[AusRace] Pasher - 6th Coonamble Races 1963 with Sophia and Chrissy

Fri Jan 19 02:30:12 AEDT 2018

Long, but there is racing here, some more of Chrissy and a lot about
Sophia, her family horses, and Pansy her Dad and importantly Baroness
Mum

Sophia Maria Anastasia Loretta was entitled, she thinks, her Mum was
one of the landed gentry from Somerset, via Gulargambone, Merrigal and
Dragon Cowal and her family, Mum's mob, were very keen for her to
accept the peerage, or whatever it was, so that their social
aspirations could get a kick along. It affected your passport only
these days, there was no money or land granted, there was an ability
to address yourself, or announce yourself as somebody of somewhere and
really, in the UK those were everywhere. Baroness Mum (let's call her
that) was hesitant however, she may have to renounce her citizenship
here and become one of them and besides there were two properties in
south Queensland, cattle and sheep, 3 in NSW, sheep, one of those the
neighbour of a world famous sheep stud, so the location was spic, and
times were tough in the sheep trade, lambs were hardly encouraged, and
wool was badly promoted, being badly aimed.

There were 7 shops, or their buildings because some shops were vacant,
being repainted, one re-roofed after the veranda was removed, one of
those was a hardware store, their go to bulk depot for items at buy in
prices plus 1.7%. There had been two pubs, but they sold one, the
ready seller to pay the way for the rest, and the other retained, her
Aunty was formerly a guest at the sold place and was now a guest pest
at the remaining place, which is making them money, what with the dole
and everything.

There were 18 year old tractors, 22 year old Land Rovers, a Chrysler
Royal with button gear change on the dash, three Commers, an Albion,
and an Autocar and a work force of 29.

Dad had a plane, all those places had a strip, and Soph has done 100
hours and a lot more, unofficial, while Dad wrestled with the cheque
book and papers, over there on the other front seat, her and her
Victor Hotel, papa papa something. It was on auto-pilot, but I was the
look out and that means somethink, Dad said, Soph said.

Sophia and her sister were leaving to go to school in Somerset, King's
Hall she was hoping, but first to be tutored, to have their
entitlement explained because it was the peerage of a foreign country,
to her, me, and while the mother understood the machinations of it all
there was indecision still. Her acceptance would mean the entitlement
would pass to Soapy in due course, you had to do some time at the
tiller though, live in the District and continue to contribute as the
forebears had done to get the thing way back. It was for service to
agriculture, helping the farmers of yore, introducing a shorter
rotation over a smaller space, a French or Belgium trick transferred
to green Somerset, more stock, more manure, and that manure over a
smaller area, the stuff of dreams. There is a farm there, in Somerset,
a sizeable holding by comparison, with stone wall fences, stone
cottages, a lake and another in a quarry, sheep, it had been a stud
but the government stud monopolised that angle, and they fatten lambs,
and store sheep for wool, an Australian ex pat does the shearing and
classing, there is a village on the corner of the block and a small
RAF field nearby. It was much bigger, back in the day of top hats and
horse and hounds but they kept the core, the south east facing downs
and sold the rocky saddles and the peaty valley bottoms to their staff
as they asked, now those small plots have changed hands many times
perhaps and the manor remains, with the family ensconced. Foxes, and
badgers, are troublesome and their man manages them, specifically how
is not known to Soph, but she closes one eye, makes a trigger finger
with one hand and holds an imaginary stock with the other and goes
BANG. The manager and staff run that, and when they visit they live up
the road a bit, the M5 at Weston-Super-Mare where her dad played
football rather than do his degree at the Agricultural University and
its where the adults met, in the pig barn. 

They had race horses, 12 of, and had success on the country circuit
and occasionally in Sydney, in fact they had a good record there, the
family trainer moved in with an on course trainer at Rosehill and they
planned a few lead up runs, and a few tactics, to get the horses in
competitive races. Mum and Dad flew to Sydney and went to the races,
Sophia and her sister went too, not every time but, and if it was more
than two nights away, almost never, they stayed on the place with Anne
Gallagher, the accountant, played tennis, and drove trucks, one each.

