Thoughts and Observations- Ask Maureen April 2024
Hello Dear Readers and welcome to April:
And to our ever changing weather system. When I was a girl we could rely on our seasons being just that, reliable. However just lately we have storms with names not heard of in the UK until recently.
Spring has always been seen as a time of renewal, with soft April showers and the promise of summer just around the corner. However for now we must contend with high winds and lashing rain that flood our farming fields and play havoc with sowing time.
The only ones who seem unperturbed by this are the growing number of ducks, that have taken to swimming in the many deep ruts, created by the farmers heavy machinery, at the end of our little track where I have the good fortune to live and look out on.
Please God, I hope our weather improves:
That said, April is also the time and in my opinion, the most dangerous time of the racing season when The Grand National horse race is run. Yet for some punters, and race goers, its deemed the most exciting time. The Grand National. With its high fences, deep ditches, and gruelling distance, that only the fearless of jockeys wish to race around at great speed. It was always a tradition in our home when my Mum who was not a gambler had a go on the national. Like many Liverpool families.
The bookies were inundated with the hopeful amateur’s who risked a bet of 50p each way, or the more optimistic who placed a £1 to win. We never attended the Aintree racecourse, where the National was run. Not unlike the throngs who travelled by air, train, coach and car to be there. Our Hotels and B and Bs were bursting with happy race-goers, come tourists keen to sample Liverpool’s metropolitan scene. And the glamorous amongst us who dressed up more for Ascot, than for “Ladies day.” This attraction always drew a crowd and commentary.
It occurred to me when an acquaintance of mine informed me that she hated the Grand National, and that two lovely thoroughbreds had to be put down, destroyed, the day before the National was due to be run.
I like the rest of the healing team, were present at our healing day; and for the first time ever, It had not even occurred to me that it was on that Saturday. How strange I thought it never entered my consciousness.
And it started me thinking.
Like a flash it came to me.
How civilized are we really?
I likened the National to that of the Romans who in their Coliseums kept their fighting men. There they would train their prize winners.
Like we train our thoroughbreds, to the standard NOT unlike that of a famed, and prized footballer, who is trained to perform on the playing field; winning admiration from all, when he/ she scores the winning goal.
And as the favourite passes the winning post and the proud owners, strut their winner into the winning circle, there to be photographed and interviewed for television, for prosperity, eventually holding up the prized cup, and of the course the coveted purse that their animal/jockey earned them.
Money, fortune, fame. Interesting combination, and we call this sport!
The Romans trained their slaves to fight in the arena. Hoards of crowds gathered, watching the spectacle, as man fought man, muscle agility and cunning had to be part of their armour their defence, whilst wielding the most horrendous, hideous, wounding, weapons. The victor living to fight another day. The loser often given the thumb down doomed to death. The punters and owners settling their wagers at the end of the games. Their blood sport!
Are we not unlike those Romans? Maybe not as bloodthirsty.
Yet for the National punters an outsider at 50/1 might just get them into an unexpected sweat, an uneasy excitement, of apprehension and fear, tinged with the expectancy of collecting their winnings.
These beautiful beasts are lined up for the starters orders and they’re off. Racing around the track hooves kicking up sods of grass, their nostrils flared, their eyes blinkered so that they can only see what’s in front of them, as they career around the course, their hearts beating like mad, as they carry their whip handed riders towards the finishing line, if they’re lucky enough to get to the finish.
Do we really care for them, are we bothered, or just like me did it not enter our consciousness, or do we just want to win our bet no matter what the cost. As the screaming crowd go mad as they hurtle to the finishing line. What about those who view the race from the comfort of their sitting rooms nestled on their favourite armchair
Have we become so desensitised that it just as we expected to see on our television screens. Only pausing for a moment to say ah h, when we hear that a horse had fallen and had to be put down. There is no sentiment added to this statement. No one wants to ruin everyone’s fun. And the incident is immediately forgotten.
Picture courtesy of Cindy Kuiphuis
The winners still jump for joy, the losers discontented, you can hear them complaining in the beer tent, or later on in the pub, tearing their tickets up in disgust.
I’ve heard them all, You have probably; you heard it too. Including those who participated in the factory / office sweep. Exclaiming “ oh mine had three legs, or mine fell at the first, bummer. Or mine was last,the horses are walked away to be hosed down after building up a sweat, and pampered until the next race meeting is due.
I have never really given horse racing much thought. I have never had my conscious pricked or awakened to this horror. I stopped putting my 50p each way, a long time ago. Not a tradition I kept up with. Though now and again I would give a thought to how I disliked horse racing, game shooting, hare course racing, and fox-hunting. Some of these so called, blood sports have now been banned.
I wonder how long it will take before society realise that horse racing for money should be banned too.
They say a country and its society is judged by how they treat their peoples, their young, old, frail, and infirm. And how we look after the animal kingdom.
Some may say but the horses love to run, and race about, and many do show-jumping and dressage. A far cry from steeple chases and placing bets.
I know who are winners are. And it’s not the horses. Even when they no longer can race, they are put out to stud, ready for the next batch to be trained up and raced.
Im sure when God asked Noah to collect the animals two by two, God did not have their future marked down for blood sports and money sports.
How does that saying go. The root of all evil is money, or the love of it.
Can man love God and mammon. Surely he would love one and hate the other.
What do you think?
Remember dear friends these are my thoughts, they crept into my consciousness.
I felt they deserved an airing. Please let us know whether you have enjoyed this article, or not. We welcome your feedback.
We the team are happy to announce that our next big healing day is to take place on Saturday the 20th July At Crosby Library Liverpool Road Crosby.
Entrance is free where a number of healers will be available to you.
We would also like to introduce you to our British Language Signer Alan who will be happy to meet you and your family if B.S.L. is your given language. Or is your interested in taking up sign language.
Be kind to one another, and remember a problem shared is a problem halved.
Until next time
Love Maureen x
Title picture courtesy of pixabay.
