Open the Door to Lady Luck

My Uncle Arthur was  a golden shower of light shining over my childhood. Coming home from school and finding him in the kitchen having a cup of tea with my mum was like a party. She would be spluttering into her tea giggling at the things he said, they looked like two children.  He was her big brother, about thirteen years older, he was born before the First world war and she was born six years after so they had had two very different childhoods, but that's another story.  

Often they would talk about horse racing, they loved horses, their conversation peppered with words like, having a flutter, odds and each way, the names of the race courses, York, Aintree, Ascot, Goodwood. My mum loved reading out the names of the horses. Uncle Arthur went to the betting shop every weekend and had a flutter. 

He sometimes placed a bet for mum even though Dad would make out he didn't approve. He thought money should be earned. My sister and I had to earn our pocket money, he even paid us threepence to scratch his back. He was a big man and we would pummel away revelling in the freshly washed smell of his shirt and the tang of his after shave and the faint hint of cigarette smoke and beer if he had been  to the pub.

Every Friday evening dad and Uncle Arthur would stop off on the way home from work at the Dashwood Arms and have a pint and Uncle Arthur would choose his horses and place his bets. Dad and Uncle Arthur were like chalk and cheese but they thought the world of each other. They addressed each other as Lord or Sir and it was a joy to be with them. Our Auntie Deidre came sometimes to have tea. Uncle Arthur said she was his stooge, her mock severity allowed him to be the funny one. Auntie Deidre would roll her eyes when mum and Uncle Arthur collapsed in laughter over the names of the horses. Once she led me out into the garden and whispered to me that brothers and sisters needed to be left alone sometimes, they needed to have a laugh and remember what it was like to be children. I liked that. I liked to think of them as children like me and my sister Susie, finding everything funny.

One Easter holiday Uncle Arthur came round and said he was going to bet on the Grand National. We knew this was at Aintree. He said it was going to be his lucky day, he could feel it in his bones. Mum got out the paper and read out the names. My sister, who was nearly thirteen and had been pestering mum to let her wear stockings instead of socks, was going through a sulky stage and didn't want to join in. Uncle Arthur looked at her, sprawled over the armchair and biting her nails.

'Let's let Susie choose the horse shall we? ' Amazingly she perked up and sauntered over to look at the paper. Mum read out some of the names. Susie peered at the paper,

'That one.' She pointed to the paper. 'Foinavon, one hundred to one.' She sat down again, a defiant look on her face.

Mum pushed the chocolate biscuits towards her, 'Oh Susie darling that's very unlikely to win, choose another one.'

Uncle Arthur made a few suggestions. 

'I think I'll have Popham Down ' he said, mum giggled like she always did,

'Ok Arthur I'll have Honey End, ' she said and handed over her money. 

'If Susie really wants this Foinavon , it's her money she's wasting.'

Susie pouted. Dad came in,

'What's going on? Are you leading my girls astray Arthur?'

'Come on Henry, it's the Grand National. Last year I won enough to buy Deidre a new handbag. It's a bit of fun. Let's open the door to Lady Luck shall we.'

Dad grinned, 'ok Lord Girling, but you'd better hurry up, the betting shop closes in an hour.'

Susie went off and came back with our pocket money that we kept in a toroise shaped money box.

'Here you are Uncle Arthur, sixpence each way on Foinavon for me and Jeanie,' she nodded her head at me and I felt truly blessed to have been included, I was totally in awe of her.

On the day of the Grand National we all sat round the telly. Mum had made a cake, it was on the table with all the plates and forks ready for teatime. Auntie Deidre had brought sandwiches, mustard and cress and salmon from a tin. She went into the garden to deadhead mum's roses. She wasn't interested in the horse racing.

Dad leaned back in his armchair with the paper over his face and his braces hanging down.

'And they're off,' shouted mum and she and Uncle Arthur started moving their fists up and down and leaning forward.

'Come on Honey End, ' shouted mum

'Come on Popham Down' shouted Uncle Arthur..

I started to try and imitate the commentator talking really fast, but then ... 

"Rutherford  has been hampered, and so has Castle Falls; Rondetto has fallen, Princeful has fallen, Norther has fallen, Kirtle Lad has fallen, The Fossa has fallen, there is a right pile up ... And now, with all this mayhem, Foinavon has gone off on his own! He's about 50, 100 yards in front of anything else!" (Description of the chaotic scene at the 23rd fence of the Grand National of 1967, by commentator Michael O'Hehir)

There was silence in the room as we stared open mouthed at the screen. A jumble of horses and then Foinavon in the lead .. and he won.

Susie jumped up and down and screamed, our old dog Droopy woke up and starting barking for the first time in years.

'He's won, he's won!! At a hundred to one:! How much have we made Jeanie? Go on you're the brain, how much.?'

Auntie Deidre came rushing in to see what the commotion was. Susie linked her arms and twirled her round, 'We've won we've won at a hundred to one.'

Auntie Deidre looked across at Uncle Arthur. He'd gone very quiet. Dad appeared from behind his paper. Mum picked up the knife to cut the cake and then put it down again.

Uncle Arthur stood up.

'I'm sorry girls, I didn't think for one moment Foinavon would win. I didn't place your bets, I'm so sorry.' He looked so forlorn and embarrassed mum stood up and put her arms round him.

Dad started laughing, 'You're lucky they didn't have much in their piggy banks. If they had washed my car this week, then you'd be sorry.' 

Susie, Auntie Deidre and me went to put our arms round mum and Uncle Arthur,

'Let's have a bundle' said dad, enveloping us all in his strong arms.

'It's your round at the Dashwood Arms next week Arthur. And we'l take all four girls and you treat the ladies to sherry, and Susie and Jeanie lemonade and crisps!'

'Well, that teaches me a lesson, and I'll never forget the Grand National of 1967' came Uncle Arthur's muffled voice from the bottom of the pile.