Sophia father had been a good footballer, he played for Australia, and
was playing for my team, the Thirds, but hoping for a promotion he
said. He never came to training, except sometimes a Saturday morning
run and talk about tomorrows encounter, somewhere, against paid
players often. Our town did not have school teams, there was not
enough boys at school, there was enough boys but some didn't go to
school, but they played in the town team and that was my association
with them, playing, because training was an option also, and there was
basketball one of those nights. The father was a break away and I was
his prop, loose head, and over a year and a bit we worked a plan, he
would snare and I would tackle, stop the ball movement there and the
next would come in, two by two, one of those the lock and we would
regain possession and the ball went through hands to the backline, and
the permutations from there are endless. He stopped playing, sometime
after I left the team to work away, but it was because he was the
managing director of a multi-million dollar company, and a broken neck
or something less, would hinder him. He played in the Firsts again at
the end, if he came to training one of two nights at least, that's the
association rules, meant to stop the buying in of talent and it was
his A game when he did.

The races. Sophia asked me and Chrissy to go with her to the races at
Coonamble, their stable is in a town near there. We went in the plane,
there are 4 seats, and six of us, just enough room, we skimmed over
the paddocks a couple of hundred feet up and the trainer was waiting
when we landed. The three adults and Sophs sister went off in the
first ride and they would return for us. They didn't, so with the taxi
going and coming we got a taxi and as we were under 16 years entry was
free. 

They had three horses entered, a five year old maiden horse, a 6 year
old mare who was too busy to stand still for a stallion, a dead set
nut case, and Pasher, the stable name for a giant who liked to kiss
you, smooch on your hair while you gave him a love. These three were
in the care of one strapper, Stroppy, but Rhonda to me and the others,
a red head, tall and in love with horses, like people personify dogs,
calling them baby, themselves mummy, going with uh, uh naughty boy,
well Rhonda and her horse were like that, personal, one on one. The
trainer didn't interfere, the feed revved the horses up, they were as
fit as hands can make them, the jockey was the same for all three. The
trainer had other horses entered today as well, owned by other
persons.

The mare ran and won, $270 prizemoney, this was Rhondas back pay from
the trainer, the trainer and Rhonda may have had a little on the
winner, they were laughing, him and Rhonda as the next horse was
prepared, the stallion who was placid in the stalls but revved up
going to the mounting yard so was bought back and taken through the
process of untying and leading, then doing up the saddle straps and he
was unaffected by all of this. Rhonda said to me could I put a bet on
for her, and she gave me 4 20 pound notes. He was an Improver in a
Handicap, and while I understand that now, it was poetry of the turf
to me then, so I walked up the side of the bookie ring, along the back
and I was looking for a face, anybody to assist junior here and I
stepped forward to appear in the ring with a semi-circle of spruiking
men on my left, and a three on my right. What do you fancy, board
odds. I said I'm looking for somebody to put a bet on with, not for me
but. The voice said, Funny we do bets, what would you like. 80 pounds
on the fifth horse please. It wasn't favourite, it was 5/1, there were
two others shorter, and my bet caused the big man to lean forward and
around to eye me off, sure, write it up. So they called it and wrote
it and I got the cardboard thingy after they counted the dosh. There
was some small talk, the bagman and me, there was not a lot of betting
going on. The usual prying of how are you connected, it raced at Boomi
last time, only one to finish, he's been around a while, about time he
buggered off to stud. So I said I was with the owner daughter and the
strapper asked me to bet for her. I told him the trainer name, and in
the same instant, there was a kerfuffle on the other side, money was
arriving for our fellow. I looked and took it all in, I felt alive
really, I was smoking too so that put some adult output into
everything I had done. It won, it started a few points longer though
and Rhonda said good mate, good on you, no, happy with the win, any
odds is good odds for that. I gave her the ticket. We waited while the
after race stuff went on and the horse was settled. Soph, Chrissy and
Me got photographed with the horse, who is really handsome and we held
the big guy while Rhonda went and got her money. She held it up to us,
to me, lovely lolly she said, others had backed it too, one of those
smacked her on the bottom, then they kissed, and not in a normal way.
I laughed, Chrissy laughed, and Soph giggled. 

