It was a freezing cold
winter’s day but the dog needed a walk and I needed to sate my recent appetite
for historical sleuthing, so I persuaded the wife there would be a good walk to
be had around the Wakefield 41 Industrial Estate. This was the site, see, of
Wakefield’s very own racecourse in the 18th century. I’d also found on
Google Maps a scrap of green land in the middle of the estate so Ellie (the
dog) should at least be happy, even if the wife wasn’t.
I set the sat nav for Grandstand
Road. This long straight barren route through Wakefield 41 is now
the only evidence that a
racecourse stood in this area of Outwood. Part road, part dirt track, we parked
somewhere along the middle of its length.
I had been hoping to find
some evidence of exactly where the grandstand had stood, but I’d come up blank
so far.
It’s probably under
Morrison’s distribution centre or such like. So in the middle of Grandstand
Road would be where we began our short walk.
Racing began in Wakefield,
it seems, even before the course was opened in Outwood. The first racing we
know of was in 1678 south of the town in the low lying area of the Ings, but
after a few years local landowners shouted, ‘Get orf my land!’ so another
location was sought. Elevated ground at Outwood was chosen. The particular area
of Outwood was called the Lawns, or Laundes, which actually means a clearing in
the wood.
Best guess for when racing
began at Outwood is between 1745 and 1750. The place really took off, but less
than 50 years later the Killjoys made their presence known again. George III
was on the throne when the Wakefield Enclosure Act came into being in 1793 and ‘No
Trespassing’ signs went up all over the countryside. Presumably, the local
landlord wasn’t a fan of racing – or had at least lost a packet at the bookies
– because that was one of the things that got knocked on the head as a result.
We can be confident that the Outwood Races were a big deal because the grandstand was, by all accounts, something to be seen. It was designed sometime in the 1740s by noted Wakefield architect John Carr. He designed several grandstands in his time, including one for York racecourse. In fact, the old grandstand of York – since replaced – was based on his Wakefield design, so he must have been pretty pleased with it.
The substantial red brick
building was decked out with a plush interior and had three terraces, which
were, for a time, frequented by a multitude of Yorkshire’s fashionable and
rakish folk. As I walked down the dirt track of Grandstand Road, I tried to
imagine the loud cheering and pleading that went on here over 200 years ago, as
men in top hats and women in bonnets waved their betting slips, urging their
horse down the long home straight. I found this was a little hard to do with the
sight of fork lift trucks whizzing and beeping around the forecourts of ugly
grey warehouses, but it was worth a go.
The scrap of greenery I was looking for so Ellie the Boo could have a run around eluded me, but we found a pathway off Grandstand Road behind the warehouses that looked like it would do for the rest of our walk. The Boo was happy sniffing dog piss in the long grass and I was still lost in my reverie of horse races past.
I finally snapped out of it
and tried to get the wife interested in why we were here by talking about the
grandstand and what happened to it when its primary use was lost. It had
several new purposes, such as being the venue for the Wakefield Florists’
Society’s first three shows from 1807-9, but for many years it was just a farm
building, as the surrounding land became part of a noted fruit farm, before rhubarb
became king in the area.
As a farm building, it must
have had something of the Grand Designs about it, if it was converted to a
dwelling for people living on the farm, as it seems. Like all big old houses, however,
maintenance was no doubt a nightmare and during a bad storm in the 1910s part
of the roof blew off. Soon after, this grand old building was, sadly, completely
knackered and the decision was made to demolish it. It
didn’t go without a
fight, though. The walls were found to be so sturdy that pulling it down in the
usual way was too difficult and the old grandstand had to be blown up, but not
before its many fine oak beams and timbers were spirited away. I hope they were
salvaged to be used in other buildings in Wakefield. Imagine if a house in
Wakefield has an original beam from the racecourse in Outwood.
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| Dave will be happy to answer any logistics queries you may have |
This last thought seemed to
pique the interest of the wife somewhat. Some people get excited by watching 22
men kick a bag of wind around a field (me) and she gets excited by the thought
of oak beams and associated house design. There was plenty for her to look at
too as we walked behind the varied houses of Outwood, many large with enormous
gardens. Shame they’ve got a view of huge corrugated sheds and stacks of wooden
pallets, as well as having the train mainline from Leeds to London within easy
earshot, but the place seemed quiet enough when a train wasn’t whoosing past,
rattling the windows.
Light snow was starting to
fall and it was getting colder, if possible. Never mind, we were back on
the roads now and surely into the final furlong. That was, of course, a
deliberate reference to the racecourse, of which I have two more things to add.
