My Life and Racing: Insight into Racing

By VP Sutherland

Victor Paul Sutherland was to a born to a dairy farmer in Milton, New South Wales, Australia on the15th of August 1945. The day of the Victory in the Pacific; thus the intials VP.

He had several different jobs during the time that he was a Jockey and talks about some of the mischivious antics that happened. He became aTrainer when he became too heavey to ride and tells of his heart breaks and triumphs throughout his carreer. He also exposes some bihind the scenes facts of some sordid affairs. There are many good yarns that will make you laugh and some that will make your jaw drop, including an affair between the Head Steward and a Leading Jockey's wife which definately questions the integrety of racing. He includes some very colourful players involved in racing scandals an armed robbery at his house and a huge betting plunge that almost failed but they got away with it. What happened is amazing, this story must be read.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Jul 16, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483661155

VP Sutherland

Victor Paul Sutherland was to a born to a dairy farmer in Milton, New South Wales, Australia on the15th of August 1945. The day of the Victory in the Pacific; thus the intials VP. He had several different jobs during the time that he was a Jockey and talks about some of the mischivious antics that happened. He became aTrainer when he became too heavey to ride and tells of his heart breaks and triumphs throughout his carreer. He also exposes some bihind the scenes facts of some sordid affairs. There are many good yarns that will make you laugh and some that will make your jaw drop, including an affair between the Head Steward and a Leading Jockey's wife which definately questions the integrety of racing. He includes some very colourful players involved in racing scandals an armed robbery at his house and a huge betting plunge that almost failed but they got away with it. What happened is amazing, this story must be read.

Book preview

Copyright © 2013 by VP Sutherland.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

Rev. date: 08/12/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris LLC

1-800-455-039

www.Xlibris.com.au

[e-mail]

503797

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER ONE

The Beginning…

Hi, my name is Paul Sutherland, better known in the racing industry as VP Sutherland.

This is my life; I hope you enjoy reading my story. I was born in Milton on the South Coast of NSW on the 15th of August 1945. Which was the day the 2nd world war ended, VP day—Victory in the Pacific—hence the way I was named Victor Paul. My father was not there as Milton was a seven hour trip by car or bus and Milton was the closest hospital from Cobargo where my family had a dairy farm. So my mother went by bus to Milton she had family living there. A week or so after my birth my mum set off with me to return to Cobargo by bus and apparently there had been a lot of rain on the South coast and the bridge at Moruya was damaged and could not be used. So the passengers on the bus had to get off and cross by a row boat to another bus. My mother told me some years later that while we were crossing the boat hit something and nearly capsized. However we made it to the other side and the awaiting bus and got home safely.

Growing up on the farm were the best days of my life. I remember at the age of three I had a tricycle; my father had also bought me a pair of ankle high gum boots as I was always in the dairy. I recall one day just after getting my gum boots I got my bike stuck in mud. I did not want to get my gum boots muddy so I sat there crying and yelling out for Mum or Dad to come and get me! I was stuck there for some time.

On the farm we had a very quite pony, so I started learning to ride on him at the age of four. I loved riding and soon learned to be—I thought—a good rider. On the dairy farm we also had sixty to eighty pigs which would be fattened up for the markets. Dad also trapped a lot of rabbits in those days. He would set around eighty traps every day. He would set them around mid-day most days then after the after noon milking was done we would check the traps and get what rabbits we had caught, and reset them for the night. Dad always took his rifle and a fork stick with him. Some times he would find a fox in a trap and Dad would shoot it as fox hides were worth a lot of money in those days. Boy did a skinned fox stink. But the hide was good money. Also sometimes we would trap a dog. When you catch a dog in a rabbit trap they can be very dangerous. That is why Dad had a fork stick around five feet long with him. He would use it to open the trap and release the dog. No dog ever tried to attack us, they would just run away.

The rabbits trapped in the afternoon were killed and taken home. The next morning after milking and taking the milk up to the highway to meet the milk truck, then having breakfast, Dad and I would go around and check the traps. While we were gone Mum would be busy skinning the ones that we had caught the afternoon before. We had a big copper boiler with a wood fire underneath it. The rabbit carcases were put in the copper and cooked and then fed to the pigs. The rabbit skins were put on a bow, dried out and tanned, so nothing was wasted. There was no TV or video games in those days so all I could do was work on the farm and ride my pony.

