Since Merryman started 13-2 favourite, that was a satisfactory transaction.1977: Red RumOne of the great things about Red Rum, which maybe has been forgotten a little, is that apart from his own achievement, he was instrumental in helping save the National at a time when its continued existence was seriously in doubt. During a night with the brandy bottle at Nottingham, the bookmaker Jim Bailey laid me pounds 1,000 to pounds 28 Merryman for the National, plus a tenner at 5-1 for the horse to complete the first circuit. I'd tipped the horse in my Express column and I'd had a wager on him back in December 1959. Merryman was ridden by Gerry Scott, who rode with one arm immobilised by strapping as he was recovering from a broken collar bone. Merryman II had been a marvellous hunter chaser, and I'd advised his owner Winifred Wallace to send him to the trainer Neville Crump. He was no more skilled in twiddling knobs than anyone and eventually he shrugged his shoulders and gave up On big race day everything came right. As I was still grousing about it the second day, on National day itself the electrical shop was persuaded to send a technician to attempt to adjust the monitor, which was next to useless in daylight.

I spent most of the first day beefing to my producer about the absurd inadequacy of the monitor, an ancient set rented from a local electrical shop. That something sensational had happened was confirmed by Raymond Glendenning's commentary - and in an instant I had freed myself of headset and microphone and was racing back to the grandstand to get the story.1960: Merryman IIThe first televised National was always going to be fraught with anxiety. As the leaders made their way back towards the stands, and were swallowed up by the crowd, I could follow Devon Loch's progress towards certain victory watching the jockeys' caps above the heads of the throng - the Queen Mother's black with gold tassel being pursued vainly by the green of Mrs Leonard Carver, owner of ESB All of a sudden the black cap disappeared from view. In 1956 it was the bonnet which gave me at least a little elevation from which to call Devon Loch over the third last in the lead and full of running. Again there was no custom-built vantage point - not even a handy latrine - so the key issue was what sort of van the engineer had, whether he could accommodate me on his roof, or failing that, bonnet. Peter Dimmock, the long-time head of outside broadcasts at the BBC, still insists that I never stopped complaining about facilities, and I wouldn't deny it for a moment.1956: ESBThe year Devon Loch slipped up on the run-in, fifty yards from the line, handing the race to ESB.I was stationed at the 12th fence, which is the 28th, three from home, on the second circuit. Clive Graham, assisting me as race reader, likewise removed his shoes, though he wouldn't go as far as to take his socks off.

In order to get any purchase on the iron roof I had to take off my shoes and socks. Holding the microphone with one hand and race glasses with the other made for a very precarious position. Having persuaded an indulgent engineer to extend leads for both the hand-held lip microphone and the headset, I clambered up. But at that time there happened to be, near the first fence, a little latrine with a sloping corrugated iron roof. In those days you were expected to commentate standing on the ground, telling the story as horses fell at your feet - Russian Hero won this year.You could get no perspective as you could get no point of elevation.