The Sport of Queens

by Dick Francis

  Lingfield

  Plumpton

  Warwick

  Hilly and Difficult

  Devon and Exeter

  Cheltenham

  Chepstow

  Hexham

  Leicester

  Plumpton

  Towcester

  Sandown Park

  Courses I have not ridden on

  Ascot

  Ayr

  Carlisle

  Perth

  Sedgefield

  Newcastle

  Fakenham

  Teesside Park

  Flat and easy courses, the majority, are those which present no special difficulties. They are very fast tracks when the ground is dry, and the fences are inviting or easy to jump. If the circumstances are normal, and one’s horse is good enough, it is prudent to lie within six or seven lengths of the leaders, for few horses have enough speed to make up more ground than that against good opposition. It is a different matter, perhaps, if one is astride a Pegasus among Percherons, but even then it is foolish to take risks. Hares with too much confidence have given tortoises the race before now.

  In nothing shorter than a four-mile race can one safely allow one or two horses to set off at a sprint without going after them, but even on a level course they will wear themselves out after three miles at flat-out speed, and will have no strength left to hold off the steadier gallopers behind.

  Some horses definitely run best when they are in front and have a clear view ahead. They may be one-speed animals whose best hope is to set a good gallop from the start and take their opponents along so fast that they have no reserves left for catching them at the end, or the useful sort of horse which dislikes being passed, and puts in a fresh spurt every time he hears hoof beats at his quarters. It is as exasperating trying to pass one of these excellent creatures as it is getting by a road-hog who suddenly drives faster when one draws alongside.

  Hurst Park was a wonderful course for front runners.

  The straight was about half a mile long, and all the rest of the course was a gently curving circle, so that from the air it would look like a D. The fences were pleasantly easy, and the ground drained quickly because the course was on the bank of the Thames. Looking backwards from the top of the stands one had an interesting view, over the boundary fence, of barges and rowing eights holding unintentional races on the river.

  The English record for a three-mile ’chase was set up at Hurst Park by the great Galloway Braes in May, 1953, when he covered the course in five minutes, forty-seven and four-fifths seconds. He was always at his best in front, and the races he ran at Hurst Park, when he slipped the field on the last part of the circle and drew further and further away down the straight, had the stands gasping with sheer excitement, and his opponents with frustrated amazement that anything should show them so clear a set of heels.

  I knew those heels well. One day I followed Galloway Braes for three miles round Fontwell without a hope of catching him, and I was riding Crudwell, who was a flyer himself. Indeed we drew so far ahead of the other two runners as I pursued the never-tiring champion that there was a real danger of all four horses coming together with a resounding crash in the cross-over part of the figure of eight course; two of us having gone round the bottom loop while the other two were still jumping the top one.

  Hurst Park was always a lucky course for me, though not my favourite, because I have a soft spot for bigger fences. It was in two days there, and the following day at Sandown, that I put up my own super-colossal four-star record of eight wins in eleven rides.

  The ‘flat and difficult’ courses are primarily those with big, stiff fences, and they are only difficult on a moderate horse. A good bold jumper takes them with no trouble at all, and on the back of one of these the flat and difficult courses are a pleasure to ride on. One gets a much more definite feeling of lift and flight when the fences are big: and, if one’s horse is clumsy, an equally definite, but less enjoyable, feeling of falling off a cliff.

  The Grand National course at Aintree is the extreme example of this type of track. It is very flat, so that one has no hill-climbing problems, and the only difficulty in the lie of the ground is the varying state of the going when there has been a good deal of rain shortly before a meeting. The racecourse proper, and especially the run-in from the last fence remains soft, while out in the country the course drains into the brook and the canal, and dries very quickly. It is disconcerting for some horses, especially those which have never been hunted, to gallop from firm on to sticky ground, and they often flounder when they come round to the straight, using up the energy they need for a second circuit.

  In very dry weather, on the other hand, the excellent and more rarely used turf out in the country is still springy, while the racecourse itself, with its well-worn grass, is inclined to be firm.

  There are two separate steeplechase courses at Aintree. The second course was constructed in 1952, and was named in honour and memory of Lord Mildmay.

  Just under a mile and a half round, the new course runs beside and across the hurdle track, on the stands side of the Melling Road. As the Mildmay course was designed to be an introduction to Liverpool and a preparatory school for the big fences, its obstacles look like small editions of the National ones. All of them are entirely covered with green branches of spruce, fern and gorse.

  On no other courses are the fences green all over, though many places face the bottoms with evergreen, so that the horse’s eye travels smoothly from the turf to the fence, and encourages him to jump. Some of the Midland meetings do not use evergreen, and although the fences are good to jump they appear black and staring as one approaches them.

  Two fences are common to both the Mildmay and National courses; the water-jump, and the second last of the National, which is the third last of the Mildmay. These two are the only taste a horse gets of the drops on the landing side awaiting him on the longer course, and the plain ‘National’ fence, sandwiched unexpectedly in the straight, often causes trouble.

