​I am currently reading a book written by Tim Fitzgeorge-Parker, published in 1968, ‘The Spoilsports. What’s wrong with British Racing.’ I will start by quoting the first paragraph of the first chapter. ‘Britain is no longer a first-class racing nation. Since 1947, British racing, once both the mine and crucible of the thoroughbred horse, sport of the rich, recreation of the rest, long recognised by successive governments, has been slipping towards disaster. Throughout the rest of the world the racing and breeding industries have never been more prosperous, particularly France and the United States, with Japan, perhaps rather surprisingly, challenging for the lead; yet in Britain, racing is struggling for survival.’
So, in 1968 Tim Fitzgeorge-Parker was chronicling the slow demise of horse racing. which he suggests had its starting point in 1947. It is now 2022 and his words, at least to my ears, are even more sombre than when his book was published. In fact, reading from the future, his words come across as prophesy – the shape of things to come.
I believe, certainly with regards to flat racing, that since the late 1960’s we have lived in a fool’s paradise, believing without thinking that horse racing in this country was second to none, our racing the envy of every racing nation. It’s untrue, though, isn’t it? We have lurched from standing still to sleep-walking while the Far and Middle East have shovelled on the coal and ransacked the money vaults to first keep pace with us and now, at perhaps our eleventh hour, are about to stride away from us. The Sheema Classic, the Dubai World Cup and the Hong Kong Cup are amongst a multitude of multi-million-pound horse races soon to become of greater esteem than the King George & Queen Elizabeth and Eclipse Stakes.
We are the poor relations of worldwide racing. If Charles Dickens were alive, he might pen a novel on the fickle tendencies of the wealthy foreign owner/breeder, the plight of trainers coerced by poverty to turn to all methods of cheating to survive, the champagne lifestyle of those who overlord the sport, seeing and hearing no evil, no empty bellies.
What I find sickening are those people in the media who go on at length at the lamentable state of British racing, the small fields, the concentration of big prizes going to but the lucky few, how this must be done, no, that must be done – you know the likely suspects and you know they talk solely from personal interest. I am sure many of these loud talkers would rather the sport went to the wall rather than look at the facts and draw the only possible conclusion that those facts present.
The United States, France, Hong Kong, Dubai, Japan, Australia, to name but a small number of successful horse racing nations, do not live hand in glove with bookmakers. We do. They are with smiles on their faces and a song in their heart spiralling towards the sporting heavens, while we languish at the gates of pecuniary hell. In one form or another, horse racing in those countries names is funded through what we used to refer to as a ‘Tote Monopoly’.
I am sick to death of hearing that the bookmaking jungle brings atmosphere to the racecourse! Atmosphere will not be the saviour of our sport. I would rather have the silence of Sunday prayer to a sport reduced to little more than the financial abode of the point-to-point. I have only thus far read three chapters of this book and already a picture is painted of a great ship riding the waves of destruction at an angle that only a superhero might right. If only there were a superhero amongst those who earn a salary at the B.H.A. Some hope!
Horse racing has been a life-saver for me for nearly sixty-years. It has been the constant of my life and I would hope that if reincarnation were a reality, that if I were to be born again in fifty, eighty or hundred-years-time, the sport would not only have survived but would be thriving.
I am not particularly bothered if the Cheltenham Festival is extended to 5-days or shortened to 3-days, yet if there is a strong enough case for 5-days being financially expedient for both the racecourse and the sport, I say, let’s give it a shot. Let’s make it work. Yet people far more noble, knightly and prominent in the sport than I shall ever be, have already turned their hearts and minds against the idea. It’s not for them. It’s stretching the elastic to breaking point. No thought to wondering if it might be viable. No looking to the Punchestown Festival and its 5-day bonanza, with its novelty races, the farmers race, the La Touche, the Ladies Perpetual Trophy, the multitude of bumpers.
I remember the call for a 2½-mile Championship Chase, for those horses unsuited by both the Champion 2-mile Chase and the Gold Cup. Now the call is that the quality is being diluted; there are not enough top-class horses to go around. It was even suggested there should be a hurdle equivalent to the Ryanair, which did not, as yet, catch the wave.
There is far too much racing in this country. Too many all-weather tracks. There is no imagination in the conditions of races. There seems a belief that the sport must grow from the top, with million-pound races and unnecessarily large prize fund increases for the major races, when, as with any walk of life, growth must stem from the bottom, from the roots, which will enliven all the strands above.
As Tim Fitzgeorge-Parker basically predicted back in 1968, horse racing in Britain is heading for disaster. It will only be saved by dynamic intervention, by imagination, by a course of action that steers the sport towards the bloody obvious destination.

​Occasionally, and it is very occasionally, I buy a book not knowing anything about either the author or subject matter and it turns out to be a gem. Nowadays, I buy my racing books from Greg Way of Newmarket, sellers of second-hand and antiquarian books. Way’s website is in no way flashy, containing only a list of books in stock in the category of your choice and it is simply title, author and price, with little detail added, no synopsis, no seller’s diatribe. The majority of books need no explanation with the name of the author or book more than enough for the potential buyer to ascertain exactly what he or she is buying. Sometimes I take pot-luck as I did with ‘Why Maurice’ by Keith Greenwell.
