Rugby Football.

F. J. King King.

Rugby Football.

The recent invasion of England by the all-conquering New Zealanders—who established the wonderful record of thirty-one victories out of thirty-two matches played—has arrested the attention of a great many people who hitherto have taken little or no interest in Rugby football. The game as played by these men from over the sea was Rugby football in its most attractive form, and those who were privileged to see their victories over Middlesex or Blackheath, could not fail to be delighted with their skill, nor could they possibly deny the fascinating charm of the game when properly played. But with their departure interest in Rugby is likely to flag, and we are faced with the question, “Why is Rugby football not more popular; how is it that a very large section of the community take no interest in football at all, whilst another large section prefer the charms of Association?”

From the point of view of the player, it is easy to see that the game is not quite suited to every one. Though Rugby is often wrongly considered a rougher game than Association football, it certainly lays a premium on strength and size, whilst there are few things—except perhaps rowing—which make a greater claim on a man’s stamina and endurance. It is, therefore, a game which requires certain natural qualifications and a certain amount of training; hence a large number are excluded from active participation. In Wellington, one single town in New Zealand, over twelve thousand men play Rugby football every Saturday afternoon during the season; it is the national game “down under,” and spectators flock in their thousands to see the matches, but in England a man has so many interests, the open-air life is not so general and the weather conditions not so good.

Perhaps the greatest disadvantage under which Rugby football labours is the fact that it is a winter pastime, and therefore often played in miserable weather. A greasy ball and slippery turf are sufficiently trying to the players; from a spectator’s point of view the game is entirely spoilt, whilst the accommodation provided for the onlookers is frequently most inadequate. At the best of times a covered stand is a cold and draughty place, but it is better than the open field; yet with Rugby clubs the covered stand is often conspicuous by its absence. Moreover, the approaches to so many football grounds are so bad that many people are deterred from patronising the matches; crowded trains followed by a long drive or walk is very damping to the enthusiasm.

Then again, a football match can never be a social function like a cricket match; it therefore loses a great deal of feminine patronage. Except for the small minority, who really understand the game, football is regarded by ladies as a brutal trial of strength, and they fail to see the attraction of grovelling in the mud; but if there was a little tea-party at half-time it would put quite a different complexion on the game. It must also be borne in mind that three of our greatest public schools play a game peculiar to themselves, whilst Charterhouse, Repton, Malvern, Westminster, Radley, Bradfield, Shrewsbury and other big schools play only Association. This means that a very large section of the English youth take absolutely no interest in Rugby at all, though they may—if they go to the Varsity—occasionally watch a Rugby match in the same way that the cricketer patronises the river during Eight’s week.

But the unpopularity of Rugby football as a spectacle is largely due to the apparent complexity of the rules, which makes it very difficult for the uninitiated to follow the game. It is largely due to this that Association has a greater hold on the affections of the people, whilst the game is not stopped by the continual blowing of the referee’s whistle. An elderly gentleman who, needless to say, does not often attend a football match, was heard, the other day, at the Crystal Palace, to exclaim, “There’s that referee interfering again; how exasperating!” This was probably the feeling of a great many who were watching Rugby football for the first time, and they must have carried away the opinion that the whole game consisted in a succession of scrummages and a vast expenditure of useless energy. It is, however, difficult to see what could take the place of the scrummage, which is formed whenever the ball is thrown forward or knocked on, or when the ball is not thrown in straight out of touch, or for any other unintentional breach of the rules. It must be remembered that the scrummage was the essential feature of the game some twenty years ago, when the formation was ten forwards, two half-backs, two quarters and a full-back. In those days little passing was seen, and the ball was seldom heeled out of the scrummage. It is interesting to note how the game has been changed. Fifteen years ago, nine forwards, two half-backs, three three-quarters and a full-back was the rule, till the Welshmen—who are generally the pioneers of any progressive movement in Rugby football—evolved the system of eight forwards and four three-quarters. This year we see the scrummage still further diminished, the New Zealanders playing only seven forwards with a winger—who was nothing else than a half-back—one half-back, two five-eights, three three-quarters and a full-back, whilst the Welsh team has adopted practically the same disposition, playing only seven forwards, three half-backs, four three-quarters and a full-back.

