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Memoirs of the British Turf BY THE HON. GEORGE LAMBTON. Tenth Article. Charles Lund, who trained at Malton, was 1 a charming man, also of a sanguine nature, but, unlike Tom Green, he hated bettir.g. He trained a mare called Irma for me, and ; I rode her in a race at Derby. When he put me up I asked him if the mare was all right, and he assured me she could not be , better. "Well," said I, "thats a good thing, as I have got 0,000 on her," Charles nearly fell down with horror, went into the weighing room, and sat with his head in his hands says, "Oh ! how I hate this gambling," until after the race, which I won by six lengths, was over. ; ; Two men who were extraordinarily kind to me when I was a boy were the two brothers, Clare and Bob Vyner. Clare was a most attractive man with a wonderful charm of manner, but when I knew him he had bad health and did not take an active part in racing. Bob was more robust and liked to pretend he was a hard man, but he really had the kindest heart in the world. Clare owned many good horses, but that w:as before my time. I believe he was a first class judge and a fearless bettor when he fancied a horse. He and his brother always employed a fine old fellow called Harry Bragg, to do their commissions. He was one of those rugged Yorkshiremen, as honest as the day. On one occasion, having tried Lily Agnes, the dam of Ormonde, a certainty for the Ebor Handicap, which is those days 1875 was a great betting race, Clare Vyner wired to Bragg to back the mare for the race, but omitted to say what sum he was to invest. Bragg wired back, asking how much he wanted "on." The answer was, "Go on betting till I tell you to stop." The mare won the race. Bob Vyner was about the most successful owner in the North and won an enormous number of races. Of course Minting was the best horse he ever owned, but he also won the St. Leger with The Lambkin, the One Thousand with Minthe and the Ascot Cup with that beautiful and brilliant horse Marcian. The majority of his horses were trained in the North, but he would pick out a few of the best and send them to Mat Dawson at Newmarket. Minting very nearly remained in the North. Before sending his yearlings away, he had them trained in the park at Newby, his place in Yorkshire. He told me that George Thompson, who was one of the best gentlemen riders in England in fact, I should put him on a par with Mr. Coventry rode the horse and said he. was a heavy-shouldered beast that would never win a race. Besides being a fine rider, George Thompson was a great judge of a horse, but fortunately Bob did not agree with him on this occasion and the horse went to Newmarket. VYNER NEVER FORGAVE. Bob was a shrewd, hard-headed Yorkshire-man, true as steel, greatly loved by his friends and servants, but anyone who did not play the game or tried to "do" him would come off second best and he never forgave them. His daughter, Lady Alwyne Compton-Vy-ner; and his grandson, Clare Vyner, are carrying on the old tradition, training at Newby, racing in the North, taking the greatest personal interest in their horses and I hope and expect to see the old colors often in front. In the season 1895 Persimmon and St Frusquin stood out as the star performers among the two-year-olds. They had met only once in the Middle Park Plate, when St. Frusquin won and Persimmon Fan badly. But there was a valid excuse for the latter, which had not long recovered from coughing and I believe that his trainer, Dick Marsh, was against running him. Anyhow, his form in the Middle Park Plate was too bad to be true. As in Ormondes year, we have again two great horses in Persimmon and St. Frusquin, owned by great sportsmen in the Prince of Wales and Leopold de Rothschild, trained by masters of the art in Dick Marsh and-Alfred Hayhoe and ridden by Jack Watts and Tommy Loates. The latter was a good and strong rider, and a great public favorite, not such a fine jockey as Watts, but well suited to St. Frusquin, which was a hardy, game customer, able to stand any amount of riding; while Watts, who had been brought up by Tom Cannon and had his beautiful, delicate style, was as fine a horseman as ever lived and just the jockey for a high-strung, delicate horse like Persimmon. Equally happy were these horses in their trainers. Alfred Hayhoe was one of the old school. A splendid trainer, but a hard man on his horses, which needed iron constitutions to stand what he gave them. When they did so the result was the perfection of fitness. Whereas Marsh was the most patient of men and could nurse a delicate horse into the same state of perfection. 1 As to the owners, it is not for me to write about King Edward. His character and life are too well known to everyone, but as a sportsman he was by far the most popular man in England, and in this respect Mr. ! Rothschild was second only to him. ST. FRUSQUIN AND PERSIMMON. In the spring of 1896 both horses were reported to have wintered well, and in the Craven week at Newmarket everyone was keen to see them at work. St. Frusquin came out in the Column Produce Stakes, which he won easily, pleasing everybody. He was well forward in condition, while Persimmon was backward in his coat and did not 1 . altogether satisfy the critics. Report for once was correct, for Persim-,mon was struck out of the Two Thousand, I the Prince taking the sound advice of Lord i Marcus Beresford and Marsh, that if he wanted to win the Derby he had better . forego the Guineas. St. Frusquin won the ; race in great style, beating a good horse in Love Wisely afterward Avinner of the Ascot Cup and Jockey Club Stakes, and settled down into a good favorite for the Derby. Meanwhile Persimmon was doing well, and Thais, the property of the Prince of Wales, i won the One Thousand, which raised the i hopes of his supporters. As I have already said, Persimmon did not 1 ; , ; please everyone in his