The Rocking Horse Winner - English Literature: Victorians and Moderns (2023)

There was a beautiful woman who started with all the odds but had no luck. She married for love, and love turned to dust. She had beautiful children, but she felt that they had been imposed on her and she could not love them. They looked at her coldly, as if criticizing something about her. And quickly she felt she had to cover up a flaw in herself. But she never knew what she had to hide. Still, whenever her children were around, she felt her heart harden. It bothered her, and in her ways she was even kinder and more concerned about her children, as if she loved them very much. Only she knew that in the center of her heart there was a hard little place that couldn't feel love, no, for anyone. Everyone said about her, "She's a good mother. She loves her children." Only she and her own children knew otherwise. You could read it in their eyes. It was a boy and two girls. They lived in a beautiful house with a garden, had discreet servants and felt superior to everyone in the neighborhood. Although they lived with style, they always felt restless at home. There was never enough money. The mother had a low income and the father had a low income, but not enough for the social position they had to maintain. The father went to some office in the city. But although he had good prospects, those prospects never materialized. There was always the nagging feeling of lack of money, although the style was always maintained. Finally, the mother said: "I'll see ifEUcan't do anything." But she didn't know where to start. She racked her brain and tried this and that, but she couldn't find anything successful. Failure caused deep wrinkles on her face. Her children would grow up, they would have to go to the school. There must be more money, there must be more money. The father, who was always very handsome and expensive to his liking, looked like he never hadwouldto be able to do anything worthwhile. And the mother, who believed so much in herself, fared no better, and her tastes were equally expensive. And so the unspoken phrase haunted the house:There must be more money! There must be more money!The children could hear it all the time, although no one said it aloud. You heard it at Christmas when expensive and beautiful toys filled the children's room. Behind the gleaming modern rocking horse, behind the elegant dollhouse, a voice began to whisper:have tobe more money! therehave tobe more money!” And the children stopped playing to listen for a moment. They looked each other in the eyes to see if everyone had heard. And everyone saw in the eyes of the other two that they had heard it too. "Therehave tobe more money! therehave tobe more money!” she whispered from the rocking horse's feathers still swaying, and even the horse, bowing its wheezing wooden head, heard it. The big doll, so pink and smiling in her new stroller, could hear him clearly and seemed to smile even more sheepishly. Even the silly little dog that took the teddy bear's place looked so extraordinarily silly for no other reason than having heard the secret whispering around the house: "Therehave tobe more money."

But no one has ever said that out loud. Whispers were everywhere, so no one spoke. Just as no one ever says, "We breathe!" despite the fact that breathing comes and goes all the time.

"Mom!" said the boy Paul one day. "Why don't we keep our own car? Why do we always take uncles or some other taxi?"

"Because we are the poor members of the family," said the mother.

"But whyit isus, mother?”

"Well, I suppose," she said slowly and bitterly, "it's because your father is unlucky."

The boy was silent for a while.

"Is happiness money, mother?" he asked shyly.

"No Paulo! Not exactly. It makes you want money.”

"Oh!" Paul said vaguely. "I thought when Uncle Oscar saiddirty lucky face,meant money.

„dirty victorymeans money,” said the mother. "But it's gain, not luck."

"Oh!" said the boy. "So whatIt'slucky mom?

“It makes you want money. If you're lucky, you've got money. Therefore, it is better to be born happy than rich. If you are rich, you can lose your money. But if you're lucky, you always get more money."

"Oh! You will! And isn't daddy lucky?"

"Very unlucky, I must say," she said bitterly.

The boy watched her with uncertain eyes.

"Because?" he asked.

"I don't know. Nobody knows why one is lucky and the other unlucky."

"Isn't it true? Nobody? DoesnobodyYou know?"

"Maybe God! But he never says that.

"Then he must do it. And aren't you lucky too, mother?

"I can't be when I married an unhappy husband."

"But alone, isn't it?"

"I used to think that way before I got married. Now I think I'm really unhappy."

"Why?"

"Well never mind! Maybe I'm not really," she said.

The child looked at her to see if she was serious. But he could tell from the corners of her mouth that she was just trying to hide something from him.

"Well, anyway," he insisted, "I'm a happy person."

"Because?" said her mother with a sudden laugh.

He glared at her. He didn't even know why he said that.

"God told me so," he claimed, and divulged it.

"I hope so, love!" she said, laughing again, but rather bitterly.

"He did, Mom!"

