The turf
Get a life
Robin Oakley
Hennessy Day at Newbury was enough to make up for 20 of those days in life that fall buttered-side down. Glorious sunshine, lively betting markets and four cracking finishes on a seven-race card provided the sort of sport that really should be blessed with audiences ten times bigger than they are. Reading through the acres of newsprint the next day devoted to the for- tunes of ear-biting rugby players, wife-beat- ing footballers and an England cricket team, who surely exist now merely to make up the numbers, makes me yearn to yell to all their followers, McCririck style: 'Come racing — and get a life.'
One of the themes of this column lately has been the ability of Mark Pitman, in his first season at his mother's old Weather- cock House Stables in Lambourn. Jenny won the Hennessy with Burrough Hill Lad in 1984. Mark's father Richard rode Char- lie Potheen to win in 1972. And a highly emotional Mark won this year's contest with the highly promising Ever Blessed, his first runner in the race, who came away from David Nicholson's Spendid over the last three to earn a 20-1 quote for the Gold Cup. Mark had long had faith in last sea- son's novice.
He told me a few months ago that he was aiming for the Hennessy after Ever Blessed had been four lengths clear of a good field at Aintree, making it all, when he toppled over at the fence before the turn in the race won by Spendid. 'He had them all at it. Mother thought a lot of him. His trouble is that he can't think as fast as he runs. We need to iron out the kinks.' Well, they were well and truly ironed out as a triumphant Timmy Murphy stalked the leaders for a circuit and picked them off when he chose. It was a real feat of training with a delicate horse who has a suspect shoulder muscle and who had not been galloped with a com- panion since his last racecourse appearance 'because he'd do too much working with another horse'. Mark Pitman, make no mis- take, is a serious new force in racing.
Though my money was on Ever Blessed I would have cheered home the second with equal pleasure. David Nicholson, who retires any moment now, had never won the Hennessy and we would all have loved to see him do it on his last chance with Spendid. As ever, he was generous in defeat when I spoke to him afterwards. And at least he has the consolation that he has reached his formidable target of 1,500 winners.
Another emotional man, the sometimes irascible Nicholson has always had a sense of justice. Former trainer Charlie James told me the other day of how, when he was an inexperienced amateur rider using the lightest of equipment to make the weight, both his leathers broke as he arrived at the start at Wye one day. All the other jockeys were urging the starter to leave the incom- petent there and start the race. Not so the then leading jockey Nicholson. 'You go back and change your equipment,' he said, and kept the others waiting 20 minutes while he did. We will miss the great man, What I wouldn't miss is train travel to the races. Regular readers might recall that Mrs Oakley is not the most avid of racing fans and that after a disaster with South West Trains, who took several hours out of (and probably off) our lives transporting us to and from Ascot on her last venture into the Sport of Kings, she had been excused course visits until next year's Guineas. But she had relented and with Newbury boast- ing a course-side station we had agreed to let the train take the strain. But anything South West Trains can do badly, Thames Trains can do worse. They actually lost her.
We got as far as Reading without trou- ble. There we stopped with a mechanical fault about which we were told little. What we were told was unintelligible. And what most of us had to say in the carriage 50 minutes later was unprintable. We were asked first to get off the train then back on again in a kind of mass hokey cokey. Then it was announced that a Bristol train departing shortly from another platform would make an additional stop. To adapt Peter Cook's comment about the old train toilets' sign 'Gentlemen lift the see, was this an observation, an encouragement or a command? It was unclear. But suddenly a stampede began for the other platform, in which we joined. In mid-stampede along the platform a uniformed official advised us to get back on the first train. Turning to do so, I found no wife, Faced with a split- second decision I rejoined the train, uncer- tain if she had taken the same decision, had joined the 12.04 for Bristol or was marooned somewhere on Reading station.
Having heard my expostulations to the guard as the door closed the carriage offered considerable sympathy, not to say solidarity. (We will ignore the wag who inquired why I should be complaining, earning a look from his female companion that was going to take several large ones to eradicate.) Females generally contented themselves with the arched eyebrow which, being interpreted, meaneth 'Men! They're all useless.' The male reaction was a com- radely grin and a 'Wouldn't want to be in your shoes, matey, when you do find her' commiseration.
Needless to say, when we did, fortunate- ly, meet up on the racecourse station plat- form, the sagacious Mrs Oakley was absolutely charming about the whole thing. I am going out today to double her Christ- mas stocking.
Robin Oakley is political editor of the BBC.
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