Monday 28th August 2023
The day was perfect. Well, almost. It would have been more perfect had we had just one winner instead of three seconds. The really annoying one was the fourth race where Whatzupwithme came from behind and pipped my horse at the post by a neck …. Grrrr. In fairness, Sabine did pick a winner but …..!
I’m getting way ahead of myself. It all started when I saw the banner advertising the race day when Emily and I drove to the Zoo. It reminded me that I’d not taken Sabine to The Races yet, even though when I’d mentioned them before on several occasions, she seemed keen.
The weather had been an issue on previous occasions though. The first forecast I saw for Monday was earlier the week before and it showed a sunny morning followed by rain (or was it drizzle?) all afternoon – typical. As we know, forecasts can change and this one certainly did and for the better, to the point that it looked like we were going to be in for a treat.
So I suggested a picnic, getting there well ahead of the first race at 2.30, to enjoy the location a little before the serious betting began. We might even get a walk in. Sabine looked worried. I had to assure her that it was very unlikely that a horse would have to be put down as a result of a fall in the hurdles race and that although the jockeys did use the whip at the finish, it would be mild. She was clearly a little sceptical but seemed prepared to give me the benefit of her doubt and risk me being right about that. Nevertheless, she told me on no account was she going to see horses hurt.
We had taken the picnic hamper to France and not put it to much use, so here was the perfect opportunity. But what to have for the picnic? We settled on prawn, mayo and cucumber and ham, mustard and cheese sandwiches that Sabine made. We took the leftover potato and tomato salads from our entertaining the day before too. Jersey strawberries and cream for dessert. To drink, cans of Sipsmith G&T we found in Waitrose. I did flasks of tea for later, and took the cinnamon bun I hadn’t eaten from the day before just in case. All set. They say you should take sandwiches if you go as far as St Ouens, anyway, don’t they?
We were going to leave about 1 pm but we were ready about 12.30 so left then. At the Beaumont Hill roundabout, Sabine saw the notice for the Jersey Model Railway Club annual show at St Peter’s Community Hall and reminded me that when we’d seen it before, she’d thought I had been keen to go. Was it on the way, did we have time and would you like to drop in now? I said No then on reflection Why Not, if she would like to as well as me. So we did.
Certainly one of the highlights of the week. Two lovely ladies at the door took our entrance fee of £5 each and put wrist bands on us to show we’d paid. Looking around this large hall with virtually no-one in it, it seemed a bit like overkill, but we might have hit a quiet time and there may be huge Hornby train bargains only available to the wrist-banded.
Sabine was fascinated by the N Gauge layouts that crammed an awful lot of model railway into a small space. A very nice man talked us through each of his layout, those of some friend who wasn’t there at the time but seemed to be a leading light in the Club, particularly as one of his layouts was Z Gauge layout even smaller than N, and the two Club layouts. All fascinating stuff.
We moved on to the next layout that I could more easily relate to as it was OO, which my trains are. I noticed a propensity of ScotRail rolling stock which is curious given the (unjustly in my opinion) bad reputation that outfit has north of the border. It turned out the modeller was of course Scottish. Did we know how difficult it is to find this livery – they rarely come up for sale and are really expensive when they do – the two carriage diesel multiple unit cost him £350? Gosh – No, we didn’t realise that.
Over on the far side, there was someone I recognised – the man who has the model train shop in town. About two years ago he’d serviced my two steam locos and on another occasion got for me the Merchant Navy class locomotive East Asiatic Company 35024 in blue livery that is coupled to my two Pullman carriages in the study.
I thought he’d recognise me, seeing as how I’d been such a good customer, but although he was displaying his wares on a long table, he ignored us. We didn’t get past his upright stance, him looking straight ahead at nothing in particular as far as I could gather, and his unkempt long wispy grey hair falling down over his collar from the back of his quite balding pate. He made a point of not showing any interest at all in us browsing while a lady (his wife?) fussed about tidying and rearranging the boxes of trains etc. Sabine looked back across the hall as we left – he hadn’t moved.
