There were tears by the bucketload in E17 last night – and not because Brain Harvey and his chav mates had re-formed their boy band. The locals were crying into their beer at the fact that hordes of marauding Hoxtonites in skinny jeans and sporting retro sports bags had invaded their beloved dog track. The former owners were gutted that the crowds that had been staying away from Walthamstow for years, necessitating the sale of the track, had finally returned. The aforementioned ‘trendies’ were braying loudly as their 20p ‘reverse tricasts’ were continually obliterated in a collision of canine fur at the first bend. On a personal note, I was gutted that somewhere that had featured so heavily in my life was to close at the end of the week.
It was a surreal night all round. Walthamstow Stadium was heaving with TV news crews interviewing members of the group campaigning to save the stadium (Save Our Stow), and photographers taking pictures of old men studying dog-eared copies of the Racing Post, betting shop pens behind their ears – the anachronistic survivors of dog racing's golden era.
The Hoxtonites took to cheering the tractor as it circled the track smoothing the sand between the races, to the bemusement of its driver. The four remaining bookies were equally astounded that they weren’t the only ones bearing satchels, although theirs weren’t Dunlop models costing 30 quid a pop. Then halfway through the evening, the leader of SOS, greyhound trainer Ricky Holloway, grabbed a microphone and gave an impassioned plea for support. This was followed by 100 of his cohorts parading around the track chanting 'Save Our Stow'.
As I touted my camera round every nook and cranny, I found myself putting on a broad Cockney accent and saying things such as, ‘I’ll have a jacksy on the two dog at burlington bertie’, as if to prove my credentials. I sounded like a cross between Frank Butcher and John McCririck.
I may work in the media and have a Tintin-style haircut, but I’ve been coming over the Stow for years, don’tcha know. I’m not one of these Johnny-come-latelies. My dad used to import greyhounds from Ireland. He owned three that used to race here, and as a child, I remember our sideboard being adorned by various tankards that Double Contact, Road Tax and Ginger Kentucky had won. The Paddock Grill restaurant was apparently my parents’ second home throughout the 1960s, and it was also the venue for my 18th and 30th birthday celebrations. When I was a teenager, at a time when I worked for Ladbrokes, I was in the popular enclosure every week. We even hired one of the stadium’s swanky suites to commemorate my parents’ ruby wedding anniversary in 2003. As they say, you don’t appreciate what you’ve got until it is gone.
But all may not be lost. The Save Our Stow group is confident that it can buy the stadium back from the builders, even though the asking price is thought to be approaching £32m. They must have an awful lot of cabbies onboard. Waltham Forest Council has called the development company in for a meeting next week. There is also the small matter of the iconic facade of the stadium, which inspired the artwork for Blur's Parklife album, being a listed building.
The next instalment in the saga will be at noon on Saturday, when the campaigners will be marching from the stadium to Walthamstow town hall to hand in a petition. I think I might just them – it sounds a lot more worthwhile than watching West Ham lose at home to Wigan.
Perhaps they will get to Stay Another Day after all.