I rarely buy a book that I cannot finish reading, though I am on occasion disappointed by my choice. Paul Mellon’s autobiography ‘Silver Spoon’ was one such book, not because it lacked interest or was poorly written, the very opposite is the truth; it just wasn’t about horse racing, the only activity I knew him from. There are several chapters in a very long book about his horse racing interests, though far more by far about art and his and his family’s philanthropy. 
‘Why Maurice’ is a book of a completely different feather, it’s subject matter not immediately known by the title. Impressively, the author obtained a short introduction by Brough Scott, always a good selling point, though in this case a disguise for the homespun texture of the narrative.
There is a humble beauty about this short volume. It is written in a style that suggests the author is talking to you across a dinner table or in the beer garden of your local pub. There is no ‘bull’, no hint of being talked-down-to. For all the praise I could heap on the book, there is no doubt there is a whiff of oddity about it and as of know I cannot tell where I will find an obvious place for it on my book shelves. 
What is more, what, perhaps, I loved about the book, is that it is written in a way that I wish I could write. Yes, you have to excuse errors of punctuation, which I do readily, in the same way I hope people reading my humble contributions will forgive my lapses in grammar, etc. 
Keith Greenwell – and I hope he is still around as 1976 is such a long time ago now – was a racing enthusiast and that flies from every page. His patch was the North of England and the Scottish racecourses. I suspect if he had his way, he would have attended every race-meeting within an easy car-ride of his home. But, as with myself, he could only go racing at weekends and during his holidays and whenever he could snatch a day off work.
The ’Maurice’ in the title is Maurice Barnes, who rode Rubstick to win the 1979 Grand National. The book may be labelled a biography of the jockey but it is more of an explanation as to why Keith Greenwell followed his career so avidly and, I mean no criticism, in this he rather fails. I don’t think, unless you are family or have some personal connection, it can be explained why any one of us takes a fancy to someone else’s career. As a child, Bobby Beasley was the jockey I followed. Why? I have no idea. I know why I became interested in Bryony Frost and it has little to do with her father being a jockey or that she is a woman. I was impressed with the manner of the ride she gave Pasha de Polder in the Cheltenham Festival Foxhunters and thought if she turned professional, she would make a real go of it. It was the same when Tabatha Worsley when she won the Aintree equivalent.
Keith Greenwell thought Maurice Barnes had a nice quiet style of riding and couldn’t understand why he was not used by the bigger Northern stables. He liked him, backed many of the horses he rode – and that is another aspect of this book, the author had favourites amongst the horses he saw run and followed them, too – and it was only after accumulating so many press cuttings and photographs of his hero that he couldn’t keep it all under control, that he decided to pull it all together in a book. And a little gem of a book it is, too. A book to be proud of.
If you can track down a copy of this book do not expect professional excellence or tight-knit editing. This book is homespun, written with love of the sport at its heart and dedicated to a jockey who the author believed deserved more of the limelight than was offered to him. Not that Maurice Barnes sought any limelight. But that you will discover for yourself if you are successful in your search for a copy of the book.
I thought the book self-published but on the Amazon website where I surprisingly found a copy it is said to be published by the Cumberland & Westmorland Herald.

​Next season, it is reported in today’s Racing Post, there will be a series of Junior National Hunt hurdle races for 3-year-olds, with conditions similar to Bumper races, beginning in mid-October and going through to the end of December, with a similar number of races for 4-year-olds taking place from January to late April. The races will be open to horses that are unraced before October and have not started in a flat race. As with bumpers, horses can run 4-times in a Junior National Hunt hurdle race.
This is good news for breeders and vendors with 2-year-olds to sell, giving them a market that was all but not there for them, and it should, going forward, be good for the sport. These races might be an opportunity to introduce professional riders to ‘Hands and Heels’ races that at the moment are only the province of apprentices and conditionals.
I see this initiative as a step in the right direction. French trainers are not averse to running 3-year-olds over obstacles, even fences, and in Ireland 4-year-old maiden point-to-points are all the rage, with Honeysuckle and Constitution Hill being amongst the most famous graduates. Indeed, the likes of Kauto Star, A Plus Tard, Clan des Obeaux and Frodon are amongst a whole host of jumping stars to have run over obstacles as 3-year-olds.
With a few notable exceptions, English trainers have a ‘stuck in the mud’ mentality towards their training methods. Though the old philosophy of their forebears that 6 to 8 weeks of roadwork at the start of the season is essential for hardening bone and strengthening muscle has long gone out of the window – its just too bloody dangerous to exercise on public roads nowadays – present-day trainers stick to tried and tested methods of getting horses fit and this includes giving ‘as much time as necessary’ to young horses. In the majority of instances, it has to be said, they are 100% correct, even if the French have a different attitude to what is best physically and mentally for a young, strong horse.
A few years ago, in this country 4-year-old novice chases were introduced and quickly abandoned as they attracted small fields due to the small reservoir of horses suitable for steeplechasing. Back in the day there was even a champion 4-year-old chase at the Cheltenham Festival. I would go as far as to suggest that in normal circumstances running a 4-year-old over fences would be of greater benefit to ‘the chasing type’ than the lickerty-spit, ping, ping, ping of a 16-runner novice hurdle.