"Great!" said the mother with one of her husband's exclamations.

The boy saw that she didn't believe him; nay, that she took no notice of her assertion. It kind of pissed him off and made him want to force her attention.

He left alone, vaguely, childishly, looking for the key to "happiness". Lost, not caring about other people, he walked with a kind of stealth, searching inwardly for happiness. He wanted happiness, he wanted it, he wanted it. When the two girls were playing with dolls in the nursery, he would sit on his big rocking horse and shoot wildly into space, with a frenzy that made the girls stare with discomfort. The horse was running wildly, the boy's dark, wavy hair thrown back, his eyes had an odd glint in them. The girls didn't dare talk to him.

When he reached the end of his crazy journey, he got out and stopped in front of his rocking horse, staring into her hunched face. Its red mouth was slightly open, its big eye was big and bright.

"Now!" he would silently command the snorting steed. "Now take me to where happiness is! Now take me!"

And he cut the horse's throat with the whip he had asked for from Uncle Oscar. Himyou knewthe horse could take him where there was happiness if he would but force it. Then he would mount again and begin his wild ride, hoping to finally get there. He knew he could get there.

"You'll break your horse, Paul!" said the nurse.

"He always drives like this! I wish he would stop!" said her older sister Joan.

But he just stared at her in silence. His sister gave up on him. She couldn't do anything with him. Anyway, he surpassed them.

One day, his mother and uncle Oscar walked in while he was on one of his wild rides. He didn't speak to them.

"Hello! You young jockey! Ride a champion?" said his uncle.

"Aren't you getting too big for a rocking horse? You're not a little boy anymore, you know," said his mother.

But Paul only got a blue look from his big, narrow eyes. He didn't talk to anyone when he was on edge. His mother watched him with a worried expression on her face.

Finally, suddenly, he stopped forcing the horse into a mechanical gallop and slipped.

"Well, I arrived!" he announced fiercely, his blue eyes still gleaming and his long, strong legs spread wide.

"Where are you from?" asked her mother.

"Where I wanted to go," he hissed at her.

"That's right, son!" said Uncle Oscar. "Don't stop until you get there. What's the horse's name?"

"He has no name," said the boy.

"Can you do without him?" asked the uncle.

“Well, he has different names. Last week his name was Sansovino.

"Sansovino, right? Ascot won[1]🇧🇷 How did you know his name?

"He always talks to Bassett about horse racing," said Joan.

The uncle was pleased to see his nephew being posted with all the racing news. Bassett, the young gardener who was wounded in the left foot in the war and got his current job through Oscar Cresswell, his Batman[2]he was a perfect blade of "turf". He lived at the race events and the little boy lived with him.

Oscar Creswell is all Bassett.

"Master Paul comes and asks me, so all I can do is tell him, sir," said Bassett, his face terribly serious, as if he were discussing religious matters.

"And does he ever put anything on a horse that he likes?"

"Well - I won't give him away - he's a young athlete, a good athlete, sir. You could ask him yourself. He's enjoying it and maybe he thinks I'm going to cheat on him, sir, if you don't mind.

Bassett was serious as a church.

The uncle returned to his nephew and took him for a drive.

"Tell me, Paul, old man, have you ever put anything on a horse?" asked the uncle.

The boy watched the handsome man closely.

“Why do you think I shouldn't?” he trimmed.

"Not at all! I thought you could tip me off about Lincoln[3].“

The car accelerated further inland and drove to Uncle Oscar's house in Hampshire.

"Bright honor?" said the nephew.

"Bright honor, my son!" said the uncle.

"Well then, Narcissus."[4]

"Narcissus! I doubt it, son. What about Mirza?"

"I only know the winner," said the boy. "That's Narcissus!"

“Narcissus, is it?” There was a pause. Narcissus was an obscure horse in comparison.

"Tio!"

"Yes son?"

“You're not going to let this go any further, are you? I promised Bassett.

'Bloody Bassett, old man! What does he have to do with it?

"We're partners! We've been partners from the start! Uncle, he lent me my first five shillings I lost. I promised him Speedwell that it was just between me and him only you gave me that ten shilling note I started to earn on, so I thought you were in luck. You're not letting this go on, are you?"

The boy looked at his uncle with those big, warm, blue eyes that were very close to each other. Uncle stirred and laughed uneasily.

"You're right my son! I'll keep your tip private. Narcissus huh! How much do you charge him?

"Anything but twenty pounds," said the boy. "I'll keep that in reserve."

