Evening star., 1934-06-03

and a dwarflike stable boy motioned
us in. All that was lacking was a
drawbridge as I drove the car in and
the gate was silently shut behind us.
Nobody in sight in the great cobble-
stone courtyard, either. I don't know
exactly what I expected to find inside
racing stables, but certainly not the
atmosphere of a monastery.
But there was nothing monkish about
the appearance Of the man who finally
emerged from a stable door and walked
toward my car. He bore that unmis-
taxable air of men who know horses.
It was Victor Smythe, owner of the
stables, and one of England's ace
trainers.
We went off on a tour of inspection,
and it seemed that we had arrived
during the time when the blooded horses
were taking their afternoon nap. They
couldn't be disturbed for another quar-
ter of an hour; the wooden shutters of
the windows in each private stall door
were closed, and we talked in an
undertone.
FINALLY it was IL O'Clock, and time
to awaken the mapping horses. The
courtyard sprang to life, with half
portion jockeys and stable boys running
here and there with bags of fragrant
hay over their shoulders, carrying
pitchforks, buckets, big sponges and
curry combs.
Racing stable routine is rigid The
stable boys roll out of bed at 4:3O in
the morning, to breakfast and on the
job at Sis. There were some Is horses,
and as many men and boys. But there
wasn't man or boy over S feet 2 inches,
and one-third of them were slightly
under feet. When the troupe was
assembled for the early morning work.
outs the courtyard looked like cavalry
barracks, except that the cavalrymen
were midgets. They were a nerveless
lot of gnomes, those riders-they had
to be to inspire their highstrung mounts
with confidence.
The stable owner himself had been
a jockey until "the curse" overlook him
''The curse" for jockeys, is putting ON
weight. I've seen few sights more pa
thetic than the jockeys feeding their
mounts and denying their own hungry
mouths.
Early dawn Of the day after my in
spection of the stables saw the arrival
of the first Darby week visitor-a lone
gypsy wagon, drawn by lone white
horse, which took up its station on a
hill overlooking the Downs. This was
10 days before the Wednesday upon
. which the great event would be run of,
and was the signal for the entrance
into EPSON Of thousands Of people Of all
nations and stations, pouring in along
the road to EPSON in every sort Of con-
veyance from donkey carts to Rolls
Royces. Darby week starts officially on
Sunday and lasts through the week, with
races every day-but its grand climax
comes on Wednesday afternoon when
the famous race Is run of. Drawings
for the different sweepstakes are usually
made on Monday before Darby day.
Bedford and motored out to the
Downs on Sunday morning, to take in
the promenade, which consists Of every
body in sight walking up and down the
track in a sort Of trance; presumably
for the purpose of exercising their in
dividual collective psychic powers to-
ward visualizing the winning horse on
Wednesday. It was a colorful sight,
even more so when, according to the
yearly custom, the Church of England
took hand. In the late afternoon
choir boys singing hymns marched down
the track, forming a procession brought
up by few curates. dean, and even
q bishop!