Bet on a horse I dreamt about

On the night of the first Tuesday in June 1969, I dreamt I was standing in a field with a small man in a flat cap and jodhpurs beside me. We were watching a bunch of horses galloping right to left, and one horse was out in front. ‘That’s Pentland Firth,’ he said. If he runs like that tomorrow, he’s going to win.’ I hadn’t hear of the horse, and imagine my surprise when I saw it was a starter in next day’s Derby. I put my pocket money on it, each way. In the end, Pentland Firth came third, passed in the last furlong by Roberto and Rheingold. But when I saw the race on the news, it was exactly as I had viewed it. Don’t know who the little man was, though. He was very nearly right. I also knew when my father had dropped dead, 2000 miles away, and knew that the Queen Mum was dead ten minutes before someone phoned and told me

– Hilary Paipeti

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