Archer's Melbourne Cup

by Vashti Farrer

  But he says we can get on with mucking out, anyway, because we nearly gave him a heart attack. And if we ever try anything so stupid again, he will go straight to Mr de Mestre.

  I’m glad it worked out all right and Tom isn’t angry with us any more. I don’t like to cross him.

  Friday 5th April

  As we walked the horses to the track this morning, I asked Tom if he misses being a proper jockey and he said no. He says he still loves riding the likes of Archer, but if he was a jockey he wouldn’t get to see his favourite every day and he’d miss that. In this job he breathes the same air, sleeps under the same roof and gets to travel the road with the horses.

  ‘The only difference,’ he says, ‘is I’m not much fond of oats. They give me indigestion.’ I was really puzzled till he grinned. Then I knew he was pulling my leg.

  Sunday 7th April

  This afternoon after Archer had grazed long enough, I got him over by the fence so I could mount him. The last of the afternoon was warm on my back and a slight breeze fanned my face. I led him out across the paddock and tried egging him on with my knees, to bring him to canter.

  At first he didn’t seem to want to, as if he’d rather go on eating grass. Then all of a sudden he put his nose to the wind and we were off! He cantered the full length of the paddock, turned and raced back the other way. Then again, till I felt like that half-man half-horse Tom said was in the stars.

  As I led him back, Mr de Mestre was coming down to the stables and I told him what Tom said about the horseman with the bow and arrow and he smiled. ‘Those stars are called Sagittarius. It’s the Latin word for Archer.’ And that fairly stopped me in my tracks. Archer must really be special. He’s got a star named after him. Nearly.

  Tuesday 9th April

  On the track this morning I plucked up the courage to ask Mr de Mestre if he’ll take me to the races in Sydney some time. Since I’ve never been, I’d be really helpful and I’d see and do everything he told me. He said maybe!

  Thursday 11th April

  Mr de Mestre was wound up like a fob watch this evening, he was so excited. He’s had a telegram to say there’s to be a new race in Victoria called the Melbourne Cup. It’ll be two miles long and open to horses from all the colonies. Mr de Mestre says he’ll be entering horses, but won’t say which ones.

  It’s a handicap—Tom says that means each horse has an equal chance. To make it fair, the favourites will have to carry extra weight. That is, lead bars in bags under their saddles.

  I hope Mr de Mestre enters Archer and Barney’s hoping it’ll be Inheritor. But if either of them goes, who’ll go with them to Melbourne to take care of them? Tom, most probably, and maybe Bill or Danny since they’ve been here some time. It won’t be Barney or me, worst luck, because Mr de Mestre is sure to think we’re too young.

  I spent the rest of the day trying to worm out of Tom who’ll be going, but he swears he doesn’t know. All he says is that once the horses are entered we’ll be hard at it training them, which means we’ll need all the sleep we can get for more early starts.

  Now it’s late, Tom’s finished playing and says he wants no slug-a-beds tomorrow.

  Friday 12th April

  Tom had us take them twice round the track, then lead up to a full gallop. The track’s a mile and a half long and some races are three miles, but Mr de Mestre figures if they get used to running three miles then a two-mile Cup will seem easy.

  Late this afternoon we walked them out along the Comerong road, only this time not back through the home paddocks. Instead we made them walk the road round to the front, so it’d be longer. Archer turned his head when we came to the bottom gate, knowing the grass was soft on the other side. For a moment he refused to budge and I had to keep tugging his lead to keep him moving. Then eventually we came round the front of Terara and in through the gate.

  Cook was standing on the cookhouse steps as we passed and called out, ‘That’s a grand sight and not a wobbly knee among them. It must be all them cabbage leaves I’ve been sending over.’

  Tuesday 16th April

  Mr de Mestre is still fired up. He must want to show off his horses by having them race in another colony. When we walked them back after track work, he was saying how the colonies could never have managed without horses—and he didn’t mean racing, but buggy and work horses, to pull heavy drays and loads. He says there have been horses here since white settlement. There were even nine on the First Fleet: a stallion, three mares, two fillies and a colt that they knew about and a stallion and another mare that were smuggled in by two marines.

