REMINISCENCES OF SONEPORE. 



the Lee, and they made a lot of money out of their " rare good 

 stingo ". The following was a song which used to be sung at 

 many a pigstick party and race meeting in the thirties, forties 

 and fifties. 



Who has not tasted of Hodgson's pale beer 

 With its flavour the finest that hops ever gave ? 

 It drives away sadness, it banishes fear, 

 And imparts a glad feeling of joy to the grave. 



! to drink it at morning, when just from our bed 

 We rise unrefreshed, and to breakfast sit down, ' 

 The froth-crested brimmer we raise to our head, 

 And in swigging off Hodgson, our sorrows we drown. 



Or to drink it at tiffin, when thirsty and warm, 

 We say to the khidmutgar, ' bring me some beer,' 

 Soon, soon do we feel its most magical charm, 

 And quickly the eatables all disappear. 



Or at ev'ning, when home from our ride we return, 

 And jaded and weary we sit down to dine ; 

 We ask but for Hodgson, and willingly spurn 

 The choicest the dearest the rarest of wine. 



Then hail to thee Hodgson! of Brewers the head, 



Thy loss we in India would sadly bewail; 



May you live long and happy, and when you are dead, 



1 will think of you daily whilst drinking your ale. 



Two days were always devoted to racing at Hajeepore in 

 those days, and the present Australian trainers and jockeys 

 were unknown in the land. Neat and dapper little Englishmen, 

 sent out from the best home stables, trained and rode in the 

 forties, fifties and sixties, their masters occasionally figuring 

 in the pigskin as well. Among the professionals in the early 

 forties, was a dry old original, named Jack Barnett, who like 

 many of his class dearly loved to get full whenever opportunity 

 offered ; and who was, in consequence, always changing his 

 situations, but he was a good man in the saddle, if locked up 

 the night before the race. Jack was a married man, but his 

 spouse unable to stand his vagaries, left him, and afterwards 



