Having cringed five days earlier at the sparse crowds on the Hill at Epsom for Saturday’s Derby, I would have thought taking care of potential money-spending clients would be at the forefront of all racecourses’ actions nowadays, writes Tony Stafford.
Yet on Thursday at Newbury, where there was a 1.30 start, for some reason the course management decreed that until 12.30 they (probably regarded as the enemy until that moment) would not pass.
It could be of course that racecourses’ race day insurance might not kick in until an hour before the first race; but if that’s right, then it’s something they ought to address.
Luckily the owners’ car park is but a stone’s throw from the entrance to the very posh owners’ facility, so once denied admission at 11.50 – I got there quicker than expected as the long-standing and lengthy 50 m.p.h. stretches on the northern part of the M25 and also some more on the M4 had magically disappeared since the start of my house arrest for the previous three weeks.
“Great”, I thought, “that’s plenty of time to get a cup of coffee and study the card.” The horse I’d come to watch wasn’t in until the second race at 2.05 so I might even take advantage of the lunch that’s offered, although with everyone going in at the same time, it would be a bit of a scramble.
One hot choice, pork sausages, so any one unable to partake on religious grounds, would be left with the cold buffet. No such restrictions for me and the sausages were great. I digress.
At 11.50, the promised rain was coming down nicely enough to turn the going from good to firm to good, good to soft in places, allowing the trainer’s assistant associated with “our” horse, a 120k debutant, another possible factor to add to the legion of pre- and post-race book of excuses for a first outing.
After a couple of minutes standing behind the gaggle of already almost-drowning pensioners that comprise many midweek attendees, I had a brainwave, following a couple of others with rudimentary knowledge of the track. “There’s a bar in the hotel, and if that’s no good, there’s always the Lodge”, they offered. The Lodge is where stable lads can stay overnight.
No go at the hotel and around the corner we were very welcome to go into the Lodge, but on race days their bar isn’t open. I slunk back to sit in the car for half an hour.
By the time I did return to the entrance somebody must have taken mercy on the drowned veterans and a few were already in the bar, including my old mate Mike “Chunky” Allen, a fixture at Newbury and Windsor especially, who surprised me with the announcement that it was 20 years since he had left British Airways from his job as Cabin Services Director.
He always used to tell me about all the people in racing he’d managed to get upgrades from coach to first over many years and, from memory, Paul Webber was one of his regular beneficiaries.
I was going on a long-distance trip with my then wife sometime in the 1990s, to the US if I recall. He told me the name of the man who would be CSD on the flight and said: “When you go into the plane, ask for him. I’ve told him about you and he’ll put you in Business Class at a minimum or with luck, First Class.”
Come the day, with my wife saying don’t be silly, we’ll sit in our seats, I wasn’t for turning. The man was standing at the point where passengers would turn left or right. I asked whether he was our man. He said: “Yes”. I said: “Oh good, Mike Allen told me you would look after us.” He gave me a quizzical look and said: “Mike Allen? Never heard of him!” We turned right with one embarrassed husband and an “I told you so” companion.
Last Thursday, I retold the tale with Mike and a witness and Chunky said, “That’s right, I only worked with him for 38 years!”
I thought it would be only fair to buy him what he was drinking as his small house white wine was soon to disappear at the bottom of his tiny glass. I ordered the same again and a non-alcoholic beer for me. I had a longish drive home so you can’t be too careful these days - £12. Good job he didn’t have a large one!
In a field of eight, of course “our horse” was the one doing all the shouting in the pre-parade and, by the time we went into the paddock proper and met the assistant trainer, he added to that obvious negative news with, “Not only that but he’s got his old man out.” A more prosaic description than the coy “rather colty” version beloved of broadcast paddock commentators, you might say.