There were two races before out next entrant. We ate with the parents,
a sit-down in a tent at about 3.00pm, I like pies better, Chikos more,
and this was pink pork and Chrissy wasn't touching that. We moved the
food around, and eventual binned it. You had to present a plate to
qualify for sweets, now you're talking. Cake and cream, the chosen
food of many after that previous calamity. 

We watched the entertainment, courtesy of the members bar, and sat up
the back and  side of the grandstand. It moves. The race before ours
started and our jockey and two others came off, just after the turn
into the straight, our man was on the outside and back a little it
seemed, when the other two came off and one of those hit our mans
horse and it veered right and the jockey went straight ahead, dove
into the dust rolled and came up on his feet. There were injured
jockeys on the track and some committee people running to them. There
was no ambulance, there was a Doctor and a first aid kit, and they
took a chair up there and carted one man back to the lawn, then
through a gate and into a room under the grandstand. He waved and
smiled with his dusty face and hands, and was all questions about who
had won. The winner was unexpected, it was not fancied as they say,
the favourites were beaten outright, and somebody associated with them
was angry and shouted at the boy jockey, he was what 14 years and he
gazed down at the ground while being berated by the angry man. 

Pasher was next, he stood tall, head up, ears up, and moved as Rhonda
put that strap on and the next one. Don't pat him, don't settle him
mate, just hold him, click your fingers to get his head up and keep it
up. He has to work this boy. So I did that, and when she was down the
back left, fussing over something, I gave him a pat on his neck, asked
him who's a good boy then, and got a smooch on the head, true to form
is Pasher. Please, mate, don't, don't settle him, he is all revved up
as it is let's leave him at that. If that is a revved up racehorse
then the betting public should look elsewhere. Soph and Chris rock up,
and there are hugs, pats and smooches, what are you going to do?
Rhonda went to get the saddle cloth, numbered with a sand company logo
advert on it, and we smothered that big horse in pats, and kisses.in
affection. Sophs Mum came to us while Rhonda was again fussing, and
Pasher was intent on eating her hat, that thing they wear. Chrissy
commented on one as something that grew in a tidal pool, 

The trainer got Rhonda to walk Pasher into the mounting yard, and we
went with them as far as the fence, then I got a position for us on
the rail near the finish and the others joined me there, like a
sandwich filling. The race was for a mile and Pasher was a chance,
Rhonda was fairly confident, but backed another, the trainer said well
he is in the race and when they do that they all have a chance, which
I thought was wishy washy at best, yes or no is what is required. He
did win the race, the trainer, but not Pasher, his 4/1 chance won it,
with a boy up, but the stable benefitted. Sophs dad does not bet, he
likes racing, and has a room with a wall dedicated to horses, and a
wall to football too, it was widely touted that the winner would do
just that and the second and third placegetters were a lottery also.

Pasher and the others, all the horses were loaded into a 9 horse float
and left. Two wins were good, the trainer had three wins this day and
5 wins over the three days and the adults talked specifics and there
were plans for Dubbo the week after next, or a city run, over some
ground with a few horses in the makeup. The horse truck did a few
trips to the airport, two for us six, and we had to get going as
sundown was at 6.37pm and we must be on the ground by then, day time,
night time rule, I think perhaps no night lights or something similar.
We were, we were home before the night came in, it is still very light
up there near the clouds, there was a delay in taxi-ing and queueing
at Coonamble until somebody, I think the fuel man, organised us,
pointed as in you go now, now you, go, and about 9 of us got out of
there, north south east and west. 

Chris was in the front seat and had a go, a fly would it be, moved the
beast with her antics, she would be a pilot at a later time, her
second choice aeronautically, because she intended to build them if
music couldn't be played, it was, she played in a band as her job.

