Some Xmas Crackers

Taranaki Daily News, 18 December 1920, Page 7 (Supplement)

Some Xmas Crackers

PERSONAL AND OTHERWISE, A XMAS WISH.

(By "Moturoa.")

With Christmas fare, and Christmas cheer, Just flu yourselves up once, a year, And pack your pillows broad and deep With race cards: then retire to sleep. To dream of winners, swift and gay. And "clean" the tote oh Boxing Day. May Christmas fare be fair to you, And Christmas cheer not make you fu', And winners nil be clear as day, And pay big divs., Is wtat 1 say.

The age of good Samaritans, fairies, and lohg-forgotten Uncles is, happily, not past. Two dilapidated persons were standing on the Imperial corner. "Had scran?" tersely inquired one. "You bet," .said the party accosted, "an' a decent binder too!" He smacked his lips loudly, and continued: "Talk about Father Christmas, an' peace an' goodwill, an' all that .stuff! Why, I was just standin' 'ere this mornin' when an ole gent walks up an' afsks, 'Do you know its Christmas Day, my man?' I said I'd read somethin' about It in th' papers. 'And have you dined?' 'e arsks. I said 1 'adn't. Well, would you "believe me, but that ole gent 'ands out five bob an' tells me to go in an' 'ave a good blow out. Belcher I was first in when th' fryin' pan went —an' last out! As soon as I gets me !tf;is under tV table they rushes me with soup, turkey, 'am, plum duff, an' brandy sauce; an' Bob sticks four bowls into me. Strike me, it was orlrite. An' cheap too! Why, they only rooked me three an' six, an', (waving a large serviette), 'blime if they don't give away a bootiful pocket 'andkerchief with it too!"

Talking of something to eat reminds hie. Wo were motoring homo from Wanganui after Uhlando's Cup, and the party was feeling twenty-twej carat, financially and otherwise. Wo stfuok Patea about' seven, and pulled in at a pub for tea. The dining room was full, but in about five drinks time they found us a table, and we prepared to fill the inner man, or men. Paddy Eva was in a jocose mood, and, with a wink to the company, ordered "grilled eggs." We said we'd have the same. The Waitress was a bustled, country lass, and she shrilled the orders to the kitchen in a high falsetto. "What?" roared a voice from inside. She repeated the orders, and a heated, one sided debate raged for a minute. The waitress returned and asked, "What did you gentlemen order?" The orders were repeated, and the girl once more gave them—but not so shrilly—to the cook, Then something like Waimangit happened in the kitchen. The waitress screamed. The boss rushed in, and all Was confusion. Then Paddy explained the joke, and shouted all 'round, and three times for the cook. We were getting on so famously that the boss suggested that we should box on in the commercial room. We tossed for it. Paddy threw up a brick, and said that n it stopped up we would go home. It came down.

About the twenty-fourth round (let me see? How many rounds do thev limit these boose fights to?), the boss suggested supper. (Carried unanimously!). The same little country girl brought in a plate of what looked like lettuce and tomato sandwiches. The cook poked a grimy face in at the door, and said he hoped We'd enjoy our supper. We fell to.

iNow, there are sandwiches *>r-d Sandwiches, but the one I struck was the toughest proposition that I ever met. I chewed, and chewed, but my teeth seemed to have lost their edge. At length I nearly choked, but it Went down tile right way. Paddy was red in the face, chewing hard too, and the others all seemed to be making heavy going of it. The hoss cracked jokes, the waitress smiled sweetly, and the cook grinned. But wo didn't "jerry" that we were being paid back in outown coin until nest morning when Paddy received the following wire (collect):— '•Sorry .wa had no grilled eggs. „ Hope you digested sandwiches containing red rag and billiard cloth."

Billy the Bear is probably known to most readers, and his childish treble equally well. Billy had won a pile of money over Downfall's New Zealand Cup, and Derby Day was equally good. What tripped him lip was the trots, on the Tuesday. Some idiot once said that luck had to turn some time, and tliat a man couldn't go on losing for ever. But Billy proved both statements false when he struck the trots. He was coming home from Addington in a crowded tram, and an elderly woman, becoming worried at Billy's persistent, throaty cough, said: "Yoiing man, you want to take care of that cough." "Take care of it?" piped Billy, "I don't want to take cave of it, mum, I want to lose it." "But I don't mean it that way," said the old lady, "I mean you want to bo careful or yon will develop consumption." '"Consumption, eh?" said Billy, "well, if its galloping consumption I don't care, but if its trotting I'm done!"

