[AusRace] Thommos Two Up School - A Tale of Two Jockeys

[Tony Moffat]

Sunday morning at Thommos Two Up School.

 

There was a Filipina bloke I went to boarding school with, David, who
came home with me one holiday, normally he would have flown home to
Luzon City. His parents were very wealthy, he said, but it did not
affect him and his father sent him to our school to continue his
education in maintaining the common touch. He had 41 shirts and 80
combs and had braces on his teeth, fitted in California the year
before and he went there for checking and adjustments during holidays,
in his family jet. He was small for his age but could throw a
baseball, make that thing turn corners almost. His luggage was moulded
strengthened suitcases and there were nine of those. He wore surfie
modern, we were 426 miles from the surf here, but it was all good
stuff. We rode motorbikes and rode around in cars on bush properties
and went shooting and fishing. He played Canasta all hours with Mum,
and Bridge and liked to sleep in, impossible at school. Mum asked him
what he liked to eat and we had cake every day after that, thanks
mate. Towards the end of the second week he flew from my home to
Melbourne, in a chartered plane, to meet his father there, I could
have gone as well but didn’t. Later in the year I received a Christmas
card from him and a photo of him and his family and their jet in
Iceland, he said he was there looking for Santa, he was wearing my St
George jumper, a few sizes too big for him.

Another guest from school was Ian, a big, really big, Polynesian boy
from a Fiji island. He flew in to the capital city airport, then
caught a series of smaller planes and a boat to get to his home
island. He was a thorough gentleman, so kind to Mum and while we only
had a week, he went home for a week after that, we did a lot, driving,
riding, swimming, fishing, shooting, golfing, tennis-ing, swimming
again. Ian said he thought he was older than it said in his passport
and identification papers. He looked 25 and his muscles had muscles.
He was not permitted to play football due to a stomach injury, an
appendicitis operation which was done not quite properly, his words.
He wore glasses, he was blind without his glasses and was losing them
often, feeling for them on the blankets or across the tops of tables
and benches and once he did that and he had them on his head. Mum
made, braided, a cloth chain for him and he wore them around his neck
all the time after that, much better he told her. He had very strong
religious beliefs and went to church 4 times in a week, although he
went every day at school. He got his Leaving Certificate the first
year I was at school and he left after that. He returned early the
next year for Uni, but ended up going to Hawaii for University, life
is hard for some. It was during this brief return to UNSW that big
Ian, D, David and I met up

In 1965 I was at boarding school in Bathurst, my older sister was
living and working in Sydney at this time and I, and two others, were
collected by her on Friday afternoon, late, to return to Sydney for a
concert at Double Bay –The Kinks. It was crap. My girlfriend, D,
actually left the venue and we all had after 40 minutes. Terrible.
Bad, because I think still they write, wrote, good songs. The support
bands were good but the stars not so – jet lag perhaps. Anyway we
strolled around Kings cross for a while then looked at the nice cars
in the shop windows in William Street then went to the pictures and a
club after that.

My guests this weekend were David, from the Philippines, and Ian from
a South Sea Island. I’m big, Ian is bigger, David is David, and D,
well she is a girl.

We had only been at school a week or so and had to be back there
mid-afternoon on Sunday.

David wanted to see a two up game. I had never been to one of those
and all I could think of was the clusters or groups of men, people, in
the side streets of Surry Hills when I went to collect something for
the printing works in Foveaux Street. The lady at the printing works
told me to be careful walking through the two up, it was gone by the
time I went back that way.

My Uncle Bill offered  to help and did so, he announced there would be
a game in Little Ridley Street, off Sophia Lane, he got that
information from the RSL in the suburb – now why didn’t I think of
that. We would go mid-morning tomorrow then meet for lunch, collect
our gear, get to the train and get back to student life.

When I was much younger I was driving with Dad, to golf at lunchtime,
when we saw a group of men running, on the footpaths and the Main Road
in town. Dad said the Police must have raided the two up, and the SP
as it turned out, and the runners perhaps were spreading out from
there, it seemed serious but Dad was smiling then laughed. One of the
runners, the leading edge almost, couldn’t work because of an injured
leg, and this tickled Dad somewhat.

I had seen the huddle of men in the laneway, out of sight mostly, but
that laneway ran at the back of my house and sometimes I would come
out our back gate, on the rear wheel of my Speedwell, and stay up
there for most of the block, to be met with this group of serious
faces who stopped doing what they were doing until I rode past,
sedately now. This was a two up game, Dad explained. The pennies had
to land on the dirt, in the dust he said, and the observation of the
result, tails, heads, or one of either, that decided the result and
the next action. To me it was like pokies, pokie action anyway,
mindless said Dad.

This day,D and I, David and Ian had an early breakfast and caught the
train into town, Central, and walked out of Eddy Avenue. We followed a
group of blokes and they said, yes, they were going to the game so we
asked the group could we tail along, no worries. We found the school
and an organiser said D could not stay, D said fine and she stood up
the top of the steps nearby and read the newspaper until some passing
lunatic made a sexual suggestion and she came back down to me, and we
both left. My sole visit to a two up school, boring, and strangely
quiet. There were perhaps 20 males there, and not a lot of money being
passed around that I saw. I understand the concept of the game but
can’t get enthusiastic about it, is this unaustralian or something.
Ian says it is known where he lives and David says there is lots of
gambling where he comes from, but not this, it’s more cards. 

