A walk across the race course

That's Cartmel of course, location of one of Capitalgull's and mine favourite little gaffs.

Privately owned by Lord Cavendish (the younger brother of the Duke of Devonshire and incumbent of nearby Holker Hall) Cartmel only race on six days a year and it is an eccentric little course to say the least.

The only "stand" (as you feature it, roofless and facing to the left) is located in the centre of the circuit and between it and the track as it runs away into the distance stands a hill and woods that the horses race through...............out of site of the terraces of spectators, so that you have to "count them into the trees, then count them out" as they re-appear into view coming the other way to run up the side of the village and ancient Priory; then one has to turn around and look over the back of the stand to watch them turn behind you. On the finishing circuit, they take a sharp left on re-appearing from the woods to battle it out on a finishing spur right in front of the stand. Watching them coming out of the woods is a bit like watching a Robin Hood film!

The day Chas and I went we enjoyed glorious weather amongst a twenty thousand crowd and it took over three hours to get the car out of the course afterwards. Chas enjoyed prolific portions of the local delicacy ~ Stickey Toffee Pudding as much as I enjoyed watching Lord Cav, in open necked shirt, bright red braces and baggy cords (plus the obligatory battered trilby) getting his bets on down on the boards with the likes of Capitalgull and Merse.....................a bit of aristocratic egality amongst the proletariat ~ you can't beat it! I was almost ready to buy a rusty old Morris Thousand with one careful lady owner off him and it would have been no more strange than the tale we heard of the punter who successfully bid for a horse in the seller there once who then realised he had no means of transporting the creature away from the track. So unsuccessful was he in purloining a lift from the appropriate type of vehicle, he pursuaded the farrier to re shoe the horse and walked it home some twenty miles!

Cartmel of course was the scene of the infamous betting coup of 1974 when the trainer Tony Collins entered Gay Future to run there and two other runners~ to run at other courses which he subsequently withdrew; but not before considerable sums of money had been wagered on all three of his horses in doubles involving Gay Future and the other two. With the withdrawals, the bets now became singles on Gay Future who appeared in the parade ring apparently sweating badly but only appearing to as the trainer had rubbed soap water over it in an attempt to fool the course punters into believing it unfit and thus keeping the starting price at an artificial 10/1.

He had chosen Cartmel on which to attempt the sting as it was then the only course still without on course telephone facilities in those pre-mobile days, so of course the news of the other withdrawals never got through.

You can guess the rest........Gay future romped home and the bookies were turned over but following an enquiry the trainer and an Irish builder called Tony Murphy were fined and warned off courses for life.................but they'd still stung the bookies and kept the readies! ;D

Strangely the day we were there, Chas spotted a trainer who has a similar "dubious" reputation in the game and we became obsessed with trying to look over his shoulder to see if he was putting money on any long priced no hopers but of course he wasn't as stupid to do that was he. I retained the lowdown on this guy though and it paid off in a big way at Chester a couple of years ago...............my wife is always on the look out for a long priced punt and has an uncanny knack of pulling one or two off every year. I'd noticed this trainer had a 66/1 "Rag" total (outsider) with a favourable draw and advised he to back it and it duly romped home leading from gate to post as a 40/1 long shot I had backed at York came in on the big screen ~ the best two minutes of my life on a racecourse I reckon

We approached the racecourse the same way as you did, but on a race day it's rather like the RAC Rally as you judder and lurch along the Forestry Commission track through the woods. We parked in an ancillary car park which was full of barbeque's, kids playing cricket and football and the odd gran asleep in the back of the car blissfully oblivious to all.

So we duly entered the course through temporary turnstiles which like much of the other race day equipment is transported up from Aintree complete with an army of Scallies who work as stewards, turnstile men, race card sellers. We actually walked the course which was an incredible sight ~ the only time I have witnessed an entire circuit with the crowd totally taking up position along the full distance and on BOTH sides of the track.

As so many could only get a cursory view of the action as the horses thundered by it was easy to reason that racing at Cartmel is more of a family day out than a serious punting and form watching exercise for so many. Just prior to each start, a huntsman on horseback canters through the woods blowing his hunting horn to clear the track of the many itinerant cricket and football matches going on as well as the many picnickers and other "less interested" punters. After all one wouldn't want the grand progeny of Gay Future putting his size nineteens in mum's trifle would we!

The "football and cricket" ground was a veritable sea of funfair and car boot sale and the little green behind the stand and club house a twee little "Village Fete" area replete with little tents selling Barbour clothing, Women's Institute Jam and the ever present Racing Prints of which Miss Jones is so fond and can be found lovingly adorning the walls of Chez Rigsby down in Thameside Surrey.

I must say, "The Hospice" looked an inviting vantage point from which to survey all around as well as an imposing back drop to this lovely little racecourse, although "hospice" might prove to be the operative word if Miss J and I were to attempt it's summit full of Stickey Toffee Pudding and the local Jennings Ale. I think the "Mortuary" would have been a more apt moniker had we been silly enough to climb it.

Simple mate...................Lesbians.

Lesbian derives from the Greek Island of Lesbos and it's famed mythical inhabitants of female warriors.

The building is obviously one of those public conveniences that is frequented by the (let's say) less savoury members of society and was obviously a "Ladies".

So Rosy fingered Dawn eh? I wonder who enjoyed it the most? ;D