Muted elation as racegoers throng S’pore Turf Club for the last time

The last race at Kranji has been run.

As a die-hard racing fan for longer than I care to remember, I was of course upset.

To be honest, I have been an infrequent visitor at Kranji of late, but I somehow got out of my lazy Saturdays to make it a point to pay a last visit.

So it was, on Oct 5, I abandoned the car and took the train from Bukit Batok to the Kranji station.

I knew that, on a raceday, there was no better place to get a feel of the occasion than on that train to Kranji. I had ridden it only a few times before and, with my fellow travellers being mostly racegoers, it was always non-stop horse talk.

We traded tips and stories – a lot of dull wit. Still, we laughed a lot. But that last time was different.

Some of the odd-balls were there but there was a sad silence as we rambled along. It was palpable. It was like we were, truly, on our way to pay a last visit to our favourite restaurant or bar closing down.

The short trip seemed to take ages and I was relieved when we finally pulled into the station.

Perhaps, I thought, the mood would be brighter at the racetrack. I could not have been more wrong.

The first race came and went. Same with the second, third, fourth and fifth.

Sure, there were some tight finishes and some cheers when a few favourites obliged. I lost a few bucks, but strangely remembered not feeling too hurt in the pocket.

I sensed little emotion among my kakis, too.

The end of a much loved sport like horse racing just did not make much sense to us.

We think we understand racing better than the average Joe next to us rooting for a no-hoper, but we never understood why our favourite sport was “put out to pasture”.

Just a year ago, horse racing and the Singapore Turf Club appeared to have turned the corner after the tough Covid-19 years of reduced racing.

That makes its sudden demise all the more difficult to fathom and accept.

There were no early signs or symptoms to prepare us for this sad and untimely event.

Perhaps, someone failed to realise that racing was a sport enjoyed by the common man as much as it belonged to the tycoons of business and industry.

Perhaps the powers that be also failed to realise that the world’s biggest races did not happen overnight – the Melbourne Cup, Kentucky Derby, Arc de Triomphe.

It took years and rituals. We were getting there. But it looks like some people have not read the room well.

If they felt there was nothing to gain from having a beautiful racecourse in the far north of our island, if they felt it was a waste of land space, how do you explain 10,000 people turning up?

The fact of the matter is we were on the right track. We had the jockeys, trainers, fans and some really good horses. And we had a fantastic set-up – as good as, if not better than, the best in the world. Now it is all gone.

I looked towards the mounting yard and to the majestic animals. Like old cavalry horses, I reckoned they still heard bugles.

Alas, on that sad Saturday, the only tune those beautiful creatures heard was “The Last Post”.

As expected, the mounting yard was packed with owners and friends of owners. Mobile phone cameras were everywhere.

Mustard coloured passes dangled from lanyards. Everyone, it seemed, wanted a selfie.

Over on the lawn, hanging over the railings or plonked on those yellow seats was the common man.

No dress code. Jeans, shorts, T-shirts, scruffy sports shoes. He just wanted to get his last chance to make some moolah.

Soon, it was 5.40pm and they were “off” in the big race.

As I watched them go a-gallop, their hooves pounding the turf with mechanistic precision, I tried to imagine they would go back to their stables and another lot will show up for Race 11.

Some two minutes later, it was over, and no horses were taken out of their stables again.

Just like that, the door was slammed shut and reality struck home. It had happened.

They had really and truly called an end to horse racing in Singapore.

I looked around. Sure, there were some signs of jubilation. But it seemed muted.

I glanced up at the private boxes and imagined hearing the clinking of champagne glasses. I imagined it being different up there.

In their pastels of the privileged, they would be scattered around the lounge, chatting and laughing.

To most of them, the enormity of the occasion will not hit home.

No horse racing? So what? Weekends could be spent going 18 holes at Tanah Merah, or cruising the southern islands in their catamarans. No problem there.

Not so, the regular Joe. The weekend races gave him hours of enjoyment.

They were his outlet from the humdrum of life’s cruel reality.

Now, he will probably have to spend his weekends moping and moaning at some stuffy void deck or coffee shop – wishing that he could once again ride that train with his buddies to Kranji.

It will never be. That Lazarus-like revival we had all hoped for never happened. So, what is my hope? 

Well, my fervent wish is that, decades down the road when – as promised – the area now occupied by the Kranji racecourse is transformed into something much loved by Singaporeans, my racing buddies and I will gather on a Saturday afternoon and look across the land.

We will point to where the finish post once stood. Someone will say: “Hey guys, remember Smart Star?”

The rest will chip in: “Ahh, yes, the Gold Cup of 2024. What an upset! What a ride! What a horse!”

And, standing with them, I will toss in my two cents’ worth: “What a pity it all had to end.”