The guy with the biggest layout – an HO Guage oval about 20 feet long by six feet wide with the centre hollow for the modellers to control and oversee the action – sat with his back to us the whole time we were admiring his work. And his trains weren’t running either. Possibly an introvert for whom railway modelling is a perfect pastime? Or had it been a hectic 3 day show weekend, it was lunchtime, he needed some downtime and didn’t want to be disturbed while eating his sandwiches? You choose which you think is the more likely.
That was money well spent we thought and how good it felt to support such an enthusiastic local hobby group. Only when we got back to the car did we realised that the green wrist bands didn’t come off without a pair of scissors, so everyone at The Races would know we’d been to the Model Railway Show and laugh at us.
Heigh-ho, nothing we could do. We’d used up the extra time we got by leaving home early, so off we went to the far north-west of the island, past St Ouen’s Manor, through St Ouen’s Village, past Vinchellez Manor (which is having a lot of work done by the new owners, by the way) and on to Les Landes. The clouds were disappearing, the sun was shining, the wind looked to be dying down and it was all set to be a lovely afternoon.
The entrance fee was £15 each, nothing for the car. We were given two race cards and told we could park anywhere. We found a parking spot in the very far right corner by the racetrack – perfect. I backed the car in, we got out the green foldup chairs that had been unused in the shed for years, and I realised I’d forgotten the picnic table that would have been useful. The fabric of one of the chairs was badly ripped, but the chair was serviceable – Sabine offered to sit in it, suggesting that the rip probably had been caused by someone (me) sitting down in it too heavily (cos that’s what you tend to do).
Then she saw the nearest hurdle and we had to deal with the possibility of animal cruelty or worse all over again. I had parked in the worst place to dismiss her concerns – next to the track, right by a hurdle and on the slightly uphill straight, 50 metres from the finishing post, where the jockeys have been known to urge their mounts on with their whip in a close finish.
The sandwiches were delicious and very filling – we left one of the ham ones. We used the picnic hamper plates and cutlery with the salads and the G&T was a great match for the occasion. We had a superb view of the other Channel Islands (the Guerns had a large cruise ship in) and Sabine had a nice view of the elderly terrier sitting with the family and many of their friends parked next to us. I got to look the other way at the nice elderly (probably my age) couple in their VW Beetle convertible who had parked ahead of us in the absolute corner of the field.
A car drew up and parked behind them, disgorging another couple of families. I got fold-up seat envy because they had two chairs that reclined with really thick cushions. Sabine remarked that they were the same as the ones our Italian neighbours behind us have. These people arrived in a hire car, and neither of the two dads seemed to be local as they asked the elderly couple next to us to settle a dispute among them as to whether the land over there (Guernsey) was France. The smug looking dad clearly was right. I remain perplexed as to why they had the chairs with them at all.
It was now time to induct Sabine into the routine of a race afternoon. It was about 2.10. We went across the track to where all the action was – the ice cream van, the burger bus, the members’ lunch tent, a display of about ten old cars (mainly Jags) by the toilets, the crown and anchor concessions, the parade ring, the tote, and of course the bookies, of which there are still about five. And the lines for placing a bet with them were long, all through the afternoon.
So our routine was this:
- Look at the runners and riders for each race on the race card,
- Carefully consider all the information provided on each horse – previous performance, jockey, trainer, handicap, opening better odds projections, and the very helpful race card write up for each horse,
- Pick one between us or possibly one each, based on our own individualised selection system usually biased towards name association (e.g. Bring The Money as mentioned earlier),
- See what the odds were being offered by the bookies,
- Pick the line with the best odds,
- Wait in line while feeling the anticipation build,
- Hope the odds didn’t worsen before we got to the front of the queue,
- Try to explain how the tote worked to Sabine who just shook her head each time in utter bewilderment,
- Place the bet and get the ticket from the bookie,
- Go to the parade ring to watch the horses and owners strut their stuff,
- Wonder if one of the other horses we hadn’t bet on didn’t look much more athletic,
- See the jockeys mount up,
- See how long the queue for an ice cream was and decide not to join it,
- Go off to the mound or the car to watch the race,
- Cheer on your horse as it comes up the final straight to the finishing post and
- Tear up the ticket when it was over.
