by Gifford Eardley
Facilities do not appear to have been provided in the St. George District for the popular sport of greyhound racing which came into prominence during the Depression years of the early 1930s. At the time there were many adherents of the game in our midst who found it necessary to keep their dogs in good condition to take them on walks for miles along the grass verges of the highways and byways to keep them fit and, so I believe, alleviate certain digestive troubles common to the breed. The dogs were taken to regular racing meetings held at various courses in and around the metropolitan area and also to country meetings held at such places as Lithgow, Dapto, and Gosford. Together with their owners, the dogs travelled in specially appointed railway carriages with accommodation so arranged, down to the last post, thus enabling man and beast to keep an eye on each other.
Accompanied by a friend, who shares my interest in birdwatching, we went for a stroll one Sunday morning in mid-winter, to the former sewerage farm area at Kyeemagh and the adjacent polo ground which was operating at that period. Numerous water birds frequented the salt marsh and river flats ranged around the mangrove fringed shores of Muddy Creek. Pacific gulls were legion, attracted by the household rubbish dumps at nearby Barton Park. There were many other varieties of birds in evidence, such as stilts, ibis, egrets, spur-winged plover, sandpipers, and an occasional bar-tailed godwit, a wary bird which prefers the icy wastes of northern Asia for breeding purposes. Lying snugly in the grass tufts, adapted to form our hide, we had excellent opportunity to watch all of these birds feeding, preening their feathers, sun-baking, and indulging in a little display of courtship. Birdwatching is full of interest to those addicted to this intriguing form of nature worship.
Our interest was further aroused by a medley of human voices intermingled with the yelping and baying of numerous dogs. These sounds came from a clump of low bushes and scrub on the eastern side of Muddy Creek and we decided to investigate the reasons for same. Carefully negotiating the wiremesh barriers, by means of which the Water & Sewerage Board, ineffectually, sought to prevent pedestrians using their main sewerage carrier to cross the turbid waters of Muddy Creek, we reached the scene of the clamour.
In a long narrow grassy hollow we found about one hundred people, of both sexes, and possibly as many greyhounds, all in a state of high-pitched excitement. We had unwittingly discovered a greyhound racing school, where, for a florin, the animals had the privilege of chasing a pseudo hare over a measured distance, their speed being recorded by a loud-voiced gentleman per medium of a stopwatch.
The course fixtures were most interesting, and their design so makeshift that they would have appealed to that famous English engineering cartoonist, the late Heath Robinson. Fitted to a somewhat crazily constructed wooden platform, or dais, was a vertically mounted bicycle wheel, capable of being turned on its axis by a cranked handle. To the concave steel rim of the wheel was fixed a fine but strong length of fishing line. This line ran outwards from the wheel for the length of the course, where it passed around a similar bicycle wheel, horizontally placed, which acted as a pulley for the return of the thin cord to the vicinity of the operating wheel at the dais. Two earthenware drain pipes, laid along the ground in the direction of the course held the supposed hare at the starting point, said hare form consisting of a decadent rabbit skin draped over and affixed to a runner made of cane retrieved, no doubt, from somebody’s discarded cane chair. The outer end of the cord was tied to this make-believe hare, the contrivance being concealed in the pipes by means of a loose piece of cardboard which gave a measure of protection from canine investigation.
After the payment of the necessary “two-bob”, the ‘Course Operator’ mounted the dais, spat on his hands, looked grim, and held the crank handle at the ready. The dog-owner, looking equally grim, held his particular hound by a slipleash, whilst a series of false starts were made with the hare to awaken said hound’s interest in the forthcoming procedure. “The Starting Gentleman”, now all agog, gave a yell, round and round went the winding wheel, out shot the “hare’ from drainpipes, and away went the hound. Every dog not in the event raised its voice in protest at not being permitted to join wholeheartedly in the chase.
It was astonishing to see the speed of these animals and the sharp-eyed skill necessary on the part of the “Course Operator” to keep the “hare” just in advance of the foaming jaws of the faithful hound doing its level best to catch the make-believe skin and cane object ahead. At the end of the run the “Finish” gentleman grabbed the “hare” and held it on high out of the reach of the snapping, panting jaws of the now highly excited dog, who was inclined to bite at anything, human or otherwise. By this time the owner, sadly out of breath, had arrived and called the beast endearing or unendearing names, chosen by virtue of the stopwatch timing listed against the run. The dog, fixed on a leash, was then trotted back to the place from whence it came.
Trial after trial followed in orderly and monotonous regularity and many florins exchanged hands, likewise a few on the side between interested spectators, both male and female, who took more than a passing interest in the happenings.
On one occasion things got completely out of hand when a dog caught the “hare” and commenced to tear it apart, much to the chagrin of the “Starting Gentleman”, who expressed his feelings about the wanton damage to his property in no uncertain terms. A number of hounds broke clear of their fastenings and raced forward to participate in the orgy of destruction, followed by their equally agitated owners, and a great melee ensued. Some person kicked some other person’s dog in the ribs, a circumstance which looked like ending in a bout of fisticuffs. Another gentleman dog owner, the proud possessor of half a dozen hounds, each on a separate lead, the outer ends of which were attached to a common wrist strap, shouted above the din to a short dumpy man to hold these – (shall we say dogs although I had no idea that so many dogs had been born out of wedlock) while I go and break up the scrum, or words to that effect.
The short, dumpy man already had half a dozen or so of his own dogs fastened by individual leashes to one of his wrists and, with the addition of the extra six, was surrounded by a baying, yelping mass of four-legged brutes all of whom were anxious to do something violent insofar as the chase was concerned. Finally the course was cleared of its obstructive tangle of men and mankind’s best friends, the “hare” straightened out as well as possible (but still looking very much the worse for the tear and wear) and returned to the comparative safety afforded by the drain pipes. Things became normal once again and everything was ready for the running of the next event.
“Go”, shouted the “Starting Gentleman” and away went the wheel, the cord, the “hare”, and the following hound. Also, at the same time went the dozen hounds attached by their leashes to the wrists of the short and dumpy man. The speed was terrific, too much for the latter’s little legs to accomplish, and over he went, flat on his face, being pulled by his wrists over the grass and discarded jam tins by the straining steeds in front. The language barrage was frightful in its intensity. Both the lady and gentleman owners of the dogs raced forward to retrieve their recalcitrant hounds, some people tripped over the cord and their falling and subsequent remarks added to the general confusion. Other dogs again caught the “hare” whilst the short, dumpy man had his painful progress brought to a sudden halt by a skinny, lanky man throwing himself bodily on to his prostrate form, the extra weight and sudden stoppage just about broke the necks of the dozen steeds ahead, and loud were their cries of anguish, likewise those emanating from their respective owners.
The pandemonium was complete and exhaustive. A most fearful calamity had arisen. Everybody, including the hounds, was chastened. My friend and I were not game to laugh, outwardly at least, under such harrowing circumstances.
The racing school folded up for the day. Everybody had had it. We watched them depart. Some on foot, some in old battered sedan cars, some in utilities, and others carried their dogs in special boxes fitted to the side-car chassis of motor-bikes. No farewells were given or received. It was the end of a sad and unrewarding day. For our part we returned to the mud-flats to watch the bar-tailed godwits and were pleased to note the presence of a pair of tiny dotterals ambling the tidal margin, a circumstance which rounded off an eventful morning insofar as our sporting activities in the delightful northern district of St. George was concerned.
This article was first published in the July 1966 edition of our magazine.
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Unless noted, images courtesy of the Bayside Library Service Local History Collection.