A small choice. And the universe is kind. And The Ducking Stool wins at Yarmouth.

As the afternoon lengthened and ran away from me, I had a choice. I could stop and write a good blog, or I could do something nice for a young fellow who is devoting every moment of his spare time to helping other people.

The something nice turned out to be knotty and time-consuming, mostly because of some internet glitches and my own lack of organisation. It involved photographs, and going through the archives, and because I rarely prune, the archives are like vast, rambling basements of some mythical British Photographic Society, winding through the subterranean spaces of an endless city.

Actually, in the end, the choice was no choice. The good young fellow won. So now it is almost time for The Archers and I have my usual brain stop.

The funny thing was that the universe generously rewarded me for listening to my better angels. (I did almost send a procrastinating email.) In amidst the long day’s work and the wrangling with the unwieldy mass of pictures and the dashing to the field to see to the little herd, I took a couple of moments to watch a couple of races.

My darling old favourite The Ducking Stool, a chestnut mare with a white face, not a million miles from Red in looks, beat off all comers to win at Yarmouth. I’d backed her at 10-1 from sheer sentiment, and she should not have won on the book, but her good heart and her love of the seaside carried her home. Even better, it was one for the girls, as she is trained by Julia Feilden and was ridden by a 19-year-old apprentice called Shelley Birkett, who beat off several older, race-hardened men in a strong finish. (The sisterhood in me loves this kind of thing, especially in an industry where the colts and the gentlemen still often hold sway.)

Then, another pair of my favourites, Wicklow Brave with the brilliant amateur Patrick Mullins on board, put their very noses in front in a thrilling, storming dash to the line and triumphed in a close photograph. I am so vague that often I forget I have done bets in the morning, and put them on again in the afternoon. It turned out I had goofily backed Wicklow Brave FIVE TIMES, and also had him in three delightful trebles. So I can now pay for the winter supply of hay which we must get in for our own dear girls.

It felt like a little reward for not giving up on the knotty problem and finally managing to send the good young fellow what I had promised.

But it means that there is nothing left now for you, except this rambling and quite possibly miss-spelt little story. (I always make howlers when I am tired.) Still, the Dear Readers have been extra dear lately, and I know you will understand.

As for photographs, I have nothing for you, but this most beloved, most blinky, most beautiful face:

A small good news story about The Young People

Posted by Tania Kindersley.

Tired today. Insomnia last night, which always leaves me feeling like an idiot. So this post may not make much sense.

To take my mind off the sordid details of the Barclays scandal, I had a quick peek at the afternoon’s racing. I had a little bet on a very nice sort called The Ducking Stool, and she duly romped home in the sunshine at Yarmouth. (It was the merest coincidence that she happened to be a bonny chestnut mare, not a million miles away from my very own Red.)

She was ridden by a young apprentice I had not taken in before called Shirley Teasdale. She sent the mare off in front, which was obviously where she liked to be; she was bowling along with his ears pricked. The thing about front-running is that you have to time it exactly right, and know the horse, and what it is capable of, otherwise you run out of petrol and get caught close home.

Teasdale not only timed her run to perfection, but when The Ducking Stool was tiring a little towards the end, and another horse was coming at them, she did not panic. Many young riders would. Teasdale did not start flapping about or scrubbing away; she stayed beautifully collected and kept the horse balanced. This is incredibly important, because otherwise they can break stride and lose momentum.

Dear Ducking Stool turned out to be a game and genuine mare, and, with her excellent rider keeping her straight and up to her work, she flashed past the post half a length in front.

It was a very happy thing to watch. It’s lovely to see a young apprentice doing something so well, and especially a female one. Racing is still very much a man’s business. I was so impressed, I sent her a little tweet, congratulating her on her cracking ride.

Just now, I got a reply. It was thanks to the very gutsy horse, she said. I went and looked at her timeline. A few people had also sent congratulations. Teasdale had not only replied politely to them all, but she gave credit to everyone but herself - the trainer, the team, the horse.

I tell this little story not so much because it is about horses, but because it is a good news story about The Young People. One of the things that makes me cross is the bashing of The Young People. They are often portrayed in the media as a bunch of internet-addicted, illiterate, workshy disappointments, not like the excellent young people of an imaginary golden age which exists only in the heads of the sentimental and nostalgic, the kind of people who start sentences with ‘in my day’.

Here is a young person who not only works very hard in a difficult job which pays very little and is exceptionally hard to break into if you are a female, but is very skilled at it, and tremendously polite to boot. I hope that Mrs Teasdale could watch her daughter’s triumph today. She must have been very proud.

 

I found the most enchanting picture of the dear Ducking Stool on the blog of her trainer, Julia Feilden. I hope she does not mind me using it. Since this blog is the spiritual home of the chestnut mare, it feels appropriate:

And here is Shirley Teasdale, who is going straight onto my one to follow list, along with William Buick and Richard Hughes:

See how neat and balanced she is. Really impressive.

 

Just time for my own little champions:

The hill: