Wool Classing Exam

Thirteen hopefuls,

All pretty rough and ready,

Rousies, shearers and cockie's wives.

All nervous.

Before us:

The AWEX Descriptors,

A recent wool report,

Small blue cards,

Our reporting sheet,

And three kilos of greasy wool.

Mixed oddments and fleece,

The pile looked huge.

And the clock ticked.

Thirteen sweated and sorted.

Made and remade piles.

Sifted through the dregs,

Cursed under their breath.

And then time was called.

We all cursed then.

Thirteen repeated the ritual.

Fine wool from New England.

Cross-bred from the Wheat Belt,

And medium wool from Condobolin.

Thirteen looked pensive.

Had we done enough.

Most thought that it would be close.

One looked sick with stress.

Thirteen waited.

The clock ticked.

Thirteen were summoned,

Still the clock ticked.

The announcement was subdued,

Some missed it.

But when it was repeated,

One regained his normal palour.

Thirteen now were wool classes.