I'm going to contradict myself here. Well, sort of, anyway. I ended the chapter which I wrote before going to Towcester yesterday by implying that as long as the horse comes home safe, all's well with the world. George Washington's death had prompted that observation, and I should now be doubly mindful of it because there was a fatality in our race yesterday, as a mare fatally broke her leg passing the stands on the first circuit. So what I'm about to say has to be set against the background of Allouette coming home safe and sound, so I am aware that the day could have been a lot worse - but that's about all one can say about what was a thoroughly depressing outing.
Allouette arrived here last autumn, having had four outings on the flat during the summer. The highest top speed rating she had achieved in those was four races was 9. In her final start she had finished 15th of 15 at Redcar, beaten 56 lengths. In her penultimate start she had finished 10th of 10 at Newcastle, beaten 24 lengths. I was not happy with the muscle enzyme levels in her blood, but at least that made it possible to understand why she had been running worse than it should be possible for any fit, sound, healthy and willing horse to run. My suggestion was that she be turned out over the winter and come back into training six months later, when it would be possible to find out whether she really was that untalented. When she started being trained this summer, I wasn't optimistic because she did not seem to enjoy the life of a racehorse. However, in recent weeks she has finally shown some level of contentment with the role, and has learned to relax in her work and not worry about things so much. Recent gallops with Lady Suffragette and Take Me There had suggested that she should be able to run respectably, at a low level at least, and last week I enjoyed the nicest rides I'd ever had on her. It wasn't unreasonable to hope that she wouldn't disgrace either herself or, more pertinently, me at Towcester.
I'm afraid that the writing was on the wall as soon as we arrived at the races yesterday. As we unloaded her, it became apparent that she was awash with sweat from the journey over there: she'd obviously worked out she was going to the races, and was, to use an expression, shitting herself. As we washed her off in the racecourse stables, she was shaking. I was just so depressed. I felt we'd finally got her to the stage where she could enjoy the life of a racehorse, only discover that there was one thing we hadn't been able to address in the home environment: her fear of what modern jargon would describe as the racecourse experience. And I was bloody annoyed too: as I said to Emma, "This is a disgrace: no horse should have been allowed to get to the stage where he or she dislikes racing as much as this mare appears to". I just felt so sorry for her: she's a sweet mare, and she was so unhappy at the races yesterday, when it is something which basically a horse should be able to enjoy. She was surprisingly well-behaved in the parade ring, but jacked up going out onto the track. When she eventually did get down to the start, she travelled smoothly and jumped well for the first half of the race, but as soon as it began to become slightly harder work, she just jacked it in and dropped out. Tom (who rode her very nicely) wisely pulled her up before the second last hurdle when she was completely tailed off. She didn't tail herself off through exhaustion - although you obviously knew she'd been in a race, particularly because she was plastered in mud, she wasn't a tired horse, and her loins were hardly blown up at all, certainly a lot less than Take Me There's had been when he'd won easily two days previously - merely disinclination to become involved in the race. She isn't going to run again: there would be no point (although not because she is without ability, because she isn't), but she's made it quite plain that she doesn't want to race, and thus she'd never achieve anything. Well, perhaps 'never' is too strong a word to use, but it would take years to change mindset.
But what really depresses me is that, when I feel that we, by which I mean myself and the staff here, should be able to enjoy the satisfaction of a job well done, we can't. Quite the opposite in fact, as far as the world is concerned we've just done a very poor job. We've spent months preparing a horse for a race, and she hasn't even been able to complete the course, never mind do so in any respectable time. I was really proud of how we sent that mare to the races yesterday. She was fit and well. She looked well. She was working well and enjoying her work. Her jumping was excellent. And she had been far from easy to get that way. But, because of circumstances beyond our control - ie the mental hang-ups which had become inured in her brain prior to her arrival here - we just come across as a bunch of idiots. And that depresses me. Of course in theory it shouldn't, because the opinion by which you should set most store is your own, and if you believe you've done a good job, then that should be all that matters. But, of course, in practice that isn't all that matters, especially not when you're trying to run a business which depends for its financial survival on at least a few members of the world at large believing that you are competent. And, at a time like this when we are precariously short of patronage, that is something of which I am painfully aware.
