52 RACEHORSES IN AUSTRALIA 



perforce to be carried on horseback, and where all the supplies for an army 

 were dragged upon wheels, and when motor power had not yet come into its 

 own. And in the last great death grapple, with all the petrol which was 

 exploded, with all the motor traction used, with all the amount of transport, 

 and of scouting by air, we still required a larger horse supply than ever before. 

 We cannot see so clearly into the future as did the poet Tennyson, when he 

 wrote Locksley Hall. That wonderful seer, you may remember, wrote his 

 poem in the early forties of the last century, and he predicted, as plainly as 

 words could tell, the advent of the flying machine, for use both in commerce 

 and in war, and "all the wonders that would be." It is not given to many 

 to possess the true prophetic vision, but it is a simple task to foretell that war 

 has not yet ceased upon the earth, and that we have not even begun to make 

 reaping hooks of our spears, or spades and ploughs and harrows of our guns. 

 It is the improvement of our horse, for general utility purposes, and for war, 

 that is really the motive which ought to promote this racing of ours, but which 

 poor Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, in a fatuous moment, has lately dubbed "the 

 curse of the country." 



If the supply of horseflesh is to be maintained, if we are not prepared 

 to let the breed die out altogether, then horse racing is the only method 

 whereby the standard can be preserved at a proper and efficient level. Shows, 

 agricultural and otherwise, are powerless in their endeavour to accomplish 

 this end. Magnificent looking creatures bred for the ring, only too surely and 

 quickly prove themselves to be abject failures when tested on the course or 

 in the field. Vitality, stamina, courage, soundness, are the qualities which we 

 desire to perpetuate in our breeds. The show ring does not test a single one 

 of these. The winning post must be our only guide. 



Is it doing its duty in the matter? This might be a matter for endless 

 debate, but it is safe to say that it is not doing that duty nearly so well as it 

 might. For in our play we are so apt to forget that, after all, it is not only 

 sport that we are following, but that perhaps the safety of our Australian 

 nation lies in the qualities of endurance and of speed in those beautiful 

 creatures which we are looking upon as our playthings of to-day. One's mind 

 invariably flies, whilst thinking over these matters, to a future and a possible 

 "War of Defence." Britain, let us imagine, is hampered with a Continental 

 foe. America is on her back, and fighting for her life upon the seas. And 

 we are lying here in the sunshine, a beautiful woman without means of defence, 

 without oil for our motors, without ammunition for our guns, without horses 

 for our men. With ammunition, and with half a million of splendid horses, 

 and even more splendid men, we might do wonders, even without oil, until 

 help could arrive. Without horses and ammunition we would be immediately 

 destroyed. And we are not taking the trouble to breed chargers and trans- 

 port horses for the purposes of war. Indian buyers, private dealers, your own 

 eyesight, will tell you that we are not producing the quantity, nor the quality 

 which we were so proud of fifty, forty, aye, even thirty years ago. We have 

 become careless. Our young men do not desire the glorious companionship 

 which their fathers enjoyed, that loving friendship between horse and man. 

 They fiz through their stations now in a motor car, or possibly they even fly 

 through the air to the back of the run, and are home for luncheon. Their 

 sires and their grand-sires on these distant excursions camped out for nights, 

 their saddle for a pillow, their horses, in hobbles, not far distant from their 

 side. My young gentleman of to-day could do it all if he tried, but he does 

 not care to ride, and hunting is a bore. But what will his son be? It is the 

 old, old story. Read your Gibbon, study your Grote. 