Thus in the course of about twenty years the proportion of forwards to outsides has been reduced from ten forwards and five outsides to seven forwards and eight outsides. It is, therefore, not difficult to see which way the wind is blowing, and there is food for speculation as to what will eventually become of the scrum. The abolition of the “dead-ball” rule and the necessity of playing the ball immediately you are tackled has done much to make the game faster, but it is a matter of doubt whether the game will be improved, from the players’ point of view—which is, after all, the primary consideration—by the reduction of the forwards to a mere heeling machine. Undoubtedly Rugby football, as it has been played in the past, is frequently most uninteresting to watch; the delight of getting the ball in the scrummage and of heeling it out cleanly, or a well-executed wheel when the forwards break away with the ball at their feet has little fascination for the spectators, whilst the satisfaction of grappling an opponent or stopping a rush by falling on the ball must appear very crude and barbarous compared to the admirable finesse of Association football. The tendency at present is to bring more skill into the game; the heavy, lumbering forward has given way to a quicker and more active type, whilst every effort is made to execute that brilliant hand-to-hand passing which is so attractive and generally so effective. Yet there is a danger that the increased number of outsides may lead to overcrowding and to “too many cooks spoiling the broth,” and we frequently see a centre three-quarter boring his wing into touch, or the ball being passed along in a stereotyped fashion, when an individual dash for the line would spell ruin to the opposition. The brilliant individual run through a crowd of opponents excites the admiration of the spectators just as much as a perfect round of passing, and, provided it is not attempted too often, is very deadly in its effectiveness.

In conclusion, it may be said that the unpopularity of Rugby football as a spectacle chiefly results from the difficulty of getting to the matches, the lack of accommodation for the spectators, the apparent complexity of the rules, the somewhat peculiar manner of scoring, by which a try counts three points, a goal from a try five points (in which case the try does not count), a dropped goal four points, and a penalty goal three points, and, lastly, the “exasperating interference” of the referee, with the continual scrummages which result therefrom. A suggestion, which has the support of several great players, is that the numbers should be reduced to thirteen a side instead of fifteen, with the formation of six forwards, two half-backs, four three-quarters and a full-back, or even twelve a side with only three three-quarters. At present the game is killed by the number of the players, whilst the packing of seven or eight forwards in the scrum is very difficult. With six forwards the packing is simple, even for a scratch team, whilst the fewer players and greater space would lead to more open play and brilliant running. We might then see one team winning by thirty points to twenty-seven, and no one could deny that this would be highly interesting and exciting from the spectators’ point of view. Finally, more attention should be paid to handling the ball. The majority of present-day forwards seldom handle a football during the week except in matches, and not always then; hence it is not surprising that many passes go astray, but it should be considered just as heinous a crime to pass forward, or to fail to take a pass, as to miss a catch at cricket, or to knock the tail-feathers out of a pheasant. It should be regarded as equally heinous to pass when you have a good chance of going through yourself, or to hold on to the ball when you ought to pass.

But Rugby football makes it its boast—a boast of which it is justly proud—that the player is the first consideration. The Rugby Union has always set its face against the evils of professionalism and the commendable and unflinching attitude which it has taken up has been reflected in the players, who somewhat foolishly have taken up an attitude of “noli me tangere” towards the spectators, and have resented anything in the form of interference. Anything like playing to the gallery has been righteously condemned, and the player who takes more than ordinary care of himself is often scoffed at. But what is worth doing is worth doing well, and players are now waking up to the fact that Rugby football can no longer be played properly in the happy-go-lucky way, but requires great physical fitness and very skilful use of both hands and feet. Moreover, it is patent to everybody that for a game to last, however good it may be, it must be popular. One often hears the remark, “We don’t want the spectators, and they have no right to dictate to us; if we choose to keep the ball in the scrummage, why shouldn’t we do so,” but if we do not want the spectators, we should like their sons to be brought up to play one of the finest games in the world. The enthusiasm in Wales for Rugby football is unbounded, as a recent incident at Cardiff serves to show. When the Barbarians were playing Cardiff before some ten thousand spectators (the day before there had been something like forty thousand spectators, when the home club were playing the New Zealanders), there was an interval of about five minutes at half-time, which was turned to account by some tiny little boys, none of whom could have been more than ten years old. They seized the football, and were instantly in the throes of an exciting game, which culminated in one little fellow dodging through several opponents and dropping a goal, amidst the applause of the crowd. If, however, you fail to interest the parent, you may fail to interest the offspring. There is no reason why the game should not be made more interesting to both the players and the spectators. It is unfortunate that so many people only go to watch the big games, International and Trial matches, which are seldom productive of good or interesting football, being for the most part struggles between scratch teams.

Wales, alone of the four countries, places anything like a combination of players in the field, and hence the apparent superiority of the Welshmen. Rugby football should not be judged by the form shown in International matches. The New Zealanders showed us what Rugby football could be like, even with a wet ball and a sodden ground, when played by a strong combination of brilliant individuals filled with a burning enthusiasm. The whole question resolves itself into this: Make the game interesting, and it will be popular; if it is popular, that enthusiasm will be aroused, without which nothing can succeed.

C. E. L. H.

The Thoroughbred.

