A curious circumstance took place on the morning of the Races, August 4th, 1805. The farmer who rented the race ground having explained to the Jockey Club that he had not received the usual compliment of the fourth of a pipe of wine for the previous season, threatened to plough up the course if he was not paid what he conceived to be his due. Accordingly, he set his plough to work, but a press-gang appearing in sight, his ploughman fled, and resigned the course to the gentlemen of the turf, the farmer the while declaring that he would not be jockeyed out of his wine, as he would have a sort of a race for it in Westminster Hall. The cause, however, never came off.
The support given to the Brighton Races by the Prince of Wales and those immediately about him, made the meeting amongst the nobility quite a national feature, as the elite of the turf were always in attendance, and a gaiety prevailed that no other place could boast of. The course was thronged with equestrians and the fashionable equipages of the day, barouches and four, driven by lords and baronets. Conspicuous amongst them was His Royal Highness on his German Waggon—as his barouche was called,—driving his six bays, with Townsend, of Bow Street, as his companion, as well to protect the Prince from insult as from robbery. But it was a position which gave His Royal Highness an opportunity to practise upon his guardian a somewhat unpleasant joke. Turning suddenly towards Townsend, just at the termination of a race, he exclaimed, “By Jove, Townsend, I’ve been robbed; I had with me some damson tarts, but they are now gone.” “Gone?” said Townsend, rising, “impossible!” “Yes,” rejoined the Prince, “and you are the purloiner,” at the same time taking from the seat whereon the officer had been sitting, the crushed crust of the asserted missing tarts, and adding, “This is a sad blot upon your reputation as a vigilant officer.” “Rather, say your Royal Highness, a sad stain upon my escutcheon,” added Townsend, raising the gilt buttoned tails of his blue coat and exhibiting the fruit-stained seat of his nankeen inexpressibles.
The Brighton Races are now held on the Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday following the Goodwood meeting. Thursday is devoted to the racing of the Brighton Race Club, established in 1850. Formerly they were either on Saturday, Monday, and Tuesday, as shown by the calendar of the Brighton Races, July 28th, 30th, and 31st, 1804, now in the possession of Mr. Alderman Martin; or, as in 1810, on Friday, Saturday, and Monday, August 3rd, 4th, and 6th, when two races a day took place, distinguished in their time of running by “Before Dinner,” and “After Dinner.” The arrangement of the days was to admit of a fair, termed “White Hawk Fair,” being held on the east down on the intervening Sunday. It has now been abolished about forty years. The Morning Herald, Sunday, August 2nd, 1807, makes the following mention of this fair:—
White Hawk Fair, as it is termed, has attracted much company to the Race Down to-day, though but few individuals of fashionable note were to be seen in the throng.
Connected with this Down is the
LEGEND OF THE WHITE HAWK LADY.
Less than half a century since, the remnant of a moss-covered unhewn stone marked the spot in Ovingdean churchyard, where, as gossips then said, were deposited the remains of Margaret Ladrone, probably a name conferred on her from the pilfering propensities of the gipsies, a tribe to which she belonged, though she was familiarly spoken of as “Mag Lade,” a sybil or fortune-teller of her day, whose visits to Ovingdean were annual in the month of August, on the occasion of White Hawk Fair, a holiday gathering on White Hawk Down, at which the rustics were wont to learn their fate of the wise woman, as she was termed by the unmarried who would know the future through the vista of happiness; but the old crone or witch, by those whose stern thought attributed all the mishaps that befel either themselves or their substance to the influence of an evil one, with whom she was proclaimed to be in league. At other periods of the year she practised her vocation in various places throughout the county, so that she had a regular circuit, through the course of which the burning fervour of youth hailed her advent with earnest anticipations, equalled only by the dread entertained by mature age, that blight and murrain were her attendants. It happened on one occasion, the date whereof is immaterial, that Editha Elmore, the only daughter of the rich squire of Woodingdean, while intent on the palmistry of Mag,—whose hand she had crossed with a broad silver piece,—by chance cast her eyes upon the form of a dark young man of goodly mien, the very type of him whom the gipsey prophetess essayed to be her future husband. In the next country-dance he was her partner, and also the envy of one who, from their childhood, had been her companion, and was looked upon by the parents of each as her intended bridegroom. The festivities of the day closed; the dark stranger bade her adieu; the villagers returned to their homes; and ere the shades of night had gathered over the Downs, not a vestige was left of the scene which had been one of general festivity. Ralph Mascall, the son of the farmer at the Grange, Ovingdean, as had been his custom from a child, accompanied the fair Editha to Woodingdean, where he received the accustomed welcome of her parents; and, before midnight, he was on his way homewards somewhat disturbed in mind that he had a rival. His visits, however, to Squire Elmore’s were not the less frequent; nor did the affection shown towards him by Editha in the least appear to wane. And so another year passed on, and the annual festival again arrived. There again was Mag, whom Editha sought once more, to learn her destiny. The Fates had not altered their decree; and there, as twelve months since he stood, was the dark comely stranger. The very type of previous years were the proceedings of the day; the same homely village simplicity, the jocund song, the rustic dance, the same potations of home-brewed and cider; the same greetings, the same partings. Somewhat later than was considered within the bounds of prudence, the handmaid of Editha, accompanied by Giles, her lover, approached the wicket that opened on the lawn before Squire Elmore’s mansion, where she was met by the dark stranger of the Fair, who, tendering her a golden coin,—by way of hush money,—bade her convey to her young mistress a note of delicate proportions. Promise of secrecy was exacted; the parting kiss was exchanged