This juvenile had been, we understood, very forward from day one, had done plenty of galloping and a video of his last piece of work was most encouraging. It’s not my horse, but I attempted to keep the conversation as light as possible as there was, apart from my friend, another partner and his father there. I said, “I saw that gallop, he looked good, unless he was working with a tree.”
Anyway the eight eventually set off on the six and a half furlongs of Newbury and he was slowly away, then dropped further back immediately. On return after the race, his jockey said, “I’d gone 20 yards and he started shouting and it wasn’t until the last furlong that he seemed to get the hang of things.”
He advised patience at least to see his next run as he did keep on well up to the line, improving the distance behind the other two stragglers if not his actual position. Trainer’s assistant said the jockey couldn’t pull him up for ages after the line, so that’s a comfort and I had already taken that reassurance on the eye first time round. I hope my friend and the other owners get some enjoyment. Promise on the gallops can so quickly evaporate with one or two poor displays on the track.
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I know it’s Royal Ascot this week. I am going to manage only three days, but the early morning work I do for the revamped From The Stables service where around 20 trainers offer their thoughts to me every day means it’s going to be hellish if the roads are difficult.
On Saturday, there were initially 30 horses (in the end quite a few came out) to wade through to find a nap which would appear in the William Hill Radio Naps table.
In the five years I’ve been doing the job – pushed my way when the Editor of this site recommended me when asked his opinion of who might fill a vacancy – we’ve won the competition three times (out of ten goes combined, for the NH and Flat seasons).
Doing my regular call around on Saturday, I spoke to Roger Teal. I very much fancied his horse Hucklesbrook at York as I had done a few weeks earlier at Leicester where he won at 9/1. That day, I forgot to email the tip through and was given a 2/7 shot from the regular substitute provider when mine is a no-show for any reason.
Anyway, Roger told me he was in a rush as his horsebox had broken down on the way and he was waiting for a replacement to bring the horse to run in the valuable featured three-year-old sprint, worth £64k to the winner.
All was well, Hucklesbrook getting there safely and then, ridden by Joanna Mason, winning very authoritatively at 16/1. Roger Teal is a much-underrated trainer (although in fairness, so many of them are). I would love him to win the Queen Anne Stakes, the meeting curtain-raiser of a wonderful Tuesday card, with Dancing Gemini.
To have a 16/1 nap go in was great, but under a new regime instigated only last month and containing an inflex of talented trainers, we now offer a nap, next best and third choice along with an each-way outsider.
The NB, Ben Brookhouse’s My Dream World, had earlier won the Queen Mother Cup for lady amateur riders at 4/1 so an 84/1 double was in place. It is now no longer a secret that winning rider Megan Jordan, partnering a 13th career winner, weighs six cases and two bottles of champagne. At around £50 a pop that’s three and a half grand’s worth. Good for her.
I was getting excited after Hucklesbrook, but then the third choice, Jamie Snowden’s 9/4 shot Hope Rising, turned round just as her field was sent off for a novice hurdle at Uttoxeter, losing a good ten lengths according to the course commentator.
Gavin Sheehan soon got her rolling and she quickly went through the field and into the lead. Jumping well, she seemed to be going better than the hot favourite in the race, but those earlier exertions taxed her stamina and she had to be content with an honourable second place. That treble would have been 272/1!
Later, the day’s each-way outsider, Hughie Morrison’s Mighty Real, a 12/1 shot at Leicester, came with a dangerous-looking run but had to be content with third of eight. If, a word we use too often in racing and I suppose in life generally, things had gone right, it would have been somewhere close to a 3,600/1 payout. Of course, I didn’t have a penny on, but I’m glad to say, plenty of the members did!
You can take a three week trial of From The Stables, using the coupon code ‘geegeez’, here.
Other Recent Posts by This Author:
- Monday Musings: Dazzling Doubles
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- Monday Musings: Raising the Stakes in September
- Monday Musings: The Ups and (Kentucky) Downs of Racing
- Monday Musings: Sovereignty Looks The Real Deal
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