The racing season of 1905 is a thing of the past, and I think that even the most optimistic will scarcely look upon it with feelings of unqualified satisfaction. There has been a feeling of dulness at many of the meetings which on occasion almost became depression. Many races which looked so well upon paper have fizzled out and been won by horses which, if not moderate, were at any rate not in the first class; and there has undoubtedly been a lot of very moderate horses indeed running, and, what is worse, winning races.

In these days it seems dangerous to write or talk about the thoroughbred horse. There are some to whom the very name is anathema, associated in their minds only with short distance racing and the routine of Turf life. To them a thoroughbred horse is full of every equine imperfection—light in bone, faulty in conformation, weak in constitution. Others, again, see in the thoroughbred nothing but good. We have, say they, as good horses as ever we had, and better, and they are as extravagant in their optimism as their opponents are in their pessimism.

It is not my intention to take sides with either of these parties. They are quite able to fight their own battles, with more or less acrimony, without any interference of mine. I purpose, however, to mention a few things which have come under my own notice, and to make a few suggestions about the horse, which at his best is undoubtedly the best type of the equine race the world has seen, the English thoroughbred.

It has been customary of late to speak of the sixties, seventies, and eighties as the palmy days of the English thoroughbred, and it will, I think, be generally admitted that we had a smaller proportion of moderate horses and more really good horses in the three decades mentioned than we have had since. That we have had quite as good horses as the best of them in the last fifteen years I readily admit, and the names of Common, Galtee More, Flying Fox, Ard Patrick, Persimmon, Sceptre, and Pretty Polly come trippingly off the tongue. But it is too true that we have a lot of very inferior horses running, and it is no argument to say that a race takes more winning than it used to do, as is sometimes said when an attempt is made to bolster up the reputations of the moderate ones. Before the argument will hold water it is necessary to ask what sort of a race it is.

That a certain amount of deterioration has been seen during the last few years is, I believe, generally admitted. But there have been lean years before now, and the deterioration has only been temporary. For instance, that was not a very grand Derby field in which Palmbearer ran second. It is our concern to see that the falling off to which I allude is only temporary; there is the material to work upon, of that I am quite certain.

It is frequently stated that it is early two-year-old racing and short distance races which have brought our thoroughbreds to the present position. This I take leave to doubt. Early two-year-old racing did not affect the horses of the sixties and seventies, and they got plenty of it. Neither did short distance racing hurt them, for there were half-mile handicaps in those days; and we have to look farther than this for the cause of the decadence. Let us, for the sake of argument, say that they are more delicate, and that stayers are not so frequently to be found amongst them. Let us say this for the sake of argument only, for it is the opinion of the writer, based on experience, that many a horse that is looked upon as a non-stayer would stay well enough if given the chance. At any rate, if the proposition is not true, there is a fear of it becoming so. It is not to the short distance racing that we should look for a cause, but rather to the absurd fashion for persistent inbreeding in one line, viz., to the Darley Arabian, to the neglect of the Byerley Turk strain (of which Herod stood out as one of the best sires of all time). Inbreeding, when carried to the extent that it has been carried with us, is sure to have its effect upon the average members of any breed. Occasionally, it is true, there will be exceptionally good individuals, but they will be few and far between. But the case is by no means hopeless; there is no need to try to evolve any other breed by means of elaborate crossing. All we have got to do is to use a few vigorous out-crosses. These might not answer for racing purposes in the first cross, but then, again, they might; but they would be sure to come out in the second cross. The Shorthorns are an analogous case. The breed had sunk low indeed through indiscriminate inbreeding, but a few generations have raised it to greater heights than ever as a general utility breed.

The temper and soundness of our thoroughbred horses are sources of considerable anxiety to those who look upon them as something more than mere instruments of gambling or adjuncts to a sport, and here there is cause for concern. Never, probably, were there so many rogues running as there are now, and in the experience of the writer never were there so many horses with forelegs which, to say the least of it, are continually on the verge of unsoundness.

Nor is it difficult to see why this is. The racehorse is not used in accordance with Nature. In his early days his growth is forced by stimulating food, in order that he may come into the sale ring “a well-grown yearling.” Long before he is two years old he is broken and mounted and galloped, and taught to face the starting-gate. He is “jumped off” from a stand with the whole of the weight he is carrying in the wrong place—in the place which ensures the strain coming with undue force on his forelegs. Be it understood that I am not discussing the starting-gate and its utility on a racecourse; with that I have nothing to do here. I am merely stating that starting horses at top speed, or as nearly top speed as is attainable, from a stand, with all the weight on the top of the shoulders, so that the strain comes fully on to their sinews, is quite sufficient to account for the “dicky” forelegs and feet which are so frequent on our modern racecourses.[2]

The artificiality of our modern racing, the multiplication of meetings at one place, and the gradual decay of the old country meetings, combined with the immense increase in the value of stakes—an increase, by the way, which owners principally provide themselves—have all had an effect on sport which is not altogether advantageous. But where, it may be asked, can these things have any effect upon the breed of horses as a breed? They have more effect than at first sight would appear. They tend to bring racing into fewer hands—into the hands of rich men. They tend to increase the service fees of stallions. They tend also to shut out the small man and the small breeder, because they make racing more expensive.