between the blushing Abigail and Giles; and the latter accepting the companionship of the stranger, the two bent their steps to Rottingdean, where the honest rustic returned to his home. Where the stranger rested for the night has never transpired. Early the following morning Mag was at the mansion, the domestics of which, anxious to learn how they were ruled by the stars, parted freely with their silver pieces. The Abigail of the previous night’s adventure was particularly anxious to learn her destiny; and the truth which was essayed of her Giles, his age, his complexion, his temper, and his prospects, gave full assurance of the marvellousness of Mag’s divining skill, to which the fair Editha, with whom she also had an interview, gave implicit credence. Four-and-twenty hours, however, wrought a great change at the mansion, and likewise in the hamlet of Ovingdean. A more than usual oppression and sultriness pervaded the atmosphere throughout the day, and towards nightfall the war of elements commenced, the sharp flashes of lightning increasing in vividness, the artillery of the heavens roaring in awful solemnity, and the massive clouds discharging their drenching cataracts. Such a night had never been previously known in the neighbourhood; and every person anxiously waited the coming dawn to learn the havoc of the dreadful storm. The inmates of the mansion were early stirring, and, much sooner than usual, Mr. and Mrs. Elmore were at breakfast. But they had not been long seated when they were informed that Miss Editha could nowhere be found, and that by the appearance of her bed-chamber she had not retired to rest during the night. The note which had been delivered by the stranger, and was then lying on the dressing table, appointing a midnight interview upon the Downs, was all that could be found to account for her absence. The most diligent search of the premises and the plantation contiguous was immediately made, and a dispatch without delay was sent off to Ovingdean, in the hopes that tidings might be heard of her there; but all was fruitless. Previous, however, to the news reaching that village, upon passing by the church, the sexton discovered, in the south-west corner of the burial ground, the charred remains of a female, which, upon examination of the dress about them, were declared to be those of old Margaret Ladrone. At the place were they were found, there in the course of the day, were they interred, without any funeral rites, and the stone, before referred to, was placed over them to mark the spot. The dark stranger was never afterwards seen.
The story continues, that, every stormy night after, the figure of a lady in white paced the White Hawk Down, and that always on the morning after the figure was seen, a foot-print, cloven like that of an ox, was found at the same particular spot. The Morning Herald, of July 17th, 1807, has the following:—“Brighton.—A few days ago were dug up upon the slope of the Downs to the north-east of this place, the bones of a woman, which, from their position, clearly evinced that they had been deposited there many years before, without ceremony. A singular rumour is now afloat of a young person having been ravished and murdered there, by a person of unsuspected character.” It may be proper to add that since the finding of these bones the White Hawk Lady has not walked abroad. The Elmore and the Mascall families, after the mysterious disappearance of Editha, removed to Brighton; but it is a very singular fact that the name of Lade is now very common at Ovingdean, it being even that of the Sexton of the parish, who is a descendant of Sir John Lade, spoken of in the last Chapter. As, however, the church register dates back only as far as the year 1700, the genealogy of the family, even if it did come through Old Mag, cannot be more remotely traced.
The death of the Earl of Egremont, who was a great patron of the Brighton sports long after Royalty had abandoned contending on the course, was a severe blow to Brighton Races; added to which, the Duke of Richmond, a warm supporter of the turf, withdrew his influence in favour of Goodwood. Year by year the Races waned, with the prospect of an early dissolution, which, on the withdrawal of the Queen’s Plate, in 1849, seemed inevitable. Persons, it is true, continued, as of yore, to journey in from the country to witness them, but there was a continual falling off in the attendance of the aristocracy, and a rage for gambling of a most pernicious character, in thimble-rig, roulette, Brunswick lottery, prick-in-the-garter, &c., having set in, the townspeople with-held the subscriptions which they had been accustomed to grant pretty freely to the races, as they found that instead of having an equivalent for their money in sport, they were only paying a premium for the encouragement and dissemination of vice. Eventually, legislation put a stop to the nefarious proceedings of the gamblers; and, in the very nick of time, the great modern civilizer, the railway, was inducted from London, to give an impetus to the prosperity of the town, which had perceptibly declined when the Queen gave a preference over Brighton to the Isle of Wight, for a marine retreat. The Railway was the turning medium for the resuscitation of the Brighton Races, and the new Race Committee promptly and successfully availed themselves of it, as it opened the prospect of a new class of supporters, in the inhabitants of the metropolis, who were by it within two hours’ distance of the course.
At various periods since 1783, when troops were first stationed at Brighton,—in consequence of the Pavilion becoming a Royal residence,—reviews and sham fights of the military have taken place on the Downs contiguous to the Race Course, the spot being admirably adapted for army tactics. The troops upon such occasions have been generally of the line and the militia regiments quartered at the several Infantry Barracks in the town, and at the Cavalry Barracks on the Lewes Road, other regiments at Ringmer, Lewes, and East Blatchington marching in to take part in the evolutions. The Cavalry Barracks were completed in 1795. In 1801 a range of stables was erected, for the reception of 400 horses, immediately in front of the main buildings, and abutting on the east boundary wall contiguous to the Lewes Road; but in 1818 these stables were removed, and the spacious grounds were thrown open to public view. The fives-court, between the wings, in the centre of the back court-yard, was erected in 1810, by the officers of the Prince of Wales’s Regiment, the 10th Royal Hussars.