Hoorays at the elementary Canal

WALKING up to the Canal Turn at Aintree yesterday the thud of axes and the buzz of chainsaws filled the air. But it was not animal rights activists dismantling the famous fence - just a troupe of Welsh axemen performing for the crowd.

The Canal Turn is a kind of racecourse within a racecourse. It has its own atmosphere and traditions, and they are quite different from the crush and hurly-burly of the Aintree grandstand. There are no banks, no executive boxes, no women in smart anoraks handing out free cigarettes. At the remotest corner of the racecourse, it feels like a little country race meeting with only one event on the card.

There was a beer tent, a short row of bookies' pitches, a hot dog van - and that was about it. A young Sloaney crowd brought picnics in the back of their GTIs and Range Rovers. They wore Barbours and tweeds, fake policeman's hats and little green badges that said "I was at the Canal Turn 95".

"I'll give you a quote," said Harry, a tall chap in a rowing cap with a plummy accent: "Life is a perpetual holiday." "I'll give you another," said his friend James: "Trust funds are for life." You get the picture.

The axemen chopped away, to the minimal interest of the crowd. The PA announcer broke in. "If I could just interrupt the axemen for a moment, there is a message for the Ernst & Young team from Manchester, who had got separated ..." Presumably Ernst was at the Canal Turn while Young waited in vain at Becher's.

The Grand National is the only race that passes the Canal Turn - all the other contests take place practically out of binocular range and the Canal crowd relies on the sepia images of the big screen in the infield. Naturally, as the big race drew nigh the crowd scrambled for good vantage points. The roof of the beer tent was a popular choice.

This was unfortunate, because as the race started with a roar in the distance, the beer tent collapsed with a crash. It was a nasty moment, and as police ran across the track to the rescue the race was almost forgotten. But it was quickly clear that there were no serious injuries, and attention returned to the track as the leaders approached.

Royal Athlete was already prominent as the field flew past in a hail of flying twigs, and poor Miinnehoma was obviously in distress at the rear of the field. As the runners headed back towards the grandstands, pursued by yelps and cheers, the crowd debated the order in which they had passed. Meanwhile, The Committee, minus his Japanese rider, trotted in little circles in the infield.

Next time around, Master Oats led over the reconstructed Canal Turn fence neck and neck with Royal Athlete. But once again the crowd was distracted, as the riderless Young Hustler and General Pershing failed to make the turn and ploughed through the running rails in the corner. Thank goodness, the security fences, installed with another purpose in mind, protected the spectators from injury.

As the loudspeakers tinnily conveyed Royal Athlete's distant triumph, ambulance men patched up the walking wounded in the wrecked beer tent. It was a miracle that no one had been seriously injured. The atmosphere may be convivial, but the Canal Turn is not a safe place to watch the Grand National.