Which brings me neatly to the traditional hurdle used almost exclusively in this country and similarly in Ireland. I am opposed to hurdles in their present form, though my opinion might change once we have a season under our belts of white replacing orange on the padding of top bars. Any obstacle that has the propensity to swing down and then up again is a tragedy waiting to happen. A horse can receive a fatal injury through no fault of its own from coming into contact with a hurdle swinging back to upright after being hit by a horse in front. To my limited experience, the sort of ‘hurdle’ that I have seen used in Ireland, something similar to the brush hurdle, something akin to a baby fence, used at Haydock before this season, is far fairer and less likely to attract fallers and should be adopted at all racecourses. I am sure fatalities in races would be less if we replaced 8-flights with the one solid ‘brush’ obstacle.
It has to be admitted that the reputation French horses have for being great jumpers is well-founded. The Junior National Hunt hurdle races are a major step forward and must be applauded. I hope owners and trainers respond by patronising this great initiative. But we must extend our thinking on the matter by also copying the Irish 4-year-old chases and taking away the pot-luck of the present-day 8-flights of hurdles, though it can be as few as 6 on some courses.
If the French system was the founding of Kauto Star’s greatness and Ireland’s 4-year-old point-to-point maidens were the making of Constitution Hill, surely we should be adopting a system that all too clearly fit for purpose.

​Ed Chamberlain continues to bemoan the small number of runners in many races this season. He is quite right to highlight the subject as the lack of competitive racing has a negative impact on betting turnover, which is no trifling matter with the sport in dire need of a sustainable revenue stream.
The cause of the problem is obvious. Too many race meetings. You can only stretch a balloon so far before it bursts and that is where we are at the moment. At the precipice of falling apart at the seams. Independent of the overloaded race calendar, the situation has been exacerbated by the very mild winter we have had this season, resulting in very few abandonments.
And the problem will only get worse as owners tighten their belts due to the ever-increasing cost of living, something that though the poor are the worst hit, the rich, too, can be compromised by higher training fees, as well as fuel, energy, food, etc. Even if it is only a temporary blip to finances, with owners merely playing a waiting game until finances flourish once more, less horses in training next season will surely see a dire situation become ever more dire.
The race programme should reflect the number of horses in training and should be trimmed accordingly. All-weather racing, should anyone forget, was introduced to ensure the sport could be maintained through the winter to aid betting shops should the weather prevent any jumps racing. Yet slowly and inevitably it has become all-powerful, with championships, ‘win and you are in’ qualifiers for the Kentucky Derby, and Group races.
There are now six all-weather tracks, with a seventh planned in the near-future at Newmarket, with too many owned by one company, allowing Arc too much leverage when it comes to the race calendar. And why the need for so much all-weather racing during the summer? The problem of small field sizes through the flat season will not be helped by so many all-weather meetings. There should be, at least during the summer months, a cut-back on all-weather racing, with a limit of as little as five-meetings a week. It is all very well Arc crying over lost profits and threatening the sport with closures and smaller prize funds but the number of horses in training just does not justify the number of yearly race-meetings.
Also, and I may be off-target here, but tight-banded races cannot help the cause to swell field-sizes. I believe open handicaps, with no ratings restrictions, would bring about larger fields. Less competitive maybe but a method to ensure each-way betting. I also believe more imaginative race conditions wouldn’t make the situation any worse, with maiden handicaps, winner of one handicaps and more veterans races, especially on the flat.
There is though one benefit of small field sizes, an aspect of the subject never raised by Ed Chamberlain and racing journalists. When there are only three or four-runners, owners of moderate horses have an opportunity to win a four-figure prize, which, given the financial crisis we are all in at the moment, might be the difference between staying in the sport or leaving.
Which leads me to one final point. Though it is sad, for example, that Shadwell has severely cut the number of horses they have in training, especially at a time when several leading owners on the flat and jumping have died, the real worry for the sport should be the loss of the owners of one horse or two, those enthusiasts who breed their own, perhaps of limited ability. But these people, if they pay their training fees, keep those at the lower end of the sport afloat and too often they are forgotten. Those framing the race calendar should have the foresight to remember ‘the little guy’ and frame races for the least talented horses, if only to bolster the aspirations and enthusiasm of their owners and breeders. Godolphin and the other elite owners cannot grow this sport, only those at the middle and lower levels can encourage stronger roots to proliferate to sustain a healthy and growing sport.
I always argue that this sport is inclusive, a working-class sport underpinned by the wealthy and very wealthy and every effort should be made to by racecourses to welcome every strata of society and the race calendar should be framed to give everyone a sporting chance of glory first, second or third-class.

​Much is said in the media, and by trainers, at how the class of runners in the Grand National has risen in recent years. It remains, though, very much a handicappers race, with no pretence of being anything other than a Grade 3 chase. Go back to Red Rum’s day and you will find more than one Gold Cup class horse running, and, in the case of L’escargot, winning. The aspiration of the Aintree executive when the fences were modified, the distance reduced and the handicap manipulated, was to encourage a better class of horse to be entered. Well, they get entered but rarely ever run.
On Saturday, although in the race card it said Minella Times would carry 11st 10Ibs, with the 3Ib ‘covid and 3Ib back protector allowance, he was actually burdened with 12st 2Ibs, a weight greater than even Red Rum was expected to carry. How is the imposition of such a burden going to encourage owners and trainers to run their best horses in the race? If anything, this ‘hidden penalty’ will only discourage the participation of the Gold Cup class horse.
