edgt
Senior Jockey
The city of the Tribes has a Summer full of festivals from Arts to Racing to Oyster to regattas to whatever else brings in the visitors. Once Summer is over it reverts to being a University City, the West is awake in this city that never sleeps.
Surrounded by a rugged landscape that bears truth to the old saying that where there is scenery there is hardship, Galway racing festival is not for the faint hearted, human or equine.
Connacht people used to hardship since deemed also- rans by Oliver Cromwell make the most of what they have and have us visitors wanting more of the same please.
It's timing at the end of July is pivotal for both local and visitors as Agriculturally it marks the natural pause between the end of the hay making season and the beginning of the autumn harvest
.Old hay (last years' crop) was deemed to be old gold but like that precious metal there was never enough of it.
Thus the current crop is all important, especially in former times when silage was not popular and more importantly not as mobile as hay, or as easily stored.
Cattle dealers/jobbers who spent the spring ferrying calves from the Golden Vale North and West across the country and the Autumn ferrying those same cattle East for wintering and finishing had the summer free for making and dealing in hay, had the transport to carry it and the customers to purchase it.
Better still, it was a cash crop.
Making hay is high risk as you need sunny weather but not so sunny that so much hay is made the market price drops. hay is a source of worry when growing, cut, while it being saved and finally when transported to its destination. It is hard work, long hours, labour intensive with a lot of manual handling, but as a cash crop well worth the gamble, as it was a stash for Galway and the battle with the bookmaker.
It also made men of boys, often before their time. Many a day i have seen a truck load of hay parked outside a country shop while an occupant got provisions for the day ahead, usually bottles of soda for the crew, packs of cigarettes and one bar of chocolate for the youngest; by season end that chocolate became filter tipped in a pack of twenty as the boy became a man.
Filling a truck with hay bales was a skill in itself, keeping the best greenest, cleanest hay to the outside unless one was driving narrow lanes with over grown hedges where the outside bales would be cleaned by the hawthorns; no two rows having the same number of bales so the bale count was always a guessing game. Trucks were unloaded in a hurry to confuse the purchaser as to the count.
One man , a hard living, hard drinking punter arrived at a farm yard delivering hay. He was instructed to stay
in the cab as the bales were removed.He was asked after how many bales he had . "350, as agreed " he replied. "You must have lost forty on your way so" he was told.
Confused he jumped off the truck, looked at the registration plate and declared " The lads took the wrong truck this morning, we had filled them both last night. Sorry about that !" He only ever had one truck.
Once the hay was saved and sold the boss headed to Galway Races for the week to meet up with his kin folk, to drink and gamble and party and drink and gamble some more as they knew if all was lost the grass would grow again the following year.
One client of mine recalls when early in his marriage , as a devoted punter and drinker, he purchased his family home on the Monday of Galway, before heading to the races. He handed over 4500 as a deposit before setting off, his wife to meet up with him on the Friday for a weekend away. His mood was not helped by the fact that 3000 would have secured the house, but wrote it off as his first loser of the week. His balance for the week was 4500 but a poor punting performance saw him home that night to recharge his pocket .
. " How come you are home ? " his wife innocently asked.
" I missed you !" came the reply; and that was how their second child was conceived .
Such stories are the real history of Ballybrit, the infamous tent came later.
Only in Galway is there a race to suit horses, flat or NH rated from 50 to 160.
Having "the word " about a particular horse is everything so rumours , second and third guessing abound.
The great, the good and not so good mix and mingle and equality abounds.
Rarely can that be said about Goodwood and as for the small bale of hay, they would not know what you were talking about.
Surrounded by a rugged landscape that bears truth to the old saying that where there is scenery there is hardship, Galway racing festival is not for the faint hearted, human or equine.
Connacht people used to hardship since deemed also- rans by Oliver Cromwell make the most of what they have and have us visitors wanting more of the same please.
It's timing at the end of July is pivotal for both local and visitors as Agriculturally it marks the natural pause between the end of the hay making season and the beginning of the autumn harvest
.Old hay (last years' crop) was deemed to be old gold but like that precious metal there was never enough of it.
Thus the current crop is all important, especially in former times when silage was not popular and more importantly not as mobile as hay, or as easily stored.
Cattle dealers/jobbers who spent the spring ferrying calves from the Golden Vale North and West across the country and the Autumn ferrying those same cattle East for wintering and finishing had the summer free for making and dealing in hay, had the transport to carry it and the customers to purchase it.
Better still, it was a cash crop.
Making hay is high risk as you need sunny weather but not so sunny that so much hay is made the market price drops. hay is a source of worry when growing, cut, while it being saved and finally when transported to its destination. It is hard work, long hours, labour intensive with a lot of manual handling, but as a cash crop well worth the gamble, as it was a stash for Galway and the battle with the bookmaker.
It also made men of boys, often before their time. Many a day i have seen a truck load of hay parked outside a country shop while an occupant got provisions for the day ahead, usually bottles of soda for the crew, packs of cigarettes and one bar of chocolate for the youngest; by season end that chocolate became filter tipped in a pack of twenty as the boy became a man.
Filling a truck with hay bales was a skill in itself, keeping the best greenest, cleanest hay to the outside unless one was driving narrow lanes with over grown hedges where the outside bales would be cleaned by the hawthorns; no two rows having the same number of bales so the bale count was always a guessing game. Trucks were unloaded in a hurry to confuse the purchaser as to the count.
One man , a hard living, hard drinking punter arrived at a farm yard delivering hay. He was instructed to stay
in the cab as the bales were removed.He was asked after how many bales he had . "350, as agreed " he replied. "You must have lost forty on your way so" he was told.
Confused he jumped off the truck, looked at the registration plate and declared " The lads took the wrong truck this morning, we had filled them both last night. Sorry about that !" He only ever had one truck.
Once the hay was saved and sold the boss headed to Galway Races for the week to meet up with his kin folk, to drink and gamble and party and drink and gamble some more as they knew if all was lost the grass would grow again the following year.
One client of mine recalls when early in his marriage , as a devoted punter and drinker, he purchased his family home on the Monday of Galway, before heading to the races. He handed over 4500 as a deposit before setting off, his wife to meet up with him on the Friday for a weekend away. His mood was not helped by the fact that 3000 would have secured the house, but wrote it off as his first loser of the week. His balance for the week was 4500 but a poor punting performance saw him home that night to recharge his pocket .
. " How come you are home ? " his wife innocently asked.
" I missed you !" came the reply; and that was how their second child was conceived .
Such stories are the real history of Ballybrit, the infamous tent came later.
Only in Galway is there a race to suit horses, flat or NH rated from 50 to 160.
Having "the word " about a particular horse is everything so rumours , second and third guessing abound.
The great, the good and not so good mix and mingle and equality abounds.
Rarely can that be said about Goodwood and as for the small bale of hay, they would not know what you were talking about.