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Racing Ahead

READERS’ LETTERS

Fiddler’s Rickety Horsebox
On a bracing Monday morning, In 1962,
Our vapoured breath hung in the darkness;
Light had not yet broken through.
As sounds of hoof falls, snorts and coaxings
Broke the silent early day, We led the horses up the ramps, To soon be on our way.
Alf, Des, Ali, Dave and me And the horses in their places, In Fiddlers rickety horsebox we Set out for Epsom Races.
Lady Luck’s supreme in racing. Whether she’d grace us who could say, But Alf, the driver, laid a fiver On us having a win that day.
On board we had the horse, Peg’s Fancy...

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