Good - I've got that off my chest. I've bared my soul enough for one day, so I'll just move on to a few less serious topics before we have to ban this blog for being too depressing. I really enjoyed watching the televised racing from Aintree yesterday. I didn't see any racing from Galway, but I wish I had, as I think it would have made some interesting viewing. I know it's a stiff track, but 1:47.00 for decent older horses running over seven furlongs is truly remarkable. They don't even run that slowly in France. And if that doesn't give you an idea of the conditions, then how about a comment from the previous race, a two-year-old race over the same distance: "Second-favourite Invincible Joe, prominent early, was almost literally treading water in the final 3f"? And we thought conditions at Monmouth Park were about as bad as you'd get! It rained all afternoon at Towcester, other than during Allouette's race and for the twenty minutes either side of it, but I'd say we must have got off lightly.
What I have enjoyed, in addition to watching television, was reading Robert Harris' latest novel, 'Ghost'. It is outstanding. I'd rated 'Fatherland' as his best, but I think that this is as good. It was even better than the novel I'd read immediately previously, which was Peter Temple's 'In The Evil Day'. I think Peter Temple has only had three novels published in Europe, which is a shame as he's written more than that, and he's very good. The other two are both set in or near Temple's native Melbourne, but this is set in various locations around the world, none of them Australian. However, and this rather amused me, the author still shows his nationality with his use of the word 'but'. As you know, it is usual for anglophones who aren't Australian to place this word at the start of sentences or clauses. But Aussies put it at the end. Or perhaps I should, "Aussies put it at the end but". Or, as Temple would write, "Aussies put it at the end. But.". I find this really funny. It doesn't seem odd when he's using it this way in a novel set in Australia - certainly it doesn't register much on the scale of oddness, because there are whole passages of dialogue where the characters might as well be speaking Chaucerian English for how hard it is to understand what they are saying - but in 'In The Evil Day' it was very amusing, particularly when it appeared in dialogue of characters who definitely weren't Australian. Don't, though, let me put you off his work: he's an extremely good novelist but.
And, finally, I very much like the idea of Alan Taylor's trainers' race. There was one about eleven years ago. It was dubbed a 'midnight steeplechase', and was held at Moulton Paddocks in aid of the Bob Champion Cancer Trust. 'Steeplechase' was slightly misleading, as the jumps were straw bales, but the obstacles weren't the problem: the bends were the what were so frightening. And it wasn't at midnight, either, merely towards dusk. The race was over seven furlongs, which meant three times around the field, which was roughly triangular. When I arrived there, the jump jockeys' race was taking place, and I was petrified; they were going flat out, going round the bends far faster than common sense would say was prudent. I decided that I wouldn't try to win, but just aim to get round safely. But then I couldn't believe what came over me, because when we jumped off I threw caution to the winds, rode better and more bravely than I'd ever ridden previously, or have ridden since, and won the race, with Don Cantillon, who was disconsolate at not winning, a neck second. From memory, the other trainers who rode in the race were the late Phil McEntee and Tony Hide, possibly Paul Howling, and probably one or two others. So riding in a straight line up the Rowley Mile would be bliss. Funnily enough, David Hunter, the exceptionally nice clerk of the course at Fakenham who was extremely hospitable to us on Friday, was putting forward the idea of a charity trainer's race on Holkham Beach when he treated us to a drink after Take Me There's win. I'll make a few suggestions and see if anything could ever come of it. And, just before I close, I must add the lovely postscript to the Midnight Steeplechase at Moulton Paddocks. It was held in September, and in those days we used to have the AGM of the Newmarket Trainers' Federation on a Sunday evening in December in the offices of Rustons & Lloyds, the solicitors in the High Street. Tom Jones was still training at the time and was still chairman of the Federation, and afterwards he duly suggested we all retire to the Marlborough Club across the road. I don't think I'd ever spoken to him, and obviously regarded him with the awe that such a grand old man meritted, so you can imagine how proud I was when he came over to me at the bar and said, "I've been meaning to congratulate you on your win in the Midnight Steeplechase back in the summer: it was a jolly good show".
