In the heyday of Amateur Racing in Singapore, we used to saddle up the horses at the Bukit Timah Saddle Club and walk them a mile from the club’s stables to the mounting enclosure of the beautiful old Bukit Timah racecourse to do trackwork. Walking 50+ fit racehorses to the track was an exercise in itself. Grooms had to work hard to stay in control of their horses, super fit and ready to run, as they were.
One day, as the horses were being saddled and almost ready to leave for the track, a car drove into the stable yard, ignoring the big NO ENTRY sign. Not a good idea, if you can imagine 50 primed and adrenaline-pumped racehorses facing a car.
The grooms started yelling at the driver to get out of the stables, but with his air-conditioning on and his windows up, he happily ignored their entreaties to get f*ed.
The BMW drove up to the horses, scattering them from his path and earning himself more epithets than a wanker in a porn store.
It took a clever racehorse to halt his progress. When the BMW got within range, a big bay gave it one swift kick, taking out a headlight. Sightless, the BMW stopped. The driver had the good sense to stay in his car and slowly reversed out of the yard. He parked his car and strode purposefully into the clubhouse to lodge his complaint.
Accompanied by a young lady in a flowery dress, toting a Chanel handbag, they announced their presence in the clubhouse.
“A horse kicked my car. Now my headlight is broken. The horse did this. Who is going to pay me?”
The jockeys in the clubhouse were getting ready to leave to ride trackwork. Nobody had time to get into an argument with this belligerent man. None bothered to reply.
“One of your horses kicked my car, one of your horses kicked my car.” he yelled. “Who is going to pay me?”
“My car has been damaged by your horse. I am going to make a police report and take the owner to court.”
A wise old jockey, Bob Tan, raised his head and looked over to the gentleman. “Yah. Good idea. Don’t forget to put the license plate number of the horse when you make your police report.”
Bewildered, the gentleman couldn’t answer.
Bob shrugged his shoulders and left for trackwork along with the rest of the riders.
The gentleman, the lady and her Channel bag, and their BMW eventually left the club, never to be seen again.
Photo Credit: Deb Moor
