At 43 years of age I am never going to be able to offer any personal insight into the Racecourse; the course sadly ceased trading nine years before I was born. However, that has never stopped me thinking of what it must have been like to visit, and after spending a huge chunk of my childhood in nearby Romney St at Nana Norbury's, I feel somewhat envious of those of a certain age, able to reminisce with fondness of times spent in and around the track.
I guess the first bone of contention is in the naming of the course (more on this later), for the purpose of the article I follow literary protocol/cowardice by naming it as Manchester Racecourse
I have visited in excess of sixty racecourses encompassing all these shores have to offer, and jaunts over to Ireland have seen me enjoy thrills and spills in Limerick, Dundalk and County Kildare. I have stood in the parade ring at Longchamp to witness Kieron Fallon draped in an Irish flag, return victorious aboard Dylan Thomas at the 2007 Prix de l'arc de Triomphe.
I booked a ridiculously short, albeit thoroughly enjoyable, five-day trip and took my mother to California to see the Breeders Cup in 2012. It is fair to say I have invested a lot of time and money into the sport I love so much and, with no desire to appear egotistical, I feel it is a fair bet (no pun intended) that if there is anything worth knowing about horse racing, then I am probably aware of it.
Delving into the history of Manchester Racecourse is certainly a pleasure and not a chore. The stranglehold of the internet allows each and every one of us the ridiculously easy ability to download the facts. Numerous sites will tell you all you need to know about its history, location, races staged etc. Knowledge is power and the importance of this can never be under estimated. I take my writing serious, but I am not a serious writer. I wish for everything to have a relevance without the reader reaching for the paracetamol after the first paragraph.
My aim is not to bombard anybody with statistics but to call upon the residents of Salford (past and present) to say what the Racecourse meant to them and theirs. I do however have to talk a little about certain things engrained in its history, and this brings me first and foremost to its title, that being `Manchester' Racecourse.
The naming does not sit comfortably with proud Salfordians and I sympathise with them to some degree. A huge bulk of its history shows racing took place in Salford, and although our city centre lies within close proximity of its last staged venue at Castle Irwell, Salford is a city in its own right that never perhaps got the recognition it deserved for being the home of racing, 'til its demise over fifty years ago. Is it Manchester or Salford Racecourse? I can assure you the answer is not divided in these parts.
I enlisted the help of family and friends to help provide the fuel for this article and it is the help of Auntie Barbara I call upon to the witness box first. I say `box', maybe upturned milk crate is more appropriate in this context as this was my earliest memory of the tic-tac man stood aloft on the aforementioned, but sadly no longer seen at any racecourses.
"I went to Broughton High School and recall being able to view the horses from the classroom window" she recalls "The black GIs were stationed at Castle Irwell whilst the white GIs were stationed at Burtonwood Air Base. This is not a tale of colour, I am just telling it as it was in those days".*
I have had to tread very carefully in selecting the right people to approach when asking for contributions to this article. With the course closing in 1963, mathematics told me I needed to approach people of at least sixty years of age. Replies of `How old do you think I am!' have been volleyed back to me far too many times. Mathematics was never my strong subject.
Earlier newspaper articles show Betfred supremo, Fred Done, traded at the course in his early days, and is on record as saying it is a great shame that Manchester no longer has its own racecourse. Castle Irwell was the first site to provide hospitality via corporate boxes, a fact unknown to many yet, sadly, it was not long after these were implemented that the track closed down.
Memories of the old Whit Lane area Salford
I have enlisted the help of members of the above social media site and it is them I thank for providing individual insights into their memories of the Racecourse. Many evoked happy times as children that brought them back (if only momentarily) with their parents. Everyone of a certain age appears to have a tale to tell of the racecourse that sadly, no longer is.
John Catterall recalls "kids go-karting within the course, and sitting on the white bridge watching them...they say things were different then. Nowadays in such a security conscious world, this would probably not be allowed on grounds of health and safety. Having said that, when was the last time anybody seen a homemade go-kart?"
Joan Alice Parker recalls tales of "budding young entrepreneurs charging racegoers a "small fee" in return for making sure that when they returned to their car it was in the same condition as when they left it", and here was I thinking protection rackets were a thing of my generation!
Elaine Coleridge, administrator of the Whit Lane site, provides further trips down memory lane of jockeys boarding at the Beehive public house on Holland Street, of which she recalls with regularity her mother saying they don't eat enough to "fill a sparrow", sadly something that is still a peril of the job.
Jean Davenport remembers the less regimental managers from local soap factory Cussons, organising days out at the races for workers, as a reward for their efforts.
Roger Cooper lived in nearby Thursfield Street, and recalls back in 1946 being able to see the horses in full flow (albeit momentarily) from his bedroom window. I take this chance to thank Roger for the newspaper cutting he provided me with, which helped eke out more research for this piece.