Monday, October 29, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
We've had a run of truly spectacular mornings, which sadly seems to have come to an end as today has the more usual overcast conditions. But those golden October morns were great while we had them. Frost, mist, a golden sunrise allowing the clearest blue to slip down from above to take over the whole sky for the day. And the sun didn't take long to warm everything up. It was a very special period of weather, which probably came to an end as we were driving home from Yarmouth yesterday at dusk, the whole countryside and sky becoming a hazy pink as the sun got lower - but by morning grey cloud cover, which had been absent for more than a week, had rolled back in, meaning we had a warmer dawn, but followed by a colder day, than had become the norm. Stupidly I didn't take any dawn photographs during the perfect period, which was particularly inexcusable because last Friday I rode the ideal horse from whom to photograph, Ex Con, who is great. Emma was out on the Heath that morning, because we had her friend Georgie Welch (pictured), a very good sculptress, staying with us and she was riding Panto, so we might get a shot of that exercise if we are lucky. If not, you'll just have to imagine what it was like.
Perhaps the best view we enjoyed of the Heath during the week, however, was on Friday afternoon, when we were lucky enough to spend some time in one of the boxes high up in the Rowley Mile grandstand. These really do provide the best view in the house. Georgia House Stud, of which Chris Dwyer is manager, was the sponsor of the two main races on Newmarket's Friday programme (one of them was the Darley Stakes, which wasn't sponsored by Darley, in the same way that the Godolphin Stakes at the previous meeting wasn't sponsored by Godolphin) and Chris was kind enough to invite us up to the stud's box. It was a glorious afternoon, and the view over the racecourse and Heath was breath-taking: it would have been worth going up to the top of the stand to see it even if there hadn't been any racing taking place.
Even so, there is no doubt about which was the best day at the races we've had recently: Kempton on Sunday wins hands down. And that is because the fun we had by being involved in what our jockey John Francome described as "the geriatrics' race". It wouldn't have been unrealistic in advance to think that we might have been going to provide the 'greatest jockey' with a winner because Brief Goodbye did look perhaps the classiest flat performer in the race - old Wait For The Will was in there too and he's been a grand horse over the years, but he isn't as effective as he was formerly - but as it turned out we were fated to finish a tenderly-handled sixth. Remark of the day was John's observation that "it was like riding in an apprentice race" as he unsaddled, having been very badly hampered on the final bend, after which he dropped back to last. After that he couldn't win, so he just let Brief run on home into an unpressured sixth, prompting John Hunt, the commentator, to observe "... and then it's Brief Goodbye and John Francome - could be a stewards' enquiry ..."! But where he finished wasn't an issue at all: it was just such a thrill to be providing a mount for the 'greatest jockey' and to have enjoyed the whole day.
The organisers put on a lunch before racing for the riders, connections of the runners and various other 'identities', and the whole day was just really special. How about this for a line-up of hoops: Richard Dunwoody, Charlie Swan, Colin Brown, Brendan Powell, Steve Smith-Eccles, Norman Williamson, Peter Scudamore, Jimmy Frost, John Francome, Simon Sherwood, Hywel Davies? A worthwhile project would be to calculate the total number of championships, Grand Nationals, Gold Cups and Champion Hurdles won between them. It has to be around fifty I'd say, but perhaps someone can give us a more acccurate answer. (And if you are trying to work it out, don't forget that Charlie Swan was champion jockey in Ireland ten - I think - times).
Trips to Plumpton are usually enjoyable, and the following day's outing there was no exception, notwithstanding the fact that Lady Suffragette's run was rather frustrating. She took a surprisingly long time to regain her momentum after an uncharacteristic blunder at the third hurdle, so started her run from much farther back than she should have done; but it was pleasing to see her run up the final hill so strongly that she finished only 3.5 lengths off the winner, and she would have been even/considerably closer than that had she not been checked on the final turn. A good run, but a case of 'if only'; and as we have been worryingly short of success lately, 'if only's aren't welcome.
There was also merit in Imperial Decree's run at Yarmouth yesterday, because she did everything right for most of the race until seeming to find the soft ground too taxing in the closing stages. So, with her as well as with Lady S, we can look forward to next time. We'll give her a run on the all-weather, where soft ground won't be an issue, before letting her have a well-deserved holiday. She still looks so young, so a good break to mature a bit has to do her a lot of good.
