A few years ago I went to Newmarket to film a commercial at the racecourse. After seeing a schoolfriend kicked in the head by a horse at a school fair at the age of 11 I have had a slight fear of horses and their unpredictable behaviour, yet during my brief 3 day trip to the races I developed a fascination with these majestic beasts and became completely mesmerized by their grace and speed. I can't really describe the feeling, but I had a sort of surge of adrenalin watching them race around the track, their shiny coats and solid physiques glimmering in the sunshine.
Now I am not a gambler by nature, but I remember dreaming one night years before, that a man came to me and told me the name of a horse which, upon waking in the morning, I swiftly forgot, until I went to work the following monday and noticed one of the crew reading the race results tables. The name swiftly popped back into my head and we discovered that the horse did indeed exist and that it had won, at Newmarket the evening following my dream. You can imagine how annoyed I felt for not acting on the tip...
Two years ago I was filming at Sandown racecourse during a race. I decided to have a little flutter, but being broke at the time, only had £5 to risk as a bet. I couldn't decide which horse to bet on and went for the Jockey with the most attractive jersey. It won. I took home £15! I don't have a compulsive nature but I am beginning to wonder if there may have been someone up there trying to help me out. Believe me, I never win ANYTHING!
My dad has been researching the family tree and it turns out that my great, great, great grandfather was a champion Jockey called Nat Flatman. He started his career at the tender age of 15, raced for 34 years and won the title of British champion flat racing jockey 13 years in a row. He won hundreds of races here in the Uk and in France and is still remembered today for his riding skills. The portraits here were painted by Harry Hall and John Frederick Herring. One of them hangs in a museum in Newmarket.
Nat is buried at All Saints church in Newmarket, and the inscription on his tombstone reads that he was "known to be honest, sober, discreet and plain living". The town later named a street in his honour.
Now I know why I felt so strangely moved by my visits to the races. It's in my blood. Maybe Nat spoke from beyond the grave in my dreams giving me a tip, or came to say hello, or maybe it was just luck, or sheer coincidence, Who knows... I am just so thrilled to be discovering the fascinating history of my family and ancestors. We have found so many stories, some exciting and some sad, but I am loving every minute of learning where I came from and who I am.