Uncle thought it was a good joke.

"Do you have twenty pounds in reserve, you young romantic? What are you betting on?

"I'll bet you three hundred," said the boy seriously. "But this is between us, Uncle Oscar! light of honor?"

Uncle started to laugh.

"All is well between you and us, you young Nat Gould."[5]he said laughing. "But where are your three hundred?"

“Bassett is saving it for me. We are partners."

"You are, you are! And what is Bassett putting in Daffodil?

"He doesn't go as high as I do, I suppose. Maybe he'll get to a hundred and fifty."

"What, pennies?" laughed the uncle.

"Pounds," said the child with a surprised look at his uncle. "Bassett has a bigger reserve than I do."

Between astonishment and amusement, Uncle Oscar said nothing. He didn't press the matter further, but decided to take his nephew to the Lincoln races.

'Well, my son,' he said, 'I will pay Mirza twenty, and for you I will pay five for every horse you want. What's your choice?"

"Daffodil, man!"

"No, not the five in Daffodil!"

"I should if it were my own money," said the child.

"Great! Great! You're right! Five quid for me and five for you on Daffodil."

The child had never run before and her eyes were fiery blue. He pursed his mouth tightly and watched. A Frenchman well ahead of him had backed Lancelot. Mad with excitement, he waved his arms up and down and yelled„Lancelote! Lanzelot/' in your French accent.

Daffodil was the first, Lancelot the second, Mirza the third. The child, flushed and bright-eyed, was strangely calm. His uncle brought him five five pound notes: four to one.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" he shouted, waving it in front of the boy's eyes.

"I think we'll talk to Bassett," the boy said. "I think I have fifteen hundred now: and twenty in reserve: and these twenty."

His uncle studied him for a few moments.

"Look here, my son!" he said. "You're not serious about Bassett and those fifteen hundred, are you?"

"Yes, I am. But this is between us, uncle! Shining glory!"

"Honor, my son! But I need to speak with Bassett.

"If you want to be Bassett's partner and I, Uncle, we can all be partners. All you have to do is promise, Your Honor Uncle, that you won't let this go past the three of us. Bassett and I are lucky and you must be lucky because it was your ten shillings that made me win..."

Uncle Oscar took Bassett and Paul to Richmond Park[6]for an afternoon, and there they talked.

"Yes, you see, sir," said Bassett. “Master Paul got me talking about racing events, fictional stories, you know, sir. And he always wanted to know if I had won or lost. It is about a year ago that I wagered five shillings for him on the Blush of Dawn: and we lost. Then the luck turned, with the ten shillings he had from you: which we put on the Sinhalese. And it's been pretty stable since that time, all things considered. What do you say, Master Paul?

"We are fine when we aresafePaul said. "If we're not sure we're going to sink."

"Oh, but then we're careful," said Bassett.

"But when yousafe🇧🇷 smiled Uncle Oscar.

"It's Master Paul, sir," said Bassett in a mysterious, religious voice. "It's like he came from the sky. Like Daffodil now for Lincoln. That was as safe as eggs.

"Did you put anything on the Daffodil?" asked Oscar Creswell.

"Yes. I did my part."

"And my nephew?"

Bassett remained silent and looked at Paul.

"I won twelve hundred, didn't I, Bassett?" I told Uncle I would bet three hundred on Daffodil.

"That's right," Bassett said, nodding.

“But where is the money?” asked the uncle.

"I'll keep it locked up, sir. Master Paul, he can have it any time he asks.

"What, fifteen hundred pounds?"

"And twenty! andForty,that is, with the twenty he made in the course.

"It is wonderful!" said the uncle.

"If Master Paul would offer you as a partner, sir, I would do it in your place, if you'll excuse me," said Bassett.

Oscar Creswell thought about it.

"I'll see the money," he said.

They returned home, and sure enough, Bassett arrived at the garden house with fifteen hundred pounds in notes. The twenty pound reserve was deposited with Joe Glee at the Turf Commission warehouse.

"See, it's okay, uncle, if it's mesafe🇧🇷 So we go strong for all we're worth. Isn't that right, Bassett?

"We will, Master Paul."

“And when are you sure?” said the uncle, laughing.

"Oh well, sometimes I'mabsoluteOf course, like Daffodil,” said the boy; “and sometimes I have an idea; and sometimes I don't even know, do you, Bassett? So we’re careful because we usually sink.”

