WAUPACA POST

May 17, 1888

 

WAUPACA CURLERS.

Who went for Wool and came home Shorn.

To the town of St. Paul they took their way,

On the beautiful morn o’ a winter’s day,

Sure o’ winning the match they were gaun t’ play

Wi’ the curlers o’ St. Paul.

There were Lydia Pinkham an’ Jaky Einstein,

Fergus Selleck, lang Angus Chandler,

And Donald Lea went wi’ them on time

And a wheen ither laddies wham I’ micht name

To see or tak’ part i’ the roarin’ game,

Wi’ the curlers o’ St. Paul

 

They wer earrayed in their duddies braw,

The keen stanes packed away I’ straw,

An’ there wasna’ a chiel amang them a’

On the road to guid St. Paul,

But had sworn a great aith to do his best,

To tak’ neighter drink, nor meat, nor rest,

Howsoever by drouth or hunger prest,

Till the game was done

An’ the victory won,

And her nainsel’ wad lay a’ the gear she posses’t

On the outcome at St. Paul.

 

O’er muir an’ meadow they sped alang,

Killin the hours wi’ crack and wi’ sang,

As they traveled on to St. Pual.

But oh, and alack! I’ve nae heart to dwell

On the waefu’ mischance to them befell, -

It wad gar ye greet, the sad tale to tell,

How they dropped frae grace,

Ere they gained the place -

How the cunnin’ players wham nane might excel,

Were brought to grief at St. Paul.

 

Jut how it cam’, I’m no that sure,

But Sandy Coolidge, frae ahint the door,

Winked at Lydia Pinkham, across the floor,

A mile or mair frae St. Paul.

Lydia ken’d nae weel just what to think,

But he ken’d there was meanin’ ay in a wink.

An’ just then Sandy gae him a blink

O’ somethin’ or ither,

The vera twin brither

O’ ane he’d seen the morn ‘I the rink.

An ta’en for his tomach’s sake ae wee drink

Ere the started for St. Paul.

 

Many guid men, baith great and sma’

To bad example mann charge their fa’,

An’ this was the case wi’ the curlers what

Were on their way to St. Paul.

The bottle passed briskly amang them round;

When ane was gane, anither was found,

Tillthe noise o’ the railway train was drowned

By the singin’ and laughin’,

Wild shoutin’ and daffin’, -

An’ mair an’ mair did joy abound

‘Mang the curlers going to St. Paul.

 

Uproarious grew the fun an’ fast

Till the hin’most mile o’ a’ was passed,

An’ the end o’ the journey was reached at last -

The guid town o’ St. Paul.

They looket about wi’ vacant stare,

As tho’ they were gaun they ken’d no where,

But the best o’ them soon were made aware

Of the work on han’,

An’ to understand’

That, to meet them wi’ hearty welcome, there

Were the curlers of St. Paul.

 

Wos; ‘Twas a painful’ sight to see;

Men who ken’dna hog-score frae tee,

Swearin’ they’d just ae drap I’ their ee,

When tryin’ to curl at St. Paul.

 

They stayed a nicht, but early niest morn,

The puir, silly bodies, sae weary an’ worn,

Wha went for woo’, but were gaun hame shorn

By the Curlers o’ St. Paul -

Tho’ kindly prest by their frien’s to stay,

Were up an’ ready to gae their way,

‘Shamed to make any further delay

I’ the wretched town

Where their pride came down;

An’ they took themsel’s aff, singin’ doo’ on the day

That ever they went to St. Paul.

 

                        RINK NO. 3