That routine worked perfectly for four of the five races. The 3rd race not so much but I saved £10 as a result. Sabine had looked at the race card when we arrived and categorically stated that we wouldn’t be staying till ten to five when the last race was run, would we? Remember it was turning into a beautiful afternoon, so I was non-committal. It was when she brought her knitting out, sitting by the car, between the second and third races, saying that No she didn’t want to go over to place a bet and see the horses that I wondered if she might be right.
The first race was hurdles. I’d said to Sabine you don’t have to bet and you certainly mustn’t expect to win if you do, but it’s more fun to have some skin in the game, so to speak. Three runners, one a big previous winner, one a debutant to hurdling as it had lost the urge to perform in flat races, and one also-ran who was seemed to be there to make up the numbers.
Needless to say, the bookies thought the big winner, going by the oddly human name of George Bancroft, was going to win again, with odds of 7/2 on. The debutant, Arthur’s Angel, had 7/2 but not “on” and it was a grey (like most of our own horses had been), so that one got my first £5. The fancy electronic bookie’s ticket encouragingly showed I’d get £22.50 if the horse won.
A word about the Jags. They looked magnificent. A mixture of mainly XKs and E-types, convertibles and hard tops, as well as one more recent and an older model that I didn’t recognise. Oddly, there was also a more modern Porsche among them. They were next to the members’ marquee where lunch was being served to people who, if my past experience is anything to go by, had a lot more interest in savouring the food and drink being served than the races. Because I mentioned this aspect of a day at the races more than once, Sabine assumed I was hankering to join them. My denials of course only made her more certain. But looking into the marquee, people did seem to be enjoying themselves.
We watched the first race from the mound, twice and a quarter round the one mile course. Bal Amie, the also-ran, led from the start, all horses safely jumped the hurdles, and Arthur’s Angel came from behind to be placed respectably not far behind the winner, George Bancroft, who’d been saving himself for the last 2 furlongs. Never mind, better (good pun?) luck next time.
And Sabine did indeed pick the winner in the next race, a sprint over 6 furlongs. If only she’d bet on it. Early on in our race card deliberations, Sabine picked out number 7, Evening Song, because it was the only mare in the race. The write up mentioned she was fairly inconsistent but then contradicted itself by noting she hadn’t won in 15 appearances, which seemed pretty consistent in my view. Nevertheless, once in your mind as your favourite, it’s hard to let it go. In fact, none of the horses looked a sure thing but perhaps two or three looked promising. I particularly liked Profit and Loss, number 4, not just on form (3 wins this season) but for reasons that only other accountants would understand. I placed my bet (another £5) but Sabine didn’t want to bet on Evening Song at 10 to 1.
We had a look at the horses in the parade ring and on the way to the mound, I said we should place a bet, even the minimum £2, on Evening Song, still at 10 to 1. She still didn’t want to. We went to the mound, watched them start over the other side of the track and heard form the commentator that Evening Song had started strongly and soon was in the lead. As they came into the finishing straight, she was still in the lead, a position she maintained right to the finish.
Sabine was completely bummed. So was I, both for her and for myself as Profit and Loss must have decided that the number on its saddle cloth, 4, was meant to reflect its place in the field as well. I was even more upset with myself for not insisting on a bet when I realised that Evening Song had name association for me, being very similar to Evening Star, the name of the last steam locomotive built by British Rail, number 92220, a question in a Times quiz recently and a model of which we had seen for sale at the Model Railway show.
However, making the best of it, this did give me the opportunity to demonstrate to Sabine what I had already explained about how horse racing in Jersey worked. We’d had two races, one where the favourite had won and one where the rank outsider had won. Never bet a lot of money, even on the favourite, because it’s still the throw of the dice as to who wins. And this proved to be the pattern through the afternoon.