Wattie the Punter had incurred the displeasure of the powers that be in ih« racing world for some reason or other, but the old rail of the Turf, the dazzle and glitter of the flashing jackets, and the thunder of the hoofs palled loudly to him, so he resolved to chance it. Boldly blowing up to the lawn entrance, he tendered an Attendant's Pass and took one step towards the sacred enclosure. But a heavy hand fell on his shoulder, and 'tee Wnlden said, "Here, JVattle, you oan't go in thsrn," "fie.

on," replied his noble in -surprised tones, "is it full up already 1"

In these days of free and unlimited education it is surprising how many horsey people cannot read or write. 4 dowh-the-line trainer got into a first smoker one morning en route to Hawera races, and picking up a paper, commenced to study the headlines. "Anything startling .in the rag?" asked someone. "No, nothing, aa usual;," replied the trainer. "I see they tip your horse to win the Flying," said another. The trainer studied the paper further. Then remarked, "So they do. It would make you sick the rot these sporting" writers give us!" I gazed over his shoulder, and noticed that he was holding the paper upside down!

They were putting down a new lawn on a Taranaki course once, and to give the grass a show, the caretaker had erected a big, bold sign, ."Keep off the Grass." The same day a well known trainer brought a horse along, had n good "pipe" at the signboard, and then turned his horse on to the lawn. The caretaker, like all caretakers, rushed over and commenced to go off the handle. "Don't you see ihat notb-3?" ne roared. "Yes, I saw it," replied the trainer. "Well, why don't you keep off the blanky grass?" bellowed the caretaker. "Oh, is that what it says," coolly replied the trainer, "I thought it was one of thos* For Sale, or To Lvt, notices!"

Onco upon a time, "Cramp" Mumby had a horee that was a shy feeder, and a friend sent him over a packet of some mysterious "buck-up" powders, which were guaranteed as a cure-all. One of the lads mixed a powder in a nice, tempting mash, and offered it to "Cramp's" Carbine, but Carbine turned tip his nose at the dainty, and it was thrown out into the yard amongst the poultry. Then the fun started. Such a clucking, squawking and gobbling you never heard before, "Cramp" dropped his War Cry, and hastened to the scene of the disturbance. The hens Were chasing the ducks, and the roosters were clawing the turkeys, anfl pandemonium reigned. " What's up?" veiled 'Cramp." "I duniio," came a reply" from the other side of the dust storm, "but I think it must have been that BuckUp dope that I threw out in the yard." "Cramp" says he intends putting a rouplb of powders in" five gallons' of beer, and arking his friends up for Christmas.

"Ekky' Birch was standing outside the main gates at the New Plymouth course one day, wa:tinp for someone to blow along and beg him to accept a "complimentary." Then he spied an eighteen stone friend gazing out from within the enclosure. "How ,lil yen got in, Billy!" inquired "Ekky." "On a jockey's pa«," said Billv. 'Well, I'm blithered!" ejaculated "iikky,"" "If you can pass for a jockey I'll pass for ft horse," and suiting the action to the words, he lowered his beautiful auburn head and cantered past the surprised gate-keeper, shouting, "Look out! Look out! I'm a horse, and I'm running in the first race!"

Ihey say that hope eternal springs m the sportsman's breast. Well, I duruio; but if nerve counts for anything, I'll answer, "Hear, Hear!" A chap once wrote to an acquaintance request in:; the loan of "a score," and coneiu led his letter whit the intimation that he expected to have plenty of money shor.iy. The score wa3 passed over but it transpired that the borrower's prospects were the chance of a Tatt's ticket turning out a winner! '

Lending money, particularly on a racecourse, is a bad policy, and the next time you see a fellow liea-lin" for you with a hard luck look on his fate, get in first, and ask him for a fiver.

