30 JULY 1977, Page 29

Racing

No crowing

Jeffrey Bernard

Well, it seems that I wasn't the only person who thought that Crow would win the big one last Saturday. Bets struck in the Ring just before the 'off' incoluded £5 ,000-£1 ,000 , £9,O00-2,O00, £18,000-£4,000, £12,000-£3,000. £4 , 500 -£1 ,000 three times, £3,750-£1,000, and £3,500-£1,000. He did look a bit good in the paddock, as did Crystal Palace, but he was never in the race and probably hated the firmish going. So, what about The Minstrel then? This must be one of the bravest horses of all time and yet people go on knocking him on looks, constantly criticising his four white stockings, white blaze and flashy chestnut colouring You might just as well have said that no one who looked like Olivier in his younger days could have possibly been any great shakes at acting. But I was never put off The Minstrel by his flashy looks. I wrongly thought that Ascot wouldn't suit him and I thought that he might possibly have used up most of his steam for 1977.

I wouldn't be surprised if they don't retire The Minstrel now. His owner, Robert Sangster, owns Vernon's Pools and you can understand him saying that any prize money the horse might win if he were entered for the Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe would be just 'beer money.' Andltalkingof money going to money I have to admit to 'having been slightly choked last Saturday when Lord Howard de Walden's two-year-old filly, Sarissa, won the Princess Margaret Stakes. The owner happens to be my landlord and when I got home after racing I discovered that two of my window sashes had broken and that yet another door needs re-hanging. I wonder what • chance there is of those repairs coming out of the prize money? Nil, I should think. By the way, a horse that ran fourth at Ayr on Saturday, Clintwood, must be followed from now on and, while we're at it, my Newmarket connection tells me that Henry Cecil's Fool's Mate has a very sound chance of winning the PTS Laurels Handicap at Goodwood this Saturday. And so has Tumbledownwind an excellent chance of winning the Rous Memorial Stakes.

Meanwhile, at the weekend, between Ascot and Goodwood, I reflected on what an odd mixture Ascot is. A fantastic day's racing but typically English in that the cold beer ran out in the Brigadier Gerard Bar precisely two minutes after the very first race. it's not only ridiculous, but bloody bad organisation and the caterers ought to be ashamed. The ice holds out until the second race, would you believe, and I managed to hold out all afternoon by doing the terribly infra dig thing of taking my own sandwiches. Had I been spotted eating homemade grub I would probably have been warned off. Incidentally, to my utter amazement, I spotted a man at the Member's Entrance being told he couldn't get a badge unless he bought a tie. I thought that sort of thing only happened at the Royal fixture. However stuffy the official attitude may be in your opinion, I don't hold , out a lot of sympathy for the casual visitor. He could have arrived formally dressed and then stripped during the mayhem of the subsequent champagne. In the same way that I always optimistically hope that no one can read when I really fancy a horse and so reduce its price, I always daftly hope that everyone will think Ascot will be so crowded that they won't bother to turn up and so leave the entire place to me. The crowds there sometimes make it an afternoon's hard graft to get a look at a horse never mind'a race.

But crowds, appalling catering and losers apart, what sticks in my mind about Ascot is the guts of The Minstrel, Piggott's brilliant efforts on that horse and Valuation in the Brown Jack Stakes and the sight of him talking, afterwards, to the Queen and seeing his face light up in to one of his rare smiles. Normally, Piggott's countenance reminds me of the anxiety and worldweariness that one associates with an unmarried mother facing even harder times.

I gather that after his second win, on the Queen's Valuation, she said to him, 'You made it look so easy.' With an admirable coolness and equally admirable lack of phoney false humility he replied, 'It was easy.'