Surely, for this one race, for the good of the Grand National’s reputation, both the covid and back protector allowance could be jettisoned. With it being highly unlikely any horse will run in a Grand National off 10st in the future, it must be prejudicial to the cause to impose this 6Ib penalty.
I was also surprised to see how easily the Aintree fences fell apart on Saturday, with some of the fences seemingly – viewed from a comfortable sofa, I admit – smaller than would be found at any Park course. This policy of verging on the side of caution did not prevent two fatalities on Saturday, even if one injury was not fence-related and the other a freak head injury I believe to be a rare occurrence. As Ruby Walsh advised when changes to the race was first mooted, to slow the race down the fences need to be higher, not smaller. Not that I am suggesting they should go back to the way the fences were constructed back when he won on Hedgehunter. In fact, until this year I considered they had the situation about right. But from a welfare point of view, the 2022 renewal was a bitter pill to swallow.
Horse racing is a dangerous sport to both horse and rider and on the flat and over the jumps. It cannot be made safe. Horses, sadly, suffer fatalities and injuries in their stable, in the field at grass, on the roads, on the gallops, as well as on the racecourse. The death of any horse cannot be accepted as a normal course of events, and it will never be easy to defend such tragedies to our distractors. It is what it is; the black side of an otherwise pure white sport. As long as all horses, whether in or out of training, are well-cared-for, both when racing and in retirement, fatalities and injuries can be logged as accidents. Neglect and cruelty, on the other hand, must never be thought of acceptable and punishment for the guilty must always be severe.
On Saturday, Noble Yeats was a good winner. The 2nd is a genuine Grand National horse who would make an equally good winner of the race. The 3rd and 4th have run in Gold Cups and Grade 1’s and give the form a solid appearance. And there is no doubting the validity of the Waley-Cohens being truly deserving of their victory. Robert Waley-Cohen’s dedication to the sport is long-lived and his son will go down in the history of the sport as one of its finest, if not the finest, amateurs to have graced the turf. At 40-years of age he bows out with a Grand National, a Cheltenham Gold Cup, two King Georges and six other wins around the Aintree fences. Can any amateur, in Britain or Ireland, match his achievements? I doubt it. The pressure will on the rider who must fill his boots at Aintree next year.
I very much doubt Sam Waley-Cohen will visit this site as he has too much on his plate but I hope one day soon he will sit down and pen his autobiography. His is an interesting story, I am sure, both in and out of the saddle.
And finally, you wouldn’t think the 3-mile handicap chase on Saturday had anything in common with Grand National, would you. Yet bizarrely they are both Grade 3 races. One a handicap that might be seen on any Saturday, the Grand National the most famous race in the world. Bit of a nonsense that, don’t you think?

​You couldn’t make it up, could you? Successful amateur wins Grand National on his last ride in public. Its less reality, more a synopsis for a third-rate novel. No amateur deserved a Grand National winner more, especially with Sam Waley-Cohen’s record around the big Aintree fences, and no family deserves to have the Grand National trophy in their display cabinet. Sam retires from race-riding with eight victories over those formidable fences, a record no professional riding can match and, I suspect, a record very few in history could match.
At the time of writing, and with crossed-fingers, I can report of no equine fatalities, which if it proves correct will be a great relief. Éclair Surf was being assessed by vets, though the horse had returned to the racecourse stables and Discorama pulled up injured entering the straight for the first time. Possibly a tendon-injury. Hopefully it was just a knock.
A lot of fallers this year, which is disappointing considering the small number of fallers in both the Foxhunters and the Topham. I don’t think the speed of the race accounted for the large number of non-finishers, even if the ground, as a consequence of the race starting at 5.15, allowing the sun and wind to dry the ground, was perhaps going towards good at the time of the race. Congestion was the likely cause. Certainly, the fall of Minella Times was caused by jumping into School Boy Hours. Racheal Blackmore did not rise as quickly as one would expect; a clear indication that she was injured in some way.
As I have mentioned Minella Times – the conditions of the race state ‘Highest weight 11st 10Ib’, a condition set to encourage connections to run higher quality horses in the race. Yet, as Ruby Walsh explained, the horse actually carried 12-st 2Ib due to the ‘covid allowance’ still being in place and 3Ib for a back protector, a higher weight than even Red Rum was asked to carry. This is surely a nonsensical state of affairs as going on it will actively discourage connections to enter the Gold Cup class of horse the race needs if the aspiration for the best horses available competing is to be achieved.
Also, Noble Yeats is a novice and though his merited victory yesterday pours cold water on my criticism, there is an almighty chance that in future the Grand National will, as with other big handicaps, be seen by trainers as a race where first-season are favourable weighted, ‘thrown-in’, as is said, and the race will attract more and more inexperienced horses. With health and safety and the perception of the public in mind, the conditions need to be tweaked so novices are excluded from the race.
On a personal note, I think my championing of Santini as a Grand National natural was all but justified. Not one of the I.T.V. ‘experts’ even gave him a mention and when I commented on a couple of YouTube channels of my liking for his chances I was ridiculed without mercy or indeed any degree of intelligence. He looked magnificent in the parade ring, a credit to Polly Gundry, though as I feared, it was perhaps a year too late for him. He jumped adequately, even if I was never convinced he was jumping with the slickness of those who were in front of him, perhaps the reason for not getting quite into the firing line. But it is clear as day if the owners should change their mind about retiring him, that long-distance chases are his forte, as has been obvious for several seasons.
