Racing of some kind, good or bad as may happen, is carried on, not
only at Newmarket, but at many other places all the year round. When
flat-racing ceases, steeple-chasing follows, and proceeds till what
is called "the legitimate season" begins; it occupies the period
from about the end of March till the close of November. Hardened
turfites, that is men who make racing and betting the business of
their lives, long, it is said, in the early part of the year to hear
the saddling-bell sound at Lincoln where the first meeting is held;
and from that much-talked-of seat of sport they journey to Liverpool,
and thence to Northampton and other seats of horse-racing, pursuing
their business most industriously, shouting the state of the odds with
stentorian lungs and booking no end of bets, for wherever half-a-dozen
bookmakers assemble, there will also be found an army of bettors eager
to take "the odds," some of them with "systems" by which they hope to
make their fortunes; others, too, are there, who trust to luck, or the
bringing off of an occasional good thing by means of a tip, which
they may receive from some acquaintance or friend, or they put faith,
perhaps, in the two horse or other wires of some brazen charlatan of
the tipster tribe, of whom for the time they become victims.
The Lincolnshire Handicap is the principal betting race of the
springtime; many horses are usually selected by bettors to win that
event, and one or two of the number will be heavily backed by men,
who, in the end, may see all their cherished mind's eye visions vanish
into thin air, as some quite unthought of outsider romps home an easy
winner. The meeting held at Lincoln occupies three days, and before
it concludes, some of the green hands, who have come on the racing
scene as _débutants_, determined to give the ring a fright by backing
many winners, will have made the old, old discovery over again that
"all is not gold that glitters." New-made owners of horses, too, will
have found out before the expiry of the three days, that men quite
as clever as themselves are ready to fight every inch of the ground.
"Keep thy head cool, lad," said, on one occasion, an old turfite to an
irate young owner, who felt annoyed, or rather aggrieved, at his horse
being placed second in a race which he fancied it had won, "you will
get other chances for your horse; the season is but young, hide your
feelings, you won't do much good at racing if you wear your heart on
your sleeve."
To-day the railways convey the masses in large numbers to the different
seats of sport. Thousands are now seen at Lincoln for the hundreds of
the olden time; but in olden times the classes were more in evidence:
county people came in their own carriages, often from considerable
distances, to be present at their local meetings, "ladies in gay
attire, and gentlemen in brave apparel;" but county ladies are somewhat
chary at the present time of braving the rough-and-ready element
which has become incidental to modern racing, and the very pronounced
rowdyism by which it is accompanied.
The spectators of the various races who assemble on the course near
Liverpool represent all classes, the middle class element being
particularly strong. The favourite race at Aintree at the spring
meeting is the Grand National Steeple-chase. On the day set apart for
the decision of that event, the trains and other conveyances from the
great port take tens of thousands to the scene, all anxious, if not
to witness the exciting event, to gamble upon it, for it is not the
sport that attracts the multitude, it is "the money." Men go upon
racecourses for whom the horses and the work they are set to do have no
charms; what they interest themselves about is the state of the odds.
"Oh," said a so-called Liverpool "sportsman," "I don't care a copper
about seeing the race. I never look at the performance. The horses go
up in the air and come down in the ditches too often for my taste;
one trembles for one's money as one sees the exhibition." There are
doubtless many who hold similar opinions; indeed, it would be curious
to know what proportion of the thousands who attend such a meeting as
that held at Liverpool are there only for the sake of the sport, not
probably ten per cent. of the number!
By the time Northampton is reached, the racing fraternity has been
well shaken down, and the new hands in betting and bookmaking have
got pretty well mixed up with the old. Acquaintances and "pals" have
met once again, and Bill and Tom, and Dick and Harry, have shaken
hands, compared notes, and exchanged small talk. All meet on the
hail-fellow-well-met system. There is no formality. Nomenclature among
the majority of racing-men seldom gets further than the Christian name,
and even that must be abridged. The wealthiest bookmaker, no matter
that he is able to keep a carriage for "the missus," and half-a-dozen
gardeners to grow his grapes, and as many grooms to attend to the
horses of his children, is only Ned, or Ted, or Jack, or Jim, to his
fellows. In these matters the turf is a sad leveller. I have myself
heard Mr. Dawson hailed as "Mat, old man," by a turf loafer whose whole
wardrobe would scarcely fetch two half-crowns, and, "Well, Johnny,"
has been addressed to Mr. Osborne by a half-drunken cabman who fancied
he was patronising that well-known horseman by addressing him so
familiarly. The late Mr. Merry of St. James's Street, who was long
connected with the turf, I remember knocked down a very cheeky turf
vagabond, who had the impudence to address him as "Sam" in the presence
of some members of his family.
It is not my cue to follow the racing crowd on tour, or to fill many
of the following pages with an account of what takes place at every
place of meeting. The seats of horse-racing are too numerous to admit
of their being so dealt with; all I desire to do at present, is simply
to give a brief notice of such of the classic horse-racing resorts as
are endowed with a history, such as Chester, York, Doncaster, Ascot,
Goodwood, and Epsom. The meetings which take place at Sandown and
Kempton Parks I leave to be dealt with by other historians.