both perish there.
As she galloped away from the rage of that bull,
She saved my life and I owe her in full.
Her head hung in pain as cold sweats set in,
A battle for life she just wouldn’t win.
I choked up inside as it wrenched at my heart,
A very special friendship was being torn apart.
I lifted the saddle as I undid the girth,
Blood ran down my arms and covered the earth.
Groans from my filly as I fondled her ears,
With my hand on her head, all choked up with tears.
She fell where she stood, as I watched her life pass,
I cradled her nose to stop her breathing in grass.
And I sobbed for the mare who had just breathed her last,
With her head on my lap as her eyes turned to glass.
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