The Ballad of the Wagga Wagga Werewolf
Note: The name "Wagga Wagga" means "Place of Many Crows". The city is usually called "Wagga" by Aussies.
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In a regional town in the Riverina
In the south part of fair New South Wales
There occurred years ago an alarming event;
Gather round, and I'll tell you the tale.
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On a full moonlit night when the town was asleep
It was startled awake by a roar,
Then the roar turned to howl, and folk shook in their beds
With a fear that they couldn't ignore.
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When they rose in the morning, they heard the grim news
That a werewolf had struck in the night,
And two children were bitten, severely it seemed –
And they all knew what came from a bite!
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There is no-one can tell where the werewolf had been
Till he came to the Place of the Crows
There were rumours around that he'd killed half a town,
But the number he'd slain, no-one knows.
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Wide he roamed, and he preyed on the children of folk
In Kooringal and round Turvey Park
'Til the people of Wagga were all too afraid
To be out and about after dark.
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As the stories of rampaging spread far and wide,
They were carried 'cross ocean and sea,
Until one day they came to the ears of a man
Who thought, "This is for magical me.
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This is a task that is right up my street –
I'm a famed werewolf expert, you know!
I'll go down to Australia, get rid of this pest,
And my magical prowess I'll show."
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So down there he went, with his photos and books,
And he smiled that most charming of smiles,
And the people of Wagga were blissfully blind
To the danger of Gilderoy's wiles.
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As he re-tells it now, it went something like this:
He confronted the werewolf alone.
With a wave of his wand, "Sectumsempra," he said,
And the werewolf's howl chilled to the bone.
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Then he pounced on the werewolf and slammed to the floor,
And with one hand he held the wolf down.
There they wrestled as Gilderoy used all his arts
To restrain the wolf there on the ground.
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With his wand on the throat of the werewolf supine,
Lockhart uttered the critical charm.
"Homorphus," he cried, and the wolf gave a moan
As the furriness left from his arms.
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As our hero looked on at his now-erstwhile foe,
Shrinking fangs and the vanishing fur
Told the victor his charm had performed as it should,
And the man was no longer a cur.
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Lockhart left Wagga then with the thanks of the crowd,
And their praises rang sweet in his ears –
But, my friends, listen well as I tell you the facts,
For the tale isn't as it appears.
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For when Lockhart proclaims he has vanquished a pest,
It is no more than fictional story.
What he really has done is a memory charm
On the rightful possessor of glory.