Gillingham & Shaftesbury Guide January 2020

A Day at the Races by Rik Lonsdale
‘You’re looking very dapper today, Mr Johnson.’
Johnny Johnson smiled. He was pleased the young woman serving breakfast remembered his name.
‘Thanks very much… err…’
‘Claire, it’s Claire, Mr Johnson.’
‘Ah, yes, of course, Claire. Thank you, I like to look the part, you know.’
He was wearing his best tweed jacket with a tweed tie over brown corduroy trousers and polished
brown brogues.
‘Where is it today then?’ said Claire, filling his cup with tea.
‘Cheltenham today, beautiful racecourse. Very popular.’
‘Cheltenham, fancy, that sounds posh.’
‘Have you ever been racing... er’
‘Claire. No, I’ve never been, you’ll have to take me one day, Mr Johnson.’
‘You wouldn’t want to go today; it’ll be very cold.’
After breakfast Johnny donned his sheepskin coat and trilby hat and headed for the entrance.
‘Mr Johnson, would you like coffee before you go?’
Coffee sounded and smelled good. He had time.
‘That would be very welcome. It looks a bit chilly out there.’
Johnny took a newspaper from his coat to study form in the racing pages.
‘Have you any tips for me?’ said Claire, putting a mug of coffee and a plate of biscuits beside him.
Johnny tapped the side of his nose. ‘Between you and me, I rather fancy Bombadier Bill in the 2:30.
Should romp home.’
He took out a pencil to circle one or two race picks, but it was blunt. I’ll just have to remember, he
thought. The chair was comfortable, and Johnny relaxed and closed his eyes.
A gentle rocking of his shoulder woke him.
‘It’s lunchtime, Mr Johnson, there’s soup and a sandwich ready.’
‘I’ll miss the first race,’ he said, ‘but it’s always a novice’s race.’
After lunch Johnny again donned his coat and hat. He tried to push the entrance door open, but it
wouldn’t budge.
‘You need to pull it, Mr Johnson,’ called Claire.
‘Of course, thank you, er… miss,’ and Johnny pulled the door open and stepped outside into the cold
air.
Johnny walked down the long garden path, past lawns and flower beds, to the wrought iron gate. He
pulled it open and stepped on to the pavement. He stared in confusion at the traffic hurtling by, at the
people rushing along. The noise crashed into his ears. He didn’t hear the ‘excuse me’ and ‘mind out’ of
people squeezing past.
Someone jostled him. ‘Get out of the way, old man,’ they called as they rushed on.
Johnny turned and saw the peaceful garden beyond the gate. He needed to get out of this chaos that
surrounded him. He walked past the flower beds and lawns. It seemed to be a hotel. He walked into
reception.
‘Hello Mr Johnson,’ said the receptionist, ‘how was
Cheltenham?’
Johnny paused a moment, looking confused, then
remembered his manners and took off his hat.
‘Very good, wonderful racecourse you know, bit chilly though.’
‘Would you like a nice cup of tea?’
‘That would be very kind, thank you, miss…’
‘Claire, it’s Claire Mr Johnson.’
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