The old country meetings encouraged the small breeder. His expenses for entry, &c., were small, and if the stakes to be won were small, his travelling expenses, jockeys’ fees, &c., were on a similar scale. He could, if fairly well-to-do, afford to race for sport. For him fashion had no charm. A practical horse-breeder, he had his own fancies as to how to mate his mares; he ran his horses at local meetings, was delighted when he won a fifty pound plate, and his horses travelled in his neighbourhood and filled it with a good half-bred stock.

It may be said that we cannot go back, that gate-money meetings have come to stay, and that the country meetings can never be revived. Perhaps this is so, but if it is, it is all the worse for the Turf, and for the thoroughbred, the interest in which is undoubtedly dying out in some parts of the country.

So far I have endeavoured to show how we fail to make the best use of our thoroughbreds as racehorses; how we breed them injudiciously, feed them injudiciously, and put too great a strain upon them before their bone is set. For there can be little doubt but that the strain upon the young thoroughbred in training is much greater now than when the starting gate and the modern seat were unknown.

Now I will proceed to the other side of the question—to the thoroughbred as a general purpose horse. It is obvious that the value of the breed depends in a great measure upon his qualities of speed, pluck, and endurance with a man of ordinary weight on his back and doing ordinary or extraordinary work. On the qualifications of the thoroughbred as a general purpose horse there are wide differences of opinion and some very bitter things are said of his lack of stamina and his unsoundness and many other of his shortcomings which readers can fill in for themselves. Notwithstanding all these things that are said about him my own practical experience teaches me that for any purpose, what the late Whyte Melville described as “a thoroughbred with brains” is the best horse. The best hunters I have ridden and seen ridden have been thoroughbred; the best harness horse for work I ever sat behind was bought out of a selling race for £15, and the late Major Dalbiac, than whom no better horseman was to be found, told me that the best charger he ever rode in action was a thoroughbred that had had little preliminary training. This, of course, is a very different thing to saying that all thoroughbred horses, or that even a very large percentage of them, are good hunters, harness horses, or chargers. But it shows that, if they are fairly used and the most made of them, there would not need to be such an outcry as there is now as to the scarcity of good saddle horses.

An out-cross has been alluded to, and unfortunately the famous Herod line is nearly extinct. But it is not quite extinct, and as the line is not fashionable, what stallions there are with the Herod blood in their veins will not be out of the reach of breeders who do not breed for the sale ring. An Arab out-cross might be very valuable. It is true that the Arabs have inbred for generations to as great an extent as we have, but they have not inbred on the same line, and therefore an Arab cross might be very valuable. It does not necessarily follow that because the Arab is undersized and light in bone that the offspring of a thoroughbred mare and an Arab sire would be undersized and light in bone. That it would be valuable as a racehorse is perhaps open to question, but the value of the out-cross would be seen in three or four generations, even for racing purposes. It will probably be urged that it would be an expensive experiment to try, for it is palpable that such an experiment should not be tried with a mare of inferior quality. That may be admitted at once, and the reason of its being expensive is that, owing to the greatly increased value of stakes in these days, racehorses have come to have a fictitious market price, and especially stallions which have a good winning record. But surely there are to be found men who would run the risk of a problematical loss—in the North there is a proverb to the effect that a man cannot lose what he has never had—for the sake of the good which would result to the thoroughbred as a breed. For once establish the practical value of an out-cross in the thoroughbred and the result would be the same as it was with the Shorthorn—every one would hasten to adopt it.

There is also another plan which might be adopted, and it is surprising that it has not been adopted; and that is the establishment of a small stud of thoroughbreds, with the avowed object of breeding them for general purposes, and not for racing. This did not succeed so very badly in the past, and there is no reason why it should not succeed again. It is true that a possible Derby winner might be found carrying a man to hounds[3]or about the country roads, but he would not have cost much to produce and breed, and would doubtless have been sold at a remunerative price.

The writer is convinced that a stud of this kind, well managed, would pay its way, from the way he has seen several purchases at the yearling sales turn out. It is with some gentlemen a regular custom to attend the yearling sales, with the view of purchasing youngsters that will develop into hunters. They never give more than an average of twenty-five guineas for them, and very rarely is that sum exceeded for an individual. Care is, of course, taken to pick a big bony, growing colt or filly, and he or she leads a perfectly natural life from the moment of arriving at the new home, running out the whole of the winters, but getting shelter at night and a little corn twice a day. At three years old they are mouthed, and at four they are broken, and a large percentage of those that have come under my notice have turned out good hunters up to from thirteen to fourteen stone.

