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LEGEND
OF THE
Resolute Runners
LOST Wrestle Rigours
of Rugged Rural
Route - -
THIS is a saga ! A saga of the eternal conflict between man and nature.
Back in ’59 when Wynnum was still wild and woolly, all the braves of
the Secondary School tribe had to run a race over the toughest terrain
imaginable ....
There they stand—100 splendid examples of young Australian manhood.
eager to pit their strength and skill against whatever nature has to oppose
them in the coming trial. And nature, not satisfied with the rugged rigours
of the route, has called up a blazing sun and a trying nor-easter to test the
young braves to the utmost.
A hush descends on the shouting, pushing horde as the Big Chief steps
forward. Dramatically he points his Colt 45 heaven-wards—a report—and the
400 are galvanized into sudden, yelling, gouging, trampling action. So also is
the Big Chief who wished to see a few more moons.
What a magnificent sight as they pour down the first hill, ready to
climb the highest mountain .... yes, they make the first bump in Peel
Street — thanks to the cunning of the tribal elders in allowing the squaws
of the tribe to station themselves along the old corral fence.
Along they speed like swift Indian mustangs until White’s Road is
reached. Heedlessly they fling themselves down its precipitous slopes. Des
perately resisting the force of gravity they speed round the corner into the
gibber-strewn wastes of Randall Avenue.
This takes its toll of the swift Indian ponies and turns all but a few
into lumbering bison. At the end of this desert they plunge into the neck of
the woods known as the Lota Bush Tracks. Here they come suddenly up
on some paleface settlers from the area who watch apprehensively as the
young braves thunder past.
Strength renewed, on they speed past the old School House at Lota.
What courage those teachers have to come into this wild untamed country,
far from civilization !
Emerging from under the trestle bridge they come to a short steep
grade, where a number of covered waggons, failing to make the top, now lie
rotting. The sight of this is too much for most and they slow down to
plod alongside the tracks of the Iron Horse.
Along here the chuffing runners are hidden in clouds of dust, thrown
up by the yellow covered waggon of Chief Scout Cox. And still they struggle
onwards—up the Goat Track and Ernest Street like very tired, old mountain
goats.
The end is now in sight and most of the young braves manage some
thing like a spring down the last hill to the finish — two totem poles (ask
any brave who has had to tote ’em around why they are called totem poles).
The first one back is last year’s winner Stuart Robinson of the sub
tribe of Kennedy, in new record time of 20 min. 45 secs, slicing 22.2 secs
from the old record. Good work Stew., you may get another eagle feather
for this.
Close behind him is the noble brave. Robin Christophers, of the sub-
tribe of Oxley, second to Robinson for the umpteenth time. But what is this ?
The sub-tribe of Oxley seems to have struck a real purple patch. Here comes
Geoff. Smiley of Oxley followed by four more Oxley braves. The Oxley chief
grunts with delight (having assisted his braves by a cunning stratagem—the
Boot of his waggon being very commodious).
With this effort behind them, Oxley wins the race with 331 points, fol-
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