I never had much to do with my two brothers and my sister as they were much older then me. I think I came as a surprise as my brother Bert who is the second youngest is twelve years older then me and my sister Jean is fourteen years older . Then there was the eldest Kevin was seventeen years older so there was a vast difference in age between us.

My Mother used to tell the story that when Bert was two or three years old that she could not stop him from eating chicken poop. So when she would hang out the washing she would have to tie him to the clothes line which would have been a post in the ground we are talking about seventy-four or seventy—five years ago. She even tried smothering the chicken poop with mustard and pepper to stop him and apparently that worked. You would be up for cruelty to a child if you were to do that today.

Then the time came when I turned five years old. I had to go to school!! I hated it! I just wanted to stay on the farm to milk the cows, feed the pigs, go rabbiting and ride the pony. I would ride my bike two miles to where I would catch the school bus for school, then return home by school bus and bike every day. I was not very popular with the other kids and soon became the school bully. I simply did not want to be there!

I do recall while still on the farm at Cobargo that sometimes one of the dogs would be struck down with tick paralysis. Dad would go up into the bush and get Maiden Hair Fern. Mum would then boil it; cool it and they would then lay the dog down on a wet Hessian bag and pour the fern brew down the dog’s throat. As far as I can remember we never lost a dog. In those days the nearest vet to us was about fifty miles away, so we had to concoct family remedies.

The majority of the Sutherland clan lived in a beautiful valley called Yarrie. There were seven or eight farms in the valley. It is situated about forty or fifty miles inland just under the Snowy Mountains. They had their own school house there and on Sunday’s it would be used as the local Church. There was one post office and a telephone service and two tennis courts. There was a river that ran through every farm. On Christmas day our family would go to the main farm then we would get into our own cars or trucks and drive to every farm in the valley to visit. Then at the end of the journey we would all head back to the main farm for a huge spread for lunch! It was great fun for us kids!

The old timers would tell me that Dad had been a wild young bloke. One story I remember quite well was when Dad and some other family members in their late teens and early twenty’s were branding the cattle and at the same time gelding the young bulls, some of the young girls were tormenting the boys while they were doing this. They grabbed one of the girls, pulled her pants down and Dad branded her on one cheek of her bum. Dad’s brand was RLS which stood for Robert Lyle Sutherland and was quite big. That poor girl had to wear that brand for the rest of her life!!! You would go to jail for that now!!

When I was around five or six years old I remember my parents would play cards twice a week sometimes at our place or another farmer’s home. I often heard about how they survived the Great Depression in the 1930’s. They all grew vegetables and shared them amongst each other. They also had their own cows so they had milk and made their own cheese and butter. When a farmer would slaughter a beast every one shared the meat. They also trapped rabbits and King Parrots. So the whole valley survived The Great Depression pretty good.

They would also talk about The Second World War. The farmer’s heard over the bush telephone (which was very hard to get as the reception wasn’t that good in those days) about the bombing of Darwin and that the Imperial Japanese Army were about to attack the whole east coast of Australia. The farmers all had their pack horses ready to go should the Japanese arrive. They also had a twenty-four hour look out on the highest peak on the mountain it was their job to let them know if the Japanese were coming and give them time to get all the animals and hide out in the mountains. Of course they all took turns on the look out rotation. The farmers in Yowri had two bridges into the valley rigged with dynamite one over the river and the other over the creek. If the Japanese did come they would blow up the bridges and they wouldn’t be able to get any heavy artillery through to the valley. The Japanese never came but they had it all organized if they had.

When I was seven or eight years old we moved to Milton, NSW and lived in the town at my Grandparents’ home. It was a very large place. The house was divided in half so each family had their own kitchen and three bedrooms. My father worked on different farms while he waited for the right farm to become available.

My cousin, who also lived in the house, was a girl by the name of Yuna. We were pretty wild kids. One of our play mate’s mothers owned the two butcher shops in Milton. The keys to both shops were always kept at his house. So we decided to rob them! There were no alarm systems in those days. We would rob one shop a week. The money from the day’s takings was always kept in a tin in the cold room. We would only take a small amount of money so that we didn’t raise any suspicion.

One night our mate had the wrong keys—they were for the other shop—so he had to jump back on his push bike and go back home to get the right ones. We did this for some time. Another place that Yuna and I used to rob was the local bakery. The bakery, the house and the whole business were under one roof. The counter was at the front, so Yuna would go into the kitchen and talk to the owners while I robed the till once again only taking a small amount so that we didn’t raise any suspicion.

I also used to go to the