At the Newmarket, it was the oldest one in town, the farmers came with horse and cart selling their produce Their women folks sold thick long underwear, handy in winters when the North-westerly blew. Over the scene of banter and friendly business hung the aroma of horse and the whiff of a wee dram. The change to modern time came slowly at first some farmer had bought trucks it was easier that way and warmer too. Then one day there were no horses left exhaust fume and rain time was going a little faster no time for a chat, and I was fifteen and had other interests. It was the work- horses that made the Newmarket more pretty. Oddly enough the iron rings on the fence where horses were *******, are still there⦠waiting for the warm breath of a steed.