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Ready for the first run, each man brings his own jewelery.
Combs and cutters for the handpiece.
The rest of the machinery belongs to the owner of the shed.
They wear flannel shirts to absorb the sweat,
and special boots without nails because soon the boards will become greasy,
and a slip with a racing handpiece could mean a wicked gash.
Some of the boys make their own moccasins, as they call them, out of sacking.
[Orchestral music plays]
[Sound of generator cranking over and starting]
[Bell rings}
Perce and Steve are both out to be ringer of the shed,
the man with the best daily tally.
[Handpieces buzz as sheep are shorn]
The wool rollers can take it easy for a little longer as they wait for the first fleece.
In this game more haste means less feel, and damaged sheep as well.
It looks effortless, without ??? of bent backs
and concentration on the clean long swing of that strong right arm
They're mighty glad to fall into bed.
It's Perce that's the first wool away,
but that's only one sheep of the many that he and and Steve will shear today.
The ??? and rollers can't smoke now
If the ??? isn't kept clear there will be roars from the shearers.
So the fleece has come over the rolling tables at the rate that keeps the rollers
hard at work tearing off the dirty edges.
The aristocrat of the shearing shed is the wool classer.
A highly-paid expert who sorts the length of staple, texture and strength.
He's a key man in maintaining the world reputation of fine Australian wool.
The presser has one of the toughest jobs in the shed,
he gets paid according to the weight of wool he presses.
Over it comes.
Now he has to squeeze the contents of the top and bottom boxes together into the bail.
[Sound of bail machine cranking over]
And there it is,
three hundred and fifty pounds of the world's best wool.