Had A Horse

HAD A HORSE

James Strewin, a bookie, lived a long time ago

And this is his story I thought you should know

He was small, shabby-dressed, inconspicuous, too

And he lived in the town, bearing the colour, dark blue

It was Oxford, the city, and the young bloods abroad

Supported his needs, with all that they could afford

Young Colquit, one day, amassed sufficient bad debt

That he gave up a horse, enough to cover his bet

She was a young chestnut filly, Calliope was her name

Just three years of age and fairly new to the game

Jimmy frowned at the thought, for she had not ran at two

Should he sell her, or race her; now indeed, what to do?

For he had grown up in town, a young boy of the street

He had a smartness at sums; a clever head, rarely beat

He had started with pennies, with a street corner book

But the pennies had mounted, and bigger bets he now took

In his quest to make money, he had bear seen a horse

For a 'horse' was just figures, which ran somewhere on-course

But love 'horse' he did, and never far from his lips

Was conversation about them, either bets, odds or tips

He was town-bred, a man, whose activities did force

But who now, through mere chance, found that he had a horse

As he traveled by dog-cart, in the warm July air

Jimmy thought well with pleasure, of what he would do there

"I'll look, have a see, for I think that I should

You never know what she's worth, perhaps, she may turn out good"

George Pulcher went with him, as he traveled on down

A big solid man, with a red-faced set frown

On approaching the stables, the trainer gave way

He was thin, neat in clothes, shaven lips, hair of grey

"Mr. Jenning? My name's Jimmy Strewin; well met

I've come for my horse, the horse I won with a bet"

"This is my witness", as Jimmy handed the note

It was a letter signed, Colquit, and the words that he wrote: -
were

"Dear Jenning, I've sold out my horse, this is true

His name's Jimmy Strewin, and I beg this of you

He takes all engagements, plus your training bill

I don't wish to do this, but do this I will

.............Gardon Colquit

Jenning folded the letter and peered down his nose

He looked at the bookie and at his wrinkled clothes

"For gents, do I train, and I don't want your kind

So it pleases me now if elsewhere you would find"

"Wait here", he exclaimed, as he walked to his house

So Jimmy stood waiting, over-awed like a mouse

For the trainer's abruptness, and his manner aloof

Had injured esteem that had starved from his youth

Jenning brought back his bill, saying, "This is my fee

Until you've paid up my money, the horse stays with me"

Jimmy said nothing, but stared at the note

For seventy-eight pounds and three shillings was wrote

The sound of hoofs roused him, for here came his mare

And as she threw up her head, with satin neck, golden hair

Her coat shone in sunlight, and her tail flicked the flies

Jimmy Strewin stood spellbound, as he looked in her eyes

At a respectable distance, Jimmy walked round to look

The only thing about horses, he knew, was 'the book'

Completing his circle, he approached, feeling good

Gingerly touching her neck, warm and smooth, where she stood

The trainer was watching and his mouth held a grin

And for almost the first time, the worm turned in Jim

Speaking no word, he walked back to the cart

The horse was led back and the thought seemed to smart

"When I've cashed out your cheque", said the trainer with steel

"You can send for your horse", he then turned on his heel

As the cart drove away, Jimmy swore to himself

That the cheque would be wrote, and his pride brought to health

It was the first time that pride ever entered his mind

And that pride, in himself, would be there for to find

The bill, it was paid, and the horse whisked away

To Polman, a trainer, it now there would stay

The importance of ownership, gave something to Jim

For now, slow but surely, a change came on him

So long he'd remained, on the fringe of life's span

He was now being accepted to all, as a man

Not as someone, or something, that crawled out the dirt

Not an out-of-bounds bookie, who never did change his shirt

His smokes were now paid for; folk asked him to dine

In the company of others, he started now to spend time

It was all he had wished for; it was heady and strong

Jimmy thanked what he had; he was there to belong

It's an error to think men do deals, stemmed from greed

They do it for their self-esteem, which they feed

To prove that their judgement is better than most

For people to say, "There he goes, here's a toast"

