From My Verandah

Te Awamutu Courier, Volume 56, Issue 4064, 24 June 1938, Page 3

From My Verandah

I Notes on the Passing Show i

By

J. T. P.

Waipa Races at Te Rapa.

Gentle readers, recognising J.TaP.’s aversion to participating in the discussion of politics or any .other form of questionable enterprise such as playing tennis at the public domain in Te Awamutu on Sundays, Will excuse him from delving into the high lights and side lights of “The Sport ol Kings,” of which we will be afforded a living exemplification when the Waipa Club races take place at Te Rapa to-morrow. The only oil the punters are interested in is the true oil from the horse’s mouth. The going threatens to be as ticklish for the horses as for some of the punters. Some are real horsemen; but others are merely jockeys. It is as hard to trace true form as the finger prints on a white butterfly. You can always be sure of a good run for your money when you get at the back of a motor queue leaving the course and have to set out to catch the train home after the races. Look out for horseplay by punters who are up against a “dark horse” or two. Don’t put the cart before the horse when going to the tote. Yours till the numbers go up— J.T.P. The Race Book. Books are all too cheap nowadays. Even the race book for the Waipa meeting at Te Rapa to-morrow at one shilling contains not only the “names, weights and colours of the riders,” but— all the winners as well! It is a veritable Ali Baba’s cave: all the punter has to do is discover the magic entrance. Some stick a pin through it; others prefer to get other rac< books. But at a bob, a race book is an absolute gift. The Voice of the Course t Racing, like many other forms of sport, has richly studded our language with picturesque phrases, many of which no doubt you will hear, or employ yourself, at the Waipa races at Te Rapa to-morrow. Maybe you will be told by that candid friend who knows just as much about racing as yourself that So-and-So, being “full of beans,” is a “dead cert,” while your own fancy is “a horse of another colour,” as with him it is a case of not being “off one’s oats.” Either way you will probably be “backing the wrong horse,” making yourself feel like “riding roughshod over everyone” or “taking the bit between your teeth.” However, unperturbed, you will not “sit back in the traces,” but, on the principle that “another little drink won’t do us any harm,” you will have another “little dabble” in the hope of landing the elusive Will-o’-the-Wisp. As long as you do not “uncover a mare’s nest” in so doing you may have enough chips left to pay you) fare home. Secrets Hidden in the Race Book. .1 trainer 1 s tips are little worth; a jockey's tips are worse; An owner's or an expert's not worth a tinker's curse. The only tip worth taking when you get out to the course, Is the fancy of the woman who has never seen the horse!

And so J.T.P. sought out “The Woman who has never seen the Horse,” and asked her opinion o*l the prevailing topic of the hour. “Well, J.T.P.,” she replied, “let me have a look at that race book you pinched from the Courier office when Pat Goldsboro’s eagle eyes were feasting on the females divine folding the books’” So J.T.P. complied with the gentle request ,and then “the Woman who has never seen the Horse,” turning the pages of the booklet, from race to race, spake in prophetic vein thus:

When in London, Mia Lume was a Cynical Kid, but had a Superior Guard in Ngawiri, who protected her from being pestered by Kena and Malagigi, though she did enjoy seeing Windsor Lad and Innes Lad fight it out with Senacre as referee and Fleetwing an interested spectator. But most intriguing of all was Lady England courted by Count Rousillion, a fact which caused .Prince Acre to do likewise and court Gay Seton, despite the truth that the romance was being enacted in the Silver Glow at the end of a perfect day and in the presence of Gay Sister.

A Sporting Family. The fact (hat the first race at Te Rapa to-morrow has been named in memory of a pioneer sportsman, and endowed by one of his sons with an annual trophy worth,. £3O, revived in teresting recollections . to one intimately associated with the Turf locally. The late Andrew Kay, besides being one of our earliest pioneers, was imbued with the best characteristics of “a sport,” and in his life-time was a generous patron of all forms of outdoor recreation, be it on the racecourse, the hunting field or the athletic arena. It is singularly appropriate, therefore, that his memory should be perpetuated by a memorial race the Andrew Kay Hack and Hunters’ Steeplechase Handicap. The trophy to accompany the stake on this occasion is a handsome tea and coffee service and, when on exhibition in the display windows of Ahier’s drapers emporium this week, attracted general admiration. And the fact brought to the mind of J.T.P.’s informant an occasion 50 years ago, when the late Andrew Kay himself rode a winner in the Te Awamutu Steeple-

