SOUTH GRAFTON CUP

Presenters:  Sophie Grant and Jack Mercer

​

Funny how it worked out.

The two of us together for the last one before the boys give us all a break

Neither of us planned it that way. It just felt right when the schedule landed on Grafton.

We hit town at entirely the wrong time of year for jacarandas, technically.

The famous purple display doesn’t arrive until spring, but you could still see the shape of it everywhere. Streets lined with jacaranda trees waiting quietly for their annual show.

Jack reckoned even without the flowers there was something rather lovely about them.

Like a stage before the curtain goes up.

We spent a morning wandering through some of Grafton’s historic streets and buildings, past Christ Church Cathedral and Schaeffer House, before eventually finding our way down towards the Clarence.

And then there was the bridge.

Grafton’s old double-decker bridge carried road traffic and trains across the Clarence for generations, and standing beside that enormous river you begin to understand how much the town has always depended on the water running through its heart.

Jack found a pub, obviously.

I found a bookshop.

Equally obviously.

Some habits don’t change, no matter how many towns you’ve covered together.

We’d come for the South Grafton Cup.

But standing beside the Clarence, it occurred to us that we’d somehow reached the end of something much bigger than another race meeting.

Twenty Cups.

Twenty towns.

Thousands of kilometres.

Country pubs, old railway stations, beaches, vineyards, rivers, cathedrals, racecourses and one houseboat nobody particularly wanted to leave.

We’d met people along the way.

Some stayed for a town.

Some stayed considerably longer.

And not one place had been quite what we’d expected when we arrived.

That’s probably the best reason we can give you for doing it yourself.

Pick a Cup.

Give yourself another day.

And see what else you find.

Because that’s the last of the old Cups we’ve been asked to revisit this season.

From here, Sophie and Jack hand the road back to Kenny, Tommy and Finn.

The Cups still to come.

The fields.

The form.

The whispers.

And one by one, more horses trying to earn their place.

The road is narrowing now.

And somewhere at the end of it waits Randwick.

The Big Dance.

________________________________________________

​​

THE SOUTH GRAFTON CUP REPORT
12 July 2026

​​

Mr Chaplin delivers as the favourite when it matters

​​

Twenty Cups.

And after all those kilometres, Sophie and Jack found themselves together at Grafton for the last one.

Jack looked at the race book.

“Favourite?”

Sophie nodded.

“Number ten. Mr Chaplin.”

“Two-forty.”

Jack smiled.

“Finn would hate that.”

“He’d find something at twenty-six dollars.”

“Forty-one.”

They both laughed.

Some lessons from the road were apparently permanent.

Mr Chaplin was trained by John O’Shea and Tom Charlton, with Kerrin McEvoy aboard for the 1610 metres.

When the South Grafton Cup got serious, McEvoy brought the gelding into the race.

Fortune tried to stay with him.

Kronenbourg was fighting on behind them.

But Mr Chaplin had their measure.

McEvoy drove him clear through the closing stages, and the favourite finished the job by 1.46 lengths.

Mr Chaplin had won the South Grafton Cup.

And secured his place on the road towards the Big Dance.

Jack folded the race book.

“That’s twenty.”

Sophie looked back towards the track.

“Twenty.”

For a moment neither said anything.

Then Jack smiled.

“Pub?”

Sophie laughed.

“Obviously.”

And somewhere else, Kenny, Tommy and Finn were already thinking about the next one.

Because their twenty trips into the past were finished

But the Road to Randwick wasn’t.

Not even close.

​​​​