Forty Thousand Miles Over Land and Water / The Journal of a Tour Through the British Empire and America

by Ethel Gwendoline Vincent

We joined in the general feeling of expectation, as we drove along in the stream of carriages that from every sidestreet and road converged to the main one, flowing towards Flemington race-course. As we neared the scene, we saw that the hill behind the stand was black with the mass of human beings upon it, and the lawn and the terrace were crowded. In our royal progress up the course, the Governor received an ovation of loyalty in the cheers and enthusiasm of the densely packed crowd.

The first race was over hurdles, and after the second we went to luncheon. It was not quite such a pleasant day as the previous Saturday, on account of the great crowd. The pretty toilettes were not so well seen, being lost among the many ugly ones, for the "country cousin" contingent were in strong force to-day.

"The Cup" was run at 4 p.m. Never shall I forget the strain and tension on every face as the cry passed up, "They are off!" the few quick observations that escaped some as the horses passed the stand, and then the strange stillness that prevailed as we watched the coloured specks flying along the horizon, as the horses settled down to their work. The minutes were ages! Life seemed suspended in that mass of human beings. The strain and tension suddenly gave way as the horses were "round the corner," and a faint hum ran along far away down the black line, "They are coming!" and the murmur rose into cheers, and the cheers into shouts, and the shouts ended by the waving of hats and handkerchiefs, as, amidst the most intense and extraordinary excitement, "Malua," the winner of The Cup of 1884, flew past the judge's box. "Commotion" ran second.

We took up life again where we had left it, and breathed freely once more.

Rushing down, we pushed our way through the crowds in time to see the horses "weighed in" in the paddock, by special permission from one of the stewards. A royal progress "Malua" made back to the paddock. The crowd leaned over the barrier and cheered, and vociferated, "Well done, 'Malua;' well done!" and her jockey raised his cap many a time in acknowledging the cheers of the populace, for "Malua" had been the general favourite.

We saw all the horses weighed in. The jockeys looked such mere stable-boys out of the saddle, and came on to the scales with saddle, cloth, and bridle in their hands. Many of them had to ride with lead weights to bring them up to scale. We drove off the course before the last race—the crowds melting and streaming away over the open plain as soon as "The Cup," the excitement of the day, was over.

Wednesday, November 5th.—Preparations for the ball at Government House that evening were going on all day.

At 10 p.m. the Governor and Lady Loch, with the guests staying in the house and the staff—entered the ball-room and passed down to the dais at the end, whilst the band played "God save the Queen." Eleven hundred invitations had been sent out, but the magnificent ball-room was not too crowded, and Herr Ploch's band in the gallery sent forth dreamy strains. It was nearly 3 a.m. before one of the most successful balls ever given in Government House at Melbourne was finished. It was succeeded the next night by an excellent concert, given by the Metropolitan Liedertafel, under the directorship of Mr. Herz.

Thursday, November 6th.—I went with Lady Loch in the afternoon to an organ recital at the Town Hall. It is a magnificent organ, very celebrated in the colonies, and finer than that of the Albert Hall. Driving through the town afterwards, the streets were so full, and the air so fresh and bright that it seemed like some spring afternoon in London, with the season beginning.

Mr. Service, the Premier, Lady Stawell, wife of the Chief Justice, and others, dined in the evening. Some of the party disappeared early to go to a dance in the neighbourhood. There are known to be thirty dances in Melbourne fixed for this month of November. Another favourite form of amusement are large theatre parties. The host invites some twenty or thirty friends to meet him at the theatre on such a night, by a little card printed expressly for this purpose, with R.S.V.P. in the corner. He takes the tickets, but it is the exception for there to be a supper afterwards; and the point of the entertainment appears to be "in whom sits next to who."