Giddy up!

At the corner of Russell and Bourke streets, there was a carriage with a couple of horses pulling it, making its way home in the night. It was first at the lights and when the lights turned green the horses balked, twice. If there is such a thing as horses stalling, then that’s what I saw. They kind of shuddered, their feet went cloppity-clop, cloppity-clop in the one spot, the whole carriage seemed to shudder, as they dropped their heads, as if to say no! There was traffic all around, cars and trams and buses, all waiting to go. Peak hour in the city, jammed between a tram-stop railing and the other lane, heading up the hill.

The crusty old R.M. Williams type, with his Akubra hat and Japara Jacket, holding the reins was having none of it. He was in a situation where he had to take definitive action, take control and get that carriage moving forth-with, out of every body's way. He took hold of his whip and cracked it soundly in the air, like a gunshot in the night. Twice. It was fantastic, the whir and the snap. Thrilling in the crisp, cold night. A chill shot up and down my spine at the sight of his determination, against the shiny buildings and the lights and the black, black sky behind, as he put his all into those powerful arm strokes – like an out-back Santa on his out-back sleigh, I could almost hear him call out. Get on with ya Ginger, get on with ya Skeeter! Get along! Get up!

And those horses moved, you’d better believe it. They certainly knew that the boss wasn’t at all pleased. Up went their heads and up went their tails and off they trotted in sync, no more recalcitrant behaviour from either of those two. Clip-clop, clip-clop went that carriage into the night, leaving the congestion of the intersection behind – momentarily reminiscent of a time long past, as I watched the carriage work, with it’s little window and the wooden spoked-wheels turning for all they were worth, disappear out of sight.

There was a mother and son on the corner with me. "Oh mum, he’s whipping them," whined the son, which snapped me back from my tantalising moment, caught in the whirl of the drama and the night. What are we breeding, a pack of fucking pansies, was my first thought. Although, admittedly, he looked only four and I guess it was sweet. Be kind to children and dumb animals, I thought.