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Goodbye Walthamstow - grand old track's loss is a body blow to greyhound racing

The Racing Post's Jonathan Hobbs on the closure of east London's favourite track

Walthamstow, for 75 years the home of greyhound racing on the Chingford Road and a major London landmark with its famous neon frontage, is due to close in August.

And greyhound fans are still coming to terms with the news.

While not always the sport's flagship venue when you consider the likes of White City, Harringay and Wembley dominated the London evening greyhound scene for much of the last century, it had nevertheless become the UK's premier track.

That mantle has now switched to Wimbledon - currently staging the Greyhound Derby - and it is now a case of The King is Dead (or rather dying), Long live The King. But before looking at whether Wimbledon can handle the mantle, let's discuss Walthamstow.

Opened by east London bookmaker William Chandler in 1933, the official opening saw Amy Johnson, the first woman to fly alone to Australia, as guest of honour. Walthamstow was big news then, and has continued that way ever since.

It entertained Hollywood stars of not just the 1940s and 1950s, but of the modern day. Brad Pitt, Claudia Schiffer, Guy Ritchie and Madonna were all guests of Vinnie Jones a few years back when the former footy ard man was himself big news in greyhound racing.

East End gangsters and their molls used Walthamstow to relax, or flaunt their wealth. A recent Betfair forum message asked whether the Kray twins and their cohorts ever went to the Stow. The answer seems to be yes. It was, after all, the place to be seen. And it still is.

The Ascot Suite boxes and Paddock Grill restaurant were ahead of their time. They brought greyhound facilities into the 20th century and came years before the changes and improvements made to Ireland's major tracks, like Shelbourne and Cork.

The Paddock Grill charged West End prices, but served West End quality food. It catered for celebrities and major owners, who would have their regular table with the requisite bucket of ice and champagne. It oozed class and tables were hard to come by.

Charlie Chans nightclub next door drew the younger crowds to come racing, especially on Saturday nights.

Walthamstow was that rare breed of track, before costly marketing campaigns and six-pack offers, that could count on a younger audience.

A night at the dogs was followed by a night in the club. Chans was a haunt of footballers from Tottenham, Arsenal and West Ham before their wages took them to the West End, and they would mingle with bookmakers and punters in the Piano Bar beforehand.

It was, in typical Walthamstow style, another place to be seen. Bookmakers would be old-school and dapper, punters from the smart-set and well-heeled. Just as Paddock Grill places were not easily won, neither was the velvet rope at Chans to pass.

But times changed, and while Charlie Chans had a lifespan only a very few, select nightclubs could boast of - it was open for 25 years - it was finally closed last year. The house of cards that was Walthamstow Stadium had begun to topple.

But if truth be told, it had begun a good few years earlier. Unlike in Ireland, where tracks are State-owned, tracks in the UK are owned by private concerns. And there was no more private concern that the family-owned Walthamstow Stadium.

The baton had passed from William Chandler down, through various stages, to several third-generation Chandlers. They now represented what is believed to be 25 shareholders in the company, not all of whom seemed fans of the business.

The 'third generation' ran a very successful business for many years, it should be remembered. They presided over the jewel in greyhound racing's crown when White City and the other London tracks closed. And every night was an occasion.

The track itself took only minimal marketing. The name Walthamstow itself lured thousands through the gates every week, and film and TV directors used the track on a regular basis. So, too, the world of music, Blur and E17 most notably.

But the third generation needed the fourth to be interested. The sons and daughters of the management were expected to inherit the business, and drive it forward. The Chandler name, famous in gambling circles, had given the track a rock-solid foundation.

Or so it seemed.

It is no secret that over the years, the families which made up the family, had grown apart. They are, quite simply, no different from any other family, and had different ideals and goals. Some were pro-Walthamstow, others less so.

Those cracks were probably not helped by the increasing value of the land Walthamstow occupies. Even before the awarding of the 2012 Olympics to London, or rather the east of London, the land value was high. It would become higher, pre-credit crunch anyway.

The temptation to sell was great, just as it must be for any other business which occupies a large area of land in a residential area, be it pub, garage or football club. When property values are high, greyhound tracks are vulnerable.

Business has to be good to withstand it, but also requires the determination to grow it. Walthamstow could have become a gambling or leisure emporium. It had the potential to part-develop as Shelbourne has done with the far side apartments overlooking the track.

But the clamour to do that was minimal seemingly amongst shareholders. The silent minority ultimately won the day with the decision to sell. Matching the value for property development against how the business was running was now key.

And for one reason or another, the business became less profitable. Figures the Chandlers had been used to began to dip, and a series of cost-cutting measures were implemented. The numbers were not adding up, although crowds seemed to hold up.

Huge nights like the finals of the Grand Prix and Racing Post Festival finals night rolled back the years, but the momentum from those could not be kept up. The management, the racing, the bookmakers and betting exchanges were all blamed.

Everyone now harked back to the 'good old days'. The battles on the track, Ballyregan Bob versus Ballintubber One, greyhounds like Waltham Abbey and Sard. Punters taking on the Jenkins brothers under the John Power banner. Another night, another story.

Many have argued that Walthamstow was built for a different era and, perhaps, did not move with the times as much as it could. Some believe that to be a cheap and lazy shot, others agree. But chances are the reasons behind its demise are far, far more complex.

What is certain is that, in recent years, it was in terminal decline. Prize-money levels were almost embarrassing compared to other tracks, despite the fact that it attracted the cream of the country's trainers to the track. But that is, or was, the lure of Walthamstow.

As with the case of a terminally-ill relative, the loss, while expected, is still hard to come to terms with. And that was the case Friday last when a statement of intent was passed to the Press. The track had been sold for redevelopment.

It was, or will be, the end of an era. Plans for the track to close in August are to allow staff, trainers and greyhounds to find alternative employment and tracks, while a benefit meeting for its retired dogs, those not switching venues, has been scheduled for June 7.

For all greyhound fans, Walthamstow's impending closure is sad and devastating really. It has brought us a huge number of memories, but now requires us to say goodbye, with an extremely heavy heart. At least there is time to do that, which Catford's faithful were denied.

As for the industry's future, it remains solid if reeling from a body blow. Greyhound racing is a cash-rich industry, but requires leadership now more than ever. Other tracks may be lost in the months and years to come, but various projects are now being mooted.

All is not lost, and the terrific fare at Wimbledon is proof that the sport itself will survive. A sea-change is required, the type of which revolutionised the sport in Ireland for instance. One man racing his dog against another, with the rest of us betting on the outcome.

You can't beat it.