The King and Di.
A Cup Day to Remember
The rain was relentless that morning, drumming against the city streets the day before the 1985 Melbourne Cup.
Whispers had already begun — the track would be wet, perfect for What A Nuisance, our outsider who loved a soggy course. Suddenly, against all odds, it felt like he might actually have a chance.
The air was electric with possibility, thick with the scent of damp earth, and every drop of rain seemed to whisper: maybe today, the improbable could happen.
Meanwhile, at the restaurant, Gowings, East Melbourne, those pink-hued walls glowed under warm, golden light, and damask-lined tables were draped in pristine linen.
Our fabulous dinner-suited waiters — who taught me everything I know about front of house — moved with quiet precision, balancing silver trays and the fish of the day; every step a careful choreography. Certain tables carried prestige — Table 1, Table 7 — whispered about by staff and patrons alike, a mark of influence and expectation.
It was a stage. A club. A special occasion. And, as you’ll read, a sanctuary.
On this day, in this land of opportunity, it was also a place of hope — a place of what if.
A living story etched in every corner, in the gleam of polished stemware, in the hush and hope of victory.
The clouds opened, and the heavens poured.
Yet amidst the downpour, my father’s voice rang out with that familiar half-laugh, half-challenge tone:
“Open another bottle of champagne!”
Because that day wasn’t just any day.
That day was destiny.
The Long Shot
Our horse: What A Nuisance. A 15-to-1 chance. But he loved the wet. He thrived in it.
We woke at dawn. You could cut the nervous energy with a knife. We set off — puddles deep in the car park, umbrellas flipped by gusts, the air heavy with promise.
Before the mounting yard, we visited What A Nuisance in the stables. I looked him in the eye, whispered encouragement, and felt a certainty I couldn’t explain. I didn’t even want to place a bet — not out of caution, but out of fear that I might somehow jinx him. I just stood there, confident in a way that only comes from a deep, quiet knowing.
Years later, at the Melbourne Cup Parade on Swanston Street, What A Nuisance found me in the crowd. He twirled and circled, as if to say, remember me? Friends who joined me that day will never forget it — a horse that knew, a moment that stayed forever.
The Race
My dad and I found ourselves in the Owners & Trainers stand, his hand in mine.
The roar of the crowd.
The thunder of hooves.
The smell of earth and sweat and hope.
My eyes closed. His half-shut.
Time stretched in that blur of motion and adrenaline.
And then — he did it.
What A Nuisance surged forward in the final leg, caught the leader, and won by a nose.
Against all expectation.
Against all odds.
Because when everything is stacked one way, it takes the unexpected to win.
Royal Encounters
After the race, we moved like astonished ghosts.
The trophy was ours — but more than the metal and the flash, it was the story:
the underdog, the rain-soaked field, the long odds, the triumph.
Then came the exclusive meeting.
We were summoned upstairs, into a room where royalty stood.
Her Royal Highness Diana, Princess of Wales
His Royal Highness Charles, Prince of Wales
Elegant. Poised. Regal.
We shook their hands. They congratulated us. They offered polite smiles.
But for me — nothing could match the surge of elation I’d already felt moments earlier.
The Ride Home
My father, usually the pride of the press, for once didn’t want the spotlight, the paparazzi, the fuss.
He just wanted a quiet car ride — the Cup wrapped in yesterday’s newspaper,
and a limo burning down Toorak Road.
We celebrate the improbable.
The resilience.
The joy of an outsider winning.
An orphan, a 10-pound Pom.
Against the odds. Against expectation. Against the weight of history and circumstance.
Legacy
It wasn’t just the race.
It wasn’t even meeting royalty.
It was that moment of truth when the outsider wins —
when doubt gives way to wonder,
when the pauper outshines the princess,
when the man who would be King bows to the unexpected champion.
That day is etched in my memory —
in the clink of a champagne flute,
the muddy track,
the roar of the crowd,
and the quiet handshake with a real princess.
It lives in the heart of every underdog that dares.
And so, like years ago when ours found his chance in the downpour, today’s race holds the same shimmering possibility: that the long shot might just haunt the favourites.
🔗 Read the original story here
In loving memory of Dennis Gowing — 1930 – 1991
Always in my heart.
You writing is electric !
Beautiful story, we love the underdog or in this case horse.