"You do, you do! And when you're sure, like Daffodil, what makes you sure, boy?

"Oh well, I don't know," said the boy uncomfortably. “I'm sure you know, Uncle; That is all."

"It's as if he had it from heaven, sir," Bassett repeated.

"I should say it!" said the uncle.

But he became a partner. And if the coroner[7]came, Paul was "sure" of Lively Spark, a rather puny horse. The boy insisted on putting a thousand on the horse, Bassett putting five hundred and Oscar Creswell two hundred. Lively Spark got there first and the odds were ten to one against him. Paul had made ten thousand.

"You see," he said, "I was absolutely sure of him."

Even Oscar Creswell had made up two grand.

"Listen, son," he said, "that sort of thing makes me nervous."

"It doesn't have to be, Uncle! Maybe I haven't been sure for a long time."

"But what do you do with your money?" asked the uncle.

"Of course," said the boy, "I started with the mother. She said she was unlucky because the father was unlucky, so I thought ifEUlucky he could have stopped whispering.

"What could stop whispering?"

"Our home!to hateour house to whisper.

"What are you whispering?"

"Why - why" - the boy fussed - "why, I don't know! But it's always tight, you know, uncle."

"I know, son, I know."

"You know people send letters to their mothers, don't you, Uncle?"

"I'm afraid so," said the uncle.

"And then the house whispers like people are laughing at you behind your back. That's terrible! I thought if I was lucky..."

"You can stop that," added the uncle.

The boy watched him with wide blue eyes that had an oddly cold fire in them, and he didn't say a word.

"Well then!" said the uncle. "What we do?"

"I don't want Mom to know I was lucky," said the boy.

"Why not, son?"

"She would stop me."

"I don't think she would."

"Oh!" - and the boy squirmed in a strange way - "INotI want her to know, Uncle."

"Fine, my son! We're going to do this without her knowing."

You made it so easy. Paul, at the suggestion of the other, gave £5,000 to his uncle, who deposited it with the family solicitor, who was then to tell Paul's mother that a relative had given him £5,000 to be paid, £1,000 each, on his birthday. mother for the next five years.

"So she gets £1,000 for her birthday five years in a row," said Uncle Oscar. "I hope this doesn't make it more difficult for her later on."

Paul's mother's birthday was in November. The house was "whispering" worse than ever lately, and even lucky for him, Paul couldn't stand it. He was very anxious to see the effect of the birthday letter telling his mother about the thousand pounds.

When there were no visitors, Paul now took his meals at his parents' house, as he was out of the kindergarten's control. His mother went into town almost every day. She discovered that she had an uncanny gift for designing fur and fabrics for clothing, so she secretly worked in the studio of a friend who was the chief 'artist' for the major fabric manufacturers. For the newspaper advertisements, she drew female figures in fur and ladies in silk and sequins. This young artist earned several thousand pounds a year, but Paul's mother only earned a few hundred and she was again dissatisfied. She really wanted to be first at something and couldn't even sketch for curtain ads.

On the morning of her birthday, she was at breakfast. Paul watched her face as she read her letters. He knew the lawyer's letter. When her mother read it, her face hardened and became more expressionless. Then a cold, determined look came over her mouth. She hid the letter under the pile of others and didn't say a word about it.

"Don't you have anything nice in the mail for your birthday, Mom?" Paulus said.

"Really mildly pleasant," she said in a cold, distant voice.

She went into town without another word.

But in the afternoon Uncle Oscar showed up. He said that Paul's mother had a long conversation with the lawyer and asked him if the five thousand dollars could be advanced at once, as she was in debt.

"What do you mean, uncle?" said the boy.

"I leave that to you, my son."

"Ah, let her have it then! We'll get more with the other one", said the boy.

"A bird in the hand is better than two in the bush, boy!", said Uncle Oscar.

"But I'm sureYou knowto the Grand National;[8]or Lincolnshire; or else the derby. I know for sure1them," Paul said.

So Uncle Oscar signed the deal and Paul's mother rang the five thousand. Then something very strange happened. The voices in the house suddenly went wild, like a chorus of frogs on a spring night. There was some new furniture and Paul had a tutor. He wasYes reallythe following autumn to Eton, his father's school. There were flowers in winter and a flowering of the luxuries Paul's mother was used to. And yet, behind the boughs of the mimosas and the blossoms of the almond trees and under the piles of iridescent pillows, the voices of the house only chirped and screamed in a kind of ecstasy:have tobe more money! Oh! therehave tobe more money! Oh, now, now-w! now-w-w-therehave tobe more money! - more than ever! More than ever!"

