1879 - Innes, C. L. Canterbury Sketches or Life from the Early Days - Christchurch on the Cup Day November 1879, p 203-205

       
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  1879 - Innes, C. L. Canterbury Sketches or Life from the Early Days - Christchurch on the Cup Day November 1879, p 203-205
 
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CHRISTCHURCH ON THE CUP DAY, NOVEMBER, 1879.

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CHRISTCHURCH ON THE CUP DAY, NOVEMBER, 1879.

THE week which has just closed has always been considered the carnival of the year. I, unfortunately, could not go to the Races; and, on taking my usual constitutional round the town, I resolved to give my idea of the misery of being in Christchurch on the Cup Day. Nearly all the shops were closed, and the town looked deserted. One lonely cab was on the City stand, and in the pathetic words of our great poet, Thomas Moore, (slightly parodied)--

'Twas the last Christchurch cabman,
Left mourning alone;
All thy busy companions
To the Racecourse have gone.
I must leave thee, thou lone one,
To pine on thy stand,
While thy former companions
Are doing the grand.

If it was not the last cab, I did not see another. The forlorn driver looked up and down the deserted street, in expectation of a fare. When he saw me, he gesticulated wildly, in the vain hope that I might be going to the Races; but I shook my head. His hopes were blighted, and he collapsed on the top of his cab in a limp state.

Passing a confectioner's, I looked in; the presiding goddess--a living testimony to the good cheer of the establishment--was gazing mournfully over the counter. A solitary salad stood there, but it seemed

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to say, "Let us alone, we are withered." Buns, cakes, tarts, mutton pies were laid out in tempting profusion. Taking pity on her, I went in and bought a penny bun, she beamed with gratitude, and no doubt will think kindly of me in future years.

Walking down High street, I met three people; they all had the same oppressed, discontented expression. I felt the reflex of their gloom spread over my own face. I sympathised with them; the story our faces told was, "We ought to be at the Races; about this time the Cup is being run for; would we were there!" I tried to comfort myself--as people always do on such occasions--with the thought that I was better at home than amongst any amount of "sweeps," and no doubt I should have indulged in a bet or two, and as my bad luck is proverbial, should have lost; but such comfort was vain. I next turned up Hereford street, and went into the Public Library. In the Reference Room were several studious parties hunting up abstruse questions of no possible importance. Here, at least, I should not be reminded of my solitary condition, but even here I heard the word "races" uttered in a hollow whisper. I left in disgust the race-desecrated temple.

On my way home, I came across a group of small boys. What were they doing? I stopped to watch them. They were passing round a hat, and each taking out a piece of folded paper, one exclaimed, "Hurrah! I've got Betrayer!" "I'll give you a bob for him, Jim," said another. "No fear," said the small boy, "I'll stick to him." I again fly from the race-infected scene; the spirit of gambling is inherent in everyone, I believe.

I passed a public-house; the barman looked the saddest man. He was studying last night's Star, and I am open to lay a mild bet, that he was reading the

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account of yesterday's racing. As he saw me his face lighted up, but I passed on, and it darkened. Here comes one who will surely be a customer; he looks s seedy party, who has not tried the salutary effect of a bath for some time; he hesitates, feels in his pockets, and goes in. The barman's face is radiant. "Good evening, what will you take, sir?" he said with a genial smile. The Seedy Party says, with an off-hand air, --"Have you any Roderer, gold seal?" Barman: "Yes, sir; the very best." S. P.: "No, on second thoughts, I won't have it. Can you recommend your still Hock or Moselle?" Barman: "Certainly, sir, we keep the best wines in town." S. P.: "Have you ice?" "Yes, sir," said the Barman. The Seedy Party drawls out, "Then bring me a bottle of your very best ginger beer." At this unlooked-for announcement the barman's face of disgust was a study; he duly administered a glass of the very flattest ginger beer. The Seedy Party drank it, and then producing a penny, handed it to the barman, saying, "I'll owe you the rest," decamped.

People were now returning from the Races. I saw a friend; I rushed up to him and exclaimed, "Well, old man, what won the cup?" He replies, "Betrayer, and, by Jove, I clear a hundred pounds." I register a vow mentally and solemnly, then and there, that I will go to the next Races, and that never, never again will I be found in Christchurch on the Cup Day.

C. L. I.


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