A very handy blacksmith
with an anvil as a mate,
Tom turned a heavy crowbar
into a fishing hook.
He loaded up a bullock's head
as decent tasty bait
and added on a smelly chunk,
of long dead leghorn chook.
The Cod were on the bite you see,
the Murray running deep
and fish grow mighty big down there,
so his line was chain and rope.
He tied it to a giant Red Gum where
the bank was rather steep,
with never thought the night ahead,
would test how he could cope.
That huge Red Gum was seen to shake
before its roots gave way,
to slowly slide towards the drink,
towed by a massive Cod.
Tom hitched his team of bullocks up
in last light of the day
and chained them to the upturned tree,
his straining fishing rod.
The wagon and ten bullocks weight
still proved to be too light
and so he summoned two more teams
to join him at the scene.
Three teams all yoked as one held on,
surviving through the night
til morning found the river,
no more where it had been.
By afternoon the fish gave up
and fourteen oxen drowned,
replaced by twenty Clydesdale colts
with foaming lathered sides.
They pulled the trophy fish to shore
where crowds had gathered round,
amazed to see the Murray surge
with several full king tides.
The fillets cut by cross cut saws
fed all of Albury town
and then the bones were framework for
a ten room, teamsters' hut.
If by chance you doubt this tale then
raise your eyes and frown,
just call next time you're down that way-
I think you'll find it shut!
by Kevin Pye