After the Outwood course closed, the Earl of Strathmore tried to revive racing
in the town by starting the Wakefield Grand National in 1847. The course
started at Sandal Castle, had 53 fences and was four miles long. Where the
finishing line was I’ve no idea, but it was clearly a roaring success as it
only ran until 1849.
The other matter to
mention, albeit briefly, is that the area of the racecourse near the grandstand
was supposed to be haunted. The Green Lady of Lawns was a well-known story in
the area and she was supposed to mooch about near the grandstand after dark.
This, of course, was a load of bollocks because all ghost stories are, but
there were surely plenty of people who believed in it, as there always is with
this kind of thing.
I was on a Jack the Ripper
walk once in London and the guide tried to convince me that there was such a
thing as poltergeists. He made out that he was as cynical as one could be about
this kind of thing until he saw a load of objects flying around a room on their
own. I had two thoughts about this. One, you’re a man who wanders the streets
of Whitechapel after dark escorting tourists around sites where grisly murders
took place. You’re exactly the type of person who’s going to believe in ghosts and
the like. Two, what a waste of time poltergeists are. What’s the point of making
stuff spin around a room? To scare people? Is that all they want to do with
their time? Ghosts and all your ilk – stop wasting our time!
We now needed to find the
shortest route back to the car. I was leaning heavily on my stick and my legs
were their customary consistency of unset jelly after this short kind of walk.
I consulted Google Maps on my phone while my wife breathed down my neck. The
roundabout we were on was displaying an impressive lack of signs giving names
for any of the four roads that met here. The snow was coming down heavily by
this point and, as I wrestled with gloves and trying to keep my phone dry while
attempting against the odds to find our bearings, the Fates decided that now
would be a good time to start an argument.
“It’s got to be down
there,” said she, pointing down one of the roads.
“I
think you’re right, but just give me a minute to check.” I wanted to be absolutely
sure we were heading the right way. This is the problem with having walking
difficulties. You can’t afford to go wrong. “Is that a road sign over there?”
“I’m
telling you it’s down there.”
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| Grandstand Road in soft focus... due to shaking from the cold |
Then the real fun starts. I
have the map on my screen and am scrolling with my finger when she says, “You
need to go up, go up.” So I scroll up with my finger, which means the map heads
south. “No! Go up, up! Why do you never listen to me? You’re doing the exact
opposite of what I said.”
To go ‘up’ i.e head north
on the map, you need to move your finger down on the screen. I try to explain
to her that this is what I thought she meant, but she’s having none of it. This
is where many of our arguments start. She has a very clear notion of what she
means in her head, but can’t see that what she says can be interpreted in more
than one way. But of course, she’s not able to defend herself here. She’s
probably right that I’m just an idiot who doesn’t listen.
I insisted on crossing the
road and seeing if that was indeed a sign saying what that road was called. It
was and I was able to work out that yes, it was down there like she’d said all
along, which made her despair of me even more.
Soon the car was in sight
and we would be heading home. I wonder how the crowds at Outwood Races came and
went. The train station is only up the road, but unfortunately that mode of
transport was some way off being invented at the time the races were being run.
I guess there must have been a lot of horses with carriages. There’s only one
thing you can be sure of: when couples of the 18th century left the
races after their day out, they argued about the quickest way back to where the
carriage was supposed to pick them up.
POSTSCRIPT
Since my visit to Grandstand Road, a friend has
brought the website old-maps.co.uk to my attention. It’s a bit cumbersome to
use – at least if you don’t want to part with any money – but I was able to
establish exactly where the grandstand had been and confirm when it was
demolished. The oldest map for the Carr Gate area on the site is from the early
19th century when the grandstand was very much still there, despite
the racecourse being no more, then the grandstand is gone on the maps from the
late 1920s.
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| I called Integrated Logistics about sponsorship options for the blog. They told me to go away. |
Comparing the old maps with
modern maps is not straightforward, but my best guess for where the grandstand
was positioned is south of Grandstand Road and just north of Telford Way, just
east of where the John Menzies warehouse is today. My idle speculation that it
was under Morrison’s distribution centre was actually not that far wrong,
although, interestingly, there’s a good chance that nothing has been built on
top of where it used to be. It looks to be just a grassy area between
industrial buildings. So, I will have to go back now. Who knows, there might be
some kind of evidence of its former existence, such as some foundations. I’ll let
you know if I ever find anything.
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