of his father. E. de M.]
My father will never write his own story. He says he is a man of deeds not words. But, in this cold, sad winter, while he is stuck indoors with his injury, unable to ride, he is happy enough to talk. He will never criticise Mother. Never. But I hope that in writing down his story I will uncover some home truths. Already I am beginning to hear a different version.
My father, Jack Lacey, is a strong and upright man. He stands five foot nine in his stockinged feet, and at forty-three years of age he still has hair as black and luxuriant as when he was a lad. He breeds horses and breaks them in for the domestic market. His nature is sunny, which is fortunate in the circumstances. He possesses a laugh that rings throughout the house; it cannot be resisted. All declare that he is handsome. Teddy used to laugh and say he was a dandy — that he could be on the stage just like Mother. But dressing carefully in high boots, smart coat-tails and white cravat is simply part of his nature: he is a horseman and desires the world to know it.
When Father travels down the valley to the horse bazaar in Whanganui, it is a marvel to see. His string of horses — all bays or blacks — walk obediently behind him, while he rides on Sylvanor Orlando. (Mother always names his mounts.) All his horses are strong-limbed, their coats glistening with good health: before the sale they are fed for a week on good oats and oaten hay to bring up the spirit in them. He is well known at the bazaar; Lacey mounts will always fetch the best price.
I love to go to the bazaar with him; he is a different man there, as spirited as his horses, tipping his hat to the ladies and enjoying the banter and rivalry among the men.
Though in recent times there has not been so much to celebrate. He is desperately lonely when Mother is not at home.
[Archivist’s Note: The following is a later excerpt from Samuel’s Journal. E. de M.]
[…] At this time my father was quite besotted with the circus performer Miss Tornear [ sic throughout ]. He disregarded the security of a permanent job. (He was a well-regarded groom. He could break in a horse and gentle it until the beast was suitable for the most timid of lady riders.) He followed the circus wherever it travelled, picking up work here and there. Once, in his home town of Whanganui, he rescued Miss Tornear from a dangerous fall. Her horse bolted on Castlecliff Beach. Riding alongside, he managed to bring the steed to a halt, but not before she tumbled to the ground and suffered a broken bone. Quickly he carried her to the home of Doctor Horatio Ingram, whom he served as groom. That good doctor splinted the limb, and my father asked Doctor Ingram to take the cost from his own wages.
On returning the lady to the circus, my father learned that her position as bareback rider and high-wire artiste was in jeopardy. Mr Foley (proprietor) was understandably unwilling to employ a cripple. Without a moment’s hesitation, and in front of the assembled circus folk, my father leaped from his horse, plunged to one knee and proposed marriage to Miss Tornear.
‘I will give you a fine and upright life and am able to earn a good enough wage to support us both,’ he cried.
Miss Tornear appeared thoughtful at this offer of rescue, but before she had chance to reply, the wife of the proprietor, a dominating and self-opinionated lady, spoke directly to her,completely ignoring my father, who remained on his knees.
‘I have a use for you in the theatre,’ she boomed. ‘You will come with me to Wellington to be my assistant. Possibly,’ she added, ‘my understudy.’
It seemed that Foley and his wife were parting ways. Whanganui gossip suggested unfaithfulness on the part of both husband and wife. The circus would continue north without Mrs Foley who intended, she said, to star in a new theatrical company in Wellington. Miss Tornear would apparently be useful in rehearsing that woman’s lines and acting
My father will never write his own story. He says he is a man of deeds not words. But, in this cold, sad winter, while he is stuck indoors with his injury, unable to ride, he is happy enough to talk. He will never criticise Mother. Never. But I hope that in writing down his story I will uncover some home truths. Already I am beginning to hear a different version.
My father, Jack Lacey, is a strong and upright man. He stands five foot nine in his stockinged feet, and at forty-three years of age he still has hair as black and luxuriant as when he was a lad. He breeds horses and breaks them in for the domestic market. His nature is sunny, which is fortunate in the circumstances. He possesses a laugh that rings throughout the house; it cannot be resisted. All declare that he is handsome. Teddy used to laugh and say he was a dandy — that he could be on the stage just like Mother. But dressing carefully in high boots, smart coat-tails and white cravat is simply part of his nature: he is a horseman and desires the world to know it.
When Father travels down the valley to the horse bazaar in Whanganui, it is a marvel to see. His string of horses — all bays or blacks — walk obediently behind him, while he rides on Sylvanor Orlando. (Mother always names his mounts.) All his horses are strong-limbed, their coats glistening with good health: before the sale they are fed for a week on good oats and oaten hay to bring up the spirit in them. He is well known at the bazaar; Lacey mounts will always fetch the best price.
I love to go to the bazaar with him; he is a different man there, as spirited as his horses, tipping his hat to the ladies and enjoying the banter and rivalry among the men.
Though in recent times there has not been so much to celebrate. He is desperately lonely when Mother is not at home.
[Archivist’s Note: The following is a later excerpt from Samuel’s Journal. E. de M.]
[…] At this time my father was quite besotted with the circus performer Miss Tornear [ sic throughout ]. He disregarded the security of a permanent job. (He was a well-regarded groom. He could break in a horse and gentle it until the beast was suitable for the most timid of lady riders.) He followed the circus wherever it travelled, picking up work here and there. Once, in his home town of Whanganui, he rescued Miss Tornear from a dangerous fall. Her horse bolted on Castlecliff Beach. Riding alongside, he managed to bring the steed to a halt, but not before she tumbled to the ground and suffered a broken bone. Quickly he carried her to the home of Doctor Horatio Ingram, whom he served as groom. That good doctor splinted the limb, and my father asked Doctor Ingram to take the cost from his own wages.
On returning the lady to the circus, my father learned that her position as bareback rider and high-wire artiste was in jeopardy. Mr Foley (proprietor) was understandably unwilling to employ a cripple. Without a moment’s hesitation, and in front of the assembled circus folk, my father leaped from his horse, plunged to one knee and proposed marriage to Miss Tornear.
‘I will give you a fine and upright life and am able to earn a good enough wage to support us both,’ he cried.
Miss Tornear appeared thoughtful at this offer of rescue, but before she had chance to reply, the wife of the proprietor, a dominating and self-opinionated lady, spoke directly to her,completely ignoring my father, who remained on his knees.
‘I have a use for you in the theatre,’ she boomed. ‘You will come with me to Wellington to be my assistant. Possibly,’ she added, ‘my understudy.’
It seemed that Foley and his wife were parting ways. Whanganui gossip suggested unfaithfulness on the part of both husband and wife. The circus would continue north without Mrs Foley who intended, she said, to star in a new theatrical company in Wellington. Miss Tornear would apparently be useful in rehearsing that woman’s lines and acting
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