How I Vanquished the Werewolf of Wagga Wagga

(A ballad by Gilderoy Lockhart)

 

 

I travelled to Australia one Christmas, for the sun.

I frolicked with the Opaleyes, trapped Billywigs for fun,

I taught the Thundelarra team how best to catch their passes,

And all the while I caught the eyes of many Aussie lasses.

 

’Twas in the Riverina in the State of New South Wales,

Near the town of Wagga Wagga that I paused from my travails.

For a witch there so bewitchingly invited my caress,

That I chose her to accompany me to the B & S.

 

With loving, hopeful heart I donned my lilac dinner suit.

And a one-eyed warlock down the pub lent me his flying ute,

So that I could soar o’er farm and field to fetch my fair Charlene,

Who told me that I was the “Grousest bloke” she’d ever seen.

 

All eyes were on me as I made my entrance to the ball.

As I led the Pride of Erin they cheered me one and all.

Those bumpkin, Aussie wizards and their maids could not compete,

With the grace and poise of Lockhart and his dazzling dancing feet.

 

I pranced the Plimpy Polka and a grand Goblin Gavotte,

’Til my partner staggered dizzily and panted, “Geez, I’m hot.”

So we left the hall to saunter by a peaceful billabong,

Where Charlene declared, “It’s hot enough to fry a dingo’s dong.”

 

True, the night was warm and humid and the full moon brightly shone,

And Charlene looked jolly pretty (now her staggering was gone).

When she looked at me adoringly I’d half a mind to snog her,

And thus to make that girl the gladdest witch in Wagga Wagga.

 

But to my surprise, in Charlene’s eyes I then saw wild dismay.

Next she grabbed my hand and pleaded that we should leave right away.

I told her, “No!  I will not go!”  I puckered up my lips.

But ere we kissed a monster’s hands closed roughly round my hips.

 

Behind my back came an attack of forceful, frenzied howling,

That made me recollect  - full moon’s no time for lovers’ prowling.

Those cruel claws, the brute’s breath, hot and meaty on my neck,

Reminded me - Charlene was daft to sneak out for a peck.

  

“Don’t hurt him, Gilderoy,” she wailed.  “That beast’s my husband Bruce!”

“I locked him in the chook shed but some drongo let him loose.”

Around my waist wound arms that looked like they were clad in dog fur,

And I knew that Charlene’s hubby was the wolf of Wagga Wagga.

 

The monster started crushing me.  I feared it was the end!

So I gallantly farewelled my tearful Aussie sheila friend.

But then from her purse an Everbashing Boomerang she drew,

And she threw it at her husband’s head to beat him black and blue.

 

Once distracted by the boomerang, the creature set me free.

So I formed a plan of action while I climbed a nearby tree.

Screaming, Charlene fled to the hall, for though the girl seemed smitten,

It transpired she did not love enough to venture being bitten.

 

Then I braced myself to face the creature of the night alone,

And I prayed my shapely ankle would not end up werewolf’s bone.

For although I’m brave, I do confess I failed to see the joke,

Of becoming a fine dinner for some Aussie lupine bloke.

 

But while clinging to the red gum branch I heard a fearsome crack.

Then the bough, with me, crashed thunderously upon the wolf man’s back.

So I pinned the blighter to the earth by twisting back his arm,

And I hurried fast to deftly cast a nice Homorphous Charm.

 

Now, I am a modest fellow.  And it doesn’t do to gloat.

But not many wizards dare to point their wands square at the throat,

Of a howling, vicious werewolf.  And not many wizards could,

While fighting off said werewolf, perform spellwork half as good.

 

No sooner had my supple wand completed its last flick,

Than the monster’s claws retracted and his hair grew not so thick.

And his gruesome fangs, all bared and gleaming, hungry for a bite,

Turned into the large and square teeth of a chap, not very bright.

 

“I’m Bruce,” quoth he. “And you must be the dirty Pom I’ve seen,

Who’s been lurking round my farmhouse tryin’ to court my wife, Charlene!”

The rustic man, his wand in hand, began to curse and shout.

But the Everbashing Boomerang returned and knocked him out.

 

Then from the hall ran one and all to see what I had done,

And they proclaimed I was the greatest wizard born, bar none!

Said one old mage, a grizzled sage, “Strewth, crikey! I’m agog, sir!

Well, bugger me! You’ve set us free! You’ve rescued Wagga Wagga!”

 

Faithless Charlene pushed through the crowd. “My darling, Bruce!” she cried.

She flung herself upon the brute.  I knew then, she had lied.

She’d tempted me with pretty face and manners so disarming,

Yet she had just wooed Gilderoy for his Homorphous Charming.

 

Still, all the rest applauded me.  They conjured up a chart,

Which showed that on the map they had renamed their town “Lockhart.”

And they carried me in triumph to the Murrumbidgee’s banks,

Where they feted me with fireworks and showered me with thanks.

 

                                    *       *       *

 

So when the savage wombat’s roar sets fearful hearts a’quiver,

Or majestic emu soars above the Murrumbidgee River,

When possum barks or great white sharks swim in a mountain pond,

Let the folk of dear Lockhart recall the power of my wand.

 

For they’ll never guess the loneliness that being perfect brings,

’Tis an isolated life for those they venerate as kings.

So when wallaby and kangaroo bound over foreign part,

Let the Wagga Wagga temptress know, she broke my noble heart.

 

 

 

[SHE’s notes: First of all, as you may have noticed, each and every “Wagga” in this poem rhymes with “jogger.”  Not one of them rhymes with “dagger.” Nor do any of them rhyme with “mugger.”  Messrs Fry and Dale, please take note.  The mispronunciation of Wagga Wagga in the Harry Potter talking books is an affront to the good people of this fine town.

 

Secondly, (because not everybody is as au fait with the Australian vernacular as Gilderoy) I have included a glossary of some local terms:

 

The Riverina: A farming district of southern New South Wales, lying between the Murrumbidgee and Murray rivers

B & S:             A common abbreviation for Bachelors and Spinsters Ball.  These formal dances are held in many rural towns, to provide elegant entertainment for farmers’ sons and daughters.

Ute:                 A pick-up truck

Grousest:        Best or most exemplary

Chook shed:   Chicken coop

Drongo:          A fool

Sheila:            A woman

Pom:               An Englishman

 

Finally, (and quite extraordinarily) the town of Lockhart truly exists.  It is a historic village, not far from Wagga Wagga.  Although a sedate community nowadays, in the nineteenth century this area was the base of operations for the notorious bushranger, Mad Dog Morgan.  One can only wonder how he earned that epithet.  It may well be that the people of the Wagga Wagga region have suffered the attacks of werewolves for many generations.  Thus, it is quite unsurprising that they were so pleased to be rescued by Gilderoy Lockhart!]