With quite a flourish of trumpets the flat-racing season began simultaneously with the going out of steeplechasing. I do not hesitate to attribute this to the weather, which was exceptionally fine for the first week of flat racing. It can be, and usually is, exceedingly bitter at Lincoln; and those who grumbled at the wind either had no previous experiences to fall back upon, or were troubled with poor memories. The Carholme has so bleak a situation that we are bound to catch any wind there is, and, unfortunately, at this season of the year it blows either into or along the enclosures. There is a meeting between North and South owners and trainers, and the special train from London on the first day bore with it quite as many well-known figures on the Turf as one expects. Amongst them was our amateur owner-jockey—a description which differentiates decidedly from jockey-owner—Mr. George Thursby, not long returned from a winter sojourn in Jamaica. The climate there is so conducive to indolence that Mr. Thursby found himself 19 lb. over weight, 10 lb. of which was got rid of on the way home by the drastic method of assisting the stokers. The keen racing brigade was well represented, and it is as well that the persevering army of backers should be so, for we cannot too soon begin taking notes for future use against the bookmakers. The greatest enthusiasm was aroused by the Batthyany Stakes, in which Rising Falcon, last year’s winner under 9 st., was trying again with 9 lb. more. Even under this burden he started joint favourite with Canty Bay, the fact that he was ridden as usual by Madden, thus making a pair that well understood one another, not being without influence. As matters turned out Madden was wanted. He did not hesitate to push Rising Falcon for all he was worth, and his winning was not in doubt until he was within a hundred yards of the post. There Golden Gleam and Early Bird drew upon him so rapidly that he was all but caught, for he had a short head only to spare from Golden Gleam when he passed the post. The next two, Early Bird and Golden Coin, were also separated by short heads, so the finish may be imagined. Madden came in for quite an ovation, and was actually seen to smile.
ASCETIC’S SILVER.
Photo by W. A. Kouch and Co.]
The Lincolnshire Handicap day, upon which the pecuniary success of the meeting mainly depends, was very disappointing to the executive, the attendance being quite poor for the occasion. The field, which consisted of twenty-four, has been described as a poor one for quality, but it seemed to me to strike the average. We cannot have a Bendigo or a Clorane every year; as a matter of detail, a horse of this class appears about once every ten years. According to the papers, certain horses were at the top of the betting quotations, but as a visit to the leading club five days previous to the race revealed precisely three bookmakers, representing only two firms, seated at the fire, it is probable that the volume of betting was not great. There was some on the day of the race, however; and in these days of degenerate wagering it was interesting to learn that one layer stood £30,000 against M. Ephrussi’s Ob. It was not difficult to lay that amount, for the lowest price at which the French horse was quoted was 20 to 1, plenty of smaller money being got on at 25 to 1. Ob had won three races in France under good weights as a four-year-old; but probably his failure to make any show in last year’s City and Suburban made the greater impression. The English money was chiefly for Roseate Dawn, upon whom Newmarket pinned its faith, and Dean Swift, the last-named coming with such a rush in the betting as to oust Roseate Dawn from favouritism. The public were not far out, for if the race had been run over again Dean Swift would probably, and Roseate Dawn possibly, have been returned the winner. The delay at the start was something terrible, but a very good one took place. Dean Swift and Roseate Dawn, however, began so badly as to look quite out of it in the earlier stages of the race, whereas Ob was amongst the leading lot; the actual first being the last Cambridgeshire winner, Velocity, and Catty Crag. Each in turn fell away, and Ob was left in command. Dean Swift bore down upon him, with great effect, a very exciting finish resulting. Dean Swift actually got his head in front, but Ob finished the straighter and won by a head, Roseate Dawn making up some lengths from the distance, and finishing a length behind Dean Swift.
For the Brocklesby it was elected to plump for the St. Simon—Satirical filly, chiefly on the strength of a trial at home with a stable companion that won the day before. In appearance she justified the comparisons that were made to a hare and a whippet respectively, but she was all the more thought likely to win over the four-furlong scramble so early in the year, better furnished ones in Luisis, a bay filly by Orvieto—Filipena, and a colt by Galashiels—Brenda, being looked upon as likely to be seen to advantage later on. No doubt they will be, but as they were they were more than equal to the Satirical filly, who had every chance to win, for she was once in front, but was beaten fair and square.
Lincoln itself has not gone with the times in keeping the town clear of thieves and similar undesirables. One of the hotels greatly frequented by racing people was “gone over” to some purpose. Until recently “till frisking” was a favourite pastime of these gentry at Lincoln, but hotel-keepers have learned to protect themselves by means of pugilistic looking barmen more at home at the East End of London, probably. In the meantime the need of the town is a chief constable such as we have at Chester and Brighton. Brighton, at race times, is a place completely changed from what it was a few years since, when it was not safe to walk the streets in the evening.
“Of course there will not be so many present this year, because the King is not coming.” This, with variants, was a frequent remark made anticipatory of the Liverpool Spring Meeting. But the prophets were wrong, for the crowd on the Grand National day was greater than ever. On each of the three days the paddock was a sight, and it is palpable that with the better classes of Liverpool the races have become more popular than ever. The weather that prevailed on all three days left no excuse for non-attendance, there being plenty of sunshine and a splendid light for seeing the racing, this being no small matter on a course measuring two miles and a quarter in circuit. On the first day the Union Jack Stakes for three-year-olds and the Liverpool Spring Cup were the chief events of a card containing eight races, the unusual number being necessitated in order to bring the programme within the conditions. The Union Jack Stakes might, on occasion, serve as an early public trial for the Derby, and, as a matter of fact, Mr. L. de Rothschild’s Radium had actually been nibbled at for the Epsom race, although his connections were under no illusions as to his lack of quality. But the public thought they knew better and took even money about Radium, whereas another de Rothschild, Mr. J. A., from the Continent, really owned the pea in Beppo, who won in nice style from Bridge of Canny, Radium third, well beaten. In the Spring Cup, Ypsilanti was expected to carry his 9 st 2 lb. first past the post. But there were others too much for him; Flax Park, who is one of those that dislike the look of the starting-gate, leading from end to end. A bay colt by Isinglass—Queen Fairy, named Gnome, showed good form in the Molyneux Stakes, getting away so badly as to appear out of it, but mowing down the others in fine style in the end.
It has been the fate of thousands to attend Aintree for the purpose of witnessing the Grand National and see little or nothing of it, but snow has been the cause. This year, however, in the finest weather there were several who saw nothing of the race, the reason being the simple one that the stands were overcrowded with those that came. An hour before the race was due prudent spectators took their seats on the roof, and those who dallied over the horses in the paddock arrived aloft to find the passage to the top choked with waiting people. For some time previously the racing world had been divided into two sections, one section declaring that John M.P. would not get the course—not half of it, said a subdivision of this section—the other section believing that he would make light of the jumps and win with ease. But the unexpected is always lying in wait upon competitors in the Grand National.
That those who believed in John M.P. were largely in the majority was shown by his being made a strong favourite at 7 to 2, the second favourites being at 10 to 1. A judge of a steeplechaser could scarcely do otherwise than declare for John M.P., for he is about the ideal of what a chaser could be, and nothing better has been seen at Aintree. Then it was difficult to see which of his twenty-two opponents possessed sufficient class to be entitled to win in his place, for they all had flaws in their credentials for winning over such a country. Given that John M.P. was to fall, which of the others was to stand up all the way?