IN 1987, I made my first trip to Aintree on Grand National day. It was jam-packed, as you would expect, and the atmosphere was boisterous but it was a wonderful place to be for a racing-mad teenager. That year is memorable for a few reasons (apart from Everton winning the league): the tragedy of Dark …[Read More]
THE scream was piercing. Then there was silence. The remaining horses had already streamed over the Canal Turn but most people’s thoughts and hearts were back at Becher’s Brook. The screaming woman was now in tears. Real, stinging tears. And she was not alone… This was 1987. It was my first Grand National. But to …[Read More]
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