The Ganmain Show was cancelled in 2020 and 2021 and it started in 1908, we think that it may have cancelled a show during WW2 but are unsure of that, either way because it is a small community of 700 people where all generations come together to make it a success each year, naturally, we are very proud of it.
Guy Purcell has been a Steward in the Wool Section for 42 years now and he is just 60 years of age, this is not unusual for Ganmain where people put in many years of commitment, and that type of commitment is expected!
Guy is a bit of a Wordsmith as he has written a small article called Farm Talk for our small newspaper for about 20 years now he also writes a monthly article for the local RFS and the Advance Ganmain Committee as well (where he chairs that committee ) to keep the town in touch with what is happening in the community.
NO-SHOW
There's nothing so sad, morbid, or drear
Than a showground that's vacant
At this time of year
No sideshows of clowns
Or dodgem smash derbies
No prizes to win
Or rides to share
Not even the ones
That make teenagers cheer
No showies on speakers
A'spruiking their sites
No fairy floss or dagwoods
An annual delight
Where are the mothers in charge of their flock?
Many have invested
In a new frock
Where's your father
Helping with the stock?
No horses competing
All groomed for the day
With manes plaited
And tails complete
They're not here today
They're home
Eating hay
Where are the riders
With top hats and tails
They come in all ages
From near and far
Some with flash trailers
Behind a big car
Their mounts are primed
And some are flighty
Proud are they that sit astride
Some may have dreamt in another life
That it be them
Riding beside the great man
On the Snowy side
No dogs in the ring
All pampered and preened
With grooming complete
They are real keen
With owners on leash
All jogging beside
When ribbons are given
Their joy, they don't hide
The yard dogs are different
For they are all work
With ears cocked and ready
Always alert
Their masters are mingling
And checking the score
Lamenting the cull
That ruined their draw
That bloody jumbuck
A'stamping his feet
Won't fall into line
Like the rest of the sheep
In the sheep yards at home
Floss would show him whose boss
With a nip on the leg
He'd soon join the flock
And master be happy
He completed the job
No fat lambs in pens
Resting on straw
Or stud rams in halters
A handful for sure
The ewes are more placid
They've seen this before
The handlers are dressed
As if there is more
There is an eerie silence
Where the poultry should be
Their shed is bereft
With no cock crowing with glee
No hens to be judged
As they lay the odd egg
It's all empty cages
Unfashionably clean
Not even the smell
Of manure so fresh
Where are the hens?
At home
On their rest
The office is empty
No mess on the floor
No counting of money
As it's put in the drawer
No hurry and flurry
To find ribbons once more
No queries to answer
From the stewards next door
No pleasing the judge
That came all this way
Give them a luncheon
They'll be on their way
No toilets to block
Or rolls to supply
As patrons relieve and ponder the sky
The pavilion is empty
It's a terrible sight
The birds that do rest
Make a terrible mess
No cooking displayed
Or jams preserved
No fancy work hanging
For all to see
Because of this virus
That came over the sea
No artwork hanging
By the amateur hand
Or photographs displayed
Many of the land
No garden produce
Ripe for the day
Or even bits of pottery
Fashioned from clay
The wool section is empty
Not happened before
Not even when the price
Went through the floor
There's no bags of chaff
Or hay on display
With smells that are pleasant
And make horses neigh
No quick shear event
Is happening at all
The loudspeaker silent,
Can't hear Laurie's' drawl
No shearers and rousies
To spin heaps of yarns
No fleeces of wool
To gather in arms
No dags on the floor
And second cuts galore
No timing or tallying
Just like before
No cockies whingeing
When they shear poor
No fun on the stage
As we judge best dressed
Everybody at home
Partaking of rest
No showgirl or beau
All ages aglow
As they line up for judging
Best in the show
Nana can't skite
At her delight
That her kin competing
Was sashed first outright
The luncheon pavilion
Is all dust and cobweb
The tables and chairs
Are stacked so high
It's hard to imagine
The footy ladies in this shed
The treats that they serve here
Stay on your thigh
The catchup by showgoers
Both local and far
It's truly amazing
The more I give thought
This bloody Covid
Has many distraught
My mother
I can hear her
With teacup in hand
Surrounded by family
Of the land
A plate of sandwiches
None are bland
A lamington to finish on
Oh, it's just grand
The publicans' booth
Where men tend to gather
And sometimes those serving
Work up a lather
It's vacant and quiet
This day, this year
But if I listen closely
I can hear many tales
Told by patrons
Whilst sinking some ales
The crops they have stripped
The sheep they have shorn
The droughts that brought the bank to the door
The stacks that they built
And the ones that spilt
The price of the land
Surely it's over the hilt
Late in the arvo
Many women come around
Seeking some sustenance
Not of the brown
This bar is now modern
And amongst its stock
Is some very fine vino
To serve with a block
The mood is light
As they reflect on the day
Most kids are buggered
And sitting on hay
The sun has now sunken
In the western sky
The showies
Still going
With that familiar cry
Some kids keep pestering
For ten dollars more
Some families this week
Be short rent for sure
A thundering bang
And lights in the sky
The fireworks have started
Some little kids cry
On it goes
Minutes tick by
It heralds the end
Of another show day
As tiredness sets in
And some kids do whinge
And the show dog's cringe
But rest assured
This Covid will pass
The show that was planned
Will be rather grand
We've suffered world war
That shook us before
We've been in drought
Often for sure
Suffered floods that brought
Boggy Creek to the door
We've battled fires that scorched the land
But the buildings we need
They still do stand
The committee is strong
And they'll weather this storm
Determined are they
And never forlorn
This show will go on
When, we are not sure
But we are all ready
It's not a chore
- Written by Guy Purcell 19 October 2021
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