When we reassembled at the Craven Meeting, the attendance in the town was very small. Delightful, of course, for those who were there, and one could desire nothing better, from the point of view of personal comfort, but, as evidence of the popularity of racing at headquarters, depressing enough. The customary cards were gone through, and on the first day M. Ephrussi, stealing a march by more than three months on his racing compatriots, who may not run two-year-olds in their own country before the first of August, won the Fitzwilliam Stakes with a very nice bay filly by War Dance, out of Illusion, named Ile (not Isle as one wanted to write it at first) de France, who beat the hare-like Satirical filly by three-quarters of a length, with something to spare, besides. Melayr failed by a neck to carry home 9 st. in the Crawford Handicap; Challenger, carrying 9st. 5lb., failing by the same distance in the Babraham Handicap, on the second day. Gingal, whose running was watched with a view to the Two Thousand Guineas, won the Wood Ditton Stakes easily enough, but had nothing to beat. The appearance of Cicero on the third day in the Forty-Sixth Biennial made up for much. He was giving 10 lb. to his only opponent, Shilfa, and not more than 5 to 1 on had to be laid. Cicero, looking the picture of health and spirits, romped home.
Five-and-twenty years ago anything in the shape of fault-finding with Epsom would have been regarded as rank sacrilege against Turf traditions. We took things as we found them there because we knew of nothing better, but racing comforts have so increased that we now find people either wondering why they ever go to Epsom, or congratulating themselves that the meeting is over.
FLAIR.
Winner of the One Thousand Guineas.
Photo by W. A. Rouch.]
Visitors to Epsom divide themselves into two great parties, those that enter the stand and those that stay outside. To the frequent racegoer not much satisfaction is derivable from either course, but no doubt those who rarely visit a racecourse may derive amusement from the novelty of the scene on the hill, provided one does not take too much note of the conglomeration of hopeless ne’er-do-weels and do-no-works that assemble on the occasion, although, to their credit be it said, they are merely passively and not actively objectionable. The contrast between the thousands that spread themselves over the hill or range themselves several deep along the rails, from Tattenham Corner to winning post, and the attendance one meets with on Doncaster Town Moor is great, for in the north the vast concourse is composed mainly of factory hands and other genuine workers enjoying a holiday with money that has been honourably earned, whereas at Epsom we find gathered together the scum of the metropolis, attired mostly in rags, enjoying one phase of the existence of the drone. This is the crowd which the police officials would have us believe they cannot control to the extent of keeping them off the course during the intervals between races. Any one who has been caught on the course at the moment when the police have had orders to clear it have had ample experience of the thoroughness with which the constables do their duty. One might as well be a midnight brawler as a belated strayer upon the fairway. The question one naturally asks is, Why have the police the power to clear the course at one moment and not at another? It may be as well to premise that the divine right of the public to do as they please on Epsom Downs does not exist, although the wisdom of the expediency with which the Lord of the Manor, and those paying him rent, hide away their rights, need not be doubted. If the Lord of the Manor had no rights to sell, it is not likely that an astute body like the directorate of the Epsom Grand Stand Company would pay him £20,000, as they did not long since, for another lease of ninety-nine years. What the police authorities are so squeamish about I cannot imagine. It would surely be much to their advantage if they prevented people from congregating upon the course in the first instance, instead of having to clear them off six or seven times in an afternoon. It is not the police one thinks of in this connection, but of the course, which starts a meeting as second to none in England, but by the second day is trodden into a brown adamantine substance, an army of boys having to be employed to clear up the paper, orange-peel, and other rubbish that is distributed between each race. Another evil that arises from the alternate action and inaction of the police is the unpunctuality that is so much a feature at Epsom. People, knowing no better, naturally blame the Clerk of the Scales, or the jockeys, or both, when the horses are late in coming out, but in the majority of cases the police are to blame, for the police refuse to allow the horses to emerge from the paddock until, in their opinion, the course is clear. The prevention of accident is a good cause, but if people were not allowed upon the course there would be nothing to clear. It is not as though, in being kept off the course, the rabble were being deprived of anything. As a matter of fact, what there is to be seen, such as the return of the horses to weigh in, could be very much better seen on a clear course than on one covered by thousands of people, through whom the horses find it difficult to pass.
As a spectacle much would be gained; and there is no reason whatever why the racing should not be kept up to time.
The course was in almost perfect condition when racing began for the Spring Meeting, thanks to the care that is expended upon the turf during the entire twelve months. Harmony Hall should have won the Great Metropolitan Stakes, but he made such a display of his inveterate dislike to begin as to lose many lengths at the start, and, pluckily as he ran the race, he just failed to make up the ground, Whinbloom, purchased out of a Selling Plate, beating him by a neck. In the City and Suburban Dean Swift at last put an end to a series of defeats with an almost easy victory. Rightly or wrongly, he has been credited with the faint heart which just fails when the supreme effort is required, but on this occasion he was not pushed at all, coming right away in the straight. Certainly he had never looked so well as now. In the sprinting department Melayr won the Tadworth Handicap under st. 12 lb.
Perhaps the most interesting event at Sandown was the Stud Produce Stakes, still worth a considerable sum in spite of the rule as to added money; the winner netting £1,763 on this occasion. It was won by Auber, a bay or brown colt by Islington out of Umbrosa, which cost Sir Edgar Vincent only 165 gs. at Doncaster in September. He may or may not have beaten anything of merit, but what struck me was the way he won. After showing a bold front he appeared beaten to the world, but a hundred and fifty yards or so from the finish Maher brought him with such a rush that he won by a length. The sensational finish may have been due to Maher, who did something very similar at Newbury when he brought up Bridge of Canny in the nick of time to catch the Gressoney colt in the Kingsclere Stakes. This kind of finish was common enough a few years since, but it has apparently gone out of fashion, jockeys having learned to win their races all the way from the fall of the flag. The Cobham Two-year-old Maiden Plate introduced a youngster that will be heard of again in Slieve Gallion, a black colt by Gallinule out of Reclusion, whose appearance made a very great impression. Crossed soon after the start, he made hay of the opposition when once set going. Slieve Gallion is one of Captain Greer’s breeding, and is, of course, trained by Sam Darling.
Although more people went to the First Spring Meeting at Newmarket than to the Craven, the attendance was really much below par, that on the Two Thousand Guineas day being the smallest I can remember. That the three-year-olds are very ordinary had been agreed for some time. Black Arrow was the paddock king amongst the dozen for the Two Thousand. For him he behaved not so badly at the gate, although unruly enough to disturb more than one of his opponents, and it seems clear that he and his kidney should be made to stand behind the others at the start. He got away well and ran generously for six furlongs, when he was beaten. Moral: Black Arrow cannot stay. The charges of cowardice against him are resented by his jockey and others who know, and henceforth he must be regarded merely as a sprinter. Black Arrow beaten, we saw such as Gorgos, Ramrod, Beppo and the Dame Agneta colt by Diamond Jubilee, fighting out the issue, Gorgos, despite a bad swerve, getting the best of it. With a man on his back The White Knight ran very differently in the Three-year-old Handicap from what he did in the City and Suburban, winning quite easily. Pretty Polly’s appearance in the March Stakes on the third day was a very welcome interlude in a poor day’s racing. Had she not won she would have been more or less disgraced; as it was she cantered home in her own well-known style, and as she left the weighing-in enclosure the people streamed home.