Bonzer Words!: The One That Got Away
Jan Rodman tells of a day at the races, and a moment when resolve was lost.
Jan writes for Bonzer! magazine. Please visit www.bonzer.org.au
Tricked you! This is not a 'fish tale'!
I was going through a box of faded newspaper cuttings and pictures, a treasure chest I inherited when Mum and Dad passed away.
There, I found a photo print of the finish of a horse race. The race was at Mowbray Racetrack in Launceston, Tasmania. I'm not sure of the year but I'm certain Mum would have kept a record of it somewhere.
She was a proud person and sentimental, keeping records of anything that happened to her family or things they'd achieved. Heaven knows what I'll find when I get the time to sift through the contents of the treasure chest.
I guess it would have been about 40 to 45 years ago because I think I was about 11 or 12 years of age when this event happened and I recall it vividly for I've told the story many a time to my children and friends.
We lived at North Motton at the time and it was just a normal Saturday, off to the races with Dad and Mum. We loaded up the car, a light green Ford Customline, hooked the horse float up and loaded Golden Cadesia, otherwise known as 'Paddy' for his temper. Dad bought Paddy for 30 pounds to teach my elder brother Neville to ride. Neville later became a jockey, and in later years a trainer, Paddy showed potential as a galloper and Dad began to prepare him for racing.
He'd won four or five races with him. Dad was convinced he'd win a few more with the big chestnut. He was feeling confident this day at Mowbray and though not a punter, Dad had won £30 on a Melbourne race just prior to saddling Paddy for his race.
Dad spoke to Mum about the win and they decided to put the £30 on Paddy. After all it was the bookies cash and Dad was sure Paddy would give them a good run for their money.
Walking back to the mounting yard on his way to the bookies a close friend and fellow trainer walked up to Dad saying, 'You're not backing your bloke are you? He can't possibly win. I saw the one from Melbourne, Spear Arrow, work the other morning and it flew. Yours couldn't possibly beat it, mate. Be careful!'
Dad legged David Archer, the jockey, up and told him to do the best he could, promising him £50 if he did win. Down to the bookies Dad strolled, a little of the spring gone from his step. From the £30 he had won, he took and placed £2 on Paddy at 100 to 1.
The photo print shows Paddy winning from Spear Arrow by the smallest of margins, a mere whisker.
How that spring in Dad's step would have bounced if he'd placed the £30 with the bookie.
But Dad, not one to be overly concerned, said, 'There'll be a next time!'
There were many times, but never again at 100 to 1.
Remembering this story has brought a smile: horse-racing has been in our family for five generations. We haven't won millions or even thousands but we sure have had some fun. The horses become family. They're one of us.
As Dad used to say, 'Be kind to them and they'll be kind to you!'
© Jan Rodman