chase on the original Te Awamutu racecourse, the winning post of which was situated, quite conveniently no doubt for the race patrons, close to the present Commercial Hotel, the track itself running out in the direction of College Hill (now College Street.) The genial Andrew won in the proverbial canter with Costello, much to the jubilation of Maori and pakeha alike with whom he enjoyed a large measure of popularity. In later years the sons of the deceased gentlemen filled, and are filling, important positions in the local world of sport. , It is interesting to recall, for instance, that that well-known and popular sportsman, Mr Martin Tims, won his first race in this district when riding Arolia at a Kihikihi meeting 21 years ago, the late “Willie” Kay being the starter and the meeting being enlivened by the presence of bookmakers and the use of an illegal blackboard totalisator. Of the other sons of the late Mr Kay, Harry and Alan are both members of the committee of the progressive Waipa Racing Club, while Lyell enjoys a reputation as an enthusiastic player and supporter of polo, in which devotion he is ably seconded by his brother, James. Truly the mantle of a great and revered sportsman has fallen worthily upon the shoulders of his sons. Many Brilliant Victories. The record of the Turf in Te Awamutu during the past decade or so is embellished by many notable victories and achievements. The names of- such splendid performers as Te Kara, Karapoti, .Pegaway, Prodice, Illumina tion, Supremacy, Aussie and lately Stretto—to mention only a few —come readily to mind. It was in 1925 that Mr Martin Tims’ Te Kara gladdened the hearts of all his connections, and those of the local sporting fraternity as well, by winning the Auckland Cup, then the Herries Memorial, and, later, being taken to Australia and there annexing Tattersail’s Cup in Sydney, and the Brisbane Cup in the capital of Queensland, so that to Mr Tims belongs the rare distinction of possessing in his home at Frontier Road the only Brisbane Cup ever taken out of Australia. Te Kara also ran second in the A.J.C. Plate (2] miles) to Windbag, the best three ydar old at the time in Australia and a winner of the Melbourne and Sydney Cups. Then Karapoti, bred by Mr Tims and trained by Mr Alex Cook, brought added laurels to our local racing establishments by, in one season, winning the blue riband of the Turf, namely the Great Northern Guineas, the Great Northern Derby and the Auckland Racing Club’s St. Leger. Thereafter he was sold and shipped to India, where he added further to his great record by winning the Rajpilla Gold Cup, following it by winning a seven furlong race and establishing for the time taken a new Indian record. Now to the glorious achievements and memories of the 1929 season, when Te Awamutu horses accounted for £5770 of the stakes offered at the Auckland Racing Club’s summer meeting. Pegaway owned by the late Alt. Prangley and Mr Tims and trained by Mr Cook, was the star performer, winning the Christmas Handicap (£4QO), Summer Cup (£900), and Auckland Racing Club’s Handicap (£1260), bringing to his owner £2560 in stake money and filling the pockets of local punters with much foreign capital. Again we come to a marvellous money producer in Prodice, whose record includes the Avondale Stakes (£1000), Avondale Guineas (£1000), and Great Northern Guineas (£1500), to say nothing of a host of other victories that brought in substantial cheques. And she has left behind some splendid progeny, notably Gallio (the best in New Zealand as a two year old), anti Te Hero (the leading two year old last season). Memories hark back to the gallant performer Aussie, which turned out a brilliant sprinter for Mr George Paul, his victories including among many others the winning of the Avondale Stakes, the Railway Handicap, and the Hazlett Stakes at Dunedin, when he created a sensation by beating Limerick. Nor, in concluding this necessarily brief and incomplete review, should we fail to recall the performances of Supremacy, owned by Mr J. McGovern, and turned out by the late Mr William Stone to w’in many a hard fought contest and thus help to increase the lustre which shines so brightly on Te Awamutu “owned and trained horses.” The New Chum. He was an Englishman just out and went to a land agent with a view to buying a sheep station. “Do . you know anything about raising sheep?” asked the agent. “Oh, yes,” said the Englishman. “You buy 100 wethers, doncherknow. In 12 months they each have two lambs. Then you sell the old sheep and have the lambs to the good—to say nothing of the fur.’” The Possible at Crib. When Jack Russell astounded the members of the Te Awamutu Crib bagu Club last week by producing a hand which yielded the maximum points, he established a record for the club, as on no previous occasion in the history of the local “crib family” had the coveted honour been gained. The occurrence, however, just illustrates odds against which card players so happily battle. The first odds which confront a card player is the fact that the fifty-two cards may be arranged in different ways that amount to a mere 80,660 with 63 additional noughts added, denoting that the figure runs into a mathematical impossibility.. Even an expert manipulator of cards may feel somewhat humbled before this figure. It seems that if he set himself the task of arranging a pack in all possible ways he could not do it. Indeed, he could not do it if by some dispensation he where permitted tp live a million years. Those 52 cards are capable of setting a task quite beyond man. No wonder, then, that every deal is a problem in itself.