George Pulcher, sat scheming, and planning some things

To use Jimmy's horse to control all the strings

The previous young owner had, of course, entered high

For the classics of racing, seeking pie-in-the-sky

Though Jimmy was inclined to keep the same course

George Pulcher was shrewd and had plans for the horse

We won't aim too high; we won't make that mistake

If we plan for a coup, a massive killing we'll make

The Cambridgeshire Handicap, is right for our plan

Jimmy's eyes turned on Pulcher, and as he looked at the man

In Jim's withered chest, a faint resentment arose

He looked at his bulk, at his nerve, and his clothes

His friend's reputation had so long been in force

And now he was acting as if it was HIS horse

"We must visit the trainer and set up a trial

With horses, thus proven, who can run a good mile"

Polman, his trainer, a stout man, but true

Took Jimmy aside, and said, "I tell this to you"

"Your horse, said the trainer, we'll test it to see

To find just how good or how bad it can be

I've a horse called The Shirker, but don't the name heed

For he's class fit to burn, and he's loaded with speed"

"Yes indeed", said George Pulcher, "What you say is true

But if we trial with that horse, the betting price will drop
through

So two other horses were selected to trial

They were, 'The Hangman' and 'Parrot' who would race the long
mile

'The Hangman' humped eight stone and half, full of slack

While the three year old 'Parrot' had seven five on his back

But with what 'Calliope' raced, trainer Polman but knew

The Press, unofficial, was a tout hid from view

As he looked through his glasses, by a fine, warm-lit light

The three horses stood ready, Jimmy hoped all was right

For mixed with his fear that his finance might break

Was a fear that his new valued life was at stake

On the off, the black Hangman raced along the far side

Calliope in the middle, while the Parrot ran wide

Sweeping up the long mile, one or two lengths to find

The mare made up ground, running free, just behind

As they surged to the finish, The Hangman dropped out

It was all Jim could do now to keep in his shout

As they flashed past the line, the mare's nose close behind

With The Hangman found wanting; a good length to find

The tout having seen, scuttled off down the hill

To report on the trial, in the newsprint to fill

The horses had wheeled and were sidling on back

As Polman went forward, slowly riding his hack

Down Jimmy jumped, from his cob, with a glow

Trainer Polman rode over, his work rider in tow

"Tell Mr. Strewin, so he will believe"

"She's a smart one, I had a lot more up my sleeve"

"If I'd hit her a sharp one, I'd have won by a length

Even more, if I'd tried hard and used my full strength"

As the boy rode away, Polman turned now, alone

"You've a good runner there Sir, for she carried eight stone"

"She's The Hangman at levels", something wild leaped in Jim

As the form of The Hangman now unrolled before him

At Cambridgeshire weights, seven stone on the course

Jimmy knew at that thought, that he now had a horse

The process of gambling is not just pure chance

It's a delicate process of making strings dance

Tender, efficient, with a sixth sense unseen

Sowing seeds on the one hand, while the other skims cream

George Pulcher's appearance, though such a gross man

Belied a soft touch, as he set forth his plan

His aim was to bet, many times, small amount

At inflated odds, to balloon up the count

Rather subtly, he spoke so that all understood

By suggesting the mare, in the trial, was no good

In the meantime, he dribbled on money, in town

Not enough though, to make Calliope's price come down

The fly in the ointment was Jimmy himself

As he snapped up long odds, for to increase his wealth

George Pulcher tried hard to decry Jimmy's action

But the truth was, that Jimmy, enjoyed the attraction

As he took every point, struck at thirties, or more

Very soon, the mare's odds, were knocked down to the floor

As Pulcher exploded, his wrath fell on Jim

For he'd not yet completed all bets staked to win

The odds had crashed down now to tens, at the best

It was no good now waiting, so at these, he'd invest

Then word came that Jenning, quite fancied his pick

The thought of lost money made Pulcher feel sick

From fifteens to sevens, then favourite at four

'The Fox' trained by Jenning must surely now score

George Pulcher, tactician, with no vain regret

Decided the time was to lay off his bet

For Jenning must know, having trained with Jim's horse

How good was The Fox; he must do, of course

The Shirker was mentioned, we'll race him a trial

With open-known weights, and the distance, a mile

There was mist on the Downs, as they sat in their cart

The three horses racing, made down to the start

With The Shirker, eight seven, Calliope carried eight

And the Parrot, with only seven stone at the gate

Once more, Jimmy's heart beat so loud in his chest

For this was a genuine race, as a test

Here they came, his mare leading,

Jimmy watched from his hack

As The Shirker was beaten, with the Parrot well back

"She's The Shirker, at eight stone four pounds, Jimmy lad

She's a good chance, but no cert for sure, it looks bad

We'll declare this trial open, the right weights and all

And see if the odds of The Fox rise or fall"

