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The Big Issue : Edition 444
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steed. Earlier in that year of 1961, Sharply had beaten the immortal Tulloch in the Sydney Cup. To this truant student, it was like shaking hands with Elvis Presley. Of course, it is unthinkable today to have such easy access to a cups contender. The backyard stables have long disappeared, horses are cosseted commodities and trainers employ security staff to pace their sophisticated complexes. Racing has changed and many think that even the Carnival has lost the colour and excitement that had a visiting Mark Twain write in 1895 that “[it] commands an attention, an interest and an enthusiasm which are unrivalled and spontaneous, not perfunctory”. Perhaps it reflects the demand for instant, organised entertainment. And yet the Spring Carnival is special, and each year there are additions to its list of myths, mysteries, ‘colourful racing identities’, and of those discordant twins: triumph and despair. Did you know that Archer, the winner of the first Melbourne Cup, was walked the 800km from Nowra, NSW, to compete at Flemington by his faithful strapper Dave Power? It’s a wonderful story and a film was even made about it in 1985, titled Archer, with Nicole Kidman in a small role. Only problem – it’s a myth. Archer (and, presumably, Dave) took a leisurely boat trip down the coast on The City of Sydney. In 1870, Walter Craig had a dream in which his horse, Nimblefoot, won the Cup but the jockey sporting his violet colours wore a black armband. Craig, who made his fortune in the gold rush and built the elegant Ballarat hotel that still bears his name, backed his horse to win at long odds, perhaps putting the matter of the armband to the rear of his mind. As it turned out, Craig died in the weeks prior to the race and Nimblefoot duly saluted. This sounds implausible – just another myth – save for one fact. The Age newspaper published the story about the dream on the Saturday before the Cup. The story had sufficient impact to cause Nimblefoot’s odds to fall from 20/1 to 12/1. Put it down as a Spring Carnival mystery. IT WAS My own rite of spring. Binoculars, beer, betting tickets, sun cream, radio and a decent book were flung into a calico bag attached to the handlebars of the trusty Malvern Star bicycle, which I’d navigate to Caulfield racetrack. I would spread out the contents by the lake and spend my afternoon in cheap isolation attending the Memsie Stakes meeting, usually held in the first week of September. To me, this was the start of Melbourne’s Spring Racing Carnival. To saner folk, the Carnival centres on the three great races: the Caulfield Cup, the WS Cox Plate and the jewel in the crown, the Melbourne Cup. But to this racing tragic, the Memsie Stakes, with a guaranteed field of resuming star gallopers and the promise of a warming sun on the back, were sufficient for a personal celebration. The day also offered a unique view of racing, near the home turn, away from the course commentary and the roar of the crowd, catching the curses of the jockeys as they demanded racing room – a daunting reminder of the stress of making quicksilver decisions on horseback at 70km an hour. My parents loved a bet and often took me to Caulfield. They were a well-calibrated gambling couple – Dad generally lost and Mum generally won. The sons and daughters of local trainers attended my primary school, Saint Anthony’s, and one morning I escaped the vigilant eye of Sister Alphonsus to head down the road to a backyard stable where I patted and cuddled a visiting chestnut named Sharply. This was no mere Phar LaP is Led to the mounting yard after winning the 1929 Victoria derby in meLbourne (fairfax archiVes) THeBigissue25OcT–7NOV2013 15 spring
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