Interviews on the Epsom Downs.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 858, 10 August 1888, Page 10

Interviews on the Epsom Downs.

Interviewing a Proprietor op a Cocoanot 4 Pitch.’

4 Cokernuts ain’t what they wos, sir, I can tell yer. People thinks as there’s a lot in ’em, but it’s a mistake. Why look ’ere, we ’as to pay fifteen shillins’ a ’undred for ’em, an’ chance the bad uns. We must keep ’em in sacks, cover’d up, yer see. If we don’t the sun cracks the shells, the milk runs out, an’ the nut turns. If we gives a gent a bad nut he’ll kick up a Bhine, an’ we loses ouatom ; so*you see it ain’t all ’oney. I ’ad a pitch last week at Tooting as cost me twenty-five shillings—just about the size o’ this.’ere bit of ground as I’ve got bete—-twenty-five shillins’ for one clay ! What do you think of that, sir ? an’ then I never took a blessed copper.’ 4 What do we reckon eaoh nut costs ? Why, when we runs out on ’em we must send a telegram to London, then pay carriage when they arrives, so that brings it up to about tu’pence each. Well, if wo gets a few ‘busters ’ —some gents busts every nut, they throws so hard—the gents wont have ’em, and we’re compelled to give him a sound nut for everyone he knocks down. So yer Bee, all aa we’ve got to depend

on for our profit is the party as shies six or twelve penny shies at a time and don’t ’it too many cokers for ’is money.’ 4 Yes, sir, that’s my oaiawan’ (pointing to one of these curiously constructed affairs, half house, half van, pulled up on the grass close by the canvas screen of his 4 pitch ’), 4 an’ that’s my missus, seated on the steps just peeling the taters for our Sunday’s dinner. I’ve got three little uns —that’s my boy attending to the nuts when they’re knocked off. Bless yer, yes, he gets a stick or a ball on the ’ead somotimos, but I expects his ’ead’s pooty well seasoned to it now, sir j he never takes nonotice on it, howaomevor.’ interviewing an old jockey.

Leaving this very interesting specimen of the hard-working gipsy I next chanced to meet an old jockey—are all jockeys bandy, I wonder? I have nover met one yet that was not ; they are all exactly alike, too : very little boy-men, half of eacli ; your true-bred jockey will have no flesh about him, and be prides himself also that you can see little or no hair on head or face oxceptiug the trim little patch in front of each ear, and of whioh, inconsistent as it may appear, be seems inordinately proud. We strolled together along the beautiful green, velvety course, the newly whitewashed grand stand rearing its lofty head proudly in front of us as we passed from the wiaing-post towards famed Tattenhain Corner. 4 Have I rode a race here? Yes, msny ; and I should most likely again next week, sir, but for that confounded invention the Cockspur bit.' 4 How do you account for that? ' 4 l will tell you. You see how I limp? Well, this is how it happened : I had just previous to this Jaccident wou some real, good races in in France, and was chosen to ride R in the races at F ; I had rode her many a time before, sir. She was that gentle that a little babe would have been safe with her, but the owner would make me take the Cockspur bit. I didn’t like it, never be. lieved in it. and don’t now. It's a smooth bit with steel rings; when you pull, the rings pinch the flesh at the sides of the mouth—it’s rank, cruelty, that’s what I call it, and never ought to be used for a good horse. Well, sir, that race was worth something like 20,000 francs, and I was expected to win it. The owner was a good sort of fellow. I was paid a stiff sum for the mount and I was to get a handsome present if I won the race. Well, a 3 misfortune would have it, we couldn’t get away for a long time at the start. We had any number of false goes, and all this time I was compelled, much against my will, to pull at JR. . Bless you, she was like a bird : there was no holding her. Some horses kno w aa much about the race as a Christian. She knew that I meant winning, an’ she meant doing it or breaking her heart j but the Cockspur did it, poor beast ! She must have thought that I was wild with her eaoh time I pulled her back after a false start. She trembled in distress ; at last came a fair start and the move off, but too late. The sawing of the Cockspur had maddened her, and she bolted. I saw the forest of trees on either side the course fly past like lightning : I pulled and pulled the cruel Cockspur, cutting her mouth terribly. Then came a dull crash.’ SOME DERRY TRAMPS. A sad, pale, pinched face, that had once been pretty, a form of skin and bone only, a young woman prematurely aged, seated on the roadside near the Downs, at her wasted breast a tender babe fretfully attempting to appease its hunger, and by her side a gravelooking, ragged little boy, a year or two older thau the infant. Her husband, a shrivelled up 1 creature—more clothes thau man—had gone in search of water with an empty preserved meat tin picked up from the roadside ; and here is the story—simple and sad enough -that I got from the lips of both. They had been on the 4 road ’ for the last throe or four months. The man was an iron striker, of Manchester ; had worked at making iron frames for carpet looms. The Belgiums came into the taarket; iron loom frames were sent here, tariff paid and packed, much cheaper than the Manchester firms could make them. In vain had the unfortunate mechanic tramped tho iron districts of the Midlands : go whore he would there was no work for him. He, his wife and two little ones, trudged the dreary road during the day, and sought shelter in a casual ward at night, dry bread and water, and a pound of oakum’ to pick for the same,, while the mother would get bread and milk graciously awarded her in return for her pound of oakum—to be picked with her babe at the breast ! The man’s object in coming to the races was to endeavour to gain a few pence by holding horses, helping the show people to erect their booths, or by doing any odd job possible to find. —A correspondent in the Pall Mall Gazette.