This scared Paul terribly. From his teachers he learned Latin and Greek. But his intense hours were spent with Bassett. The Grand National was over: he didn't "know" and he had lost a hundred kilos. Summer was near. He was deathly afraid for Lincoln. But even for Lincoln, he didn't "know" and lost 25 pounds. He got wild and weird, like something inside him was about to explode.

"Never mind, son! Don't worry about it!" urged Uncle Oscar. But it was as if the boy couldn't really hear what his uncle was saying.

“I need to know for the classic! I'vehe picked upfor the Derby!” repeated the child, her big blue eyes sparkling with madness.

His mother noticed how overexcited he was.

"You'd better go to sea. Wouldn't you like to go to sea now instead of waiting? I think you'd better," she said, looking at him anxiously, her heart oddly heavy for him.

But the child raised its strange blue eyes.

"I couldn't go before the classic, Mom!" he said. "I can not do it!"

"Why not?" she said, her voice growing heavy as she resisted. "Why not? If you want, you can always go to the Derby with your uncle Oscar from the sea. You don't have to wait here. Besides, I think you care too much about those races. It's a bad sign. My family was a family of players and you won't know until you grow up how much damage it did. But it did damage. I have to send Bassett away and ask Uncle Oscar not to talk to you about racing unless you promise to be reasonable: go to sea and forget it. You it's all nerves!"

"I'll do whatever you want, Mom, as long as you don't send me away before the derbies," the boy said.

"Send them away from where? Just from this house?

"Yes," he said, looking at her.

"Why, curious child, why are you suddenly so interested in this house? I never knew you loved it!"

He stared at her without saying a word. He had a secret within a secret, something he hadn't yet revealed to Bassett or his uncle Oscar.

But her mother, after being indecisive and a little moody for a few moments, said:

"Very well then! Don't go to sea until after the derby,[9]if you don't want that But promise me you won't lose your nerve! Promise me you won't think so much about horse racing andevents,whatever you call them!

"Oh no!" said the boy casually. "I won't think about her too much, Mom. You don't have to worry. I wouldn't worry Mom if I were you."

"If you were me and I were you," said his mother, "I would wonder what we arewe mustagain!"

"But you know you don't have to worry, Mom, don't you?" the boy repeated.

"I would be very happy to hear that," she said wearily.

"Oh youI can,Do you know. I mean youwe mustknowing you don't have to worry!” he insisted.

"Should I? I'll see later," she said.

The secret of Paul's mysteries was his wooden horse, which had no name. Since he was freed by a nurse and a kindergarten teacher, he has had his rocking horse moved to his own room in the attic of the house.

"You must be too big for a rocking horse!" his mother had protested.

"Well, you see, mother, until I can have onerealhorse, I likeanyKind of animal out there,” had been her odd reply.

"Do you feel like he's keeping you company?" She laughed.

"Oh yes! He's very good, he always keeps me company when I'm there", said Paulo.

Then the rather battered horse stopped in a halting leap in the boy's room.

The derby approached and the boy became more and more tense. He barely heard what he was told, he was very fragile and his eyes were really scary. His mother suddenly had strange fits of uneasiness about him. Sometimes, for half an hour, she would feel a sudden fear for him that was almost a torment. She wanted to run to him right away and know he was safe.

Two nights before the Derby, she was at a big party in town when one of her fears for her son, her firstborn, squeezed her heart until she could barely speak. She fought with feeling, power and most of all, because she believed in common sense. But she was very strong. She had to leave the ball and go downstairs to phone the country. The kindergarten teacher was terribly surprised and scared when she was called at night.

"Are the children all right, Miss Wilmot?"

"Oh yeah, they're fine."

"Master Paulo? Is he all right?"

"He really went to bed like a roller coaster. Do you want me to run over and look at him?

"Not!" said Paul's mother reluctantly. "No! Don't worry. It's okay. Don't sit down. We'll be home soon." She didn't want her son's privacy to be invaded.

"Very well," said the housekeeper.

It was about one o'clock when Paul's mom and dad drove over to their house. Everything was silent. Paul's mother came into the room and took off her white fur coat. She told her maid not to wait for her. She heard her husband mixing a whiskey and lemonade downstairs.

And so, because of the strange fear in her heart, she went upstairs to her son's room. She walked silently down the upper hall. Was there a faint noise? What was this?

