By chance there came a meeting
When both had lost their all,
At the races way out country,
The pair had downed a dozen
And really took a fall.

So these two kindred spirits
Both in the plumbing trade,
They had to get more money,
And after many hours yarnin
Had figured how it’s made.

I’m Pat from Murky River
And offered out his hand,
I’m Clancy of the Overflow,
Both of Irish antecedents
Now partners, ain’t it grand. Pat had designed a windmill
And knew bugger all of pumps,
But Clancy knew of water,
Been pushing it uphill for years
Complete with nasty lumps.

The profits in the planning
On this did both agree,
And they must design it right,
No need for costly power
They’d get the wind for free.
Pat’s windmill was a whopper
The fan some forty feet or more,
It should be on that hilltop,
We’ll work it out to-gether,
That’s only one more chore.

With lots of Irish Blarney
And a slab or three of beer,
They finally found a sucker,
Who said he had the money,
He didn’t think it dear.
So with the sundry iron and timber
And lots of rusty nails,
They slowly raised a tower,
Almost semi rigid
To withstand the strongest gales.

Then Clancy worked the pump out
With massive bore and stroke,
And hoped and prayed it worked,
Cause if they found it didn’t
They’d both be bloody broke.
But when they slung the fan on
It wouldn’t turn a trick,
“The wheels way out of balance”,
They tried all sorts of ballast
And then tied on a brick.

When the wind blew fair and gentle
The wheel began to turn,
But when the wind blew stronger,
The pumped cracked up
And the bearings began to burn.
When the revs had reached the thousands
The shaft it got too hot,
It snapped off like a carrot,
Downhill, on edge
It took off like a shot.

It trimmed the trees and bushes
To the grazing lands below,
It half sheared a flock of sheep,
As they stood transfixed and wondered
How far it had to go.
So partners Pat and Clancy
In the truck they chased it down,
And saw from its direction,
Bloody Hell!
Its headed straight for town.

The lads raced right behind it
And saw it turn so straightly,
Pat said “She’s really turning truly,
That bricks just right,
For a balance weight”.

After halving up a hay stack
It’s route remained unchanged,
Then Pat heard Clancy moaning,
“This time the judge will hang me
He’ll say that I’m deranged”.
Downhill along the main street
Cutting every power wire,
The people scattered madly,
Because they knew
That where there’s sparks there’s fire.

Straight through the main town centre
It ignored the roundabout,
On through the Mayors prize garden,
Pat totted up the damage
A tidy sum no doubt.
Then on in open parkland
It still had all its speed,
Clancy saw where it was headed,
And cried “oh strewth”
As in his strides he peed.

It lined up the duck pond pump house
Of concrete, solid, strong and square,
And when it hit it turned,
To the horizontal
And rose up in the air.

For a time it hung suspended
Hovering like a chopper,
Till the balance brick flew off,
And dead centre hit,
The first arriving copper.
The fan landed in the water
Forming wave rings deep and wide,
And the surge and then the backwash,
Irrigated four bleeding acres
Of local countryside.

Now the partnership is over
Just three months from the start,
But the lads are still to-gether,
Because they live
Just three cells apart.

Diction: Arthur Donnelley
Graphics: Alan Grasset

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