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The Ballad of Bill the Reverend |
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by Bill Galvin |
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The following is an exerpt from the book "ballads of the turf" by Bill Galvin.
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There's a story that needs telling,
It concerns the racetrack breed,
'Bout a gyp name Bill the Reverend
And St. Gregory, his steed. |
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'Twas winter at the Dufferin
And things looked mighty tough,
For 'Reverend' and a big bay horse
He'd purchased on the cuff. |
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Bill scurried in the mornings
To make a buck or two,
By mucking stalls and walking hots,
Like all the hustlers do. |
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But jobs were few and dollars too,
And so, alas it fell
The 'Reverend' thought of stealing oats
For his equine pal. |
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And all the time St. Gregory
Just stood there munching hay,
While Willie figured ways and means
Of keeping things that way. |
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The old bay horse just stood there
Contented in his stall,
While the Reverend was conniving -
His back up to the wall. |
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A coffee for his breakfast,
Bran mash at dinner time,
Stewed carrots for his supper,
With a little dago wine. |
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Tho 'the essence of his vittles
Induced to malnutrition,
'Twas not the cause of poor ole Bill's
Being close to all perdition. |
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As he lay with empty belly
In his shakedown bed a-scheming,
He dozed off for a moment
And promptly went to dreaming;
Of boyhood days when he had the craze -
A horse to call his own,
A racetrack life (no loving wife) -
A tackroom for a home. |
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But his Daddy was parson
Who daily racked his brain
With logic and with reason
In an effort to explain,
"You're an only son of mine my lad
And it's your obligation
To study for the ministry -
A hallowed occupation. |
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Besides you are a young 'un
And it's up to me, your father,
To see that you don't do the things,
You really hadn't orter.
The ministry's your calling,
I wish you wouldn't balk,
When I am old and useless
You'll be caring for the flock.
And when you fill your Daddy's shoes
Be sure to recollect,
'Tis your moral obligation
All peoples to protect;
The poor and needy are the ones
Who need a helping hand,
Whatever faith they practice -
From any foreign land. " |
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At this point Bill awakened,
But lay there for a while,
'Tho his stomach gnawed from hunger,
The 'Reverend had a smile.
'Tho things looked mighty gloomy -
Could almost say 'done in'
The Reverend's smile just widened -
Into a happy grin. |
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Then straightaway he fetched a pail
And water from the spicket,
And hummed tune (Gregorian Chant),
As clear as any cricket.
"Dear father thank you for the thought,
I'm on my way to see
If all the parsons are as kind
As you'd want me to be." |
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He walked a while and looked around
Until a parsonage he found,
Quickly introduced himself
To parson, who devoid of wealth,
Listened to his tale of woe,
Attentively and with show
Of understanding for the need
Of Willie and his hungry steed. |
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Immediately he saw the light
Of Bill the Reverend's sorry plight,
Acknowledging his near demise
Offered him a compromise;
Half-interest in the Thoroughbred
Who'd put poor Willie in the red,
For Bill had almost guaranteed
Potential of his running steed. |
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The parson looked a trifle pale
When he'd signed the Bill of Sale.
Now in legal partnership
With Bill the Reverend - a racetrack gyp:
He wondered if the congregation
Would approve incorporation,
'Cause vittles for the parson's table
Were cheaper than public stable. |
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Yet springtime came to the Dufferin Course
And Gregory was a running horse,
Carrying the silks of the Rectory
To many a smashing victory.
The investment reaping large returns,
'Cause Gregory skipped 'round the turns,
And thus he kindly reimbursed
The congregation's empty purse. |
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The days that followed proved to be
Successful for the 'company';
Bill the Reverend's jubilation
Matched that of the congregation,
For when St. Gregory ran his races
The congregation's happy faces
Wagered heavily, (as a rule),
Increasing Orpen's mutuel pool. |
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But Gregory did pull up sore
And to the 'Reverend' - nevermore,
The congregation's noble steed,
(Which Willie once had guaranteed)
Would carry silks of the Rectory,
To a running race - and victory.
For the Vet explained as he made his test,
He's a 'broke down' horse whose done his best." |
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Today there stands in a Bloor Street church,
Where one and all may see,
A statue of a Saint whose name
Is good St. Gregory.
And when parishioners pass it by,
(so reverently, of course)
I know they think of Dufferin Park -
And Bill the Reverend's horse. |
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You can read more of William Galvins ballads in the book "ballads of the turf". |
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Read comments or post your own comments to this article at the bottom of this page. |
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Copyright © 2008 All rights reserved. The above article is the property of the Author and may not be duplicated or redistributed in any way without permission. |
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Reader comments for this article |
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Name: linda mclaren Time: 2008-07-05 04:07:38
Comment: Bill, the reverend, takes me back to the days, fifty years ago, when there was always a philosophical barn rat willing to share thoughts and stories. More exerpts would make a great series! The illustrations are fun. Thanks.610771
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