  The other Mildmay fences, though smaller, are very hard, and one cannot take liberties with them. Although this does have the desired effect of making the horses try to clear them, it is my own feeling that it would be better to raise them a few inches and make the tops comparatively soft, so that they would more closely resemble the construction of the National fences.

  The National course is nearly two and a quarter miles round, and the last fence is over a quarter of a mile from the winning post.

  The ground level on the take-off side of each of the sixteen fences is higher, sometimes by as much as two and a half feet, than it is on the landing side. On ordinary courses a man can stand behind a fence and see the track over the top of it. At Aintree he would need to be on stilts to do it. As one gallops between the fences on the straight to Becher’s, one can see the horses in front disappear as they jump, and then just the caps of the jockeys bob into sight as they set off again to the next obstacle.

  On no other course is this feature so constant and so marked, and it is the drops taken at racing pace, more than the actual size of the fences, which are the chief hazard at Liverpool.

  Although British race-horses are generally unused to them, a slight but not exaggerated drop is helpful to a horse, for it gives him extra time to stretch his feet out before he touches the ground. Fences where the landing-side is higher than the take-off side are so likely to bring a racing horse down that great care is taken by every course to see that they do not exist.

  Given a good horse and a clear run (a combination devoutly to be wished but seldom granted), there is a perfect path round Aintree like a firm but hidden way through a quicksand.

  As I said before, I think the centre is the best place to start from in the National, because the drops are greatest near the rails. The centre has two other big advantages. It is a not unknown fact that horses fall in the National, and once they are loose they gallop unpredictably about, causing awkward situations for everyone else. If one is in t
he middle of the course one can go either to the right or the left to avoid visible trouble ahead, but if one is on the rails, a horse falling or veering into one leaves no chance of escape.

  The centre also brings one into the best position for negotiating the bend after Becher’s and the sharp left-hand turn at the Canal.

  Becher’s, the sixth fence down the long straight away from the start, should be jumped at a fair speed. The famous brook runs along under the landing-side of the fence, and its far bank slopes sharply up to the level ground. It is easy to imagine what happens to a horse which takes off too slowly and too close to the fence: he comes down on to the sloping bank of the brook, and from there on to his nose. One’s only hope at Becher’s is to clear the brook completely, and the faster one is going, the further into safety one should land.

  The course starts to bend to the left immediately after the fence, but if one jumps it in the middle the curve is almost unnoticeable.

  The next fence, the seventh, is in a slight dip, and is the only one where the take-off side does not lead up to the fence like a ramp. If one’s horse does not stand back from this fence to jump it, there is no need to worry about any fences further on: one’s progress is apt to come abruptly to a full stop. Twice in the National I have proved it.

  The Canal Turn is next, and it is at this fence especially that the centre position is a great advantage.

  The Turn is literally a right angle, and the fence is on the edge of it like a white line Halt sign at a T junction with a main road. Ahead is the Canal, to the left is the course. If one jumps this fence on the inside the turn is so sharp that one either swings wide or slows down to avoid the horse tangling its feet up in a pirouette. As one approaches in the centre one can persuade one’s horse to jump across at an angle instead of straight ahead, and as he lands he is already facing the way he has to go. This little crab-like manoeuvre is extremely easy on horses which are naturally inclined to jump to the left.

  On the landing-side, after such a diagonal jump, and down the short stretch to Valentine’s, one is automatically slightly nearer the rails, but still not next to them.

  Valentine’s has not quite as severe a landing slope as Becher’s, but it needs much the same treatment for it is the same brook, which runs across the whole course and drains into the canal.

  The next three fences need no more than ordinary care. They all have drops, but here they are not greater near the rails, and one can gradually work one’s way over to within twelve feet or so of the inside. As one comes towards the Melling Road again the course bends very slightly to the right; if one continues in a dead straight line one finds the rails drawing nearer.

  The tan-covered Melling Road is shut off by big level-crossing type gates which swing back across the course on non-racing days. Galloping over the road one comes on to the racecourse proper, and into the wide-open space where four courses join and cross, and where the Grand Sefton and Foxhunters steeplechases start.

  Luckily there are some wooden dolls showing the way, for the mouths of four roads to the winning post are open in front of one. If any newcomer to the course ever finds himself in front and the dolls have been forgotten, he should not take a short cut down the flat-racing five furlongs, and avoid turning sharply to the left because he will find himself going backwards over the Mildmay course or the hurdles; but should take the left-hand fork of the trident facing him. Down there he will find two plain fences; the thirteenth and fourteenth of the first circuit, and the last two in the National. Over these fences and on past the stands one can safely cling to the rails.

  The Chair, in front of the stands, is, I think, the most difficult of the whole course, because of its height and spread and its formidable appearance. Horses often fall there in the Topham Trophy and other races when it comes near the beginning, but in the National only good jumpers usually survive the rigours of the two-mile circuit to reach it, and they are also by then used to the enormous size of the fences. Mercifully, after the extra effort to jump it, there is hardly any drop to complicate the landing.

  The last fence of the first circuit is the water-jump, and this, to me, is the easiest of them all. Although it is slightly wider than most water-jumps, the drop in this case is helpful, because the horse can concentrate on stretch and does not have to trouble about height.