  Thursday 18th April

  It’s a week since we heard about that race and this morning Mr de Mestre was telling Tom he’s had a letter from a friend in Melbourne, who says it’s all to do with the rival racing clubs down there.

  A while back, the Victoria Jockey Club held a race called the Two Thousand Guineas which was such a success that the Victoria Turf Club was jealous. So to outdo them they decided to hold a race even bigger and better.

  The members met at the Albion Inn in Bourke Street to talk it over and someone came up with the idea of a race named after the city. The Melbourne Cup. Mr de Mestre’s friend says it was probably someone called Captain Standish who suggested it.

  ‘Who’s he when he’s at home?’ asked Tom.

  Mr de Mestre explained that Captain Standish is the Chief Commissioner of Police for Victoria. He came out from England in the fifties as Assistant Commissioner to the goldfields and now he’s Protector of Chinese as well.

  ‘Yes, but is he a racing man?’ Tom wanted to know.

  Mr de Mestre laughed. ‘They say that Captain Standish had to leave England because of a large sum of money he lost on the English Derby. He’s even supposed to have changed his name because of it.’

  So I suppose that does make him a racing man.

  Then Tom asked which of our horses would be running, but Mr de Mestre still hasn’t made up his mind. He’ll have to soon, because entries close on the 1st of May and he doesn’t want to miss out.

  When he’s decided on the horses, he’ll have to choose which stablehands will go. Barney and I don’t hold out much hope, still, we’re keeping our fingers crossed just the same.

  Friday 19th April

  Mr de Mestre’s sent the telegram and he’s taking three horses: Archer and Inheritor, for a start, which straightaway had Barney and me arguing. Archer’s the better horse by far, I tell him, but Barney won’t hear of it. He says Inheritor’s already got the Cup in the bag. So we go on arguing till Tom tells us to put a lid on it. We’re giving him a headache. Then he asks what we think about Exeter going. And we stare at him.

  Exeter’s too young for a race that long. But Tom says he’s going. It’s partly to fool them in Melbourne, since they won’t know what he can do, and Exeter can be a running mate for the other two to train against. Besides, the experience will be good for him.

  Sunday 21st April

  Cattus went missing today. Tom says he’s sure to turn up tomorrow, but I’m worried in case Archy lay on him during the night. I checked his stall, but there was no sign of Cattus.

  Monday 22nd April

  Mr de Mestre still hasn’t said which stablehands. Tom hasn’t heard, either. But then this afternoon he starts telling me what’s expected of a strapper at a big race.

  Apart from getting the horse ready, the stablehand has to look after the horse right up till the start, because anything can happen at the last minute. A horse can step back on his shoe or lose a shoe—or worse—a bit of his hoof before a race. So it’s up to the strapper to keep his wits about him and stop things like that happening.

  I’m wondering if Tom maybe does know who’s going, but won’t say.

  Tuesday 23rd April

  It must have been the bread and cheese for supper. I ate too much and was tossing and turning half the night, wondering how Mr de Mestre is going to get the horses to Melbourne. It’s too far to walk and besides they’d have
to go through the Snowy Mountains in winter with snow everywhere. There’s no train to Melbourne from here, so the only way is by ship. But that means from here to Sydney, then from Sydney to Melbourne, which makes the trip twice as long. Then there are wrecks all up and down the coast—so I hope he knows the risk he’s taking.

  Friday 26th April

  This morning after breakfast Barney and me went looking for Cattus. We thought he must have got frightened and run off. We asked everyone we saw and finally Mr de Mestre said to go and ask his mother. And there was Cattus up at the homestead, quite safe and with six kittens! Mrs de Mestre is minding them. We raced back and told Tom, but all he could do was shake his head and say, ‘Well, I never.’