I think it was Bubbling Ernie, who When "tapped" for a loan in Devon Street, replied "No chance, old man. Im doing this side, Yaw try the other, l'or heaven's sake don't come over and queer my patch!" Tommy the Mug disposed, of borrowers even quicker. He received a wire reading,' -''Send ten pounds. Stuck." Tommy simply replied, "Stucker."

Did you ever hear about tho time Hector Gray "got tho wind ur>?" He tells the tale himself, and I saw the incident happen. It was on the first day of the last Bulls meeting, and Hector was riding Chummy in a flat race. There was a big field, and a lot ot kicking and messing about at the post. Shummy stopped one, and thinking it a good place to be out of, swerved round suddenly, aiid jumped the high wire fence on the outside of tile track The sf*rter called for Gray to come back, but there was no gate within a couple of furlongs, and the field Was waiting in line. To add to his diseomforture, tho other jockeys commenced to "ohyak" him. Gray was des/ porate, but not to be beaten. He Went back about twenty yards, dug the spurs into his mount, and cleared the wire faultlessly. "Nevertheless," said Gray ">ny heart beat pretty fast, as I put him at that wire."

The average horseowner is pretty clo-e with his information, and with the totalisator, the sole means of hettiiiothey could hardly be otherwise, but "a New Plymouth trainer is reckoned to be the hardest -thing in that line The horses had just done their prelims, and he was walking round to the post, w'-en a cheeky sort of a lout approached him, Not he shghtest," was the quick reply. Righto," Raid tho lout, "I've got a muup there who wants to put a hundred on something, and I want to double-crot-s h.m, so I'll get him to put it oh yours. The trainer wheeled round briskly, and grasped the lout's arm in alarm, saying, "Oh! Don't do fiat'" Iliglit'O," chuckled the lout, "that's all I want to know," and he rushed over and put fifty of the best on ihe prad, wino 1 ! won.

Billy the Bear met a long lost mate one day, and they commenced filling »p the historical gaps since they iast knocked round together. "Still stay"'g.,at.Kilminiater's?'' inquired the mate. Kilmmister-s?" screamed the Bear, theyd kill an ' o rse. Corned b»ef for breakfast; corned beef for dinner-, corned beef for tea. Kilminister's indeed; they nearly killed me!"

Whos 'that?" said a strangur to Bert Allen as a car floated past, hearing a notable local sport, "Don't you know hifti," said Bert, "that's Bill I'-meny. He's got so much money, that » he banked his on top of yours, you wouldn't be able to draw any out for six months 1"

Jerry Q'Connull was a, hit of a humor'

off a 'chaser one day at Marton, ami isfc in. his way. He came a ''buster" was just about able to crawl across Hie Course to the birdcage. Half-was over he was met by the brealhle* owner, who anxiously asked, Ms the horse hurt'r" 'Oh, no, I don't think so," replied Jerry dryly, ''l only rolled over him a couple of times."

Another time, Jerry was rid ins a maiden at Bulls. The owner told Jerry that it would just about win, so Jerry had a fiver on his mount. Well, tliere were heaps of hearse-pullers that could beat that horse, and the farther (hey went the farther Jerry got in the rear; in fact, the others were pulling up when Jerry turned for home. Horse and rider received a derisivo cheer on returning to the. enclosure, and the prad's owner, bustled over and asked Jerry how the horse went. "How did he go," echoed Jerry in disgust, "lie had bad luck, that's "all. If he hadn't got Chopped out at the home turn, he would have strolled in I"

"These policemen," said Bill the Gncsser, after being ejected from the Stratford course, "what the deuce do they want them cove 3at races for? Didn't one of them get on the course, and upset old Dromedary when he was winning the Gtra-nd National?" He went off grumbling.