  As close now to the rails as one can get, one swings round to the left, under the starting gate and on towards the first, now the seventeenth fence. It is roughly four hundred yards away, and during the gallop towards it one can take a gently oblique line back to its centre, ready to start the whole course again.

  At the end of the second circuit the run-in from the last fence leads across the main ‘chasing course and on to the parallel hurdle track, where the straight runs alongside the Chair and the water-jump to the winning post.

  Next to the Aintree fences in size, and to me, enjoyment, are those at Kempton. Big, awe-inspiring obstacles with marked landing drops, many novice ’chasers find them too overpowering, and it is not a good course for any but courageous jumpers.

  The wings of the fences, though long, were lower than those on other courses, and this had the effect of making the fences look even bigger than they were. Normally, wings are considerably higher than their fence, but at Kempton they stood barely eighteen inches above the birch. However, the fences are all built with such a steep slope away from the approaching horses that it is almost impossible to get too close to them. Even if one’s horse takes off with his feet rapping the bottom bar of a fence, a risky position on most courses, at Kempton the slope allows him a few precious inches of space to lift his tucked-in forelegs over the top.

  The fences are exceptionally stiff. They are packed tight uncompromisingly to a few inches above the regulation minimum of four feet six, and horses that are used to brushing their feet carelessly through the tops of fences soon change their minds about it, if they are still going at the second.

  Jockeys at Kempton fall off for what looks from the stands to be no reason at all, and are roundly cursed for their clumsiness. But what happens is that a horse, taking off too soon, hits the top of the fence with his belly as he is coming down. He may land safely, though slowly, on the other side, but his jockey has described a delicate parabola in the air, and is now nursing bruises and a grievance on the ground. The unyielding birch has done its deadly work of acting like a jammed-on brake in a car: the passengers in the back seat fall forward on to the front seat, and the driver’s companion puts his head through the windscreen. The jockey goes over the head of his horse, and no skill of his can reverse the laws of nature.

  Some years ago I rode a well-backed horse in a novice ’chase at Kempton. It would be more correct to say that I intended to ride him, for, to the dismay and fury of his supporters, we pulled up, for no apparent reason, before we arrived at the second fence. As we went over the first fence the horse, who was a good hurdler, made a long low jump, saw he was not high enough, made a convulsive effort in mid-air, scraped his belly through the top of the fence, and landed safely. But the awkward jump and the stiff birch had between them taken his saddle back, giving me no choice but to pull him up as quickly as I could. Riding a race-horse on a slipping saddle is like trying to sit on a greasy pole.

  Ever afterwards the horse wore a breast-plate*—an extra strap looped round the girths and running upwards between the horse’s forelegs to a ring at the base of his neck. From here another strap circles his neck, and this in its turn is held in place by two short side straps which run to the front edge of the saddle just below the pommel.

  So many horses of small girth tend to jump clear through their saddles that I tried always to persuade trainers for whom I rode to let me use a breast-plate as a normal part of my kit. Some, like Mr Peter Cazalet, used them regularly long before I appeared on the scene.

  A breast-girth* is not the same thing as a breast-plate, and I do not think it is as good. A breast-girth is a strap which runs loosely from the girths wher
e they join the saddle, round the base of the neck of the horse, and back to the saddle. Its weight is supported in front by a narrow strap running over the top of the horse’s neck in front of his withers. Although it stops the saddle going backwards it does not hold the girths in place underneath. A horse can still jump through the girths, loosen the saddle, and make the man on top thoroughly insecure. The horse also pulls the weight of saddle and rider on his chest, and obviously cannot race at his fastest.

  Many a good chance has been lost on a slipped-back saddle, and, apart from the horrible feeling and the prospect of being unceremoniously dumped on the ground, it is the needlessness of the disaster which is so annoying. However tight the girths are pulled before the race, an extended galloping horse can loosen them, and with such a simple and effective device as a breast-plate to hand, it is amazing to me how many trainers still take this risk of not using one.

  Hurdlers do not perhaps need a breast-plate so much, and nor do horses which have summered well and are fat around the middle.

  Some jockeys, trying to do a light weight, persuade the trainer against his better judgement to leave off the breast-plate, because it weighs about a pound: but I think one needs a breast-plate even more with a small postage-stamp saddle, and the extra pound may be worth its weight in fivers.

  I have classed Doncaster, Haydock Park, and Newbury courses as ‘difficult’ mainly because of their size. All of them have exceptionally long and wide straights, and it is easy to make mistakes with one’s final effort. The winning post, by a foreshortening optical illusion, always looks nearer on a wide course than it really is, and there is a great temptation to loose one’s horse too soon. An inexperienced rider may arrive at the front only to find that the winning post is still on the horizon, and that other more patient jockeys are sitting with double handfuls behind him, ready for the kill.

  On the other hand, it is fatal to wait too long, and no jockey looks more foolish, or suffers more abuse, than the one who finishes at great speed but fails by a length to overhaul the winner in time.