The best horse yesterday, given he was trying to give the winner 12Ibs, was Any Second Now. They will doubtless give it another go next season but at 10-years-of-age time is against them. 
Delta Work will be a player next season if the ground is softer and Fiddlerontheroof will doubtless be targeted at the race next season as he ran a tidy race to get into the place money.
The hyped horses, as fate usually decrees, didn’t show, with Minella Times exiting at Valentines and Snow Leopardess finding it very hard work on ground far from ideal for her. Great jockeys not only provide excellence in a finish but also when displaying compassion and common-sense to pull-up when hope of winning is gone. There was no point in subjecting the mare to four-miles of needless exercise and Aidan Coleman once again displayed his horsemanship by calling it a day after a circuit. It is no wonder he is the go-to jockey in big races as he is an all-round great jockey and as far as I know a good human being.
The Sunday after the Grand National is time to breathe, to reflect and with nothing to look forward to but next week’s Irish National and the Punchestown Festival – I’ll get into the flat by June –all that is left for me is to dream of what lies in store for us of next season. Which is doubtless the same as all the losing connections from yesterday will also be doing. There is always tomorrow in racing.

​Honestly. As long as all the horses and jockeys come back safely, without any incidents that might thrust the race and the sport into the daily newspaper for all the wrong reasons, whether any of my bets bring me any return is immaterial. If betting shops were not forcibly closed last year, I would have backed Minella Times. I had him marked down as a possible winner back when the weights were announced, yet did it cause me sleepless nights that he won without any financial involvement from me? No. The result was everything. It was the result horse racing, sport and gender equality needed. Racheal Blackmore not only made racing history, she evolved the world towards a better place by a smidge, too.
The importance to horse racing in this country and Ireland, and perhaps beyond in countries we have no direct insight to, is incalculable. Nearly sixty-years ago – I think it was 1964 – I have vague memories of watching Team Spirit win the Grand National. I was eight, I think (I have a very dodgy memory) and though I had very poor knowledge of every aspect of the sport at the time, the impact of all that sensory overload, the magical technology that brought an event hundreds of miles away into our small living room, the spinning of names that I am far more aware of now than back then, the horses, fences with names and history – its effect has resonated with me all my life, guiding my path through life. Without that first vision of sporting sorcery, the uproar of barely controlled bedlam, I almost certainly would be in my grave by now.
The day-to-day love of my sport has prevented my suspect mind from falling into the spiral of blackness that conflicts reality with hope for a better life another time.
‘Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of Death Rode the six-hundred. ‘Forward, the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns!’ he said; Into the valley of Death Rode the six-hundred.’
Tennyson might have had the Grand National in mind when he penned those immortal lines of poetry. When the starter calls the jockeys to make a line and the crowd roars in anticipation, it is akin to ‘The Charge of the Light Brigade’, a call to charge for the first fence as if that was the first gun in need of silencing. To me, the race is a blur until the warning that ‘Bechers is next’ and then the formation begins to make sense and I get a clear picture of where ‘my horses’ are, whether they are taking charge of the situation they must face.
And I take no pleasure if any of the most fancied horses fall and my heart skips beats when a horse takes a bad fall and I, an atheist, prays for it to speedily rise to its feet and gallop away in pursuit of its jockeyed brethren. And I do not hold my breath for nine or ten minutes just to experience thrills and spills. I want no fallers, only the drama of sporting history unfolding before my spellbound eyes.
Yes, I was opposed to the emasculation of the fences as I feared carnage on a regular basis because of excessive pace and yet now I am pleased the greater judgement of others prevailed. The Grand National is not better for it, yet also it is none the worse for it. It is still the Grand National. It is still enchantment.
The Melling Road is such an iconic section of the Grand National that one forgets outside of race-days it is ordinary road, used minute by minute by cars, lorries and cyclists, a district of Liverpool that the Grand National does bring a halt. 
The Canal Turn is made hazardous by a canal twenty or thirty yards from the fence. Bechers is named after an army officer who fell into the ditch when the race was in its infancy. Valentines is named after a horse that made a mighty leap after changing its mind about refusing to go on. The Chair did once have a judge’s chair as part of its structure, the judge demanding jockeys pull-up if they were ‘a distance’ in arrears.
The stone wall is gone. The plough is gone. The two hurdles that were once the last two obstacles are gone. Where once decrepit stands maligned the racecourse, there is now, for me, the most iconic stadia of modern sport, forming the backdrop to the start of the annual charge towards eternal fame and glory.
I love the Grand National. Its existence gives me life. Now, every year might be my last Grand National and I try to embrace and live it as if it is my last taste of it.
As always, I pray to a God I do not believe exists, to allow safe passage to every horse and every jockey. In truth, its all I every want from the race.

​MINELLA TIMES – Would have to be another Red Rum to defy such a huge hike in the weights. Bottom of the handicap last year, top this year. It’s not as if he shown any worthwhile form this season.
