A DAY AT THE RACES!
Helen rubs shoulders with the runners, rides with the vet and feels the agony at Southwell
Like a drawbridge, the back end of the horsebox opens. There is a clatter of hooves and several handsome racehorses emerge into the sunshine for their day out at Southwell Races in Nottinghamshire.
Long-legged, bright-eyed, with a blanket on their backs, these mar vellous creatures tower over me.
Tentatively I reach out to stroke one when the trainer’s voice calls over its shoulder.
“Would you be interested in buying a leg of this fine filly? She’s young yet but she’s got promise.”
We laugh, though I think he’d take me up on it if I of fer!
A handler walks her round, explaining, “We’re just bringing her today so she can get a feel for a racecourse, all the noise and goings-on.”
This handler turns out to be a former jockey with 170 wins under his silk cap.
“I still exercise them but now I don’t have to worr y about the dieting!” he laughs.
He leads the filly past other horses, people and vehicles. I can see she is a bit jitter y. Actually I feel a bit the same as we are making a behindthe-scenes-at-the-races programme for Radio 4’s Open Countr y and my producer has car trouble, which means I have to crack on with recording on my own.
I’m anxious because you can’t ask the horses to run again because you’ve forgotten to press record!
I have just enough time before racing starts to run up several flights of stairs to the commentar y box, a basic wooden room with an awesome view of the crowds, the white-railed course and the Nottinghamshire countr yside beyond. Good binoculars, a list of horse names and the designs of the jockey’s shir ts sit ready.
Then I hur tle down to the Parade Ring to meet the course vet, Matthew Barlow. Thank goodness I haven’t opted for a race-day pretty hat, dress and high heels.
Matthew is inspecting the horses in the ring.
“I’m looking for signs of illness or anything untoward because at this point, they’re all pumped and ready to run. The jockeys may have several races through the day so you see them chatting to owners and trainers about how the horse might best run the course, then it’s on-board.”
I’m admiring the animals and racing colours when Matthew says, “Right Helen, let’s get a move on!” And as the horses parade out, he and I run to his Jeep and jump in.
In a convoy with the doctor’s car ahead, groundsmen behind us and then the ambulance with a paramedic on board, we pull up at the star ting boxes. The
Then, I gasp – a horse is down. The whole convoy slams on its brakes
horses are fidgety. Then the pistol fires and in a surge of movement – they’re of f!
And so are we, on the outer side of the railings. Mathew sees me glance at the speedometer.
“They’re galloping at about 40mph. We’ll keep alongside the main pack who are bunched together. If anything happens, we are as close as possible to an incident.”
Thundering hooves, pulsating muscles, these thoroughbreds are born to run, sweeping round the final bend. Then, I gasp – a horse is down.
The whole convoy slams on
its brakes. Matthew grabs his bag, jumps out and he and the team run full pelt across the course, leaving engines running and car doors open. “Stay where you are, Helen,” he calls back. I can see the action and record a running commentar y. It is sickening to watch, but to be honest I am also thinking please don’t let my batteries run out.
The horse, unsaddled, is limping really badly, then screens are set around and I wait. Eventually I see it on its feet, foreleg bandaged, steam rising from its body, being carefully walked in to the horse ambulance and taken to sick bay. The jockey is fine.
And it’s over. Back in the Jeep, Matthew says he gave a sedative but is discreet about the injur y. I hear later the horse is to be retired early.
Race day is soon back on schedule and for the last race I splash out £2 on a horse called Lucky Mark. Sadly, its batteries ran out just before the finish line.