From 1888 to 1894 were Lord William’s best racing years in the East, and all his spare time was devoted to it.
At the November Lucknow meeting his racing partner, His Highness of Durbangah, won the Stewards’ Purse with FitzWilliam, Dunn up, Daphne the Dilkoosha Stakes, Soheil, an Arab, the Pony Handicap. On the third day, a pony named Brandy the Paddock Stakes for maiden ponies, besides various others which I forget.
At the Calcutta chief meeting FitzWilliam won the Trials by way of a good beginning. Eunice, who had at one time and another won a good many races for Lord William, now won the Karnaul Stakes. Metal was backed for a small fortune for the Viceroy’s Cup, when one of those unexpected things happened which must always be reckoned with in racing; he was beaten by his stable companion making the pace too hot for him, and Myall King again romped in a winner. They also won races with Pekoe and Shamhad, while a grey English mare named Venus, whom nobody expected to do anything, won the Eclipse Stakes for them. Lord Clyde and Clarion won a couple of races at the Extra Meeting, making a tremendous winning year, but not a profitable one taking it all round.
It was at this juncture that beautiful Arab pony Blitz came upon the scenes; the charming picture of him was given to me by Admiral Sir John Hext, who agreed with Lord Bill “he was one of the best that ever looked through a bridle.” Lord William sold Metal about this time for £500 to someone in Australia.
During the Simla season he rode a good many races himself on Hardware, Nancy and Shamshad. He also won a match on Hakim against Mr. Laureston’s Prince Charlie, 2000 rupees a side.
In July news reached Lord Bill of the death from heart disease of Mr. Fitch, who for some years had looked after and conducted the Calcutta lotteries, also acted as secretary to the Dehra Races. The poor man died in England while home for a holiday. Lord William felt much regret, for he had been closely associated with him, naturally, over racing matters.
Mr. Fitch was another of the many men his lordship had befriended; in fact had been set on his feet and owed all his success in life to him.
The season was jogging along much in the usual fashion, plunging from the sublime to the ridiculous and the ridiculous to the sublime all the time. In India we all become dual natured, whether it is the climate, the atmosphere we live in, or the desire to leave no time _to think_ I do not know; but we may in the morning be told, someone with whom we have been in daily touch is dead--we say how sad, open our letters, and make all our arrangements for the day’s amusements, which we fulfil, leaving just time to pay a last tribute to one whose hand we have so often held, whose voice and laughter is still sounding in our ears; we then hurry home from the cemetery and go out to dinner, or to the theatre, and home to bed late, hoping to be so tired that sleep will claim us immediately. It is not that we are callous really, far from it; the sad news in the morning has left a lonesome feeling in our hearts, an aching for the poor body who such a short time ago was full of all he or she were going to do when they went “home,” it makes home seem very far away and the present so full of prickling possibilities, and we feel we must laugh or cry, and our English objection to wearing our hearts on our sleeves makes us appear gay, and thus we are pitch-forked from the sublime to the ridiculous and vice versa, still if we never reached the sublime we should miss the picturesqueness.