Was it Thommos, I don’t know, I didn’t think so as I figured they
would be inside somewhere, controlled, a fee to enter, some
organisation, some taciturn officials. Something other than what we
saw then. D said she gave up an hours cuddling for this. Enough said.

This was before Sunday shopping and D wanted shopping which we could
do on the North Shore, so we told those other two we were going and
would meet them and my sister at a café for lunch. We, D, me and
David, had to catch a train back to school in the early afternoon too.
We had to be in uniform when travelling and we weren’t, we had to be
in the presence of an adult and none of us were, we had to be in house
before bounds, 5.00pm, and we weren’t, so we had to plan. First, food,
as we all missed tea, so railway pies all round, good too. We spoke
with a taxi driver, he was aware of the dilemma, so he drove to the
Memorial Park, near D school, then walked her over the road, carried
her duffle bag too, she signed in, then he came back to us and took us
to the Big House, no parking allowed, so we all walked up the
driveway, crunching underfoot, to be met at the front door and
admitted, no questions asked. David yelled back, thank you Uncle
Dazzle, as he crunched off down the drive, a fresh pound in his hand,
good work.

I wrote about that concert in a school essay and scored ok with it
too.

Jockey times two+++++++++++++++

There were two future jockeys at school when I was there. One was
pre-ordained to be one, and the other grew, actually didn’t grow, to
be one, in fact had never been on a horse until he did.

RB was from a horse family, they had horses in their back yard in the
country town where they lived and when his parents visited or
collected him they always had  a horse float on the back of their
F100, and bales of hay and bags of feedstuff. RB wore riding boots by
choice, those high heeled ones too, he was a perfectly formed small
man, just absolutely zero body fat, muscly and weighed 6 stone 8
ounces after tea, that’s like 45 kilograms near enough. He was a
fitness freak, one of six at the college who trained daily for some
athletic pursuit, a runner of long distance when he always won the
race over the car racing track at the back of the college, a gentleman
really, a good catholic boy, altar boy duties, latin, led the
processions from the chapel, and he was refused permission to play
football. The teams were aged based, the 5ths through to the 3rds, and
although he was 17 or near enough he was too slightly built to be
included in the senior teams, it annoyed him but he got on with it. He
played hockey, really well, and in the last year played soccer
outstandingly, he had sublime skills and his fitness. He said no when
asked if he was going to be a jockey, but admitted he would be horse
involved somehow somewhere. Anyway he got his leaving certificate and
before Christmas the same year he was doing apprentice jockey chores
at a sizeable stable in Sydney. He was good at it too, and the stable
had good horses, it all helps I guess and his name was often in the
results, if not on a winner at least on a placegetter, elevated to the
dizzy heights of third because of the jockey factor. I never got a tip
from him, I saw him at the races in later years and he had a firm
handshake always for me and a minute to talk my rubbish. He did well
over a lot of years, I would assume better than all of us in the asset
aggregation stakes and travels continuously in his retirement but that
is now. Back then his honesty, and from that his integrity, were the
reasons you chose him to ride your horse, the ability to control and
place and present the animal to the best advantage helped too. Over
tea one day he told me he was a terrible judge of a horse, he depended
on another bloke to pick his rides for him, at this stage he was not
aligned with a stable, he had been and had a lot of success, wins and
places and places out to 5th which paid him good money in addition to
his riding fee. He knew the value of a shilling, this one, because I
paid for the meal and he drove me to my place in his Jaguar. He was
known to be riding in the forward third of the pack, always ready to
strike and run on if the horse was able, capable, and he did not see
it as a science nor was there a special technique, just position your
horse and run on. He had never been accused of a bad ride, or a brain
fart causing his mount to lose. They lost more often than they won but
he had given the best chance that he could, he avoided trouble, he
missed being boxed in, or cut off, or being slow away or caught at the
back when the field fanned out on the corner, he was in the forward
third nearly always and missed all of that, and if his ride was good
enough it won, otherwise it ran up to its merits and placed, still a
sizeable cheque. He left his stable because of a personality clash
with another rider, the second string man who was exceedingly
ambitious, and on three occasions had ridden dangerously and on two of
those occasions had won, beating RB on a stable horse. Nobody at the
stable was asking questions of RB, sort of why oh why did you make us
lose money by losing the race type of thing, but the second string
drummed up an agenda about himself and RB and RB thought it better to
part ways. The stable supporters were saddened, annoyed, gob-smacked
or all of that together. RB could not see how, perhaps why, they had
placed so much importance on him, as the jockey riding their horse. He
told me he rode the horse within the rules of racing, wearing the
assigned colours, the flashy shirt and at the weight designated. He
was always a light weight jockey, always weighed his 45 kilograms, but
was strong, wrestler strong because he trained with one of them, an
Olympian who had specialised in training athletes. RB was unlucky in
love, never married, but often in the company of pretty girls.

