page 49

The Derby
The World's Greatest Sporting Event.
The Contest That Symbolises The Spirit Of The British Race .

(By O. N. Gillespie .)

Horse-racing has as many enemies as friends. In the environment of modern capitalism, it is surrounded with practices which are distasteful and unlovely. Yet it is as old as England. The Venerable Bede reports that the Saxons of his time regarded equine contests as the best of all sports. In the opinion of many observers, the greatest contribution to world civilisation, is the British conception of sport. So entirely racial is the idea, that the word is not capable of translation into many languages and has been incorporated as a single English syllable “sport.” The Derby transcends all racing; it has the significance of a world event; it epitomises and symbolises the British genius for infusing a sporting contest with spiritual qualities of courage and gaiety. Lastly and most importantly, it is, in itself, a proof that money cannot buy success, nor, in fact, anything which is the dearest heart's desire.

The scene is a London Court of Justice.

The hall is impressive in its vaulted splendour. The crowd has been listening to the subtle and superb address of one of England's great counsel. Suavely clever faces beneath dignified horsehair wigs are watching every gesture, appreciating every expert turn of phrase. There is a hush of expectancy as another great figure arises, settles his gown with an accustomed shrug, and turns toward the revered dignitary upon the Bench. There is a slight bustle at the back of the court and an usher slips respectfully through the crowd. The great barrister turns, peeps at the slip of paper, and nods to the usher. He signals quietly and the small note is handed up to His Honour. He nods austerely, smiles, and the great barrister commences his argument …

The note contained one word only, “Mahmoud”—winner of the Derby.

The Club in Shanghai is full. The crowd is exceptional and “stingers” are in demand. There is only one topic, and it is confined to an epic struggle that is taking place thousands of miles away.

Suddenly there is a hush … A steward calls out “Mahmoud,” and the hubbub recommences … “I told you so.” “Bred the right way.” “Always was a great horse,” and so on…

It is not longer than two minutes since those bright colours flashed passed the post before a quarter of a million English folk, gathered on the Epsom Downs. Those English exiles in China knew the result before the majority of that enormous crowd actually present at the race.

It is the outback in Alberta.

The party line telephone is engaged and the furious machinery salesman makes out just the one word “Mahmoud.” He does not know what it means, but those settlers in faraway Canada listen happily…

A dance is in progress in an imposing mansion in Toorak. The cream of Melbourne's younger set is finishing the last slow fox-trot. There is a silence and a rush to the billiard room … “The Derby” … “The Derby.” Clustered round the radio, bright young faces are intent… every incident is appreciated… and the result, “Mahmoud, by three lengths,” provokes a buzz of chatter….

It is 7 a.m. and the milk cans are being hoisted in an endless procession on to the platform of the dairy factory at Awahuri…

Suddenly someone calls out “Mahmoud Won.” … Pakeha and Maori understand and exchange horse wisdom in the morning light.

The steamer is plugging through a Pacific half-gale … the steward calls with the morning tea … steamer tea, thick but satisfying …” Mahmoud won, Sir,” he says … “three lengths.”

In all history, no event has been able to produce such a world shaking interest. It must be conceded that this contest, this mile and a half struggle between horses, is unique, that it has something in its essence that is of epic greatness.

Historians tell us that the idea of contests between men mounted on running horses originated about 1,000 B.C., but that for centuries it was superseded by races between vehicles, culminating in the mighty chariot races of Roman times, best known through that epic novel “Ben Hur.”

But it is to England that the world owes, not only the idea of horse racing, but the thoroughbred horse as a type.

There are constant references in the history of the Saxon kingdoms to races, and Londinium was the scene of a well attended fixture in the reign of the Emperor Severus.

The age of chivalry naturally led to the improvement and care of breeding of the cavalry horse, and in the Middle Ages, English horses were esteemed for their stoutness, speed and courage.

The Norman kings imported horses from the East to improve the. local strains; King John was not exclusively engaged in a long struggle with his nobles, for he established and ran with page 50 skill, a large stud which contained many imported horses.

The first properly documented account of a horse race in the kingdom of England was in the reign of Edward III. Many kings were interested in the sport in successive reigns the most notable of whom was James I.