Perhaps on the back of that, her knitting became more attractive when we got back to the car. We had another sandwich but Sabine refused another G&T, so I drowned our disappointment on my own. She also didn’t want to follow our routine for the third race, preferring to stay by the car and knit. I said I’d stay with her a while longer (the start of the 3rd race was still 20 minutes away), so we checked out the next batch of runners and riders.
The race was the big one of the day, The Clarenden Cup, with a field of 8 minus I’m Digby which had been withdrawn.. The favourite was Sumatran Tiger at 2 to 1 that had already won the Jersey Derby earlier in the summer. I settled on Allegro Jete, owned by Sheik A’Leg Racing syndicate. Sabine had already dismissed this horse because it was owned by a very wealthy arab but she quite fancied Nature and like the name of the rank outsider Brown Mouse. In England I suspect Brown Mouse would have been 100 to 1, here it was 12 to 1. I did explain the play on words to her of my horse’s owners, but she still preferred her own choices.
Off I went to place two bets, one for me and one on Nature, still not being able to accept that Brown Mouse had a chance, despite Sabine’s incredible selection talent from the previous race. Only to find I was too late – the barrier across the track was closed (it was still 10 minutes before race time). So back I went to the car, from where we watched the biggest race of the day with no skin in the game. I wasn’t happy but now of course found myself in the rather curious position of hoping above all hopes that neither of those two horses I was going to bet on to win were going to win. Which they didn’t. And neither did the favourite which came third behind Clear Man at 5 to 2 (we didn’t ever consider him) and, yes you guessed it, closely followed by Brown Mouse in second place.
We got our act together again for the 4th race. I’d chosen Bring The Money (name association in overdrive), and Sabine had picked Dancing Master. £5 on each. With 5 horses in the race, we had a 40% chance between us of having picked the winner. I thought the maths was quite simple but Sabine and I had a short, non-confrontational conversation about whether it was 40% or 20%. We were back at the car, not the mound, to watch the race, before this issue was resolved and we had a cup of tea to calm the nerves. I had the bun too. I had offered to share it but Sabine was being good.
The race was a mile and a quarter, so we were able to see the start and see the horses go past us twice, the second time as they were sprinting to the finishing post. Sabine was very concerned that one of the horses, Brown Velvet I think, wasn’t at the starting tape when the starter set them off, which she felt put it at a real disadvantage. I could only sympathise while shrugging my shoulders.
First time round they were all in a line and stayed that way for much of the race. Bring the Money was leading round the bend before the finishing straight but not by much. And as it turned out, not by enough. Whatzupwithme came from behind and edged past my horse as it went past us. Sabine’s horse was third. Our 40% chance had turned into 0%.
Sabine hadn’t expected to stay past this race but it was a lovely afternoon and her spirits had risen again despite the Evening Song disappointment. So we went over to the other side of the track to give the last race our full attention. There were 5 runners.
By then I’d noticed that a trainer I’d never heard of, Karl Kukk, had had three winners in four races. Looked like a good idea to bet on his entrant in the race. The trouble was that his horse, Akkeringa, was one of the two favourites, so the odds were awful at 6 to 4. Another horse, N over J seemed to have some chance, and was trained by Christa Cuthbert who had trained the winner in the 3rd race. So my final £5 went on that horse. Which came second to Karl Kukk’s Akkeringa.
Then a major decision point was upon us. To go or not to go. There were a lot of cars over the poor people’s side of the track and I have experienced a Le Mans start as the last race ended. However, everyone seemed pretty relaxed and were staying on to enjoy the late afternoon sun. The nice chairs went and the old folks in the VW Beetle followed but no-one else near us. We happily sat in the sun for about 15 minutes but then images of tired children around us and a traffic jam of gigantic proportions made us think it was time to leave.. Which we did, with only a small queue to cope with, a small inconvenience for a lovely afternoon.
Pete's Perusings 