The Birthday Cake! When Little Prank from Is la Bank Had birthday celebration. The bhoys around, with gladsome sound Gave way to jubilation. Host Nudger brought the cake as ought To gladdan birthday party. By jove! was iced, ’twas thought was spiced. Come now; me bhoys. be hearty! Bedecked wife ice, looked really nice— Frank lighted fifty candles. Then blew them out. with gladsome shout, .4.9 bhoys quaffed from long handles. And then a knife, to cause real strife. The cake to rend asunder! It wouldn't go, e'en though slashed so! Frank muttered, ''Oh! By thunder!" Ye holy jacks! Nudge brought the are. That cake defied the cutting! Then with a crash, from one fell smash. As though Frankie was putting. Oh lo! Oh me! What's this I see? Frank moaned above the din — A knavish trick—so help me tick!— That "cake" was just a tin! Bradm an Again. Playing against Lancashire this week Bradman added .still another to the long list of records he holds, compiling 101 runs in 73 minutes; which is the fastest century scored in England this season. And so dnee again we discuss the “cricketing problem of the age.” Writes a foremost English authority, Mr Neville Cardus: I suppose no man has ever been more of a master of his job than Bradman is a master of his job. He is as good a batsman as Bach was as a composer. Yet no; he lacks felicity—that effortless touch of Nature which makes the difference between a thing that grows and a. thing that is constructed. A Bradman innings is designed—it does not fall on him “by. grace.” There is usually the hint, of severe watchfulness, even of suspicion. An innings by a Woolley just happens, like the bloom on the peach on the sunstained wall. This is not to deny Bradman’s style and a kind of beauty; people .speak, nonsense when they say that. Bradman does not ever move the aesthetic senses. A constructed thing can be beautiful if it cannot be spontaneous. The flight of a bird and the flight of an aeroplane mark the difference between an innings by a Woolley and one by a Bradman. And in a war the aeroplane has the grandest eagle beaten. A King Country "War." Like a whiff of the chronicles of far gone days on the West Coast in her wildest and wooliest moods comes a faint whisper to J.T.P. of an occurrence in the King Country, out of which, at one time at any rate, we were not surprised what eventuated. Still this time it. is staggering. “The droppers” have started a little “war” all on their own account. “From information received,” as Jock Forsyth would cryptically say, J.T.P. can confide to you that one “dropper” reduced the price of beer by sixpence a bottle, —ahd thereafter conducted such a thriving business that all the other “droppers” in the vicinity had to follow suit! Meanwhile the thirst of the King Country-ites assumed greater dimensions than ewer

before, and at latest advices “biz was humming,” especially as on< “dropper,” carrying the war into the enemy's country, is shouting a real old-time pint (full measure) to all his regular customers. . . . And has this outbreak any significance when we remember that Progessor Algie in advocating “freedom unlimited” in New Zealand, did not come out and champion that the residents of the King Country, like those of the rest of New Zealand, should have the right to freedom by having a referendum on the liquor laws? "Beer, Glorious Beer." But this untoward occurrence in the King Country has rudely disturbed the even tenor of J.T.P.'s way, for he had just drunk refreshingly of a liberal draught supplied by no less a personage, than the British Ministei of Pensions. That gentleman could surely never have heard of the internecine struggle now convulsing the King Country or he would never have made, in proposing a toast, such a heartfelt tribute to beer “that, essence of good fellowship which is still bcinr brewed, distilled or extracted ’neath the shining rays of tin' sun and moon in a discontented world,” as here followeth: Bee]- is a peaceful drink. Beer is the drink for the ordinary, kindly, simple working man in the street—the man who can be found in millions all over the world. If he could get together with his fellows in other countries over a pint of beer we should hear much less of dictators and all the other high and mighty political personages that at present bully ami bewilder the ordinary man. In these unstable, quarrelsome days, I think I can give you a slogan for all peaceful, genial, companionable folks of all countries: “Beer Drinkers of the World Unite.” Quite a ring of soap-box oratory about the slogan, but even if we have adepts at that art in New Zealand, we are at least safe from the British Minister’s utterance being copied in

this Dominion. For is this not election year—with a licensing poll as well?

The Dairying Bonus.

Now that the Government has granted an increase in the guaranteed price, will the dairy farmers be satisfied? Never on your dear life. Here is a voice which supports the surmise:

Speaking at the annual provincial conference of the Farmers’ Union at Dunedin, Mi- W. Lev (Good wood) said there were dangers in asking that the guaranteed price be fixed by arbitration because the dairy farmer would never be satisfied unless he were receiving £3,000,000 or £4,000.000 above the market value.

Judging by the hullabuloo already raised, J.T.P. does not need to employ Asquith's classical dictum “Wait and See”—to obtain an answer to the query.

I Working Majority

A little bird whispers to J.T.P. that women’s dresses are to be shorter this winter and five women out of six don’t like it. But if you think that five women out of six is a working majority in the world of fashion, you don’t know much about women.