A chip off the old block

Glorious Goodwood came and went and, to be honest, describing it as a mixed bag might be slightly generous. The atmosphere and the racing itself were both superb but my back played up – I use a walking stick now and progress is on the steady side – and I wondered if I’d last all five days.

But I’d advised a major charity bet on Bow Echo in George Materna’s box on Wednesday and then, to round things off in style on Saturday, he was able to send off another large cheque when Crest Of Fire arrived fast and late to land the closing handicap. There was something close to delirium in the box and I swear my back stopped hurting.

Jack Channon first mentioned Crest Of Fire to George (who has had horses at the yard for several years) a couple of months ago, saying that he thought him very favourably handicapped. Anyway, there was a slight setback at home and an eye-catching third in a valuable race at Carlisle suggested Crest Of Fire was just short of a gallop. He was poorly drawn at Royal Ascot but then ran a blinder there, beaten inches in a race where the form worked out extremely well.

Raised 4lbs when narrowly beaten would never sit well with me but, against that, the horse had Tom Marquand’s assistance at Goodwood and I rate him very highly indeed. All was well, as we know.

It’s never long before I link happy events with the past. This scorching year was the hottest since 1976, fifty years ago when Southampton won the FA Cup and Jack’s dad Mick was more or less unstoppable, playing in all forty-two league games and scoring 20 goals.

Mick was deeply into racing by then, of course, having already won with Cathy Jane, jointly owned by the feisty inside-forward Brian O’Neill, and later with Man On The Run, who was rather well named, the owner starting his runs from the half-way line and expecting the ball to be played into his stride fast and early. Anyone falling short in that respect knew all about it at half-time, as several long-retired players, managing a wry smile, have told me.

They were great days for me, as well, with Mick’s trainer Bill Wightman winning 18 races including the Wokingham with Import, who is just about my favourite horse of all time, and delighting Brighton visitors to Goodwood by scoring with The Goldstone, Brighton’s home ground before the complete transformation we’ve witnessed in recent years.

It wasn’t all roses in this corner, needless to say. The first serious £50 bet went down when Noel Murless’ Whortleberry was inched out on the July Course on a very warm day.

I worked in Harlow at the time, where all the pubs were named after butterflies and moths. I liked the Willow Beauty and Abbot Ale but the Painted Lady had its name changed – some suggestion that the actress Jean Harlow was a painted lady, perhaps? – and the butterfly names gradually disappeared. Funnily enough the red-hot summer this year will bring thousands of painted ladies from Africa and you will see a few in your garden.

Anyway, when all the cheering died down following Crest Of Fire’s impressive late burst I thought about all these things and then started on the long journey back to Nailsea. The miles seemed to fly by and darkness had the decency to hold off for a while. What would we do without racing?

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