DELTA WORK – Not carried away with his cross-country win. For all that he beat Tiger Roll on his home-ground, the cross-country was uncompetitive and I believe Delta Work doesn’t have the desire required to win a Grand National.
EASYSLAND – He remains one of the worst handicapped horses in training. To my mind, a forlorn hope.
ANY SECOND NOW – Obvious chance and worthy favourite. He was not as unlucky last year as is made-out by his supporters. He was nearly brought down but he didn’t need to be bustled along to get back into a winning position. Would not be at all surprised to see him in the first three again.
RUN WILD FRED – An experienced novice with as good a chance as any of Gordon Elliott’s battalion of runners. He has the great advantage of having Davy Russell on board.
LOSTINTRANSLATION – The sort of horse to be inspired and enthused by Aintree to out-run his odds. Not a completely forlorn hope.
BRAHMA BULL – Can’t see him worrying the judge, can you?
BURROWS SAINT – Although he appeared not to stay last year, he met a horse obviously thrown-in at the weights who won a shade cosily. With Minella Times handicapped up to the hilt and if the wind dries the soft out of the ground, I wouldn’t be shocked to see him prevail this time around.
MOUNT IDA – Why has Davy Russell chosen Run Wild Fred over her? Spoken of as a National horse for two-years by Gordon Elliott. Can’t see her jumping holding-up, personally.
LONGHOUSE POET – I am drawn to this horse. Progressive. Jumps well. Should have the required stamina. Wouldn’t put anyone off him. On my list of backable horses.
FIDDLERONTHEROOF – Another on my list of probables. Wasn’t taken by his last run and his second in the Ladbrokes Trophy is flattering as the winner has done nothing since. But he has class, is consistent and is on a winning mark. On my list.
TWO FOR GOLD – Will he stay? At least will he stay well enough to win. Possibly. No forlorn hope.
SANTINI – My idea of the winner, though the ground drying is a worry. I have waited for two-years for this horse to run in a 4-mile chase as all he does is jump and gallop. I believe he was born for this race but at 10 it might prove a year too late. I am trying to talk myself out of calling him the winner but my gut instinct keeps drawing me back to him
SAMCRO – Can’t see it, can you? Well, actually, I can and I might have a couple quid each-way on him as you cannot get away from the fact that inside this horse there is a bucket-load of class and 4-miles and Aintree might dredge it out of him. On my list.
ESCARIA TEN – A might be. I thought last year he looked a National type, yet something nags me that though he might win a National, it is more likely to be at Fairyhouse, Ayr or Chepstow.
GOOD BOY BOBBY – Consistent, nicely weighted, trained by a master of his craft, especially around Aintree. Not for me but if you are a good boy named Bobby or you know someone that fits the description, why would you not back him each-way.
LORD DU MESNIL – The jockey is his main attribute. Not for me.
COKO BEACH – Sure to get round, though he would need softer ground to be competitive, I believe.
de RASHER COUNTER – A former Ladbrokes Trophy winner and injury prone, with only two runs in two seasons. I like him. Thought he ran with great promise in the Denman at Newbury and wasn’t given a hard time when his chance had gone. He is on my list.
KILDISART – I suspect this horse is not the horse he once was. James Bowen is an asset but the horse doesn’t appeal to me.
DISCORAMA – Another definite possible. Ran well last year, though  didn’t get home and was behind a horse we believe doesn’t stay in Burrows Saint, so how can we sure Discorama is a true stayer? Sure to get round.
TOP VILLE BEN – Fell in the Becher but ran with definite promise up till then. Consistent since and could give a braver bettor than me a good run for their money.
ENJOY d’ALLEN – I do not understand why this horse is fancied by so many. At 5.30 on Saturday, I might be enlightened.
ANIBALE FLY – A credit to connections but surely his best days are behind him.
DINGO DOLLAR – A solid performer that I would be considering if the ground were softer. He’ll stay and jump but on the prevailing conditions there has to be speedier, classier, horses to make the job too hard for him to overcome.
FREEWHEELIN’ DYLAN – No obvious chance – though it was said of him at Fairyhouse last season and confounded us all. On the prevailing ground he might just do it again. 
CLASS CONTI – A forlorn Willie Mullins runner. Don’t get many of those in a season.
NOBLE YEATS – The final ride in the career of one of the best British amateurs of many a long year. More knowledgeable people than I think this horse is no forlorn hope. Not for me, though.
MIGHTY THUNDER – A Scottish National winner and might be enthused by Aintree. A leap of faith to think he might win but this is the Grand National and stranger results have occurred. 
CLOTH CAP – I don’t like the fact he refused two races ago. Other than that, given he gave a bold show last year before suffering breathing difficulties, he could spring a surprise. Don’t entirely rule him out if you are looking for an each-way punt.
SNOW LEOPARDESS – Not as enamoured with her as her position in the betting suggests I should be. I don’t think she’ll stay, though her intrepid owner has no doubts on that score, and the ground is slowly going against her.
AGUSTA GOLD – Formerly useful, though as Patrick Mullins wrote ‘has regressed nicely since coming to Closutton’. She might be the one to surprise.
PHOENIX WAY – Good form, up and coming jockey, a trainer destined to win a major prize. A definite might-be.
DEISE ABA – Useful on his day but not useful enough to take a hand in the finish of a Grand National.