However, racing as a means of relaxation, rivalry and emulation, came to full flower first in the reign of Charles II. Newmarket was established as an arena of manly sport for the nobility and matches between horses were part of the round of doings.

However, in the middle and latter part of the eighteenth century, a development took place which altered the whole conception of horse racing, and placed England for ever at the head of the equine world republic.

To-day, no thoroughbred horse races from Chicago to Monte Video, from Moscow to Bordeaux, from Perth to Taumarunui, unless he is descended in direct line from one of three horses dwelling in England at that time.

Many countries had fought to establish lines of horses with speed and staying power. England alone succeeded. It was the combination of a suitable climate, rich pastures, and a background of centuries of care and skill in the improvement of the standard of local horses. There was also the extraordinary love of the horse in Englishmen, commented on later with such rich humour by Washington Irving.

Three horses over a period of years were brought to England, the Byerly Turk, the Godolphin Arabian, and the Darley Arabian. These three founded the three imperial lines of horse aristocracy, sometimes called the Matchem, Herod and Eclipse lines.

Their descendants at once surpassed all the running horses of the world for speed, endurance and courage.

In a quarter of a century, a new equine race was established, whose home was England. To this day every country in the world has still to return to England for horses to re-establish winning strains, and to revitalise their lines.

One of the quaint features of modern progress is that it takes unexpected directions. When re-inforced concrete arrived as a building material, according to many prophets, it spelled the doom of the use of timber. Yet a modern building absorbs more timber than ever before.

Mechanical traction would seem to for ever dispose of the use of the horse for practical purposes. Yet more horses are in use to-day in the modern world then ever before in history. We have the spectacle of the ultra-modern mightily progressive Russian Republic, sending regularly envoys to England to purchase drafts of thoroughbred horses.

In every line of horse endeavour, to use a new phrase, thoroughbred blood is vital. It gives courage and stamina to the commonest family.

Thus, England to-day, has for one of its foremost exporting activities, the sale of the thoroughbred horse.

Just how great an influence on English character has been the love of the management and control of the most courageous, unruly, and yet friendly animal of all quadrupeds, is difficult to estimate. It is inextricably mingled with the English love of outdoors, and an integral part of the development of the distinctive national character.

Let us return to the Derby. Epsom Downs, sandy, windblown, and free of forest, had in the first part of the eighteenth century become a sort of picnic and camping ground, and the characteristics of a spa were developing. Here in 1773 came the famous Colonel John Burgoyne, witty, companionable, with a gift for writing entertaining masques, lampoons and plays.

He bought a little inn, picturesquely situated called “The Oaks,” remodelled it and enlarged it. Later he sold it to the Twelfth Earl of Derby and the place became a centre of revelry and gaiety.

Thus Edward Smith Stanley, twelfth Earl of Derby entered the pantheon of the immortals. For every person who remembers a statesman, poet, painter or warrior of his century, ten know the word “Derby.”

The first race was run in 1780, so that the Derby just over, is the 158th event.

Here's the official announcement:—

“Thursday, May 4, 1780. The Derby Stakes of 50 guineas each, half forfeit, for three-year-old colts 8.0 and fillies 7.11 (one mile) (36 subscribers).”

It was won by the favourite Diomed in a field of nine, and he went subsequently to the United States to become the founder of the American racehorse peerage.

Naturally, a race such as this, which immediately caught the public fancy, and fired the imagination of every horse owner in England, has become the centre of a host of stones, a literature of fact and fancy almost equal to the “Thousand and One Nights.”

It is the ambition of every owner of a thoroughbred horse to win this race. Millionaires and noblemen, magnates and rulers of every land, have poured out money like water, to gain this coveted honour.

Yet, as I have observed above, the Derby is a convincing proof that money cannot buy everything.

For instance, it was a natural wish of the enormously wealthy Stanley family, to win the race which bore the page 51 name of their house. Yet in 158 races which have been run, the Stanley colours have only been first twice, once in 1924, one hundred and forty-four years after the establishment of the race, and again in 1932. Sansovino, Lord Derby's first. winner, won on a day in which the weather was at its most execrable worst. Char-a-bancs, motors, omnibuses, and even horse vehicles were bogged in the mud and hundreds of them remained there for days.