Just before I close, I have a few names to mention in dispatches. Squeaker, of course, can't keep his name out of this blog for long, and he's back in the news having taken his career total of winners ridden to five at an evening meeting, I presume at Taby, in Sweden last night. The text came through to let me know this morning, so again 'Good on yer' Squeaker - and many thanks, as always, for keeping in touch. It is appreciated. Another hoop to be saluted - and I hope he doesn't mind taking second place in the roll of honour to Squeak - is Ted Durcan, pictured here with his agent and lifestyle coach Mark McStay, whose 11,993/1 four-timer at Newmarket on Friday was a feat to remember. To put it into perspective, Seb Sanders rode a treble at Redcar the same day, at odds of about 50/1. Seb's longest-priced winner was 9/4 favourite; Ted's winners were 9/4 second favourite, 7/1, 8/1 and 50/1. A great effort - and he won a Group race on a Godolphin second string at Newmarket the next day. It's nice to have the occasional bit of proof that success doesn't go only to the undeserving. The best sights of all, though, were seeing Jimmy Scott back in the saddle on the Heath last week and Laurie Bell leading a horse around the stable yard at Yarmouth yesterday. They are two of the most respected travelling head lads, and very nice men to boot, so to see that each has bounced back from a heart attack earlier this year was really good.
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Monday, October 15, 2007
Once again, I've got rather behind in posting my musings. This is particularly bad as a lot has been happening, although in my defence I can add that I haven't had much opportunity to log it: we have two computers, only one of which (ie this one, which is the one which Emma usually uses) seems able to make the connection to blogger, and for most of last week the other one was the only one in the house, because Emma had various jobs to do at Tattersalls which required her taking this machine up there with her. So, what's been happening?
Well, most recently we've been in Ireland for a very happy event, the wedding of Aisling and Charlie which took place in St. John's Cathedral in Limerick and was followed by a very memorable reception at Glin Castle, about 35 miles away along the south bank of the Shannon Estuary. This is a wonderful place which we enjoyed in glorious spring-like weather and which proved the perfect setting for a lovely reception, made all the more special by the belief of all present that the happy couple are perfectly matched - how often can one say that with confidence? - and it was just a joy and privilege to be part of it. As we'd flown over on Friday afternoon and stayed with John and Terre McNamara at Golden Vale Stud that night, before staying in Glin Castle after (although 'during' would be a more appropriate word) the reception, that has to count as an excellent outing.
And the previous weekend we'd enjoyed another one as we went to Longchamp on Arc Day and didn't come home until the following day, enjoying the hospitality of Alix Choppin in Paris. But I have to go back a further couple of days to find the start of the French chapter, because two days before the Arc I'd had the pleasure of enjoying a very tenuous connection to Natagora's Cheveley Park success. Our friend Alan Taylor, who rode out here during the summer, has asked whether I took the opportunity on Jill for a post-stalls test flying dismount - well, I found myself well placed the following day for a flying dismount, had I chosen to do one, as I rode past the Rowley Mile winners' enclosure on Pantomime Prince, acting as companion for Natagora on a Cheveley Park morning stroll. Camilla Millbank had been the intermediary, putting us in touch with Pascal Bary and Patrick and Helen Barbe (agents for the filly's owners, as well as for the owners of her Japanese sire Divine Light) when she knew that they were seeking a companion for the filly.
The upshot was that I rode up to the racecourse stables at the Links on Panto to meet Natagora, ridden by her attendant Jildrs (who doesn't normally ride the filly, but was on this occasion because her usual lad also rides Zambezi Sun, so he was staying at home to maintain that partnership in the run-up to the Arc) and accompanied by Pascal and his travelling head lad (also called Pascal) at 8.30 on a perfect autumnal Cheveley Park Day morning. We rode over to the Rowley Mile, walked around the parade ring a couple of times to let the filly stretch her legs and get used to her new surroundings, and then rode back to the stables. The perfect post-script, of course, was the filly's tremendous win later that day, and it was a real thrill to go up to the course that afternoon and cheer her home.