BLAKLION – Would love him to run a big race. Not as forlorn a hope as a 13-year-old should be.
POKER PARTY – NO. Just no.
DEATH DUTY - Ran one good race and suddenly he was all the rage for a race of far greater depth. Not for me.
DOMAINE de L’ISLE  - Back him to finish in his own time.
ÉCLAIR SURF – Thought he looked a possible for the Grand National when he won at Warwick and can understand why he is so high in the betting. I just prefer Emma Lavell’s other runner. Mad as that might seem.
FORTESCUE – And finally. Sneaked into the race at the last chance saloon. Pleased he’s in as he has a better each-way chance than many above him and in good form. On my list.
As of this moment, I intend to back Santini to win, with each-way bets on de Rasher Counter, Longhouse Poet and Fortescue. Which has to be mad as three of those are English-trained and on last year’s form when 9 out of the first 10 were Irish the evidence suggests only back Irish-trained runners.
By the way, if Santini was still trained by Nicky Henderson, do you think he’s odds would be as long as they are? His form this year is similar to his form of the previous two-seasons. I rest my case.

​The other day I watched a ‘Sporting Life’ podcast. I think it was a podcast. It might have been a YouTube video. I’m not savvy enough about all this modern techno stuff to distinguish the difference. Stupid me, eh! It comes with travelling the road to senility.
Anyway, on this ‘podcast/video three blokes with regional accents, none of whom had travelled my lonely path before their appearance on my YouTube home-page, engaged in a short dialogue on ‘their favourite Grand National’. A perfectly reasonable topic given the time of year, though the question, at least to me, someone without offspring of my own, is akin to ‘who is your favourite child’? Every parent has one, apparently. Money played a part in the answers, as did childhood memories of watching the race with a family member.
One of the answers was based on the schoolboy of then backing the first four home, a great achievement in anyone’s life, I am sure you agree, filleted though by the memory that instead of winning thousands, the return from the bookmaker was only £25 and change. I have never got close to achieving the first four home in the Grand National, though I did have the 1,2,3, in the Derby when I, similarly, was a child. I was gifted of a functioning brain back then, whilst nowadays I have to make do with a brain with the functioning power of 68-year-old putty.
Yet this ‘favourite Grand National’ topic has fluttered around what remains of my cognitive powers, hindered by the poor quality of my memory, though aided by YouTube videos and Reg Green’s ‘A Race Apart’ and ‘Kings For A Day’.
Given he got me out of a financial quagmire, the 2012 (?) Grand National won by Neptune Collonge should be my all-time favourite. He was so far the best horse in the race I was dumbfounded when Ruby Walsh chose not to ride him. If I was brainier than I am, I would have suspected he knew something others didn’t. Of course, if Ruby was on board, Neptune would not have gone off a 25/1 shot. But I was dumb enough even in those days to ignore the silent advice of the greatest jumps jockey of all time. Well, that’s my opinion.
Yet as much as the debt I owe Neptune is, and my choice may be more to do with the impact it had on me at the time than a cherish memory as the result to this day causes me heartbreak, I cannot answer this question in any way than to say 1973, perhaps the most historic day in the long story of British jumps racing.
31st March. 38 starters. The wining time 9-mins 1.9 seconds, was, at the time, a record for the race. Years later, on fast ground, Mr.Frisk took the record apart and will remain for all-time the keeper of the fastest Grand National winner. He, though, did not carry 12-stone.
In 1973, the first four to finish broke the existing course record.
Of the 38 starters, 18 finished, a goodly total for the Grand National back then.
Obviously, at the winning line we were not yet aware the winner was to become the greatest legend the sport has ever produced, his name forever associated with Aintree and the Grand National, a name still recognised by the non-sporting public today.
The 1973 Grand National was not, on the day, only about Red Rum. It was all about the greatest loser in the whole of sport. Crisp did not give away the Grand National and though Richard Pitman blames himself for not sitting still once he got to the elbow, hoping to elicit one final surge from Crisp to ward off the relentless charge of Red Rum by feebly tapping the big horse on the rump and unbalancing him in the process. Fred Winter knew he was beaten jumping the last, turning to Sir Chester Manifold and warning him of imminent defeat.
I don’t believe Richard Pitman did anything wrong. In fact, in my opinion, he gave Crisp a magnificent ride. The fates were against him. It was written in the stars, wasn’t it? Red Rum was a super-hero sent from an equine celestial constellation to save the Grand National. As with the Stanley Matthews Cup Final when Stan Mortenson scored a hat-trick, 1973 was Crisp’s Grand National, even if it was to become the first leg of Aintree’s greatest horse achieving a hat-trick of wins.
And there were no hard-luck stories in the race as the best four horses finished in the first four places. Red Rum. Crisp. L’Escargot. Spanish Steps. Albeit, L’Escargot was 25-lengths adrift at the line.
As I get ever older, I find the race ever harder to watch. The fatal fall of Grey Sombrero at the Chair still tears at the heartstrings and no matter that the whole sporting world knows how the story will end, I still ache to have Crisp hold on, for Richard Pitman’s brave ride to be rewarded by glory.
On March 31st, 1973, Crisp was attempting, though we didn’t suspect it at the time, the impossible. No horse in racing history, not even Arkle, could have given Red Rum 23Ib around his beloved Aintree. Crisp nearly, oh so nearly, achieved the Herculean task, going down in the shadow of the winning post by ¾-length.
