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In October 1964 Mr and Mrs Bell took their son to Carlisle races for a birthday treat and then took him one day to Kelso races where he stood in wide eyed wonder by the big ditch past the grand stand at the colour and thrill of horses jumping fences and hurdles at speed.
That was me and I ran about daft in the silver ring as well, of course I did, but I became hooked on the game.
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For goodness sake encourage children to come, make it interesting for them by showing them the horses and saddling up and the rest. There are bad kids of course, but just as many in my branch of Morrisons on a Friday.
Amen to that. Mum and Dad Column still regale visitors with the tale of me and little brother being taken to our first race meeting at Wolverhampton in March 1983 (at eight and six and a half respectively), picking up dozens of spent betting tickets off the floor and then disgorging them from our pockets on the train home. In between the silliness, however, I found the racing utterly compelling.
Heaven forfend that I’d have been deprived by the racecourse of the opportunity to enjoy its entertainments out of some fear I might have behaved like – shock horror – an eight-year-old.
All the same, I’m certainly appreciative of play areas, entertainments, etc. at courses for the benefit of all parties. The fairground at Cartmel, in particular, does an exceptional job in keeping those youngsters determined to remain untouched by the racing experience at a respectable distance.
gc
Adoptive father of two. The patron saint of lower-grade fare. A gently critical friend of point-to-pointing. Kindness is a political act.
I’m glad I didn’t live in Hong Kong in the past seven years, Wit, as I’d never get to see the sports over there. I took my son from six to thirteen all over the country to the races and, for the most part, he enjoyed himself.
Educational too – I once sent him down the back line at Doncaster on Leger day to see if he could find any fifties on a Johnston animal. He had great fun, being seven.
He doesn’t like Market Rasen (bullies in the play area) and Nottingham (not sure why), but likes Southwell and Donny (good taste.) Plenty to remember too – we got flooded at Beverley, sunburned at Haydock, locked out of the car at Catterick, shouted at by stewards at Towcester and poisoned by bad curry sauce at Thirsk. Unfortunately, he’s a teenager now and more interested in (yawn) football – but without our kid friendly racing, I wouldn’t have had half as much fun.
I think we’re agreeing with the concensus here. The children that dont really care for the racing and do just become a hinderance to everyone else’s enjoyment is the fault of the parents of that there is no doubt
Personally I find badly behaved children less obnoxious and far less threatening/unsettling/depressing/anger-inducing than badly behaved adults, and there’s plenty of the latter at racecourses
I was denied the opportunity to tread the turf until comfortably into my teens – Newton Abbot August 1971 in the company of my trepidatious father; he quite enjoyed it, I was smitten and the love affair lingers forty years on
And seeing those youngsters on-course nowadays who are so obviously enjoying the atmosphere and experiencing that special sense of wonder only the noble horse can engender never fails to raise a smile or cause a slight welling-up in the rheumy old peepers
Takes me back doncha know
So, well said Bbobb, GC, Max and hear hear Carvillshill
Had the pleasure of taking my sisters kids to their first ever meeting at Limerick a few months back. It thoroughly added to my enjoyment of the day. Look forward to taking them again, as much as they do to going again.
The future of the sport.
Often take my daughter racing and she absolutely loves it.
I’m a full member at Cheltenham and will be taking her to the Sunday of the Open meeting as well as for the annual New Years Day fixture.
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