The other bloke, TA, was never sure of what he was going to be, he was
in the form before mine and had been a boarder since he was 12, and it
showed. He needed a haircut, he needed a Mum really, his tie was
thinly knotted always and never done up, his shirt was out, his shoes
swallowed his socks, his jumper was way too big and his trousers way
too tight. He looked grubby, little and smudgy. He smoked and he was
incessantly hungry but he was thin and strong, and weighed less than
the other bloke. He played neither football or hockey, no sports that
I knew of, but he was often in the stands, yelling for the team,
supporting, part of the crowd on your side.

Form 9 do work experience in the second term and he did his at the
railway yards, where he may have been teased, trussed up, hung upside
down, and all day at that. He didn’t complain, he told us about it but
was good natured with it, the College would have been annoyed perhaps
if they found out.

Anyway, another kid went to a stable for three days, in his home town
though so he had Mum food every night for once but that wasn’t the big
news, the stable had won two on the trot this day, then a third and
fourth on subsequent days and there was quite a bit of money for
starters, but energy, excitement, whatever comes from that when a 14
year old with no vocabulary was describing it. This fascinated TA,
what, you ride the horse to a win and you are showered with money
like. Pretty much, was the tale teller response, I was there, I heard
them talking. I wanted to interrupt, to check the facts, but they went
back and forth, wonderous news of money for results on one side, and
more information wanted, or at least, confirmation that a 15 year old
had upwards of $3000 in a roll of notes, all garnered from the betting
and racing the day before.

Seems that from that point of time onwards TA was going to be riding
winning horses, daily perhaps, and will accept a money shower anytime.
His father said no, expletive deleted, a jockey, no way, nah, little
criminals, you are getting a proper trade, a boiler maker or welder,
mechanic or something. Somewhat deflated, and annoyed with his father,
I mean unhealthily out of love with his parents actually, he moped at
school, which is what he did after all and before the knock. Mid term
his father died, he said this was a blessing, he said this was a
miracle, he said he had a belief in miracles and I wrote that just as
he said it. TA left college that afternoon, bereavement pass, and has
never returned, his broken guitar was on top of the lockers at year
end still, the strings stolen, and his dry-cleaning, wrapped in a
large brown paper parcel was still awaiting collection in the dorm at
that time too, his gutted tennis racquet, with those of others though,
was hanging outside under the veranda of the sport room and his school
shirt, pants and shoes were on his bed in the dorm, on his pillow it
is said, a real no no, an assessed stick it up the establishment
motion there, his bathroom locker was open and was the receptacle for
all forms of rubbish, clothing, whatever, as the weeks passed.. 

 Look, I don’t agree with what he said, blessings and miracles aside,
but if somebody was going to say something like that, it was going to
be him.

So he left and never returned. About the middle of next year, my last
year, I was reading the Sunday paper, on Tuesday at home – country
town remember, and I saw that he had ridden a winner, in Dubbo, this
was his 15th win, from 109 rides, and there was no mention of a money
shower, well there wouldn’t be. But he was mentioned in the paper
occasionally and he was getting a paycheck on and off it seemed. It
seemed he travelled extensively to ride, to be seen, to help out a
trainer, he seemed to really try to make a success of this.

I never saw him ride but within 7 or so years he had gone, out of
riding but perhaps still in the industry in some capacity, I don’t
know what he did when race riding stopped. 

There were cadets at College, army trainees as this was during the
ramp up for Vietnam. The cadet training was popular, a lot of weapon
work, no shooting though, but the marching was superb, who would have
believed that blokes could be co-ordinated like that. They won prizes,
for their appearance, for their skill sets, for their marching and for
their band. I applied to be in the band and had a try out, I could
drum, I mean I had an understanding of the technique of drumming as
required, depending on the sticks rebounding quickly off the drum head
to get that distinctive sound, I had an ear as well, I picked up on
the rhythm quickly, there was no other music, just drums, two bass,
and a bunch of snares, with over the shoulder plaited straps. I
practiced with them, and I practiced by myself, but the drummer
numbers were restricted, 5 in the front row, then 3, then the two bass
drums in a line after them. I didn’t make it, there were no vacancies
anyway, and a couple of applicants. I was sort of relieved because
they went into kilts in the last year. Kilts, dresses mate in a Polish
named school with an American sourced catholic religion in the middle
of New South Wales, in some oblique lined cloth, I think the tartan of
a Cardinal from way back. Ok, I would have worn the kilt just to
immerse myself in the experience. The marching band, without the
marchers, were on Bondi Beach, when I saw them last, they sounded
really good, nice and tight with the playing and their marching. So,
let’s go with this again, a Polish named school, in Australia, in
Scottish clothing, playing Asian made instruments, with drum sticks
from the Caribbean, representing a religion head quartered in Rome,
and a school managed by priests from a catholic sect from America.
World music I would call that.  Good band though. 

We were taught marching at school – some get it wrong and it is not
because they are in time with the music, just a long way from the
source, therefore they look like they are out of step. That’s not it,
some lose the cadence, most don’t but those out of step really make it
cringe worthy for the rest of us.

 

 



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