There are lots of reasons to go to the racecourse. You have the race horses, bookmakers to place your bets and a bustling crowd. You’ve never had a better opportunity to people watch or have a chat with some random soul. I’ve been to a limited number of racecourses. In fact, I wrote an article titled: 5 Racecourses I’ve Visited In My Life. You’ve guesses it, the five strangest happenings have occurred at those racecourses. Here are a three memorable moments that stick in my mind. There are others which I will keep for another day.
1) A Man With 3 Hats
It’s common to see someone wearing a hat at the races. Depending upon the racecourse and meeting it may range from a bobble, flat cap or top hat. Personally, I’m odds on not to be seen wearing a hat. However, have you ever seen a man with three hats? I was with my brothers at Great Yarmouth in the member’s enclosure, the bar which leads to the Trafalgar Restaurant. I notice a well dressed man with a plastic bag standing at the bar, hat in hand, chatting to someone behind the bar. I guessed they were talking about the hats. He had a bright pink hat in the style of a bowler. I see him put it on. Talk a little more. Showing it to the bartender and then carefully taking another hat out of the bag putting it on the bar. They had a conversation for about ten minutes. Then, the mysterious the hat man put all three hats back in his plastic bag and left. I’m not sure whether he left the racecourse or mingled with the bustling crowd. Perhaps he wore one of those hats or alternated between all three. I couldn’t help but wonder what was the hat man’s story. Did he make the hats? Was he interested in selling them? Did he live at Great Yarmouth? For the life of me, I wish I had gone to the bar and listened to the conversation or said: ‘I like those hats!’ Perhaps his story was bog standard and nothing to tell but perhaps it was the most amazing tale I would ever hear.
2) It Was So Cold Even The ‘Blank’ Shivered
Being a fair-weather gambler I usually stick to Flat racing meetings, specifically Great Yarmouth. There’s nothing worse than a wet day. I had a spate of times going racing where the morning would be bright and sunny but by the second race it would be hammering down with rain. Once, I got a bus back into town with a saturated crowd. It looked like we had been rescued from a stricken vessel on the North sea. However, this story is about a day’s racing at Fakenham, in the middle of winter. It was the first time I ventured to this racecourse. It has a farming feel with lots of wax jackets, flat caps, tweed and wellington boots. Being a rural setting the course allows dogs as long as they are kept on their lead. There seemed to be dogs everywhere. Lot of Jack Russells, Labradors, a few fancy breeds, all well behaved. My cousin, Danny, stood chatting when a man with a greyhound stopped a few yards away. I imagine it was a rescue dog. It looked smart wearing a tartan jacket. It must have been a frost that morning with a horrid wind, the chill factor must have been minus. The greyhound was shivering with cold. I’m pretty sure if I had got closer I would have heard its teeth chattering. My cousin, always funny, made a few jokes and I couldn’t help but smile. It was far too cold for man nor beast.
3) I’m Not Sure What She Looks Like
This happened at Great Yarmouth racecourse. A kind of funny moment in ways but one which stuck in my mind. I’d joined a horse racing syndicate called Newmarket Equine Tours, run by a lovely lady Julia Feilden. The Ducking Stool was running that afternoon and it was the first time I had attended the syndicate. I was told to meet Julia in the owners and trainers bar, which seemed kind of exciting but alien as I’m very much a Tattersall’s man. So I put on my best jacket, looking half respectable and entered the bar which was busy with the great and good of racing. I was looking around to see if Julia was there but couldn’t see her anywhere. It then dawned on me that I wasn’t really sure what she looked like! I said to myself: ‘This isn’t going very well.’ I felt a little out of place just standing there looking at a hundred faces. I see a waitress and asked: ‘Do you know if Julia Feilden is here?’ She looked and couldn’t see her. However, she knew George Margarson, a Newmarket horse trainer, who sat at a table next to where I was standing. Moments later I was chatting with George who said she had to leave because there was a problem at the stables. Eventually she returned and introduced me to the rest of the syndicate, a friendly bunch. It was a good time had by all and a season I greatly enjoyed. That day The Ducking Stool finished fourth but she was a true star at the course and had won many times before retiring to a good home.