Just at that time a number of bosnis cheques, drawn on the Bank of Hades," or some such summer resort, were floating round, and as luck would have it, Paddy Flannigan chose that morning to spring one on to Jerry. Calling the old sport aside at the "Cri." entrance, Pady told a good tale about wanting to "get into the game," and suggested that Jerry should"pro to Auckland and buy a couple of "good ones" to start with. "I have here," said Paddv, "a cheque for £IOOO, which you had. better bank straight away, and draw on as you require." Jerry beamed, and takinsr the cheque, shook Paddy heartily bv the hand. Jerry then ambled across to the Bank, but not having his: spectacles with him had to ask a clerk to fill in a deposit slip for him. The clerk just had otie look, and exploded, and Jerry rushed out of the bank with murder in his eye. Securing a whip from Mick Jones he went in search of Paddy, but his lordship was missing. P.S.:' This scribe was missing also.

I was having a look round the stables the other day, and the trainer and I were discussing the various horses, when a shrill voice came from the house: "Coo-e-e-e! Yer scran's ready. If yer don't blanky well come, yer won't pet any." (The trainer jumped like a flighty two-year-old. "There goes our gong," he said, '\l must- hurrv."

As the horses lined up for the Hurdles, the stout fellow with the panuma hat confided to his friend (and one half of the occupants of the stand) that he didn't back horses—ho backed jockeys. "K T ow, you take this race." lie asserted, "they're only a rough lot, and anything decently handled "might win. I'm on McDonald's mount, that there chestnut on the fence" They started, and the chestnut took up the running from a bunched field. Passing the stand the order was the same, and the stout man exclaimed, "Isn't he a beauty. He's riding a great race. Just waiting in front, kidding to the others!" Along the back and entering the straight the same order obtained, and' the stout man was waxing enthusiastic. But the last jump proved fatal to the chestnut, and McDonald sprawled in front of the following horses. '-He's down," screamed a lady. "Yes, he's down," wailed the stout man in disgust, "and 'l hope the blithering idiot gets chopped into sausage meat!"

Brown was a punter bold, and on the strength of a good gallop lie had witnessed, and a. whisper he had heard, put a '(food deal of money on a horse racing at Opunake. Just before the race, lie found out that the pfticl \Vas not a trior, and for a moment he was nonplussed. The horses had gone to the post, and if lie was going to do anything (except his money) he had only a few minutes to aet., So, tearing a page from the back of his race card he wrote, "Changed mind. Have a go," and hurried over to the starting post just in time to show it to the jockey. The horse won, and paid a handsome "price," but there was a regular Donnybrook between owner, trainer, and jockey, afterwards.

PERSONAL AND OTHERWISE.

A XMAS WISH.

Things had been pretty hard at Strata dry and dusty battler, who had ' • walked back to town, looked rotmd anxiously for a person likely to shout. His luck was out. There wasn't an acquaintance or a likely looking mug in tight. He was stone, motherless broke, but thirst made him desperate. They could only throw him out, anyhow. So be breasted the bar and ordered & pint. Hebe drew the beverage, and put it down in front of him, then the battier began to spar. "Do you know a chap named Tommy Knowles about here?" He asked. "No," she replied. (The battler took a sup of his ale.) "Funny' you don't know Tommy," ha continued. Then he took another draught. "No, I can't place him at all," ■aid Hebe. "I thought he was as well known as the town clock," said the battler, finishing his pint. "He's a big, stout chap," he continued, edging away from the bar,- "and he walks like this," and putting on a queer scrrt of a walk, he Walked Tight out of the bar, and then faced for the station.

In the ."good old days," a Taranaki horseowner was travelling in a southern train. His horse was entered for tfie Steeplechase. The guard ambles up to him, and asks him if he knows anything about the'horses in the Steeples. Oh, no, he didn't. "I want to know myself," hj« Said. "Well, replied the railwayman, 1 like ol<f Barracootu, but then, you know, he belongs to that slippery Taranaki mob, and you don't know whether he's a trier!" The owner laughed heartily, and still laughs when lie relates the story. >.t ; . .

Inning the holiday season we expect jto meet that prince of good sports, J. B. Gaisford, who is bringing up a coufle of useful horses, Mattock and Ctimisia, to the Taranaki meeting. V.8.'.-waa.a crack gentleman rider in da£s gone iy, and you mustn't bread.e a word to him about his J"hn Gilpin ride to Bulla on a flighty blank San Fran mare last week. The mare povel too much of a hattdful for one of the lads, to "Jfl." yelled out: "Bring that adjective mare here. I'll ride her!" He mounted, and then started one of the best Wild West shows ever seen in the Bangitikei. She bucked, bounded, van • backwards, and generally tied herself in a knot, and ended up by bolting with her thirteen stone rider down the street. The lads of the village, enjoyed the ex'bibition immensely,. but "J. 8." was in a towering rage, and the air was lurid with his observations. The mare was too sore to work that morning, and 2 have a faint suspicion that she didn't have the soreness on her own.!

In newspaper offices, horse talk is referred s to 'as . "tripe," or worse, by leader writers, police court reporters, mothers' meeting scribes and the rest, and it is a common 'belief amongst "the, brains" of the establishment that anybody can write horse reports. I rejnember once, when flu' laid me low, tfhat the office had to. send a reluctant sub-editor to "do" the Waitara meeting, ana after he had swallowed his indignation, or something of the sort, lie wrote it up like this:—"Black Banner yon with much hair and hide to spare

frcm Slippery Sam, and Slow Dick had his nose buried in Slippery's tail." Another par that took my fancy was this: — "Mikotahi, desperately ridden, just scrambled home by a hair's breath from Tommy Nod, who was hard held ali the way up the straight." the "sub" let him go on the landscape, which he likened to the Riviera ir. autumn, while the sky was "Norman Lindsayesque," whatever that means, and he grew quite poetical about the t«r.

Next year, in spite of rumor? that everything but sudden death -awaited me, I went to the meeting. Some half dozen of us were seated on wha', was grandiloquently called the Press Stand, a seat facing a flat rail on the lawn side of the track . Just before they "kicked off" a big, aggressive looking chap, blew along and. glared at the bunch—Awdrey, Moore, myself, and the rest. He was evidently looking for the News man, but could not recognise him. I didn't like the nasty look in his eye, and while writing furiousHy, kept an observant optic on his "dooks." At last he opened his mouth. "Has anyone seen tip's blanky 'Moturoa'? - ' he inquired. I was nearest him, so replied: "I saw him first thing this morning, but haven't clapped eyes on him since," and resumed writing. The hi,; man ground his teeth, and went off in disgust, but I wonder what he thougi.t when he saw the "shake-up" given him the next morning?

The retirement of the big bookmakers, and the growth of "mushroom" layers leads one. to bteak into verse:—

I went to the racecourse last July, Far, far away. I backed a horse named "Kidney P.'e," Far, far away. My horse, it won. I danced with glee; I went to draw my L. S. D. But the bookmaker, ot 1 Where was he? Far, far away.

Jack Maori is the quintessence of suspicion. Returning from weighing out, he noticed a stranger caressing the noble proboscis of his ra,:ehorse. With a howl of rage' he brushed the stranger's hand aside, and addressed the U<( in charge: "How te way yoa let him prush tc nose?" "Oh, he didn't do any harm," expostulated the lad. "Not do te harm!" screamed Jack, "How te way you not know he have te somethings on te hand, eh? Berrar look out next times!"

The late Edgar Russell once said that if prayer got you first past the post — then go for it! Possibly it was with the hope of changing his luck that a well known trainer once went to church. lie was a bit at sea during the singing, and the sermon bored him terribly. The preacher was a small, earnest man, with a weak delivery, and he strove hard to drive home his points by repeating himself almost endlessly. The trainer grow fidgetty. Then the preacher grew excited. The climax to his sermon was at hand. He leaned far over the pulpit, and "setting" the trainer with his piercing eye, exclaimed: "Now, what did Aaron do?" There was an impressive pause. He repeated the question, another pause, even longer. For the third time he said: "What did Aaron do?" The trainer could stand the suspense no longer. Jumping to his feet he shouted: "Well, Ml be the blanky mug. What did he do?"

Another Jerry—Jerry O'Di iscoll—is the subject of this par. Jerry always had a down on this scribe because of a par inserted years ago, about old Waiwera looking lonely without a cart. Jerry arrived at the News office in the morning in full dress uniform—red flannel, pants, and slippers—and demanded "Moty's" gore. However, Jim McLeod, than the "sub.," pacified Jerry, and bloodshed was averted.