Newmarket Heath

Chapter four, The Happy Hunting Ground.

Of all the places whereby a judicious admixture of whip and spur, oats and whiskey, horses are caused to place one leg before another with unnecessary rapidity, in order that men may exchange little pieces of metal with the greater freedom, Newmarket Heath is the topmost and merriest and best.

This museum of the state of flux, the second reason of horse racing being to afford an example of perpetual motion, no proper racing man having ever been found to regard either gains or losses in the light of an accomplished fact.

This museum of the state of flux has a climate unrivaled for the production of the British temperament.

It tends, in advance even of the City of London, to the nurture and improvement of individualism, to that desirable "I'll see you blanked" state of mind which is the proud objective of every Englishman, and especially of every country gentleman.

In a word, a mother to the self-reliant secretiveness which defies intrusion and forms an integral part in the Christianity of this country.

Newmarket Heath is beyond all others the happy hunting ground of the landed classes.

In the paddock half an hour before the Rutlandshire Handicap was to be run, numbers of racing men were gathered in little knots of two and three, describing to each other with every precaution the points of strength in the horses they had laid against, the points of weakness in the horses they had backed, or vice versa, together with the latest discrepancies of their trainers and jockeys.

End of chapter 3 Part 1, Chapter 4 of A Country House by John Galsworthy This LibriVox recording is in the public domain.

Chapter 4, The Happy Hunting Ground Of all the places whereby a judicious admixture of whip and spur, oats and whiskey, horses are caused to place one leg before another with unnecessary rapidity, in order that men may exchange little pieces of metal with the greater freedom, Newmarket Heath is the topmost and merriest and best.

This museum of the state of flux, the second reason of horse racing being to afford an example of perpetual motion, no proper racing man having ever been found to regard either gains or losses in the light of an accomplished fact.

This museum of the state of flux has a climate unrivaled for the production of the British temperament.

It tends, in advance even of the city of London, to the nurture and improvement of individualism, to that desirable I'll see you blanked state of mind which is the proud objective of every Englishman, and especially of every country gentleman.

In a word, a mother to the self-reliant secretiveness which defies intrusion and forms an integral part in the Christianity of this country.

Newmarket Heath is beyond all others the happy hunting ground of the landed classes.

In the paddock half an hour before the Rutlandshire handicap was to be run, numbers of racing men were gathered in little knots of two and three, describing to each other with every precaution the points of strength in the horses they had laid against, the points of weakness in the horses they had backed, or vice versa, together with the latest discrepancies of their trainers and jockeys.

But you know, Norberton nearly came within your province once.

Oh? How was that? It was when he horse-whipped Sam Brewer, the Curzon Street moneylender on Newmarket Heath.

Nearly killed him.

He sounds interesting.

The Jockey Club rooms were in Newmarket.

They actually then started buying up all the land, the racecourse and all the surrounding Heathland and they still own it today, the Jockey Club.

acres and acres of land because it's not it's not just about the racing in new market um it's full of stud farms for breeders and of course it's it's packed full of training stables as well so um that's why it became known as as hq really for for racing So this all started developing.

And in the later part of the 18th century, they created what we now call the classic races.

But you know, Norberton nearly came within your province once.

Oh? How was that? It was when he horse-whipped Sam Brewer, the Curzon Street moneylender on Newmarket Heath.

Nearly killed him.

He sounds interesting.