UPWARDS, or THREE MILE WEIGHT-FOR-AGE STEEPLECHASE: and it was not until quite late that I realised with amusement that none of the races were handicaps. There were no questions at all about how many lengths a horse had won by, while carrying such and such a weight.
All in all, there was provision for scoring for any number of horses in each of more than eight hundred named races, and in an unknown quantity of unnamed races. Each race had its own set of weightings and very often its own set of questions. It had been a quite monumental task.
'It must have taken him days,' Ted said.
'Weeks, I think. He had to do it in his spare time.'
'They're not complicated programs, of course,' Ted said. 'Nothing really needing an expert. It's more organisation than anything else. Still, he hasn't wasted much space. Amateurs write very long programs. Experts get to the same nitty-gritty in a third of the time. It's just practice.'
'We'd better make a note of which side of which tape contains the Grantley Basic,' I said.
Ted nodded. 'It's at an end. After York. Filed under 'Z'. He checked that he had the right tape, and wrote on its label in pencil.
For no particular reason I picked up the other two tapes and briefly looked at the words I had half-noticed before: the few words Peter had pencilled onto one of the labels.
'Programs compiled for C. Norwood.'
Ted, glancing over, said, 'That's the first side you're looking at. Ascot and so on.' He paused. 'We might just as well number the sides properly, one to six. Get them in order.'
Order, to him as to me, was a habit. When he'd finished the numbering he put the cassettes back in their gaudy boxes and handed them over. I thanked him most profoundly for his patience and took him out for a couple of beers; then over his pint he said, 'Will you be trying them out?'
'Trying what out?'
'Those races, of course. It's the Derby next month, some time. If you like we could work out the scores for all the Derby horses, and see if the program comes up with the winner. I'd actually quite like to do it. Wouldn't you?'
'I wouldn't begin to know the answers to all those questions.'
'No.' He sighed. 'Pity. The info must be somewhere, but unearthing it might be a bore.'
'I'll ask my brother,' I said, explaining about William. 'He sometimes mentions form books. I'd guess the answers would be in those.'
Ted seemed pleased with the idea, and I didn't immediately ask him which he was keener to do, to test the accuracy of the programs or to make a profit. He told me, however.
He said tentatively, 'Would you mind very much… I mean… would you mind if I took a copy of those tapes?'
I looked at him in faint surprise and he smiled awkwardly.
'The fact is, Jonathan, I could do with a boost to the economy. I mean, if those tapes actually come up with the goods, why not use them?' He squirmed a little on his seat, and when I didn't rush to answer he went on, 'You know how bloody small our salaries are. It's no fun with three kids to feed, and their clothes, their shoes cost a bomb, and the little devils grow out of them before you've paid for them, practically. I'm never under my limit on my credit cards. Never.'
'Have another beer,' I said.
'It's better for you,' he said gloomily, accepting the offer. 'You've no children. It isn't so hard for you to manage on a pittance. And you earn more anyway, with being a head of department.'
I said thoughtfully, 'I don't see why you shouldn't make copies, if you want to.'
'Jonathan!' He was clearly delighted.
'But I wouldn't use them,' I said, 'without finding out if they're any good. You might lose a packet.'
'I'll be careful,' he said, but his eyes gleamed behind his black-rimmed spectacles and I wondered uneasily if I were seeing the birth of a compulsion. There was always a slight touch of the fanatic about Ted. 'Can you ask your brother where I can get a form book?' he said.
'Well
He scanned my face. 'You're regretting saying I could copy them. Do you want them for yourself, now, is that it?'
'No. I just thought… gambling's like drugs. You can get addicted and go down the drain.'
'But all I want-' He stopped and shrugged. He looked disappointed but nothing more.
I sighed and said, 'OK. But for God's sake be sensible.'
'I will,' he said fervently. He looked at me expectantly and I took the tapes out of my pocket and gave them back to him.
'Take good care of them,' I said.
'With my life.'
'Not that far.' I thought briefly of gun-toting visitors and of much I didn't understand, and I added slowly, 'While you're about it, make copies for me too.'
He was puzzled. 'But you'll have the originals.'
I shook my head. 'They'll belong to someone else. I'll have to give them back. But I don't see why, if copies are possible, I shouldn't also keep what I return.'
'Copies are dead easy,' he said. 'Also they're prudent. All you do is load the program into the computer, from the cassette, like we did, then change to a fresh cassette and load the program back from the computer onto the new tape. You can make dozens of copies, if you like. Any time I've written a program I especially don't want to lose, I record it onto several different tapes. That way, if one tape gets lost or some idiot re-records on top of what you've done, you've always got a back-up.'
'I'll buy some tapes, then,' I said.
He shook his head. 'You give me the money, and I'll get them.
Ordinary tapes are OK if you're pushed, but special digital cassettes made for computer work are better.'
I gave him some money, and he said he would make the copies the following day, either at lunch time or after school. 'And get the form book,' he reminded me, 'won't you?'
'Yes,' I said; and later, from home, I telephoned the farm and spoke to William.
'How's it going?'
'What would you say if I tried for a racing stable in the summer?'
'I'd say stick to farms,' I said.
'Yeah. But the hunters are all out at grass in July and August, and this riding school here's cracking up, they've sold off the best horses, there's nothing much to ride, and there's weeds and muck everywhere. Mr Askwith's taken to drink. He comes roaring out in the mornings clutching the hard stuff and swearing at the girls. There are only two of them left now, trying to look after fourteen ponies. It's a mess.'
'It sounds it.'
'I've been reduced to doing some revision for those grotty exams.'
'Things must be bad,' I said.
'Thanks for the cheque.'
'Sorry it was late. Listen, I've a friend who wants a racing form book. How would he get one?'
William, it transpired, knew of about six different types of form book. Which did my friend want?
One which told him a horse's past history, how long since it had last raced and whether its ante-post odds were less than 25 to 1. Also its sire's and dam's and jockey's and trainer's history, and how much it had won in prize money. For starters.
'Good grief,' said my brother. 'You want a combination of the form book and The Sporting Life.'
'Yes, but which form book.'
'The form book,' he said. 'Raceform and Chaseform. Chaseform's the jumpers. Does he want jumpers as well?'
'I think so.'
'Tell him to write to Turf Newspapers, then. The form book comes in sections; a new updated section every week. Best on earth. I covet it increasingly, but it costs a bomb. Do you think the trustees would consider it vocational training?' He spoke, however, without much hope.