Next year, it will be, astonishingly, the fiftieth anniversary of this epic race. I hope the B.H.A. and Aintree have some kind of celebration planned. My ‘favourite’ Grand National, the greatest performance ever seen on a British racecourse, the day the fightback to save Grand National gained the momentum needed, the birth of a true equine legend.

​As any fool knows, the first Grand National was run in 1859 and won by Lottery, formerly known as Chance. The race was held not in April as now or in March as it once was but February 26th, a Tuesday. The conditions of entry were ‘A sweepstake of 20-soverigns each, 5-shilling forfeit, with 100 added; 12-stone each, gentleman riders; 4-miles across country; the second to save his stake and the winner to pay 10-soverigns towards expenses; no rider to open a gate or ride through a gateway, or more than 100-yards along any road, footpath or driftway.’ Lottery was ridden by Jem Mason and beat Seventy-Four and Paulina by 3-lengths and the same. 17 ran.
Jump racing back in the eighteen-hundreds was very much the poor relation to the flat, with often the top riders from aristocratic families, not either wishing to bring disgrace on their heritage or simply to avoid attention, rode under pseudonyms. And it took several years before the Grand National stopped being a novelty to begin its journey to what it is today – the greatest horserace in the world.
I would suggest the period between 1859 and 1868 was when the race attracted owners, trainers and jockeys whose greatest aspiration or ambition was to have his name associated with the winner of the Grand National, with horses laid out all season with Liverpool in mind.
Whether the course was easier or the horses better trained but the winner in 1859, Half-Caste, recorded a time a full 4½-minutes faster than the great Lottery. In this year there was a French challenger, an indication that the fame of the race was becoming infectious. Jean du Quesne was ridden by Harry Lamplugh, a Yorkshireman and it is easy to assume the owner’s ambition was fired by Lamplugh’s recollections of the trials and tribulations previous runnings of the race.
The 1860 race was won by Anatis, ridden by ‘Mr. Thomas’, the pseudonym of Thomas Pickernell, one of the leading riders of the age. Mr. Edwards was in every other walk of life bar the Turf, George Ede and a country parson by the name of Drake rode as Mr. Ekard.
Perhaps even more so than today, horses tended to return year after year, with many being placed numerous times. Huntsman, as an example, was 2nd and 3rd before he won the race in 1862.
In 1862, there was a sad postscript. Dennis Wynn had won the race fifteen-years previously on Matthew, the first success for Ireland, and in the 1862 race his son was to partner O’Connell. On the eve of the race father and son received the dreadful news that James’ sister had died back home in Ireland. James Wynn was given the option of standing down but insisted on taking part. Unfortunately, hardly believable if it was not documented in the historical record, O’Connell got caught-up in a melee, the horse landing on the prostrate Wynn. The following day Wynn succumbed to his injuries.
In 1863, George Stevens, the best professional of his era, won on Lord Coventry’s Emblem and the following year he won again for Lord Coventry on Emblem’s younger sister Emblematic, the like of which we will doubtless never experience in our lifetime.
In 1865 there was such a winner that we definitely will not encounter in our lifetime. Alcibiade, ridden by Capt. Coventry, cousin of the owner of Emblem and Emblematic, and a serving officer in the Grenadier Guards. For military officers back in the 1800’s, when not on active duty in the Crimea or somewhere else overseas, it was in vogue to ‘have a crack at the Grand National’.
I know little about Capt. Coventry, though he must have been either very brave or very foolish as Alcibiade was not only a five-year-old but though he had run on the flat, he had never run in a steeplechase until his appointment with fate in 1865. He won, amazingly, by a head and fifty-yards. It is a shake-your-head-in-disbelief sort of racing fact, isn’t it?
30-horses faced the starter the following year, the largest number in the history of the race thus far. There were two false starts, something to write about in our age but nothing out of the ordinary for back then. The winner, Salamander, was born with a crooked leg and the breeder had the devil’s own job to sell him. Eventually he took £70 from a Mr.Hartigan, who, after turning the horse out in a field for a few months, passed the horse on to a Mr.Studd along with a couple of hunters. To everyone’s surprise, the horse could jump and when many years later the horse lined-up in the Grand National, the owner was so confident of success he staked £1,000 to win £40,000.
The Duke of Hamilton, or the Red Duke, as he was known, was on a long losing streak with his bookmaker and had financial difficulties away from the Turf when Cortolvin went to post in 1867. The Red Duke, perhaps thinking he had little more to lose, plunged heavily on his horse and for once the gods were on his side, the horse winning at odds of 16/1.
The years of 1868 to 1871were remarkable for two dual winners. The Lamb won in 68 and 71 and was one of the most popular horses in training as he was a lamb in both nature and posture. In between The Colonel became the first horse to win back-to-back Grand Nationals, ridden on both occasions by George Stevens.
It is the victories of The Lamb and The Colonel that elevated the Grand National in the eyes of the sporting and general public, allowing the race to gain kudos and status and become coupled with the Lincolnshire Handicap and to become half of the famed if now overlooked Spring Double. Of course, now the Grand National stands alone, far out-reaching the Lincoln in popularity, indeed, outreaching every other race in the world.