SILVER CUP'S RACE
by
Campbell Rae-Brown

Silver Cup... how is he bred, sir?
Why, by Swift from the famous old mare
Called Kissing Cup... ah! you're surprised, sir;
No wonder the news makes you stare.

Silver Cup was fifth foal... and a failure
Or so everyone said when the foal
First got on his legs and looked round him
Lor! didn't he stagger and roll.

Ugly ducklings... I've seen a few, mister.
As for shape, Silver Cup had got none;
Of bone, muscle, "class,"... not a sign, sir,
And his head was an object for fun.

Thus, in spite of his breed, none would have him.
From the sale-ring he always came back,
Neglected and scoffed at as useless,
With his ribs staring out like a rack.

So at last he was sent to the North, sir
Where the "little men" train, as you know
And after the Middlesby Meeting
Silver Cup was once more put on show.

"No Reserve"... Yes, that's what they said, sir;
To be sold for what he would bring;
And that day, by some strange twist of fortune,
Young Squire Standish strolled into the ring.

A dare-devil, reckless young soldier,
Whose estate was in bond to the hilt,
And all knew that the Turf was to blame, sir,
For much of the good money spilt.

Thus the spectators looked at him keenly
As he went up to Silver Cup's side,
For they knew of no better judge living
Than the Squire... and, my! how he could ride!

"Is he drunk?" someone whispered behind him,
As he heard the Squire say, "Ten pound note
I'll bid"... and "He'syours" said the seller,
"A horse for the price of a goat."

The shouts that rang round that ringside, sir,
As the Squire led his purchase away!
"You may laugh as you like," smiled young Standish;
The laugh may be mine some fine day."

That night the wiseacres concluded
Among themselves, over their drink,
That his troubles had made the Squire queerish,
For they knew he was near ruin's brink.

Ah! and something else happened that night, too,
So pathetic it touched me right here;
For the roughest heart gets a bit shook-up
When it sees a man moved to a tear;

For strong men don't weep for just nothing
Though women can cry when they choose:
And I felt how it was with Squire Standish
Yes, I knew he'd lost all he could lose.

It was late when he came to the cottage
The wife was asleep with the kid:
All was quiet as the Squire stood there waiting,
Save the door-latch as upward it slid.

For the moment I didn't quite know him,
For he'd shaved his face perfectly clean:
You know what a difference that makes, sir:
And his features looked haggard and lean.

But I knew those fine eyes, and I muttered,
"It's you, sir... Squire Standish... you're ill?"
"No," he said, "I've resigned my commission,
And now I must go through the mill!

The old Hall's been leased to rich strangers
Her people have got it... Miss Vane's.
I'm never to speak to her now, Tom."
Then the Squire in a hoarse voice explains.

He explained why he bought Silver Cup, sir.
"That colt," he said, whispering it low,
"Has got speed... strength and speed in the making
You, take it from me, for I know.

No, the fools couldn't see It, but I could
As the dear old dad taught me to see
And should Silver Cup not disappoint me,
He'll do something big, Tom... you'll see.

Yes, Tom, lad, and you're going to help me
Win back the old home and a wife.
Lilian Vane... ah! she'll wait... yes, I know it
Till I come for her out of the strife!"

It was here that my eyes kind of wandered,
For I saw the young Squire's growing dim.
Then I swore I'd do my best for the colt, sir
For Silver Cup... Miss Lilian... and him!

You see I knew something of training,
Riding trials and the rest of the game;
But... getting too heavy, had chucked it,
And back to the old farmhouse came.

And if Silver Cup was any good, well,
I reckoned the young Squire and me
Were about just the likeliest couple
To turn him to some account... see!

And now came the funny arrangement;
Unknown to a soul in the place,
The Squire was to work as a farmhand,
In rough clothes and his changed shaven face.

For a time we let Silver Cup wander
At will in the paddock close by,
With another young horse as companion
With the Squire always keeping an eye

On the two till the time came for breaking
And then later the saddles were tried;
And then on the Downs in the dawn-tide
We both took our regular ride.

Both two-year-olds now were in "training"
And both were kept "dark" as the dead.
Yes, we tried them again and again, sir,
And the difference was always a head.

The head was in Silver Cup's favour;
So we knew when the other one won
In a canter the first race he ran in,
We could look for some jolly good fun.

