Unlike flat races, which are almost exclusively started with the horses loaded into a line of special starting stalls, jump races begin with the horses walking or jog-trotting towards a tape. When the starter is satisfied that all are ready, he lowers his flag and releases the tape, usually when the field is still some five or ten paces behind the official start point. Such was the case in this race, with the five coming forward together in a single ragged line.

As the starter dropped his flag, I could see the royal-blue-and-red-halved colours of Plantagenet King being rather slow away compared to the other four, who set off at a tremendous gallop down the hill towards the first flight of hurdles. By the time the five of them passed the grandstand for the first time, Plantagenet King was still in last position about three or four lengths to the rear of the leader.

As they swung away left-handed to start the final circuit, the horses climbed steeply and, if anything, he fell slightly farther behind. By the time they reached the top of the hill, still some seven furlongs from home, he was adrift of the others by a good six lengths.

Catterick has a well-deserved reputation as being a track where it is difficult to make up ground on the opposition. The sharp corners, combined with the fact that it is mostly downhill from the beginning of the back straight all the way to the finish line, mean that frontrunners historically do better here than, say, at Cheltenham or Hexham with their testing final climbs to the winning post.

Based on his previous form, Plantagenet King had started the race as the short-priced bookies’ favourite, but I could see, quite early on, that its backers were going to be disappointed.

The jockey did his best, kicking on hard in the final few furlongs, and riding a finish for all he was worth, but he had left the horse far too much to do. The damage had been done in the early stages.

He finished second, beaten three-quarters of a length by Peter Minter riding the fifteen-to-one outsider of the five.

I went down from the grandstand and stood by the rail of the winner’s enclosure, waiting for the connections of the first three to arrive.

Harry Asquith led his vanquished favourite into the space reserved for the runner-up, his solemn expression in stark contrast to the glee of Peter Minter as he rode into the winner’s spot. Minty clearly hadn’t been expecting to win, and I sceptically wondered if he had been the only jockey not in on the fix—that’s if a fix was in fact the case.