By doing away with inbreeding on such an extensive scale as it is now practised, and by treating our horses more fairly in every way—putting no undue strain on immature young horses—we may find those “careful steps” which Professor Ridgeway urges should be taken “to preserve our good breeds and not permit them to be contaminated and destroyed by rash experiments in breeding.”

W. S. D.

Mr. Vyell Edward Walker.

On the early morning of January 3rd one of the greatest cricketers this world has produced passed peacefully away, after a brief illness, in his sixty-ninth year.

Of all families associated with the national game, the Walkers of Southgate are pre-eminently the most famous; all the seven brothers were devoted to cricket, and six of them took very high honours at the game, whilst of “V. E.” the universal opinion of those best qualified to judge is, and long has been, that whilst W. G. Grace is the greatest cricketer that ever lived, V. E. Walker was the greatest cricketer who preceded him.

Mr. Walker was born on April 20th, 1837, at Southgate. His earliest studies in the science of cricket were pursued on the common at Stanmore, where he and his four elder brothers were at school before proceeding to Harrow. 1850 found him building a big cricket reputation at Harrow, and by the time he left school in 1854 he was recognised as one of the most promising and prominent amateurs in the country, so that it was only in the natural order of events that he should represent the Gentlemen against the Players a year or two later. From his Harrow days up to the year 1877, when he retired from the captaincy of the Middlesex County eleven, his was one of the most conspicuously active figures in the world of cricket during an epoch of over a quarter of a century.

Lillywhite’s for the year 1859 pronounces Mr. V. E. Walker to be “undoubtedly the best all-round cricketer in the world,” and in 1860 we find the same writer affirming: “To Mr. V. E. Walker we gave last season the credit of being the best all-round cricketer in the world. We have no reason now to alter our opinion, as the figures in the batting and bowling departments will justify the statement.”

In “The Cricketers’ Guide for 1860” we find the following: “Bell’s Life in Londonconsidered this gentleman to be A1 last season altogether. It said of him: ‘In coming to the most useful man in an eleven we should not be far wrong in selecting Mr. V. E. Walker.’ As a slow bowler no one (with his fielding) can touch him. A very dangerous bat, and anywhere in the field he is sure to save a vast number of runs. Certainly England cannot be well represented without him, and we doubt whether such an omission will for some years be ever attempted.” It is interesting to remember that at the time all this high praise was justly showered upon V. E. Walker he was only twenty-one years of age. It was in 1859 that he performed his great feat at the Oval, when he scored 20 and 108, and secured the whole of the ten wickets in the first innings. When Mr. Walker had taken nine wickets, and the last two men were together, Julius Cæsar was missed off his bowling, but after this he got rid of Martingell, and so accounted for the dismissal of the entire side, whilst the not-out man had actually been missed off his bowling. There must have been an exciting finish to this match, for we read that “Surrey were all disposed of in the last innings for 39 runs! which lasted over an hour and a half. 20 to 1 was repeatedly laid when England was got out—half-past four on the Saturday—that the match was a drawn one. The day was very dull, and therefore the light was bad, which, coupled with Jackson’sextra-pacebowling, will account for the small innings. Mr. V. E. Walker’s performances in this match are unprecedented. Upon two other occasions Mr. Walker took all ten wickets in one innings—for Gentlemen of Middlesex against Gentlemen of Kent in 1864, and for Middlesex against Lancashire in 1865.”

Mr. Edward Rutter, who played regularly with him, says: “He was a most formidable customer as a bowler, and he was the most athletic fellow that I ever saw in the cricket field. I have seen him catch a man behind the batsman’s wicket near short leg, which shows as well as anything that I can think of what a lot of ground he covered. It did not matter to him how hard the ball was driven back to him; if it was within reach, he made a catch of it with either hand. His action was peculiar; it was a sort of ‘half-cock’ action, for his hand, which was higher than the hip when the ball was leaving it, was at some distance from the body. He always bowled round the wicket, so that the ball came at a considerable angle. But, in my opinion, the greatest reason for his success in bowling was the way in which he fielded it; he was all over the place. How he managed to get his spin I do not know, but he had enough of it.”

