JOCKEY’S BUGBEAR

Sun (Auckland), Volume 1, Issue 88, 5 July 1927, Page 8

JOCKEY’S BUGBEAR

INCREASING WEIGHT VISITS TO TURKISH BATHS In England, with its 6st minimum, the lot of a jockey is a much harder one than in New Zealand, where 7st is the alleged minimum, but more often than not is exceeded. Wasting in an extreme way cannot be defended, and there is no doubt that many men have ruined their health by keeping their bodily weight much below what it should be naturally. An English writer in an exchange has the following to sajf in regard to this matter: Increasing weight is the bugbear .of a jockey’s existence. Most jockeys are naturally small made, but it may surprise many to know that most of the young men who ride at from 7st 71b to Bst would, if they led a normal life, weigh at least lOst, or shall we say just the same as any ordinary individual of the same height? It is only a little over a year since Victor Smyth gave up riding, but he does not look much like a jockey now. He weighs at least list 71b. In the last few years of his career as a rider wasting was absolute agony to him. He hardly had a square meal from one end of the season to another, and I remember his telling me that the pangs of hunger were such that they robbed him of sleep at night. Frequently he dreamt that he was sitting down to a good meal. IS IT WORTH IT?

Liverpool was so packed for the Grand National that to accommodate a well-known jockey I had an extra bed put in my own room. He told me upon our arrival from Lincoln that he had had nothing to eat all day, and was faced with the prospect of getting off another two pounds to ride a fancied horse on the following afternoon.

“Do you think that it is worth it?” he asked me, and I replied that the horse certainly had a good chance. “Well,” the jockey said, in a resigned way, “the only thing to do is to have a good dinner now and get it off in the Turkish baths in the morning.” His breakfast came in whilst I was dressing—a cup of tea and a piece of toast about three inches square. Then he went to the baths. The horse which he rode was beaten, and when we met again in the evening he was obviously feeling the effects of his long fast. Again, of course, he had had nothing since that early cup of tea and crumb of toast, and this routine is not maintained just for a few days. It goes on for nine months of the year, and if there is a little indulgence during the winter, it has to be paid for when the time comes to get back to one’s ordinary riding weight. FRANK BULLOCK’S STORY

That reminds me of a story which Frank Bullock tells. Every winter his weight went up to lOst, and at the end of his holiday he had to get down steadily to about Bst 41b in time for Lincoln. As it was an annual procedure, he did it to a time-table, in a regular way, so that he knew just what he ought to weigh as his preparation progr'-sed. He had been in England some weeks when he ac-

cepted an invitation to lunch with his friend, Fred Fox.

Up to that time he had not weighed himself, believing that as he had been following his usual routine all was going well. There was a weighing machine at Fox’s place, and Bullock got on it. He says that he nearly had a fit when he saw what it recorded, for it showed him to be 10 pounds more than he should have been at that time. He told Fox about it, adding that, in view of this, he much regretted that he would be unable to do justice to the lunch which Mrs. Fox had prepared for him. Fred was very sorry and all that, but the merry and characteristic twinkle in his eye gave the show away. His scales were 10 pounds out—they always showed 10 pounds too much — and, thus reassured, Bullock enjoyed both the joke and the lunch.