FRIENDS' COMFORTING 



In the pages of the book I have told how failure after 

 failure has followed my repeated attempts to obtain a 

 licence. This year (1915) another trial was made. I 

 addressed a humble letter to the Stewards of the 

 Jockey Club, but after waiting for three months there 

 IS still no reply. The book would have been completed 

 m any case, for I have told a plain, unvarnished tale, 

 not attempting to whitewash myself, nor posing as 

 the hly-white, for those who go racing know a good 

 many conditions of life. But as the French steward 

 just quoted said, I was " straightforward " and honest 

 as a jockey : I liked winning too much. Wliy, there- 

 fore, the apparently permanent condemned position *? I 

 might not be able to ride, but I have relatives and 

 friends who would think of me in the present and in 

 later years so thoroughly differently if I had the stigma 

 removed from me. The chance of making a living 

 too at something I could do better than anything else 

 cannot be overlooked in the many hours of anxiety. 



Friends comfort me by saying : " Oh ! you'll be all 

 right some day." But when will that some day arrive *? 

 Will it ever ? One after the other of my old friends 

 have gone— my patrons and intimates. I suppose I 

 must think I am getting towards middle age but— 

 here the " personal " is inevitable again— I feel as fit 

 as ever to do anything. Men have been successful 

 when far older than I ; in fact, there are one or two 

 riding to-day. And what about the veteran John 

 Osborne, who retired only two or three seasons back 

 and still rides gallops ? My weight has not increased' 

 my muscles are as strong, while my vision and nerve 

 are unimpaired. There can surely be no " but " on 

 the score of age-limit. 



But again— and finally : why this book *? To 

 explain myself, to put the swom-to-be-true story of 



309 



