The Winckley Race
In eighteen hundred and ninety five
An incident took place
Fifteen people got on their marks
To start the Winckley race

A notion from a Preston vet
While walking through the Square
All started as a five pound bet
And went on and on from there

A note went up in the Black Horse pub
For that was his drinking lair
To invite fit and healthy folk
In a race round Winkley square

Good Friday was the chosen day
And duly all arrived
A prize of five pounds sterling
To the man with the quickest stride

The rules, well there was only one
Just run until you drop
The winner richer by five pounds
For the last man still stood up

The race began and on they ran
An hour or two had passed
The pack, now down to only nine
And six of those out-classed

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Lap one hundred and one and four hours gone
Now only two remain
A butcher from down Church Street
And a Fireman of a train

The race now down to walking pace
And the pair still side by side
The butcher then screamed loud in pain
And fell down on his knees and died

On lookers stared in disbelief
As the fireman crossed the line
His only thought was the five-pound note
And someone record the time

A fatal mistake for him to make
And history records this case
That later in the Black Horse pub
He was shot point blank in the face

The deaths of those men that weekend
Put the Easter break to shame
And as for the Winckley race
Well it was never held again

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