She stood in front of her door, her muscles tensing, listening. There was a strange noise, heavy but not loud. Her heart stopped. It was a silent sound, but still roaring and powerful. Something huge, moving violently and silently. What was this? What in God's name was that? She should know. she felt heryou knewthe noise. She knew what it was.

But she couldn't identify him. She couldn't say what it was. And so on it was like madness.

Silently, frozen with fear and dread, she turned the handle.

The room was dark. But by the window she heard and saw something falling back and forth. She looked in fear and amazement.

Then she suddenly turned on the light and saw her son in green pajamas splashing madly on his rocking horse. The glow of light suddenly illuminated him as she led the wooden horse, and illuminated her as she stood in the doorway, blonde in her pale green dress and crystal.

"Paul!" she screamed. "What do you do?"

"This is Malabar!" he shouted in a powerful, alien voice. "This is Malabar!"

His eyes held hers for a strange, useless second as he stopped urging his wooden horse. Then he fell with a crash to the floor, and she, flooding all her tormented motherhood, rushed to catch him.

But he was unconscious and remained unconscious with a certain brain fever. He talked, tossed and turned, and his mother remained frozen beside him.

"Malabar! It's Malabar! Bassett, Bassett, euYou know:it's Malabar!"

Then the child screamed and tried to get up and push the rocking horse that gave him the inspiration.

"What does he mean by Malabar?" asked the heartbroken mother.

"I don't know," said the father firmly.

"What does he mean by Malabar?" she asked her brother Oscar.

"That's one of the horses competing for the Derby," was the reply.

And, against his will, Oscar Cresswell talked to Bassett and bet himself a thousand on Malabar: fourteen to one.

The third day of illness was critical: they expected a change. The boy, with long, curly hair, kept rolling on the pillow. He was neither asleep nor awake, and his eyes were like blue stones. His mother sat there feeling as if her heart had disappeared, actually turned to stone.

That night, Oscar Creswell didn't show up, but Bassett sent a message asking if he could come up for a moment, just a moment? Paul's mother was very angry about the intrusion, but after much deliberation she agreed. The boy was like that. Perhaps Bassett could bring him to consciousness.

The gardener, a little fellow with a small brown mustache and sharp little brown eyes, tiptoed into the room, touched Paul's mother with his imaginary cap, and crept onto the bed, his little eyes gleaming at the rolling, dying child he stared at.

"Master Paul!" he whispered. "Master Paul! Malabar is clearly in first place, a clean victory. I did as you told me. You have gained over seventy thousand pounds, yes; you have over eighty thousand. Malabar has arrived safely, Master Paul.

"Malabar! Malabar! Did I say Malabar, Mum? Did I say Malabar? You think I'm lucky, Mum? I knew Malabar, didn't I? Over eighty thousand pounds! That's what I call luck, isn't it, Mum "Over eighty thousand pounds! I knew it, didn't I know I knew it? Malabar did well. If I ride my horse to safety, I'll say you can go as high as you like. Did you give it your all, Bassett?"

"I spent a thousand on it, Master Paul."

"Did I never tell you, mother, that if I could ride my horse, andva alithen I am absolutely right – oh, absolutely! Mom, did I tell you? Itrash canFeliz!"

"No, you never have," said the mother.

But the boy died during the night.

And even as he lay dead, his mother heard her brother's voice say to her: 'My God, Hester, you are a son of eighty thousand to the good and a poor devil of a son to the bad. But, poor devil, poor devil, it's better to leave life riding its rocking horse to find a winner."

1. Sansovino won the Prince of Wales's Stakes at Ascot in 1924, two weeks after winning the Derby at Epsom Downs.↵
2. Servant of a cavalry officer.↵
3. Lincoln Handicap, run at Lincoln Racecourse in Lincolnshire. The racecourse was closed in 1965.↵
4. Both Daffodil and Mirz were racehorses; The former ran unsuccessfully for six races in 1924-25. Mirza won three races in 1919.↵
5. Nat Gould (1857-1919). Anglo-Australian horse racing journalist, informant and prolific author specializing in sports fiction.↵
6. The largest of the eight royal parks in the capital.↵
7. The last leg of the five British Classic horse races held at Doncaster every September.↵
8. A steeplechase at Aintree Racecourse in Liverpool.↵
9. The richest and most prestigious of the Five Classics, taking place at Epsom Downs, Surrey.↵