On this page I intend to tell a few stories which I don't think, for legal or other privacy reasons, I want to go beyond this site.
1977 February 18: A day at the Boorowa Picnic Races
On this day my good friend, Bob Alexander, who had been best man at our wedding after a long squash friendship dating back to Intervarsity days, invited me to the Boorowa picnics. Bob had been raised on a block here and still owned it. But these were his roots and a day at the picnics was a ritual. Also invited was another long intervarsity friend Graham Pollard, whose first marriage, to Jenny, was on the rocks, but here was a chance to resurrect it. A genteel day out in the country seemed attractive and held prospects.
The four of us set out in the morning in Graham's white Holden HQ V8, travelling through Yass. The arrival looked promising, like going to the local country show.
The weather was nice, sunny, a moderate temperature, and I discovered that this was not unlike a normal race meeting, fully equipped with the same bookmakers you see in town, and good amenities for a track which probably held just this one meeting a year. The race program can be found among the files at the foot of this page.
The atmosphere was pleasant but a lot of alcohol was consumed by many during the day. As can be seen ffrom the race book below there was a session for the afternoon named "afternoon tea". But I didn't see much tea consumed. It was just one of those days, where everyone felt relaxed, I suppose, and it was before the days of random breath testing.
I used to go to the races occasionally because I liked the atmosphere, and my maternal grandfather, Les Boys, who had worked as a stock and station agent at Elder Smith had always been interested in racing and farm stock and always made a point of taking me to the animal section rather than the sideshow section when he'd annually take me to the Royal Adelaide Show. But I did bet and normally it would be either $1 or $2 on a horse per race.
With one race to go I was $5 down. I noticed quizzically that the last race would be one where the losing horses of all races could line up again. The New Zealand mare Sugar Rose who had been impressive despite narrowly losing the first race was being offered at even money against others who looked more like grasseater farm hacks. So I decided to splash out and take $5 to do what would almost certainly have me even for the day.
I went to watch right on the finish post in front of the very modest grandstand. The horses turned into the straight and, predictably, my mare was 6 lengths clear. But she tired near the end and one of the nags came along and I couldn't honestly tell whether or not the mare had won.
Next moment a drunk, who was below me on the ground, lifted himself up, and came up to me and asked "Which - one - won - mate?". As one does, with optimism, in an uncertain situation, I said "Number 1, I'm sure".
To my astonishment, and to howls of protest all round the course, I turned around, discovered he was the judge, was inserting number one in the frame and rolled it up in full view. God I was embarrassed, and slurked away.
There were no stewards, apparently no proper infrastructure. I went round to the bookie, found myself in front of the queue, and on the announcement of correct weight I presented my ticket. I was rather roughly paid my $10 and as I left, I heard the clerk say to the bookie "that's the guy".
The remainder of the day did not go well either. As the four of us drove off, Graham noticed, as if we hadn't drunk enough, that there was a pub in Boorowa. I am sure it was not Graham who directed the car but the car which used automatic radar to pull up outside, with the four of us with little alternative but to wander in and tank up a little further.
It was a pretty quiet drive as we eventually headed past Yass and on home to Canberra. Needless to say the experiment was over. Graham's first marriage had ended.
1985 October 12: "The horses are trying"
I was staying in Melbourne at Lois' parents place at Port Melbourne. Phyllis was an avid better and I would normally have to take her to the races when she was in Canberra, or sometimes went with her in Melbourne.
During the weekend I would be moving to the Menzies Hotel in Collins Street to be with colleagues for the AMC presentations involving the Duke of Edinburgh. But my mother and brother John had come to Melbourne to be with me during the weekend.
I used to sleep out in the bungalow but must have woken early and walked into the house, where Phyllis and Wal were still obviously asleep. The phone rang and I was the only person to answer it. I explained I was the son in law and the parents were still asleep. The woman said "Don't worry love, can you just tell Phyllis that the horses are trying today".
Within the next hour Phyllis was up and I gave her the message. She was very interested when she heard this news. I asked her what it meant. She said the woman I had spoken to was the wife of a Melbourne race horse trainer, and it was a message with inside information. Phyllis spent some time looking at the form guide. She said the main news is that a certain horse in Sydney is a certainty. I think the horse's name was Ripa, and it was a good horse with variable form but good on its day. Its recent form was mediocre.
I met up with John and we proceeded to Caulfield. On the way in the train I told him the story. He said it was rubbish as the horse's form was too bad, and couldn't win. John believed that horse racing was honest, and that with mathematical modelling of results, you could beat the odds.
I put $5 on it, getting odds of 6/1, and John and I went to the back of the Caulfield stand to watch the race in Sydney on television. As the horses rounded the bend Ripa went to the front and cantered away to win by 6 lengths. John was totally exasperated. After some thought he just looked at me and said "That is disgraceful!".