Another interesting reference to Mr. Walker’s method of bowling comes from Canon McCormick, of St. James’s, Piccadilly: “I think that ‘V. E.’ was the best slow bowler I ever played, after old Clarke, who bowled as a rule faster than ‘V. E.’ ‘V. E.’ and W. B. Money were perhaps nearer each other in style than any other two bowlers of the time. I never think that Money had full justice done to him. ‘V. E.’ was better than he in both judgment and the way in which he fielded his own bowling; they neither of them tossed the ball in the air as much as other bowlers. ‘V. E.’s’ difficulty chiefly lay in his deceptive variation of pace. He was a splendid judge of a batsman’s abilities, and very quickly found out his weak spots. He did not concern himself with averages, his one leading idea was to get a man out.”

V. E. Walker earned every distinction and honour which the world of cricket could offer. Admittedly the greatest cricketer of the age, he was asked to captain any team representative of England, the South of England, or the Gentlemen, and indeed his marked ability as captain of a side was one of his most valuable qualities.

Mr. C. E. Green says: “Teddy was a splendid captain at every point of the game, and was always cheery under the most disheartening circumstances. Even when you had tried for a catch and missed it, feeling that you were a worm, you did not feel miserable for long, for he would come up to you and say, ‘Well tried, old chap. No one else would have got near the ball.’ The result was that you began to think you had done something rather clever, and it would be a bad look-out for any batsman who selected you for a catch after that.”

He was one of the founders of the Middlesex County Club in the early sixties, and captained the team until he gave up first-class cricket in 1877. The history of Middlesex cricket is intimately associated with the Walker family; they started the Club, and supported it not only by their brilliant cricket gifts, but financially. In the early days of Middlesex cricket their matches were played on the old Cattle Market ground at Islington. When this site was handed over to the builders Middlesex migrated to Lillie Bridge, but quickly moved on to the luxurious ground of Prince’s Club, where Hans Place now stands. When this ground was built over Middlesex accepted the invitation of the Marylebone Club to make Lord’s their headquarters, and during the last few years it must have been interesting to Mr. Walker, as President of the Middlesex Club, to see a handsome income rolling in each year to the credit of the Club, which he and his brothers had for so many years supported and financed. In 1866 Middlesex were what would nowadays be styled Champion County, winning six out of their eight matches and only losing one, when they were beaten by Cambridgeshire.

It looks now as if the time is remote when Cambridgeshire will again beat Middlesex. When a couple of years ago Middlesex were again Champion County, Mr. Walker and his brother, the celebrated Mr. Russell D. Walker, entertained the County team to signalise the event. In the fifties and sixties the cricket played at Southgate was second to none in the world. The Walker brothers were in every sense of the word hosts in themselves, and by the addition of a few of their personal friends they were able to get a Southgate team fit to beat all comers.

Here is a very interesting extract from the “Cricketers’ Guide” with reference to the match of the United All England Eleven against John Walker, Esq.’s, Sixteen at Southgate in 1859. “Grand preparations were made in Mr. John’s usual liberal manner. The betting was spirited, especially when it was known that the valuable services of Mr. C. D. Marsham (which proved so effective in 1858) could not be obtained. The ground was in first-rate condition, the usual labour and attention having been paid to it. The splendid band of the 2nd Life Guards was in attendance, and a very large assemblage made their appearance each day. Vehicles from all parts lined the ground, and the Great Northern Railway ran trains to the Colney Hatch station about a mile and a half from Southgate. The eleven were most hospitably entertained by this well-known supporter, who, it will be noticed, manages to get hold of sufficient strength to alwayswin. For the United, Carpenter scored 9 and 27, J. Caffyn 124 and 30, J. Grundy 56 and 1, Lockyer 20 and 37. For Southgate, Mr. J. Chalkley 18, Mr. E. Dowson 21, Mr. V. E. Walker 88, Mr. F. P. Miller 26, Mr. H. Perkins 60 and 4. Notwithstanding the tremendous scores of the United men, they could not pull it off—Southgate winning in the most plucky manner.”

What with Southgate and Middlesex, with several matches under the auspices of the Surrey Club at the Oval, and occasional matches for the Free Foresters and other clubs, Mr. Walker was able to fill up his cricket season to the best possible advantage; but we shall always regret that his cricket career had just terminated before the visit to this country of the first Australian team in 1878, so that he never had an opportunity of playing in an International match, although to his wise judgment and that of his brother, I. D., was entrusted the selection of the first team to represent England at the Oval in 1878.

V. E. Walker was always in office at Lord’s; in 1891 he filled the post of President, and afterwards was one of the three trustees of the Marylebone Club. He was Chairman of the Wood Green Bench of Magistrates, and only a month or two ago he was the recipient of a presentation walking-stick from members of the police force to commemorate the services he had rendered to a constable in dealing with a violent ruffian. V. E. Walker was a great philanthropist; he gave a public recreation ground to Southgate, he spent thousands of pounds for public improvements in his neighbourhood, and no one will ever know the extent of his private charities.

In every circle in which he moved his death has created void which cannot be filled.

