The real amateurs keeping Corinthian spirit alive
Grand Military Gold Cup was first raced in 1841 and is still going strong, writes Marcus Armytage
For officers and soldiers it is a unique opportunity to ride for top trainers
Many sporting events have a history long enough to have been disrupted by the two world wars and their immediate aftermaths, but few can claim to be old enough to have been rudely interrupted by the Crimean and Boer wars.
That is the boast of the Grand Military Gold Cup, the 157th running of which has been rescheduled for tomorrow at Sandown after today’s meeting fell foul of the weather.
First run in 1841, it had a slightly Romany existence until Sandown became the first enclosed racecourse in 1875. It settled there and, to this day, the jockeys must be either serving or have served in the Armed Forces, while the horses, most of which are leased for the day to regimental syndicates, must be “owned” by former servicemen. My attempts to qualify as a rider on the back of a freezing weekend in a bivouac on Salisbury Plain in the school Combined Cadet
Force – I felt it deserved more than a rebuff – came to nought, even though, on a practical level, we learnt what a terrific weapon a pencil stuck down the barrel of a Lee-enfield rifle with a blank behind it made.
You could ask, with the Services now so diminished, what relevance the race has in the modern world, but if all sports were judged on relevance, then many would fail. Sure, it is unlikely to be the difference between Britain winning or losing the next world war but, actually, it does still serve a purpose.
For officers and soldiers, many of whom go on to work in racing after the Army, it is a unique opportunity to ride for top trainers on a grade-one course. It requires commitment, early mornings, weight control and high levels of fitness, and provides a chance for some to get away from desk-bound jobs; nothing is more focusing than riding a horse into an open ditch.
Within racing, the Grand Military is also one of the last bastions of Corinthian spirit. The vast majority of amateurs riding at Cheltenham next week will be semi-professional jockeys who ride out five times a day. On Wednesday, Major Harry Wallace, who rides Kalahari Queen, was in Cape Wrath on a recce for the Marines.
And the race has not been without its moments. It is not so long ago that a Navy padre took part in his dog collar. He jumped the first fence on the outside before deciding – I am not sure if it was holy orders – to go the shortest route; round the inside.
In the following contact, two horses were brought down, although the padre’s mount remained upright. However, a circuit later, in what must be regarded as poetic justice, the two loose horses carried him out and he was unceremoniously dumped over the outside running rail.
My favourite Grand Military story, is about the current Lord Manton, who rode as Capt Milo Watson. His fellow officer Jack Wingfield-digby, who had a similarly small head, had forgotten his crash helmet, so Watson lent him his for an earlier race. That was fine until Wingfield-digby took a purler and was carted off to hospital. Watson’s hot pursuit of the ambulance to retrieve his helmet ultimately proved fruitless.
Back in the changing room, no one else’s fitted and, for his ride, Watson had to borrow a helmet two sizes too big. It was obvious when it slipped down over his eyes on the way to the start that the next 10 minutes were going to be as testing as anything the Army ever threw at him. The only way he could see was to stand upright and tilt his head backwards.
However, you do not get to be a major in the Army without a degree in initiative and he worked out that if he held his whip halfway down the shaft he could use the top of it to push his helmet up whenever a fence was approaching or, at least, whenever he thought a fence was approaching.
Up in Yorkshire, the trainer of his horse, Peter Easterby, who thought he had seen it all, was watching on television. “What’s that Milo doin’ now?’ he asked, becoming ever more angry. “What’s t’boogger playing at?”
If nothing else, the Grand Military remains, at least, the antidote to Cheltenham.