Lord William Beresford, V.C., Some Memories of a Famous Sportsman, Soldier and Wit

by Mrs. Stuart Menzies

The subject of these memories was always full of new ideas for the amusement of Simla. Amongst other races he organised, was the Victoria Cross Race, which was exciting, the idea being that each rider had to place a dummy figure of sorts lying on the ground or in some perilous position, the riders would then have to ride as hard as ever they could over certain jumps, pick up the figure, and bring it back over more jumps into safety, just as if they were trying to save life. These figures were often really well got up, one perhaps dressed as an ayah, another as a child, a soldier, war correspondent, and so on. It was most amusing to watch the struggles while picking up the figures and remounting again. During one of these races Lord William elected to rescue a war correspondent who was supposed to be wounded. He succeeded in picking him up, and was coming over the last fence with him in great style, when a post, which had no business to have been left where it was, caught Lord William on the head, or his head came in contact with the post, giving him a nasty wound, which bled profusely and caused him to lose the race, but the rescued correspondent came in useful, as he helped to mop up the gore. Lord William swore he was none the worse, but must surely have had a very sore head.

Another invention from the same brain was the cigar race. The riders had to start, go over some of the jumps, then change mounts. It was arranged beforehand whom they would change with, it had to be one that had started in the race; then light a cigar, remount quickly, and finish the race with the cigar still alight. This was essential. The agitation was great when the matches would not light, their heads broke off, or the ponies objected, some of which saw no fun in it and declined to wait and see the rest.

Then for another change the ponies and their riders had to jump through big paper hoops after the fashion of circus entertainments. This race generally led to merriment, as the ponies did not care for the game, and ran in every direction to avoid the ordeal. The umbrella race was a good one. Riders had to be mounted on their own ponies, which they had to saddle themselves, when a bell was rung, then open an umbrella, which had to be carried open over the jumps. The opening of the umbrella generally caused trouble.

The race for people who had never ridden in one before was usually comic; elderly sportsmen and timid youths were persuaded or goaded into entering, and it provided all sorts of novel conditions and situations.

Riding up from one of these gymkhanas on a newly purchased pony, which had seemed to me very quiet and suitable to narrow paths and hill-climbing, it suddenly turned nasty on hearing the clatter of a horse coming up hurriedly behind him, promptly laid his ears back and turned his tail over the side of the khud, while I had the unpleasant experience of hearing loose stones and earth giving way under his feet and rattling down hundreds of feet below. I thought I had seen my last gymkhana. I leaned as far forward as I possibly could, to keep my weight off his quarters and give him a chance, for he was beginning to think he had done something foolish, and was scrambling to keep foothold with his fore feet, when Lord William, whose horse’s clatter had caused the outbreak of displeasure on the part of my mount, came to the rescue, and seizing me more or less by the hair of my head landed me safely, the pony slipped down a little way, but got entangled in some bushes, and so gave time to several kindly helpers who rescued him. Lord William then insisted on our saddles being changed, as he would not hear of my riding the wicked pony any more; I therefore had a charming beast of his to take me home, while he taught mine a lesson. When he turned up later he told me he thought the pony must have been drugged when I bought it, as it was a nasty, vicious brute, and had tried to crush his legs against first a tree and then some railings after I had left him with it.

The fair held once a year at Sipi, a few miles outside Simla, was usually a day of extra festivities. Lord William’s picnics there were most enjoyable, being arranged and managed as everything he undertook was managed, with forethought for everybody’s comfort. His organising powers were extraordinary, while his peculiarly gracious and courtly manner added charm to all the functions he arranged. Even in the matter of food everyone’s particular taste was catered for.

With the exception perhaps of Sir Spencer Ponsonby Fane, I never met anyone with such a talent for organising State functions and great occasions as Lord William, and certainly the latter was the more popular and caused less offence than his old friend did at times.

The road from Simla to Sipi is just a pleasant distance for a ride, but along the edge of precipices and through an alarming dark tunnel, which is quite exciting if riding a quarrelsome horse, for in the darkness you often meet a crowd of ponies being driven through with big bundles on their backs. They are usually being driven through by pedestrian natives. The situation at times lends itself to some mix-ups and chatter.

The surrounding tribal women gather themselves together, decked out in all their best, some with a view to finding suitable mates, others to sell their jewellery and gew-gaws. The Thibetan women often realise big prices for their turquoise and silver ornaments. It is a great day amongst the hill tribes for exchange and barter, indeed sales of all sorts.

There is also ceremony attached to this fair, as some of their gods are brought to shower blessings on all the chosen ones. Such curious figures some of these deities possess, they baffle description, being quaint figures, half man, half beast, half nothing. Some do not possess any legs, others we presume have, but are clothed in mysterious garments, leaving much to the imagination. One year Lord William gave his picnic in a villa built there by an Italian confectioner, which sounds strange in the Himalayan mountains surrounded by Thibetan females and other hill tribes. We also must have looked a little out of place, indeed I think we always do look out of place in the gorgeous colour-loving East.