It was pretty much the Sophia and Chris day, they were good friends.
Chris was romantically attached, to me, as it was then but as I wrote
before she went to Sydney for school.

Sophia did go overseas and did the things she said she would. Mother
declined the peerage, but stayed and got the firm back in the black
with some good Australian pragmatism. She can shear and drive a grader
and a dozer, has an accountancy degree after backing out of economics
at University, likes cricket and was golf captain. There is nothing
she cannot do, Sophs words about her mother.

I have a fond memory of both of them standing on a horse, Sophs home
gelding, Rehgih, it's higher reversed but named for its Pakistani
blood grandsire, while picking apricots out of the top of the tree,
where the parrots hadn't got to and throwing them to me to catch them
in a hat and pass hatfuls to Miss Gallagher. They both fell into the
tree and started a slow motion falling, sliding, gravity affected
descent to the ground, breaking smaller branches on the way, to end up
side saddle, both of them on the old horse, who had moved away
marginally when the load went off, and moved in, automatic like when
perhaps he realised he could be the star here. They were both wearing
jodhpurs and riding boots and they both crossed their legs in time and
had an apricot and a laugh.

Sophia played tennis in long pants and served underhand, she was shiny
white in her bikini, was at least 92% leg and if they had a head girl
at our catholic high school it was her. The go to for spider removal,
vomit collection,  auditorium seating construction and deconstruction,
toffee making and selling and picker up of confetti, the bane of the
Nun, placating a demoralised child recently derided for misspelling
antidisestablishmentarianism and one who chose me as a responding
conversationalist, tennis partner, and general muscle, somebody to
hold the chairs and desks up and accessible while she sprayed Pagets
Approved Disinfectant, undiluted due a label misread, the Glen-20 of
our era. Kills all it contacts, it says it there on the label, and I'm
writing this.

Pasher had two more runs and was retired. He was to return to the
spring paddock out at the marshes, a perennially green old folks home
for horses, the earlier retirees. It is part of the 3rd station at
Eenaweena and horses are taken there and introduced to the mob, there
may be 30 there, not all mingling, apparently warm bloods can be stand
offish and have to be supervised but they can be monitored, there is
ground water there, it's healthy regarding fly and nuisance level, a
rug is never needed and when you go there they idle across to the
laneway, not so much to see who it is, but to see if whoever it is has
a lolly, a pat or a bad third choice, an apple or a carrot. Pasher was
given to Rhonda, whose enthusiasm outscored her ability to keep him,
feed him. It is a big horse and the feed has to be purchased, and the
paddock rent paid. There was no hesitation when Rhonda asked for help
before he suffered, he was thin but healthy and the other good thing
was Rhonda got the job to monitor and to be the early educator of
young horses and to be the machinery operator for the cotton paddocks
otherwise. She has a van and a man so everything worked out fine. The
stallion got sold and had been doing what stallions do but I am
unaware of the results of that. Crazy Zara, the mare may have got
tangled in a fence in one of her escapades, this one was dumping  the
track work rider and spending the afternoon in the shopping centre
streets of Dubbo, defying capture until she was fenced in with
vehicles and sedated and her legs lacerations examined. She passed out
of ownership anyway at that point and suffered a name change, to be
sold again and hopefully mellowed to become a girls ride, you'd hope
but hard decisions come easy when money goes.

When I got a science prize at school and then my school certificate
and my name was printed in the paper Sophia saw that in the UK, looked
for it she said and wrote to me. She signed it Soapy surrounded by 9
kisses. 

It appears her parents lived apart, Pansy had a new girl and a new
child and managed a smaller estate here in Australia. The Queensland
places sold to cotton conglomerates from USA, and India, his father
had bought them as prickly pear infested shitholes, and I use his
words there, that corrected themselves when Cactoblastis overtook them
and some remedial work was done, they became big viable cattle blocks
but ended up under cotton. The shops were sold, as functioning
business premises but country towns can be iffy, the hardware shop was
retained and rebadged and really was the supply centre for the big
concern, minimised somewhat as I said. 

Enjoy

Cheers

Tony

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