HUMOUR OF THE TURF.

Taranaki Daily News, 20 December 1924, Page 12 (Supplement)

HUMOUR OF THE TURF.

STORIES FROM “MOTUROA.”

(Continued from page 11.) THE GOOD OLD DAYS. "Things are not like they used to be,” grumbled the Old Man. ”A man can’t make anything at the game now.’’ We urged, him to tell us his story. This was it: “In the good old days,” he said, “a chap cotfid have a decent bet with safety. If you didn’t have all the field with you, you had the starter and the man in the box.” The Old Man puffed reminiscently. “And what fun we had with the draw for places at 'the starting post! 1 used to ride for one of the ‘heads’ those days, and always had ‘No. 1’ ’when we were ‘on it.’ Remember one time 1 had ‘the ace’ given to me before I went in to have a dip in the lucky bag,’ and blime if I didn’t drop it in as 1 went to have my pick! I was one of the first to draw, and there was a field of sixteen, so I was properly in the can! The bloke in charge of the bag wasn’t in the joke, so I had to trust to luck and take what came along. I drew ‘No. 16,’ and what the owner said to me when I came out was almost libellous. Some chaps never will to reason.” FUN ON THE COURSE. ’Way back in the ’nineties the Foxtbn Racing Club’s annual race meeting was not conducted with the decorum and propriety of recent years, and the gathering savoured more of a picnic with a show thrown in, than a regular race meeting. Picnic parties, some of ’em boi-sterous, sprawled on the slopes, while side-shows, ring and gaming tables, thimble-and-pea take-downs, and the good old game of Doodlem-Buck were in full swing in the open. In the trees two-up, hazards, poker, and naip attracted crowds. You didn't have to produce a good conduct medal to get on a -course in those days!

I remember quite well (I think it was in 1901) a chap going through the race-train as we neared Foxton, taking up a “thiee-penny” collection for the engine-driver and the fireman. At the time its significance did not dawn on me, but the reason was evident when the train arrived at the course, for the brakes (or something or other) strangely refused to act, and the train was not pulled up until it had gone two hundred yards past the racecourse gates, where only a wire fence circled the course. The crowd immediately surged across the fence, and frantic gate-keepers looked on helplessly. I think it was at that meeting that a horse called Morning won the Maiden Hack Hurdles and paid over £6O. There

were only nine tickets- on her, and a Chinaman had what the crowd considered more than a fair share of them. A section surrounded the Celestial and behaved threateningly, several of the bolder ones attemipting to snatch the valuable pasteboards from him. The speedy arrival of the police, however, saved the Chinaman, and he was taken into the little tote house. A constable then commandeered a double-buggy, and drove up to the tote, from which the Chow was quickly ’hoisted into the vehicle, and, escorted by policemen, was driven rapidly from the course, followed by a howling mob of disgruntled vagabonds. THE BOOKIE SPEAKS. “One meets some strange winners in the course of business,” the big, fat bookie confided to me. “There is the usual type which nearly knocks you over to get the money, and others again who hang off as if they didn’t have the heart to relieve you of the coin. I met one of this class the other dav who came up almost aplogetically, and said, ‘l'm awfully sorry, old man, to take this fiftv from you. Really, old chap, you laid me extravagant odds!’ Tears starred to his eyes, and his under liip trembled. I moved back hastily to avoid getting my haqdsome red vest sprinkled, and, to change the svJbjeet, mentioned something aliout a drink.” “Then there is the Scotty,” he continued, as he lit a fresh cigar, “who counts his divvy over four or five times to see that you aren’t beating him for a tray-bit One day, I remember, a Scotty and his companion putting a good one across me. I had paid them out four-pi.m-ten, and the pair stood there for live minutes scanning and fingering the notes carefully. ‘Are they richt,’ ask id one. ‘They are,” replied the other, ‘but I Was looking to see that he didn’t swing back that crook ten shilling note I gave him for the wager.’ ” TAKING A PUB. Travelling round the country one cannot help remarking upon the number of ex 1 -trainers and jockeys who have made good in the hotel line. In the course of their racing careers they probably came into contact with more people of the right type (from a hotelkeeper’s point of view) than any other class of toiler, and their “connection” has stood to them when they relinquished the care and riding of thinlegged equines for the manipulation of the beer pump. And so it is little wonder that their ambition has been to blossom forth as “mine host,” and entertain their sporting friends, and, incidentally, amass some easy money.

Which reminds me of a yarn I heard the other day. An old-time rider, out of luck and down at the heels, was bewailing the scarcity of remunerative mounts, and unloading his troubles on a more youthful (and more successful) jock st er. “The game is no good now.” said the veteran, “and I’ve a mind to

turn it up and go in for something that there’s more monev in.

“What line will you go in for?” inquired the youth. “Well,” replied the old fellow after a good think, "I'm seriously thinking of taking a pirb.”

“A great idea.” assented the youth warmly, “but (confidingly) be very careful about it, old chap. If anybody pees you taking it they might make you put it back!" Then lie raced for the nearest place of safety. THE FOAL. Aboriginal Jacky had saved up a nice “roll." and nothing would suit him but a trip to Melbourne—“to see the Cup, all the same as the boss lars year!” New, Jack had never been outside Dingo Flat, and the boss had sore misgivings as to what would happen to him in the metropolis. So, on saying good-bye to the dusky sport, he took the opportunity to warn him against the pitfalls of the big city, and particularly of the motor-cars, “which tore around like unbroken, aged stallions, and knocked everybody down who got in their road.” Jacky seemed impressed, and promised to heed the good advice. But he hadn’t been in Alelbourne half an hour before, in jumping out of the way of a motor-car, he was knocked flat by a motor-cycle, and was hurried off to the hospital. In due course he was discharged, and made all possible haste for Dingo Flat. The boss warmly welcomed him, and after hearing of the accident said, “I told you. Jacky, before you left, to be careful of those motor-cars.” “Oh! me careful orlrite. boss,” he replied, “me watchem big motor-car plenty good, but, by cripes, you no tellem me ’bout that plurry foal belongs motor-car. He the beggar!” ONLY r MONEY. “Battler" Brown had taken a risk with the favourite, Sparkling Lady, laying her “until the cows came home.” To his surprise she strolled in, and “Battler” was immediately beseiged by an army of joyful punters. “Battler” was inwardly angry, but he had the money tc pay, and nobody would have judged rrom his outward delbonnairo manner that he was “doing it hard.” “Pay the winner!” he bawled. “Yes, lady, one-pun-ten to ten bob, that’s two quid . . . .thank you! . . . Thirty to ten, you .... had a good win, didn’t you! .... fifteen to five, correct. . . . another thirty to ten .... good luck to you ... .” and so on. He was getting near the tail end of the queue when a fellow penciller, who had already pi.id his lot, looked across and said with a laugh, “Feel sick. ‘Battler?’ Gave you the father of a hiding, didn’t they?” “Battler” suspended operations; cast a withering glance at the tormentor, and retorted: “It’s only money, friend. Not an arm or a leg! They haven’t oven taken an eye out of my head. Nothing but money—and it’s only lent anvhow!"