The Legend of Bobby Close

It was October Nineteen-Thirty-Three

And the world was changed forever

When little Bobby Close was born

With a wit so sharp and clever

Already vocal at his birth

The hospital staff were convinced

That one day he’d be an orator

And he hasn’t disappointed since

Eyes open wide in awe and wonder

He gazed upon the world

On its beauties, mysteries and delights

And how it all unfurled

Half his youth spent in New South Wales

The other half in Victoria

And you couldn’t say his schooling

Was a time filled with euphoria

When a teacher asked, “What’s the value of Pi?”

With no hesitation, of course,

“Fourpence ha’penny!” Bob piped up

“And a penny for the sauce!”

He grew up in Paddington and Maroubra

But, his navy Dad often away,

Alone on the train to Melbourne he’d go

With his Gran in Brunswick he'd stay

Gran took Bobby under her wing

And she gave him an education

In placing bets on the dogs and the nags

At courses around the nation

At the Padua Theatre the kids would sit

Eyes wide at the silver screen

Then on their way back to Mountfield St

They’d act out every scene

But when Gran took Bob to Princes Park

She led an innocent lamb to the slaughter

And made him a one-eyed, and completely in the dark,

Bloody Carlton supporter

On that sad day Bob was cursed

To Carlton - win or lose

Even exorcism couldn’t save him then

He was shackled to the Blues

They saw every Blues game, home and away

Even the Bloodbath of ‘45

And when playing the Pies at Victoria Park

They were lucky to get out alive

In Sydney Bob did his schooling

And his electrical apprenticeship too

At the Garden Island Navy Base

On the docks down at Woolloomooloo

It was a fitting occupation

For the likes of a bloke like Bob

He could regale the others with his tales

And still look like he was doing his job

With his Blarney and his gift of the gab

And an erudite use of the vernacular

His silver-tongued party parlé

Bordered on the spectacular

The original Bobby Dazzler

He was the kid who couldn’t behave

And he looked on the world’s cheekiest face

Every time he went to shave

He rode Trumpies, Rudges and BSAs

Drove a cream-and-black MG

He pushed them so fast, with the wind in his face

He couldn’t hardly see

And that’s how it happened that fateful day

Speeding down the Hume

With a girl in Albury in his sights

He gave a truck too little room

He slammed the MG’s brakes on hard

But the car skidded under the tray

And if he hadn’t pulled his head in quick

He wouldn’t be here today

That incident gave Bobby quite a fright

And a lesson in survival

If you let your dreams rule your destiny

They might hasten your arrival

Bobby was cultured and urbane

Not base, or crude or pedestrian

With prose and poems far from mundane

He was a veritable verbal equestrian!

Then one day he made the acquaintance

Of a Bulgandra girl named Coral

She’d been voted the loveliest contestant

In the Albury Festival of Floral

They moved their home to Queanbeyan

Where Bob took up the debate

And if a politician strayed too far right

 He was sure to set them straight

Now today you might see him in the Newie

Imbibing a Great Northern brew

And scoping the odds on Tranquil Star

And making a wager or two

He’s a household name in Gumnut Court

Where he’s been such an excellent host

There’s even talk of them renaming the street

Gumnut Bob Close Close!

He grows his veggies and brews his beers

He certainly knows how to chill

And he and Codge go for sunset walks

Up over Eastern Hill

But Bob is often back on the bikes

If only in his dreams

Riding through a raging storm

To adoring women’s screams

His eyes half closed against the wind

Leather helmet on his noggin

His teeth set in a Cheshire grin

He’s giving the engine a floggin’!

Go Bobby!

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By Owen Smith

(w/- help from Fleur Cunningham)

October 2021