“Our Van.”

The retro- and introspection with which some indulge themselves during the dead winter season for flat-racing must leave in the minds of such feelings of uneasiness. One had but to read the sporting papers very deeply to realise that racing was not being indulged in in the typical spirit of give and take; and when we found staring us in the face the advertisement of the Racehorse Owners’ Association, instituted for the protection of owners’ interests, one realised clearly enough that grievances were felt to exist. Possibly in due course the particular grievances which the covenanting owners desire to see redressed will be set forth, for of course the trouble was not taken to found the Association without some ostensible reason. In the meantime, the Jockey Club has declined to take official cognisance of the Association. So far as we have gone, the state of affairs seems to be that certain owners have formed themselves into an association, and have applied to the Jockey Club for official recognition. In effect the Jockey Club asks the Association, “Who are you?” Having so long ruled supreme and unchallenged, the Jockey Club no doubt feels it a little abrupt when a body formed outside itself suddenly appears, and practically suggests that it shall have a word or two to say in the government of the Turf. If it is not to have some sort of say, then there seems to be no reason for its advances towards the Jockey Club, or for its existence even. Enough has been said in print during the past twelve months to make the Jockey Club aware that the advance is not being made in a too friendly spirit towards them; therefore they practically reply, “Thank you, we can get on very well alone, and without your assistance, as heretofore.” It does not follow that an association of racehorse owners cannot exist and do good work without any reference whatever to the Jockey Club. Leaving outside the government of racing as conducted by the Jockey Club, there is plenty of room for the operations of such an association. Combination between owners has been sadly wanting. Now that there is some sign of it, one would like to see the body establish a right to its existence by the carrying out of measures of benefit to the owners and, by consequence, to racing as a whole. To the outsider it seems a little premature for a body, before it has won its spurs, so to speak, to aspire to deal on equal terms with the ruling powers. There are several matters connected with the practice of racing with which progressive or reforming owners might profitably interest themselves in conclave. Before a body can hope to be regarded as a negotiable quantity it must show some capacity for self-government and for dealing with questions of a kind that come naturally within its scope. Owners, as a whole, complain that their interests are not sufficiently considered. The complaint is not here refuted, but so far there has been lacking that combination of action which alone can effect changes. It is not too much to say that an association of owners can bring about that which it is beyond the powers of the Jockey Club to effect, because outside their scope. The Jockey Club can only be administrative; and already it has been accused of going too deeply into minutiæ. Those details which concern the owners should be settled by the owners themselves. It does not seem necessary for them to approach the Jockey Club at all in order to make their presence and power felt. They have but to agree amongst themselves how to act and how not to act under certain conditions, and the rest will come. One can speak in this way so long as one is in the dark concerning the aspirations and intentions of the new body, which has yet to issue its propaganda. When details appear it will be possible to discuss them. For the present, therefore, we must wait in patience.

Amongst the most important matters which a body of owners coming together for the protection of its interests can take in hand is the jockey question. Despite all that has been done the jockey is still the master of the situation; and this is bad for racing. A position in which the jockey dictates the terms is an intolerable one, but that is the position in which the Turf finds itself. It is not a new state of things by any means. The “It’s no use asking me what will win; go and ask that long-legged devil,” of Matt. Dawson could be paraphrased to-day, though the question of dishonesty is not being trenched upon here. What owners have to consider is, whether the relative positions existing between owner and jockey are those of master and man, and whether the reward given the jockey is not altogether out of disproportion to the service rendered. The enormous issues that are at times at stake, and the fatal power for good or evil that is given into the hands of the jockey, as forming the last link in a chain every other link of which has been forged with scrupulous care and disregard of cost, are what give the jockey his advantage. And this advantage he will always hold so long as he is allowed to feel his power, and not made to understand that there is a master mind over him. If the hard truth has to be told, the master mind is what is lacking. By slow stages at first and then rapid ones, we have passed from the times when the jockey stood humbly upon the mat awaiting the pleasure of his lordship, to a day when it is the owner who metaphorically stands upon the mat. To put the matter in a few words, the jockey is enabled to make an income that is not only far too large to be good for him, especially when we consider the lowly station from which he usually springs, but, in addition, is immeasurably in excess of his deserts. Clearing ourselves of the glamour of custom, it must appear plain that it is a ridiculous thing to give a jockey, say, £500 for winning a race, even be it the Derby. How can a jockey ride worth £500? Only on the supposition that if he is not able to anticipate some such guerdon of victory he will not put in his best work and so possibly lose the race; in which case he will be a dishonest jockey and should be dealt with in a totally different manner. The writer does not hesitate to put it on paper that there is no reason why a jockey should be paid more for winning the Derby than for winning any other race, for the simple reason that it is just as easy to win; and we do not have to go back many years to find a jockey who rode an indifferent race, but won through the merit of his horse, rewarded in a manner that would have been extravagant had he performed some prodigy of horsemanship and snatched the race out of the fire by its means. The thing is so glaringly disproportionate, that one is driven to assume that the giving of large presents to jockeys for winning certain races is done out of deference to a custom, the courage to disregard which is lacking. So much is the thing overdone, that one almost comes to applaud instances in which an entirely diametrical course has been pursued, in which the suggestion of parsimony in the case of meritorious riding has been braved.

