ONCE upon a time there was a small town in the North of England which, by some quirk of fate, found itself to be the owner of a racehorse.
It turned out this was a very good racehorse and it began to win many races, despite having poor trainers and an ill-maintained stable. In fact it won so many races that the Cognoscenti, who were said to number 16,000, started to compare it with Red Rum.
After a few years, while the horse was still winning lots of races, the good Burghers of the town, known as “the Silly”, decided to sell the horse and provide a new horse for the town.
Some say, the horse was sold and the town ended up with a donkey.
Others say the horse was not sold and the good burghers of the town were shot instead.
I have tried to do some research on this story with my grandparents. Unfortunately they could not really remember the details. They seemed to recall that most of the town’s people did not really care what happened, so long as their television sets worked.
Is there any reader out there who knows what did happen? Perhaps there was a happy-ever-after ending, eventually.