A place that represents much of what is important in the jumps game; Alastair Down travels to Wincanton, which yesterday staged its opening fixture.

Byline: Alastair Down

AS YOU thunder towards Wincanton down the A303 you pass on your right, about a mile short of Stonehenge, one of Britain's truly curious living memorials to the past.

To 99.9 per cent of the motorists hurrying along this artery to the west, the land bordering the road has just a few groups of trees, albeit some of them mighty tall and mature.

But the trees are not from the random fall of beech mast or acorn, for these are the Nile Clumps, planted not long after Nelson's death at Trafalgar in 1805 to commemorate the exact formation of Nelson's fleet and that of his French enemies at the the Battle of the Nile, where Nelson won his great victory in 1798.

The world-famous tourist fleshpot of Stonehenge was built for the reasons of the moment and the demands of the time by those who lived on the great plain. But the Nile Clumps were planted not for the benefit of those alive at the time, but for generation after generation to come.

Of the 31 original clumps, less than 20 have weathered the two centuries since. But since I heard the tale when a small boy I have never driven past without being struck by the vision of those who planted to preserve forever part of a heritage and a culture they believed to be important.

And yesterday Wincanton, getting on for 100 years old, opened its new season with a day of no momentousness whatsoever, yet one that will have been of very considerable importance to any successful owner, trainer or jockey.

The notable thing about the day was not the quality of the racing, but the very fact that it took place. Few courses sum up everything about the importance of keeping the jumps culture alive better than this unremarkable patch of breadboard-flat Somerset land that has such a passionate following among locals and those who love the gaff and come from further afield.

Urban sophisticates who know the price of everything and the value of nothing sneer at simple country folk who work hard to keep places like Wincanton thriving and make special efforts to support it because it is part of a bigger picture that they value and wish to see prosper.

So-called 'clever' people in their City techno-garrets would scoff at some of the broader accents, ruddier complexions and far-from-cutting-edge fashions on display at Wincanton. But as debt - corporate and national - spirals out of anyone's control and the dole queues lengthen, the simple certainties of Wincanton look infinitely preferable to the institutionalised rapacity that characterises the City.

The all-weather at Wolverhampton fulfils a function, but it has no pretensions to being part of a way of life. It is there to generate betting turnover pure and simple and provide a decent night out. Nothing wrong with that, but rural jumps courses are part of the social fabric of the countryside, in which the complex relationships between the land, its humans and animals are still vastly important, both economically and in terms the way life is lived.

Rather like that far-seeing landowner who thought planting the Nile Clumps was a thing of value in itself, jumps supporters are not solely driven by the greedy imperatives of the moment but of the need to preserve a sporting culture - not as a potential source for future profit but as something that is a life-enriching activity that brings out more of the good in man than it does the bad.

AT WINCANTON yesterday, trainer Michael Scudamore had a double, and he must be at least the third generation of the family to perform that feat at this place, and I will bet they have not finished yet. It is all about the continuum.

By pottering about at minor days like this we keep the sport healthy. We can't do much about other people destroying swathes of society's fabric; all we can do is try to preserve our own little neck of the woods to keep it for those who follow. Every generation has its trees to plant.