"If the odds of The Fox stand up strong, then we'll know

That we must then lay off, for to save all our dough"

"But my horse, she may win" Jimmy whined in protest

"She won't win" said George Pulcher, "If The Fox, we invest"

Jim counted figures; if they laid off this time

At sevens or eights, they would still come out fine

If his mare won or lost to The Fox, he'd still rake

For he'd still win four thousand, not counting the stake

He proposed this to Pulcher, who smiled with his face

"That's all very well if those two win the race

But there's twenty odd runners, no sure thing at all

By betting a few runners more, we won't fall"

"We'll put out the weights of the trial, and we'll see"

The Fox dropped a point, and then hardened at three

George Pulcher, uncertain, sought which way to find

Then something then happened, that made up his mind

For who, but young Colquit, was back now in force

He was up once again, trying to back Jimmy's horse

But Jim would not have it, and he just couldn't care

"You can bet who you like, but I won't lay my mare"

Colquit looked now, at the man with the books

He was not the same person, not only in looks

Much better dressed, he'd drawn away from his roots

With assertion, in manner, he'd grown big for his boots

And this strange improvement, or so Colquit thought

Was confidence, in plenty, he then sought support

Soon all his friends, based in Oxford, did learn

That here was a 'snip' and some money to earn

The mare's odds were ten, just a week from the run

To town, Colquit took, Oxford's large betting sum

Taking with him, the money, of Oxford's support

By the evening, she stood then, at sixes; well bought

The next day, the public, having seen the bet struck

Followed suit, with their money, to try out their luck

George Pulcher, he acted, the deed then was gone

He had lain off all stake money, they had put on

"We'll pick up a thousand, a nice tidy sum"

But Jimmy just grunted out, "She could have won"

"Not she, Jenning knows, and there's more in the race

I quite fancy Wasp and Deerhunter, to place"

"I won't see her run, I don't think it's right"

"Nonsense, said Pulcher, we'll go over night"

"You'll see your mare saddled, you'll enjoy the race run

And with money in pocket, we'll then have some fun"

"Your jockey's Dave Docker, just right for the task

He owes me some favours and he'll do what I ask

He'll just do enough not to bring you disgrace

But he'll carry out orders and he won't win the race"

The longer you bet on a race, is the best

You have time, at your leisure, before you invest

The bookies indulge, in their own fancied horse

Instead of a half-hour's conclusion on course

The professional backer, has time for to dream

Of a fortune, with something quite rare he has seen

Maybe left at the post, running green, just too fat

Not fancied, or backward, just that thing under hat

Jimmy, no thinker, thought none of these things

For Pulcher had Jim, where he could pull the strings

Over nigh twenty years, since he made his first book

From the first bet he made, to the first coin he took

He stood now on velvet, but he felt in disgrace

For every horse, bar his own, would earn cash from the race

Five hundred, a substantial sum, though he cursed

Would be his, if his horse finished other than first

In the train to the races, the coach filled with men

Soon, all introduced, and the talk began then

"Deerstalker, said one, has a hell of a chance"

"Calliope", piped another, eyeing Jimmy a glance

Jim was not drawn, and it pleased him to see

That the question was passed, before he could agree

"I fancy the favourite", said a fat, red-faced man

"For Jenning knows something, he must have a plan"