Paul Davies recalls perhaps the most humorous of accounts, about the array of buses lined up between the Griffin public house and St Boniface's church ready to take racegoers to the course. As the `clippies' would be taking their fag break, Paul and his army of dirty rotten scoundrels would try and outdo each other to see who could `bus-hop' the most vehicles without attracting the attention of the conductors.
Tony Martin (Salford lad) but now residing on the West Coast of Canada says: "I vividly remember whenever I stayed at grandad's (Ted Mather) I would look out of the bedroom window, as living on Littleton Road I held the perfect vantage point to overlook the racecourse".
Tony recalls an old 303 rifle being stored in a cupboard and, amongst friends, he would practice shooting the riders whenever they came into view from jumping a fence. To ease the mind of the most gullible of readers, it should be noted the gun was not loaded.
It is whilst enjoying libations in the Waggon and Horses, Irlams o' th' Height, that I engage in conversation with a Mr Topping who I notice is contemplating a bet himself. I inform him of the article I plan to write, and, whilst shy at first, he revels in telling me the story of days gone by when then landlord of the Robin Hood pub, Manchester Road, Clifton, bought a horse off a local bookie with a well prepared plan to run it in a feature race at Castle Irwell. The horse (running in thick fog) eventually appeared out of the mist to come home victorious to land a well-executed coup and regulars witnessed the landlord nail a generous amount of fivers above the bar.
Many people when sharing their memories with me, described in varying detail the eccentricities of a gentleman that research leads me to naming as Ras Prince Monolulu. He was a figure regularly seen on British racecourses who, for all intents and purposes, became quite a celebrity. His background is as colourful as the finery he wore on track. He was said to be married six times, although I have no evidence to support this. I am sure true Salfordians will have welcomed him with open arms and I can only imagine the banter between the locals and this John McCririckesque tipster.
Tales like these will resonate with so many local residents and I am sure I could have provided many more but I drew the line at door-to-door canvassing! Drinking and racing go hand in hand for me which I unashamedly admit. There is nothing more I like than a pint within the course or at a nearby pub or both for that matter, which brings me conveniently on to engage in conversation about the Racecourse pub on Littleton Road...
Back in the early 70s I used to walk past this place with nana and never batted an eyelid, I was more interested in visiting the local shops nearby, and adding to my collection of football stickers that came with the free chewing gum.
We would enjoy regular jaunts to the paper shop near O' Connors butchers. Mr O' Connor was a man who fascinated me and I am sure he is a name many will be able to familiarise with. I remember being in awe of him as a kid, fascinated by his white overalls and booming Irish accent and to this day, reliant on memories, I could probably narrate a worthwhile piece on him alone. "That you here for your `rodi' bacon Annie?" he would ask nana.
Twice within the last six months I have taken a trip to the Racecourse pub to try and get an insight into what a feel of the place would have been like on race day. I am reliably informed the pub once lay encased within perimeter railings of which there is no sign of today. In fact anybody like myself entering with illusions of grandeur, expecting the pub to resemble how it was when the racecourse was trading, will be disappointed.
Many local residents of a certain age will already be aware of this. I have had many people tell me it is just like it was when it was full of racegoers. This is quite simply not true. Sure there are things that still remain.
"The leaded windows at the front of the pub are still intact, and much of the interior wood panelling remains the same if somewhat relocated", says the ever informative bar manager.
Entering via revolving doors takes you to a plaque detailing previous winners of the infamous Manchester Cup, from 1930 till the course closure in 1963. The last name inscribed being a certain Mr L. Piggott for his win aboard Espresso. There is limited racing memorabilia within, but the framed History of Horse Racing in Manchester is worth a detailed look, if only to notice the misspelling of legendary Australian jockey Scobie Breasley.
Not for the first time, I have been given some privileged information but this bears no resemblance to punting. Areas of this magnificent pub remain condemned upstairs but there is hope of it being returned to its former glory. There have been talks to again provide accommodation at the pub in the same rooms that did just that, from when the course itself was in operation. Some artefacts within those rooms have remained intact and I for one will be making a booking to stay should this information be deemed correct.
I feel a little cheated that we don't have or never have had, a racecourse in my city during my lifetime. New buildings (many with a lack of charm admittedly) are erected with regularity, so is it unreasonable to expect a racecourse not be within an investors compass? I certainly hope we can look forward to one on our doorsteps in the not too distant future.
I am sure Salfordians would relish the chance to show the southern softies that anything you can do at Royal Ascot; we can do better...
*The book Forgotten: The Untold Story of D-Day's Black Heroes, at Home and at War, by Linda Hervieux (published by Harper Collins) does delve into providing some credence into this claim regarding the separation if not the location.
I'd like to thank Geoffrey Travis for providing and allowing me to publish colour photographs taken from his cherished family scrapbook.
*For details of John Norbury's book, Finished Last at Folkestone: One Man's Ambition to Visit All 60 UK Racecourses – click here
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