  Saturday 27th April

  I was due to go home tomorrow, but at inspection Mr de Mestre said he was sorry, but he couldn’t afford to lose me this month. I was looking forward to seeing Ma and Pa, too, and must have seemed a bit down in the mouth. Then Mr de Mestre said he needed Barney and me to help him take Archer and the other two to Sydney, so they could race at Randwick! Straightaway I was all smiles and tore off to tell Barney. I was still jumping about and yelling later and Tom had to tell us to quieten down or we’d upset the horses.

  We have to try them out before Melbourne, but Mr de Mestre said he’ll get word to Ma to tell her I’ll see the family next month, so she doesn’t worry.

  Sunday 28th April

  After we take the horses for a run, Tom tells us to pack a clean shirt and trousers, ready for tomorrow. Mr de Mestre will want us looking neat and tidy for Randwick. I still can’t believe I’m going. There’ll be no track work for us tomorrow morning. We leave straight after breakfast and I’m packed now. I’ve told Archy we’re going, but he won’t really know till we’re on board ship.

  Monday 29th April

  We walked the horses down through the paddocks to the far gate and out onto the Greenwell road. Illawarra steamships take all the butter and cheese from down here to the Sydney markets—passengers and horses, too.

  I ask Mr de Mestre if he’s ever been seasick and he says the worst part of the trip is this stretch of road. It’s bumpier than being on board.

  We reach the wharf as the ship is being loaded. There’s a ramp up that Barney says is for the horses to board. It looks a bit shaky to me, but Mr de Mestre says this is better than some places which have no wharf at all. Ships have to anchor off shore and strappers jump in, holding onto the leads and swim the horses ashore. A shiver goes down me when I hear that. I can’t swim. But soon I’m too busy to think of that, as I lead Archy up the gangway, then tether him in one of the boxes on deck. Then Inheritor and Exeter are settled in. They’ll get their sea legs once the vessel starts to move. It’s only a small ship with just enough room in the boxes for a short trip. We’ll dock in Sydney early tomorrow.

  Mr de Mestre plans to sit in a deckchair to keep an eye on his horses, but he lets Barney and me go off round the deck. We lean on the rail and look back as the gangway is pulled up. The throbbing of the engines grows louder, till at last we realise we’re underway.

  I keep shouting and pointing at things on the shore. Seven Mile Beach seems to stretch forever. The sand dunes all tufted with grass remind me of Mr de Mestre’s bald head. Then up behind them there’s low scrub covered with old grey banksias and gums bent almost double by the wind straight off the ocean. It’s like they’ve been trying to run away and got caught by their roots.

  The ship moves out to sea and the breakers are soon almost invisible as the coast grows smaller and by then I’m getting used to the movement of the ship and having to keep my balance with it.

  Later

  We watch the sea grow darker as the sun begins to set. Mr de Mestre says we can sleep till midnight, while he watches the horses. Then we take it in turns keeping watch the rest of the night. The horses are fed and we’ve put blankets on them against the sea wind and Barney and I are curled up in a lifeboat near their boxes to sleep.

  I’ve said goodnight to Archer, but I’m restless. I’m used to a hammock, not movement like this—although Barney and Mr de Mestre don’t seem to notice. I’m keeping watch, while writing this by a ship’s lantern. But now it’s time to wake Barney for his watch, so I’ll stop here.

  Tuesday 30th April

  I’m up early to see the beam from the lighthouse, before we steam in through the Heads. Then, shortly after dawn, we dock at Sydney Cove. Mr de Mestre has the horses unloaded first, because he doesn’t want to risk them being hit by boxes or cargo. Then he leads the way to George Street, where we’re supposed to start walking. He’s hoping there won’t be many people out and about at this hour.

  There are plenty of carters and draymen milling round the wharf to collect or deliver, but Mr de Mestre says most of the citizens are still in their beds. With one horse each, we lead them carefully in and out, between the carts and drays. Bits of old cabbage, other scraps, an old boot and a broken umbrella are lying in the gutters, but once the horses step over them the road becomes easier.

