a field of cows

On the train from Booragul to Central, at Morriset, a bloke got on my carriage, a shortish wizened sort of South’s fan, maybe in his late thirties, with goatee beard and plenty tattoo, with no less than four boys in tow.
I’d guess, aged 3, 5, 7 & 9.
They were perfectly well behaved, sitting in their seats as they were told, maintaining a low bubble of excitement that you’d expect from boys going to the football.
Only once did the posse threaten to begin to get out of control,
Whence the responsible adult collared one of the kiddies and screamed down his ear at close quarters…
“DON’T YOU FUCKIN’ BACK CHAT ME! YOU KNOW WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THAT HAPPENS, DON’T YA!?”
The boys fell silent for a couple of minutes, until the bloke said quietly…“look at that. that’s a field of cows, if ever I saw one” as we gazed upon a rural scene.
Then the excited little hubbub resumed with no problem.
They disappeared up the railway stairs at Gosford all holding hands.
As they did, I noted the very faded, almost indiscernible sponsor’s logo on the back of the bloke’s Rabbitohs jumper – SMITH’S CRISPS.
Child discipline at its finest.