The sound of this name, caused a thought that then hurt

It was Jenning's sly smile, looking on Jim as dirt

It welled up inside him, to think he would win

And the thoughts that he thought, were resentment within

With feelings unstable, mixed resentment, respect

For the feeling of dignity takes time to reflect

The feelings he thought, about his friend's towering frame

Confused Jimmy Strewin, as he journeyed by train

Arriving, they entered the grandstand together

The sky, full and blue, foretold now of fine weather

Divided by railings, the Cheap Ring was filling

Jim felt very strange, the sensation was thrilling

The smell of the grass, the 'toffs' all around

The larks in the air, singing their lovely sound

He was someone advanced from the crowd on the course

For after all, as an owner, he now had a horse

The first day's parade, as the horses walked round

In the circle of paddock, the bookies did sound

As the odds were called out, the punters moved in

Watched closely, entranced, as horses filed now past Jim

Turning away from the horses, old instinct inborn

Led him close to a group, who discussed on the lawn

The approaching big race, and who they fancied to win

He caught the name of his horse, and his face lit a grin

Jim moved to the gate, as the first race was run

The winning horse was lead in; Jimmy looked who had won

The jockey was Docker, who would ride soon for him

As he passed Jimmy Strewin, he smiled from within

Jimmy stared at his boots, he again felt disgrace

As he thought, once again, that he could win the race

"Blast and Damn Pulcher", his thoughts seemed to speak

"Why should I bend to him, and act like I'm weak?"

The big race was on them; Jim filled now with pride

He seized upon Docker, and took him aside

The jockey looked round him, "It's fine Sir, I know"

Jimmy stood straight and said, "No race will you throw"

"You'll ride her to win; don't mind what George said

If you don't, then I promise, you'd be better off dead

For you'll be off the turf, for I'll see that you're banned

You'll never ride horses again in the land"

As his jockey was saddled, his temper did whither

And though a fine day, something caused him to shiver

As his colours flew past, as the horse cantered down

His mind racked with turmoil, and he wore a deep frown

They at last came in line; glasses shook in his hand

The tapes whipped away, a roar crashed from the stand

In green, far on right, ran the Wasp fast and sound

But three lengths adrift, Deerhunter ate ground

Coming out of the dip, if looked Deerhunter's day

For the Wasp's bolt was shot, and he now dropped away

Then a mirage in pink, appeared on the rail

Docker, riding like demons was tied to his tail

Deerhunter, Calliope, locked together in time

They had the race to themselves, as they raced to the line

As their heads beat in rhythm; which now wanted most?

Both locked close together, as they flashed past the post

Jimmy's heart beating wildly; he was so much enthralled

Time seemed to have stopped, and then the numbers were called

Seventeen was the winner, Jimmy hardly could think

It was mare's race; she'd won, he could do with a drink

In his race to the paddock, he ran with a grin

By the time it was reached, Docker then had weighted in

A smile lit his face, "Alright Sir, okay?"

"Well done" Jimmy said, "Now be gone on your way"

He went to his mare, saw the sweat streak her flanks

Beside her stood Polman; Jimmy gave him his thanks

"Good girl" Jimmy said, as he stroked the mare's nose

As they led her away, Jimmy turned then and froze

For there stood George Pulcher, his face crimson red

If looks then could kill, Jimmy would have dropped dead

"You're a damn little crow, you're a guttersnipe rat

What possessed you to speak to Dave Docker like that?"

"If I had you alone, I know what I'd do

I'd teach you to cross me, I'd break you in two"

Jimmy stared back, his spindle legs wide apart

He grinned there defiant, with a new lease of heart

"Go home now George Pulcher, go home from this course

And in future, keep away, from both me and my horse

Pulcher raised up his fists, as his face seemed to swell

Jimmy stood, quite unmoving, and then the big man's face fell

"That's better", said Jimmy, "Pick on your own size"

Pulcher turned, slunk away, Jimmy went for his prize

A little while later, Jimmy listened awhile

To his music of life, of odds called, made him smile

On the way up to town, he assessed what he had

And with the glow of drink in him, it made him feel glad

Thinking of the close finish, and how he had stood

Up to George bleeding Pulcher; it made him feel good

So what now to do, and where now to shine?

In spite of it all, things had worked out just fine

For bets were all losers, that had been struck with him

As he'd not laid a bet on his horse for to win

He'd also the stakes, for the first prize he'd won

And a big race like that, had produced a nice sum

He thought for the future, and what was to be

And all of the problems ahead, he could see

A week then went by, and after a lot of deep care

He sold back to Colquit, his three year old mare

Although he had grown in esteem and was strong

He went back to the life, he had known for so long

But for years, betting horses that he never saw

Standing odds, on his patch, behind a tattered, closed door

Never again, would he feel the Downs wind on his face

Never again, would he see a horse run with such grace

But at times, he'd remember, of what he'd owned and had

And, at these times, he'd smile, and would think of it glad

Just how, in his life, he had been on the course

And he'd talk of the time, once, that he had a horse