  The city’s an odd mix. There’s dozens of little cottages crammed in between grander buildings. Hotels on corners, where the maids are down on their hands and knees, scrubbing the front steps. Barney says that’s to have them ready for the sailors coming ashore later. I’ve not been to Sydney before, so Mr de Mestre points out the General Post Office with its six fine columns. The shops and banks. The markets seem huge after Terara’s, where Ma takes the eggs. The Old Convict Burial Ground behind its high wall, where they hope to build a Town Hall, and St Andrew’s church, where Ma and Pa were married. It’s weatherboard, but they’ve started one in stone. Then we walked down Brickfield Hill and onto the Parramatta road.

  We keep the horses at a steady pace and Mr de Mestre explains that the sea travel helps build them up for the Melbourne Cup as much as the racing. All that moving on deck strengthens their legs.

  The closer we come to Halfway House Hotel, the more people there are on the road: servants out going about their business, maids collecting the morning’s milk, others taking bundles of washing to the local washerwomen, some collecting the family’s loaves still warm from the bakers’ ovens.

  The smell of fresh bread reminds me how hungry I am and how much I’m going to miss Cook’s damper while we’re away. By the time we reach the hotel my stomach’s grumbling loud enough for anyone to hear. The stable foreman is Dave Power. He helps us settle the horses in their stalls and gives them their oats, then it’s breakfast for us—fresh bread and jam, as much as we want, and hot tea besides.

  Wednesday 1st May

  I didn’t get a chance to write more yesterday, what with getting the horses used to new stalls. Then after dinner, once they were rested, Mr de Mestre had us take them out for a run in a park nearby. He came with us to watch, while I took Archer round twice and Barney was up on Inheritor. When we pulled up, Mr de Mestre listened to their breathing and looked them over, before saying they were fine and getting fitter by the day.

  Later

  After supper Mr de Mestre told us about a horse race in Melbourne. The owner of a mare, Alice Hawthorne, boasted that no horse could beat her and he challenged other owners to try. The race was the Championship of the Australian Turf, over three miles, with a first prize of £2000.

  I couldn’t even imagine so much money and I was wondering how much land it would buy Pa. Mr de Mestre said the challenge was too much for his friend George Rowe, who decided to enter his horse, Veno. Mr de Mestre was in Melbourne at the time, but didn’t see the race, but he heard afterwards that Veno had won. That caused a huge fuss. ‘They even made up a dance and called it the Veno Gallop, after the horse.’

  I thought he was pulling my leg. What kind of dance is called a ‘gallop’? He could see I didn’t believe him and said it wasn’t a horse’s gallop. ‘It’s short for gallopade, a French dance. There was music written for it and on the cover was a picture of Veno and Alice Hawthorne, with Veno ahead by a long neck. That was three years a
go now, and ever since I’ve been keen to go back to Melbourne and try my luck.’

  I asked him how he planned to get the horses there. And he gave me this funny look. ‘By ship. You don’t expect them to walk, do you? Over five hundred miles—then run a race?’

  Then he told us he’d lined up the jockey for Randwick. His name is John Dillon, but he always rides as John Cutts, ever since he worked for William Cutts, the trainer. He admired him such a lot.

  I knew it was silly, but as soon as I heard this I couldn’t help feeling jealous. After all, I’m with Archer every day, riding him and looking after him. It’s me he knows and I’ve ridden him in a race. Now along comes this proper jockey to ride him and it does seem hard. I hope he’s as good as Mr de Mestre says. It doesn’t seem to bother Barney. He says a real jockey rides lots of different horses, but doesn’t have to groom and muck out after them all.

  I’ve got to stop. Barney says the lantern’s getting in his eyes and he can’t sleep.

  Thursday 2nd May

  Mr de Mestre’s in frock coat and topper today and he’s hired a buggy so he can drive himself and Cutts to the course. He tells us to scrub up, then draws us a map showing how to walk the horses from Parramatta Road to Randwick.