work, and he certainly was not a taking mover in his slow paces, but one gallop I saw him do convinced me that he was a great horse. The last fortnight before the Derby the going was hard, and both Hayhoe and Marsh were anxious, as neither horse really liked such conditions. I think, perhaps, St. Frusquin was the chief sufferer. But good horses and good trainers can overcome most things, and they arrived at Epsom both fit to run for their lives. j I was staying with Lord Rosebery at the Durdans, and went out in the morning to see the work. It was hot when I reached the Downs. One of the first horses I met . was -Persimmon, rather irritable, the sweat running off him, and not looking in the least like a Derby winner. Then I met Dick Marsh, quite as hot and , nearly as irritable, his hopes having sunk , almost to zero. Then came St. Frusquin and Hayhoe, the horse looking beautiful, but moving a little short, and Hayhoe, in a bad temper, declaring that the course was beastly. Mr. Rothschild was there, beaming as usual, but also hot and nervous. Such j are the pleasures of owning and training Derby favorites! , In the paddock and the parade there were only two horses that people wanted to see, : but Persimmon was saddled at Sherwoods stable, not far from the start, and he took no part in the parade there was no rule i then that horses had to go past the stands before a race, and St. Frusquqin was sad- ; died in the grounds of the Durdans, adjoining the paddock. He was a brown horse of lovely quality, on short legs, with a wonderful back and loin, and a real good game head. If you could pick a fault you might have said that he was a trifle short. Now Persimmon, also a horse of great quality, was an exactly opposite type. A great, lengthy bay, slightly on the leg, with the most perfect shoulders, bloodlike head and neck, great quarters, and straight hocks. The public likes a horse that has been out, and in consequence of that, added to the report of Persimmons nervous state in the morning, St Frusquin started at 11 to 8 on. Persimmon at 5 to 1 against. Like Ormonde and The Bard it was a two-horse race, St. Frusquin taking up the running when fairly in the straight, followed by Persimmon. WATTS WAITS WITH PERSIMMON. Then ensued the most exciting struggle and a beautiful one to watch. Tommy Loates on the rails, riding for all he was worth, St Frusquin gamely answering every call, and Watts patiently holding his horse together for one run. When he did call on him he gradually but surely drew up to St Frusquin, then he appeared for one moment to falter, and Watts had to balance him once more, perilously near home, but in the last hundred yards he shot up and won by a neck. I shall always think that Watts quietness and nerve in such a critical moment was one of the greatest feats of jockeyship I ever saw. When you think what it means to a jockey to win or lose the Derby, add to that the responsibility of riding for the Prince of Wales, one can imagine Watts feelings when he found it necessary to take that pull so close home, for if it had not come off it would have looked as if he had ridden a tame finish and he would have come in for much criticism. The scene after the race will remain in the memory of all who were fortunate enough to be present The Prince walked down from the stand amid a wild tumult of excitement and enthusiasm, and went with his equerry and Marsh on to the course to lead his horse in. NEAR RIOT ENSUES. The crowd broke through the cordon of police and it was with difficulty that the Prince could get near the horse. I think in later years, when Minoru won for him as King of England, that the enthusiasm was even greater. The police were then quite unable to cope with the crowd, who patted the king on the back and shook him by the hand, with cries of "Good old Ted-die." Some distinguished foreigner who witnessed it said that nothing like this could happen outside England, which recalls to ones mind what Bismarck said to Disraeli, "You will never have a revolution in England as long as you keep up your racing." Dick Marsh told me that when the king was leading Minoru back through the cheering crowd some music-hall singer struck up with "God Save the King," which, as we can -all remember, was taken up and sung right down the course. Ardent supporter as I was of Persimmon, I thought at the time that the brilliant riding of Watts had just turned the scale, but subsequent form in the Prince of Wales Stakes at Newmarket showed how evenly matchea the two horses were, for on that occasion St. Frusquin, in receipt of three pounds from Persimmon, won a splendid race by half a length. St Frusquin after this carried off the Eclipse Stakes in fine style and showed himself to be growing better and better. Everyone looked forward to a great struggle for the St Leger, but unfortuntely St Frusquin broke down in his preparation and he never ran again. It was a thousand pities, and I know that no man more genuinely sympathized with Mr. Rothschild than the royal owner of Persimmon, who, good sportsman as he was, looked forward to the great battle for supremacy. With his great rival out of the way. Persimmon won the St. Leger in a canter from Labrador, the property of the Duke of Westminster. GREAT OVATION FOR TIIE KING. The North-country crowd, loyal to the backbone and dearly loving a good horse, went wild, and eventually the police had to escort the Prince back to the stands. As he walked back, surrounded by a cordon of police, same wag shouted, "Never mind, Teddie, it will be all right; well come and bail you out" Persimmon ran once more that year, winning the Jockey Club Stakes and beating Lord Roseberys Sir Visto, winner of the Derby the year before. Then the enormous responsibilities of Dick Marsh and Lord Marcus Beresford were over for the mo-1 ment and the horse retired into winter quarters with his next objective the Ascot Cup. To Be Continued.
