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FURTHER
ADVENTURES OF MAUDIE AT THE DERBY
by
John Tilley
| LADIES
AND GENTLEMEN, I've been asked to say a few words with regard
to my experiences in the Derby. I really feel very diffident
in saying anything, because I advised all my friends to put
their entire underclothing on my mare Maudie, and as you know,
she not only lost the race, but lost herself . . . which was
so very trying for everybody. If you remember, after the Grand
National, I sold her to a well-known firm of shirt-makers for
stud purposes, but after a couple of weeks they returned her—she
wasn't at all satisfactory. Of course, she never was a friendly
horse. ... I really didn't know what to do with her after this,
so I turned her loose in the garden, but by the time she'd made
four mare's nests in the tulip bed—and of course, they'd come
to nothing, being mare's nests—I thought I really should have
to make a change. And so I had a consultation with my Aunt Amelia—that
is my aunt by marriage on the Scottish side of the family—and
my brother-in-law Claud—that is the Reverend Claud—he is the
vicar of our local church—and they were very keen to enter Maudie
for the Derby—in fact, my brother-in-law Claud was so wrapped
up with the idea that on the Sunday before Derby Day he announced
the first hymn as, " The Voice that breathes o'er Epsom," and
created quite a local scandal. Of course, I had the greatest
difficulty in getting back from Epsom : having lost Maudie I
was forced to walk—and through all that traffic—and do you know,
not a single soul offered me a lift.—Oh no, I'm wrong—there
was one steam-roller driver in Kingston High Street who very
kindly said, " May I offer you a lift ? " So I said, " That's
awfully good of you—where are you going ? " And he said, " To
the end of the High Street," and I said, " How far's that ?
" And he said, " About fifty yards." So I said, " Well, where
are you going after that ? " He said, " I'm coming back here—
just rolling the road." So I said, " It's awfully good of you,
but I've really got to get back to London." It seems rather
pointless popping backwards and forwards on a steam-roller,
don't you think ? He was a very reasonable sort of chap and
he saw my point of view, and he said, " I really wouldn't have
offered you a lift, but I thought it might make a nice change."
Rather decent of him, don't you think ? Or don't you ? Of course,
with regard to the actual training of Maudie we were faced with
great difficulties, because she is essentially a town horse—she
has a very rooted dislike for anything that comes from the country,
I'll never forget when I was staying on a farm with Maudie,
the stables were filled with carthorses and Maudie used to shudder
every time she passed the stables. And when she returned to
Town she was very upset, because every time she neighed she
had a distinct rustic accent. So, after a long consultation
with my brother-in-law Claud, we decided that it would be best
if we could train Maudie in a London environment, somewhere
if possible that would remind her of the actual racecourse.
So we chose the Tottenham Court Road— that would keep the Tattenham
Corner in front of her at least. And everything would have been
quite all right only, as you know, Maudie lost the Grand National
because she couldn't jump, and of course jumping was so essential
in the Grand National . . . and being a horse that doesn't know
the meaning of defeat, if she couldn't jump a fence, she'd bite
her way through it. Of course, I'm all for perseverance —but
that sort of thing does delay in a race . . . why, we were in
and out of Becher's Brook like a couple of performing seals
all the afternoon . . . but since the Grand National she's gone
to the opposite extreme, and now she can do nothing but jump,
and when we got to Tottenham Court Road early one morning, she
started leaping over a taxi-cab—the driver was awfully nice
about it and said he didn't want to complain in the least, but
that sort of thing was so confusing when you're driving . .
. and of course, he was quite right, you know. . . . Then he
said he really would have to send for a policeman if she didn't
stop, and while I was talking to him she kept leaping and bounding
over the cab and finally, much against his will, he had to call
a policeman. The policeman was a very decent young chap and
said that he was only too glad for Maudie to train in the Tottenham
Court Road, but that she really must stop this leaping and jumping
over the traffic as it was so disorganizing . . . and I couldn't
say nay. . . . While I spoke to him, Maudie dashed off and sat
down in a horse-trough. She thought it was Becher's Brook, and
we had the greatest difficulty in persuading her to come out.
And then on the day before the Derby she mistook a pillar-box
at the end of Tottenham Court Road for the finishing-post and
dashed at it and caught her forefeet in the opening. Of course,
it was so confusing for me, because we had to send for the fire
brigade, and crowds of people gathered round, and after all
I had been trying to keep Maudie a dark horse and rather a secret
from the Turf. But even the fire brigade couldn't release her,
and finally a postman came along and suggested that we put a
stamp on her and let her go home by herself. It was really the
only thing to do. Then on the morning of the Derby, my brother-in-law
and I decided that if we got her down to Epsom by an early milk
train it would give her plenty of time to practice. And I thought
I could get her to Waterloo by the Underground and avoid the
traffic . . . but I had great difficulty on the escalator—she
got on at such an angle and the blood all ran to her head and
she got very shaky— then when she got off the escalator a Tube
official looked at her and said to me, " Have you got a ticket
for,that dog thing ? " Of course, Maudie was furious and I tried
to warn him, but it was no good ; as soon as his head was turned
she bit his ear off as clean as a whistle. After that we had
to hurry rather, and when I got to Waterloo I found that I couldn't
get her into the milk-van as they were afraid she might turn
the milk sour. And so I persuaded her to come into a third-class
carriage with me. She was very good and curled up on the seat
. . . because she was quite done up, and everything would have
been all right if only a sailor hadn't got into the carriage.
He was one of the original Epsom Salts returning home on furlough.
He started smoking . . . and if there's one thing that's anathema
to Maudie when she's training, it's tobacco. . . . She snatched
his cigarette and flung it out of the window. . . . He was awfully
nasty about it all the way to Epsom . . . but then, when I got
to paddock, my heart ran cold . . . because the first horse
I saw was Young Lover, and between you and me it was he who
had caused all the trouble with Maudie at the shirt-maker's.
Oh yes, he treated her very shabbily. She just looked at him,
sat down and buried her face in her hoofs. The steward was awfully
kind and offered her some sal volatile. I did my best to warn
him, but it was no good—his left ear. . . . After that I hurried
her to the starting-post, and of course she was very upset,
and knowing that she was the only lady in the race she insisted
on starting before the others. But even then she couldn't make
up her mind to follow Young Lover or have a good jump over the
railings, but finally, near Tattenham Corner, her attention
was distracted by a merry-go-round which was playing a polka.
If there's one thing that Maudie cannot resist, it's a polka
. . . and she was over the fence and after the merry-go-round
before you could say " knife." When she saw the horses she thought
it was the big race—we went round the merry-go-round twenty-eight
times until I felt quite sick. Of course, she could never lead
the field, because there was always a horse ahead of her—that
annoyed her and she started boring. Then it was that I left
her, but I broke my fall somewhat by landing on the pipes of
the steam organ in the centre of the merry-go-round. Nothing
seems to have been heard of Maudie since then—she was last seen
making for the open country. And I would like to ask anybody
who has seen or heard of her to let me know, because I miss
her rather. It has been nice having this little chat, hasn't
it? Or hasn't it? |
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