Another day of weather accounted for a weird series of happenings This was the year in which John o1 Gaunt was deservedly favourite. The race was run in a blinding thunderstorm, with a deluge of hail, and terrific lightning.

St. Amant, a horse of great speed but of the most freakish temperament, ran faster than ever before or after in his career, and beat the doughty favourite easily. It was the confident belief of the vast crowd that he had been narrowly missed by a lightning flash and bolted home. By the way, at the end of this race, the jockeys weighed in two pounds overweight, made up of hailstones accumulated on the trip.

The only reigning monarch to win the Race was Edward VII who gained the coveted distinction with Minoru. He had, though, twice won the race as Prince of Wales with the wonderful Persimmon, and the bad tempered Diamond Jubilee. One of the strangest victories was that of the Italian filly Signorinetta. She was home-trained by her owner, the Chevalier GinistrelH, and she started as the wildest outsider of the field.

When it was all over, the dazed little gentleman felt himself in a dream. He received the congratulations of Royalty in a haze of pink cloud, and, according to one Cockney comment “seemed to be walkin ‘in his blinkin’ sleep.”

Another owner trainer who sprang a surprise on the world of racing was Tom Walls. He was principally famous as Peter Doody, the jockey in “The Arcadians” and his entry, April Fifth, was not taken too seriously. However, the applause with which his win was received was of a volume and vigour that he had never earned as an actor, and it was a popular victory with rich and poor.

The easiest victory was gained by Manna in 1925, but there have been a score or more of head to head tussles in which the verdict was in doubt until the judge's signal. Strangely enough, especially when we consider racing in our own part of the world, there has been only one disqualification for rough riding in the long history of this race. That was in 1913 when Craga-nour was disqualified, a verdict that is still discussed on Derby Day.

Naturally, a history as extended as this, contains its element of tragedies, and down the vista of the years, there stalk many spectres of broken gamblers, profligate spendthrifts, and gallant but dissolute wastrels.

Lord George Bentinck, who won £100,000 in a year, ran away with another man's wife, lost the whole of his fortune and was found dead in a field on his father's estate, is one of the most pitiful figures. However, to him is to be ascribed the credit of exposing one of the corrupt practices that had crept in. This was the substitution of four-year-old horses who naturally had almost a mortgage on victory.

Lord George recognised the 1844 winner, Running Reign, as a horse of his, “Surplice,” an undoubted four-year-old. His persistence eventually uncovered the whole plot. Lord Egre-mont, the only owner to win the race five times, undoubtedly won it twice with four-year-olds. It was all unknowing as far as the noble lord was concerned, but it came to light as the result of the dying confession of his famous trainer “Old Bird.”

All will remember, too, when Miss Davidson, rushed out at Tattenham Corner, bumped into the King's horse, Anmer, so registering her suffragette protest at the brutality of man. The horse had to be destroyed, the royal jockey, Jones, was badly hurt, but both he and Miss Davidson survived.

Sir Walter Gilbey has seen 58 Derbies, and he says that in all that time, no poor quality horse ever won it, and that, only a few times, did the winner not deserve his victory.

However, the great phenomenon of this race is its ascension from the dusty ranks of ordinary horse carnivals. The attendance ranges from a quarter of a million to three hundred thousand. These folks are not followers of horse racing for gain; their betting is incidental to the holiday feeling of being at the world's greatest equine contest.

The great Austrian writer Cohen-Portheim in his subtle and pungent study of the English race, points out that “to-day, the world's culture is English; English manners, outlook, and social customs dominate Europe as the French did a century ago.”

He details plus fours, afternoon teas, athletic sports, horse racing, and a thousand and one other activities, once exclusively English, now world possessions.

He estimates, with precision and admiration, that the British idea of fair-play, the central aesthetic pillar of the whole conception of “sport,” is a world-shaking notion, working wholly for good.

It is my view that such an event as the Derby stands as a standard bearer of this quite illogical but wholly human and wholesome outlook upon life.

In New Zealand, we may claim to have cherished this part of our British heritage with perhaps rather more than ordinary care, but we will take no harm.