Racing
Weight for it
Jeffrey Bernard
Now that the Grand National weights have been published we horse followers and punters can look forward to eight weeks of conjecture, argument and ante-post folly. Thoughts immediately turn to Red Rum, the best Aintree horse of all time; but just can't see it happening for a third time. Allotted list. 8lbs, 2 I bs less than he carried into second place last year, and meeting the winner Rag Trade on 7 lbs better terms, he has a favourite's chance on all known form. And I still can't see it. Already 12-1 favourite with most bookmakers and, as usual, heavily backed verbally, by his trainer Donald McCain, he is reported to be working well.
Of course, he needs a prolonged dry spell to get the right ground, and looking out of the window at the moment of writing it looks as though it will continue to rain non-stop until at least 1980. What I did think was a significant remark, made immediately after the publication of the weights, was Fred Winter's to the effect that he'd like to ride his horse Pengrail. You realise, I suppose, that he doesn't just mean he fancies it a bit, but he really would like to ride it : he thinks it might be fun. What an extraordinary man.
Talking of Fred and of the rain, I met him outside the weighing room at Fontwell Park last week after his horse St Swithin had run into third place behind Mister Know All and Clary. St Swithin has lost his form as of late and when I asked Fred if there was any particular reason for it he said, 'He's getting a bit long in the tooth at eleven, but he's been a great servant and if he gets some good to firm going in the spring, he'll win again.' So, remember St Swithin. They usually win if Fred says they will.
Reverting, for a moment, to the Grand National, that brave girl Miss Bowes was splendid on television when she was questioned about her chances as the first ever woman jockey in the big race. A cross between a Sloane Ranger and something out of Country Life, she spoke beautifully, said her chances were 'pretty remote,' and made one realise that Waterloo was won on the hockey pitch at Roedean. I'd love to see her finish the course as much as I'd like to see someone dissuade that quixotic character, the Duke of Albuquerque, from riding yet again in the race. Now that he's fifty-eight years old, he's going to do himself a mortal mischief soon if he doesn't hang up his boots for good.
I've been staying in the dreadful town of Arundel for the past week and so have been sampling country betting shops. (I say dreadful because the place is jam-packed with antique shops, and antique dealers make bookmakers seem like halfwitted philanthropists.) Most of the customers in the Arundel branch of Mecca are lads who work up the road in John Dunlop's stable, but there are a couple of very odd country punters. A couple of them: both in their seventies, looking like something out of Hardy or Bragg and sporting William Empson whiskers. Of course, they rabbit on about Fox, Carslake and Donoghue all the time.
I've been slowly bleeding to death in the wretched place. I had three days there without a touch and then my last bet before I moved on to Berkshire popped up at 33-1! Ballet Lord it was called and it's trained by Neville Crump, a man you should watch.
Another thing to watch, if the weather allows it, is the Stone's Ginger Wine Chase at Sandown Park today. Brown Admiral, one of four Fred Rimell horses being aimed for the Grand National, can win this. Thwarted by the weather for the last four times they have tried to run him, Brown Admiral's fitness has to be taken on trust, but he is a very good horse at his best. Incidentally, of the four Aintree entries, Rimell himself fancies Andy Pandy the most.
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