So in Silver Cup, poor ugly duckling,
You see we'd worked wonders no end.
You can guess the young Squire was delighted;
And his hopes soon began to ascend.

Did we run Silver Cup in the Derby?
We did, and all said he lacked speed;
So, seeing our game was the Leger,
We took the long odds and agreed.

Gentle, free-moving, upstanding
Grand quarters, deep chest, legs of steel
We knew that the Doncaster distance
Would keep many at Silver Cup's heel.

"Your farm is the last I have left, Tom
The only one on the estate,"
Said the Squire to me one autumn evening
When we'd worked at the harvest till late.

"It's all that I've honestly got, Tom."
He added, "You know what I mean
I must have ready-money to back him,
To win back the glad might-have-been."

I knew what he meant; he was broken;
None would trust him... he must have hard cash
To back Silver Cup for the Leger.
I said, " Sell, Squire... and make one last bold dash.

Two thousand at sixty to one, Squire
It will win you back all you have lost."
Ah! Tom, lad, I saw her this morning."
He smiled sadly, then suddenly toss'd

His rough tweed cap high to the ceiling,
Then began to laugh out like a boy.
'Here's a lark... I'll sell to old Vane, Tom;
The old chap will bubble with joy.

He'll think his girl safe... safe for ever.
From a poor broken beggar like me;
But let him just wait till the Leger,
And then he'll just see what he'll see!'

Next morning I saw the Squire early,
He had got a good price for his land.
Then I saw him no more till the Leger,
When I met him close under the stand.

I glanced at his face... it was careworn,
Yet a strange little smile hovered there
As he gave one swift look far above him,
His eyes blinking as though from the glare.

"Miss Vane is up there, Tom," he told me,
"And she is watching... waiting to see
What luck Silver Cup there will bring us;
It means all, lad, to her and to me."

My glance followed his to the horses
Came in slow Indian file past the stand.
The favourite, King Osman, looked splendid,
The filly, St. Mar, equally grand.

And then came Barbette, finest stayer
Supposed to be racing that day;
And after him Silver Cup proudly
Followed on in his unconcerned way.
Then our second string, Serf, out on business
To make the pace hot for our best;
And they'd see that as well as his staying
Silver Cup had the speed of the rest!

The Squire and I stood close together,
As we watched the field ranged at the post,
Our glasses glued fast to our eyelids,
Each face no doubt white as a ghost.

We saw Silver Cup in the middle
Get off a bit late, but we knew
That Serf would look after the sprinters,
And when done with, let Silver Cup through.

The first half-mile looked like a record;
The pace was a cracker, and yet
They were fairly together at turning,
After that, at least one sun had set.

Our second string, Serf, had done nobly,
But now was obliged to give in;
And then came a sound, sharp and sudden,
That singled itself from the din:

"There's only one in it bar Slogun
Only him or the 'King' will last home!"
Then we saw that St. Mar, the good filly,
Had thrown it up, lathered in foam.

Serf's wonderful speed had played havoc
Save with those who had strength well as speed;
So the thousands who'd backed great King Osman
Yelled with joy as he now took the lead.

Barbette was there, plodding behind him,
With scarcely a half-mile to go,
And all knew at the first signs of weakness
In King Osman, that Barbette would show

How a plodder can cut down a smasher
When it comes to the end of the fray.
But what's that they shout at the corner?
What's the name... the name of that bay?
And my answer thrills back to the welkin:
His name's Silver Cup... best of his day!"

The Squire at my side chuckled quietly.
I saw him glance up at the stand
To where Lilian Vane sat there smiling
As Silver Cup, hand over hand,

Came up to Barbette's mighty quarters
Up and on to his withers and neck.
King Osman, the favourite... he's done with!
Came a cry like a groan; then a check

In the shouting, while onward and onward
Barbette came first into the straight
With Silver Cup's steady breath breathing
A message of hope and of fate,

As, passing his owner, Squire Standish,
That long, lean head shot to the fore
An inch or two... yes, only that, sir,
As the wondering crowd sent up a roar

Such as only you'll hear in old Yorkshire.
Where they all like to see the best win,
No matter the odds or their losses;
And so on that day rose a din

That scarcely on that famous race course
Had never been heard 'neath the sun
For all knew the grand young Squire's story,
And now knew that his good horse had won.

Silver Cup never faltered nor wavered.
Breed told in his great speed and strength.
On and on he strove gamely and nobly,
To win by threeparts of a length.