The Good Deed

The above image copyrighted to

The rain poured down, and showers flew
As the wheels ploughed through the road,
And the weary motor cyclist knew
It was best his vehicle slowed

So he stopped beside this mud filled track,
Put his jacket back to front,
After straightening out his aching back
Kick started with a grunt.

He was sick and tired of the driving rain
But with jacket now reverse
He could make quick time on the road again
Now free of the soaking curse.

As he sped along the winding track
On a corner slick and bending
With a sickening thud he was on his back
And he thought his life was ending.

An instant blackness seized his mind
As he dreamed of Shangrila
And he wondered where the harp he’d find
Not aware of the following car.

Our man from the outback scratched his head
While he looked at the sorry plight
And he wondered, is the victim dead?
He peered with his large flash light.

Now never in all his outback days
Had he see such a frightening sight,
For the victim’s head was turned wrong ways
Never mind, he’d set it right.

The victim yelled as our outback man
Now intent on his bush first aid
Applied his skills as a bush man can
Quite proud of repairs he’d made.

When later on as the accident crew
Took a look at the lifeless man
They asked our bush man what he knew
And our hero then began

To tell them how he’d seen the fall
With the victim’s head detached,
He was glad to tell them one and all
That he’d turned it till it matched

The jacket facing right way round!
Instead of approving glances,
Surprised was he when hand-cuff bound
They were taking no more chances.

“© Copyright Ian Grice 2011 All rights reserved”

This is based on a very old story that
must have originated in the 1930’s
for I’ve heard it told over and over at
Family gatherings where myths and
tall stories were shared as I grew up.

4 thoughts on “The Good Deed

  1. Now, that is a “spooky” story even in the poetic form. I can believe this must be part of the “outback myths” that have always been wonderful stories.
    I have often thought that the mythos that grew up around the event “real or invented” of the man in the story that “would not be taken alive – said he”
    spawned that wonderful song – almost anthem – Waltzing Matilda. There are similar tales of “Ghost Riders in the Sky” – the lonely spirits of our western cowboys who died among the cattle in stampedes in the great night storms out on the western plains of Wyoming, Montana and Texas. Every frontier has those tales!
    Jim the Fee


    1. I guess when you are out in the wilds with nothing to do but stare at a campfire and the starry skies each night that would be the time to invent our modern mythologies wouldn’t it? There’s be nothing more to do than that. lol.


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