Letter From The Other Side by Cynthia.

Dear Del,

The last letter I wrote about the Melbourne Cup reminded me of other race meetings Teddy and I have attended.

Usually they have been country meetings, all very informal and relaxed affairs.

However when we visited Teddy’s parents in England for the first time in 1977 we decided to attend the Derby Day races at Epsom.

I wanted to have a day out and as it was a race meeting I could at least look forward to enjoying the sight of some open space, however small it may be.

I think I was feeling a little hemmed in at the time by the close proximity of housing and narrow British roads which made me feel claustrophobic.

Teddy wore a new pair of trousers, a fashionable pair of brown checked flairs. Remember the type? When my father-in-law looked him up and down, quite an effort for him as he was a very short man; he remarked candidly that Teddy would feel at home at the track as his trousers made him look like a bookie.

Teddy ignored him. His father was prone to making personal remarks to most people.

It was a warm day by English weather standards and I chose an outfit from the predominantly casual clothes I had packed to take with me. I hoped the dress wouldn’t make me look too much like ‘Tilly from the bush’ as my mother was heard to say about rather frumpily and unfashionably dressed women.

From memory, getting to Epsom was easy and by the time we arrived, there was already a very large crowd milling about and enjoying the sunshine.

As happens at the Melbourne Cup, the crowd was segregated by the capacity of an individual’s wallet. Probably, since we were in England, blood lines played as much role with the people as they did with the horses in the enclosure.

Either way, we joined the ‘plebs’ around the track.

Our view was limited particularly for me but we could occasionally hear the thundering of the horses as they flew past our area and the cheering from the stands when the race had finished. We had very little idea of the outcome of any of the races and could never hear what was being announced.

Sometimes a kind person would shout the name of the winner for everyone around us to hear.

I think I spent most of my time not having a clue of what was happening on the track but listening and observing the English having a good time in their natural habitat.

Because of the pressing crowd and warm day we consumed quite a lot of cool drinks and inevitably I began to search for the ladies conveniences.

The only ones I could see available were of the type our tradesmen call ‘thunderboxes’. You know those metal portable loos you see standing in a remote cleared area on building sites, looking all alone, rather lost and rejected like a metal mock-up of a Dr Who’s Tardus.

Well, when one is in need they are better than nothing.

Perhaps the organisers had expected a blizzard because there were only eight to ten of these boxes supplied for the enormous crowd around the rails.

Someone had seriously underestimated in the equipment hiring department because the queue waiting to use them was so long that one of the women who saw me looking toward the distant tail-end said as I gasped in wonder at the length. ‘Stand in line love, because if you don’t want to go when you start waiting, you will by the time you get to the front.’

The murmurings of agreement, discomfort and discontent were loud and colourful as we slowly shuffled forward unsuccessfully trying to keep our minds off the reason we were standing in line.

Some ladies were feeling extremely distressed and the comments became insulting about the male dominated lack of organizational skills which must have been responsible for the ever growing snake of aggrieved women.

Eventually, a marvellous woman a few yards ahead of me stepped out of line. She wore a beautifully cut beige linen suit, a fine broad brimmed expensively trimmed hat, lovely shoes and carried a matching leather bag.

“I’m absolutely fed up with this!’ She said loudly in a voice rich with the vowels and diction of the Home Counties type under extreme stress.

“I am fed up. I will not and cannot wait any longer.’

She walked across to the lines of parked cars, raised her skirt, and with a degree of modesty and aplomb I still admire, sat on the bumper bar of a highly polished four wheel drive and relieved herself.

We all clapped as she straightened her skirt, readjusted her hat, sighed with relief after waving to her admiring audience and disappeared back into the crowd. Many of us followed her example and the queue shortened considerably.

Amazing the things which can become the highlight of an outing isn’t it Del?

I believe a horse named The Minstrel ridden by the famous Lester Piggot won the Derby that year but that woman made my day.

I hope your horse won last Tuesday at the Melbourne Cup Del. Mine strolled along in the middle of the pack enjoying the scenery and admiring the legs of the filly in front.

From your slightly poorer ‘flower child’ friend

Cynthia.