Even when we take the purely commercial side of racing, in which the sole object is to bring off a betting coup, we see no reason why the jockey should be made a party to the pecuniary gains. It is, of course, the common custom to make him a party by putting him on so much to win. But why? Surely, looked at dispassionately, five guineas is a very nice reward for riding a race. The question of trying or not trying is, of course, quite outside the question. The jockey who does not try when he is being paid to do so is a thief, pure and simple. Consequently, when a jockey is being bribed by promise of extra reward to try, he is merely being educated to be a thief. Why should one be compelled to say, as one practically is, “If you win I will give you so and so?” The assumption should always be that when a jockey mounts a horse he will do his utmost to win: whatever the practice may be, this is the only tenable theory. But we may set aside the proposition of trying and not trying, and come to the position of a jockey not riding at all except at a certain fee. This position is one which the owners themselves only can deal with, and here, I fancy, the Racehorse Owners’ Association, if ever they come to consider the question, will meet a serious stumbling block. The strength of those owners, racing chiefly for sport, whom, purely for the sake of convenience, I will call the Jockey Club circle, is that they do not meet in fevered competition for the services of jockeys. Here we find the distance between master and man kept as wide as it should be, and as it was in the past. The two parties concerned do not meet on the same plane as is the case when mere money is at issue and the end is considered justified by any kind of means. For the state of things at which we have arrived owners must be considered solely to blame, for they have the remedy in their own hands. No fault can reasonably be found with the jockeys for making what hay they can whilst the sun shines. Owners are not unjustifiably complaining of the heavy expenses of racing. Is not the heavy expense of jockeys an item worthy of consideration?

In this matter of over-paying jockeys it seems as though the trainer is not being treated with justice. If, for the sake of argument, it be right and proper for the rider of a Derby winner to receive a present of £500, how much, in the name of equity, should the trainer not receive? He spends anxious months, even years, with animals of enormous value under his charge, which must be kept well and brought to the post trained to the hour. Upon the successful exploitation of the horses entrusted to his charge he has to bring several qualities to bear; and if outsiders are apt to think £2 10s. per week a considerable sum to pay for the charge of a selling “plater,” it becomes insignificant enough in the case of a possible Derby winner, even if the charge be as high as three guineas. The owner has yet to be met with who says to his trainer: “You have a Derby horse of mine. If he wins I shall pay you £10 per week for his training instead of £2 10s.” But this would not be out of keeping with the presentation of several hundreds of pounds to a jockey for riding a single race. The trainer, of course, takes his chance, but so should the jockey, and it is not at all creditable that he should be made the spoiled child of the Turf that he is. The statement that jockeys make more money than anyone else is scarcely to be contradicted, and such a state of things is entirely wrong. So far from the jockey of to-day doing more work for his money, the contrary is the case, as those in the habit of watching morning gallops can testify. It is a difficult thing now to get a jockey who has reached the stage of “fancying himself” to trouble himself about morning gallops. So much, at least, English jockeys have condescended to learn from the Americans.

The National Hunt is still active in its endeavours to devise a satisfactory hurdle, but its latest effort has by no means met with general approval. The Clerk of the Course at Hurst Park received instructions from the Committee to supply a hurdle, the foot of which was to measure 16 in from the bottom rail and be wholly inserted in the ground. It was to be put in at an angle so as to slope the hurdle, the common method adopted by the farm labourers who usually undertake such work being to ram the hurdle in straight and then force it over to the required slope. This is an abundant cause of the swinging-back hurdle that is so dangerous. So far so good; but the Committee provided further that the hurdles were to be bushed in the middle part only, the bottom and top rails standing out clear. It was of course the top rail that mattered, for horses accustomed to bushed tops might easily fail to see it. The innovation came in for severe criticism at the hands of trainers, some horses being sent home without competing. The very reasonable objection was made that it is scarcely fair to horses to spring a surprise of this sort upon them. It is one thing to school a horse carefully at a new kind of obstacle, and quite another to ask him to race over it. A further item of complaint, with which, however the National Hunt had nothing to do, was against the too solid nature of the end uprights of the hurdles, two coming together, making quite a formidable obstruction that suggested risk to life and limb.

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