That set us up perfectly for our trip to France two days later, which saw us having an early start to the Sunday to catch the 7.50am Eurotunnel motorail from Folkestone. Ken Gibbs, who has attended the last 20 Arcs, tells me it was the best weather for an Arc he's known, and it could well have been the best ever. It probably wasn't the best Arc ever, but still, as a long-standing admirer of Dylan Thomas, I was delighted to cheer him home from an excellent vantage point high in Longchamp's superb stand. By my calculations, no horse has ever won the four biggest races in Europe (Derby, Irish Derby, King George, Arc), but he has now come the closest, having now won three and been beaten inches in the fourth (last year's Derby). That's a wonderful record, especially as it has two Irish Champion Stakes thrown in too. If he could add a Breeders' Cup Turf success to it too, as seems likely, that would be the icing on the cake. Of the other horses in the race, Authorized was clearly well below his best, while Soldier Of Fortune didn't look nearly as mighty as he did on the soft ground in the Irish Derby - but he'll have other days. Mandesha is a shadow of the mare who broke the 2000m track record in the Prix de l'Opera last year, while Zambezi Sun isn't yet up to races that competitive. Of the other races that day, the best memories seem to be Rio De La Plata winning an extremely weak Prix Jean-Luc Lagadere extremely easily; Zarkava sprinting away from her rivals in the final stages of the Prix Marcel Boussac before jumping a shadow on the ground just after the post; and lovely Le Miracle slogging home for a well-deserved Prix du Cadran success under his usual partner Dominique Boeuf.
Olly Marsh accompanied Emma and I to France, and the three of us have Alix and her parents to thank for putting us up in their splendid apartment in the centre of Paris, after Alix had taken us (after a really good dinner, which we enjoyed with her FRBC colleague Marilyn Charlton) on a spell-binding tour of Paris by night, which has only fuelled my desire to see more of such a beautiful city. And then the treats just kept coming, because we drove out to a foggy Chantilly in the morning. Alix was so kind and had arranged the best weekend possible for us, and in Chantilly she took us to the stable of the trainer Jean de Roualle (pictured with Olly and Alix), for whom she used to ride out.
He kindly made us very welcome, taking us out into the forest with him to watch his string exercise. This was great, and particularly well-timed because we were able to offer our congratulations to him, to his staff - and to the mare herself - following the victory of his stable star Satwa Queen (seen here having a quiet stroll around the yard) in the Group One Prix de l'Opera at Longchamp the previous day. There was racing at Chantilly that afternoon, but sadly trains wait for no man, so regretfully we had time, after a bit more sight-seeing and a good lunch, to watch only one race before hitting the road to Calais for the return journey home. But all in all, our cup overfloweth in terms of treats, as they might say on television, so many thanks are due to all who have contributed to two very special weekends away - and to all who have kept things going here, particularly Hugh who has looked after Stan and Sebastian (an even more weighty responsibility than looking after the horses!).
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Monday, October 01, 2007
It's good to get away. I don't really like leaving home, but I must say that I do today feel better for having had a 48-hour holiday, Emma and I having visited my father in Devon over the weekend. Last week was so cold, and then so wet, but fortunately the weather was rather pleasant in Devon while we were there, which certainly was a boon and which made it easier to relax: if I'm away from home and the weather is bad, I worry whether that is causing any problems in my absence. Devon is such an unspoilt part of the country, and my father lives in one of the many really quiet areas in the county, that it's a shame to go there and find that the weather makes one unwilling to go outdoors. No such worries this time fortunately, which was particularly fortunate for Stan, because he had a ball bounding around the fields.
One particularly happy excursion was to Sara and Duncan Kittow's Plainsfield Farm, home of our former inmate Sergeant Small (pictured here with Sara). He used to be well named as regards his size as well as his pedigree (international music connoisseurs will appreciate a son of Dr Devious being called Sergeant Small) but that first aspect no longer applies, because he's a good-sized horse now that's he's had another couple of years to grow, being now aged five. He's really fallen on his feet at Plainsfield, and he and Kate, their elder daughter, have made a very good combination at young-riders' events around the country. He always was a very happy little horse, but now he really exudes contentment, and it was great to catch up with him, as well as with his owners and rider.
On our drive back - a journey enhanced by the audio book 'Set In Darkness' by Ian Rankin - we saw another graduate of the academy, although in this case a far more recent, if more mature too, student: we called in to see Jack Dawson in his new home, where he'd arrived the previous day. As you can see frm the picture on the right, he too looks set up for life so, having recently received communication out of the blue from the owner of Lake Wobegone, a little Inchinor gelding bred, like Sergeant Small, by Golden Vale Stud and whom I re-homed to the polo club ten years ago, to telling me that he's alive and well, I've found the past month a very pleasing one from the point of view of keeping in touch with our former pupils.
We might have headed to Devon on Friday evening via Lingfield (although as I heard on the radio that the M25 was blocked south of the Dartford Bridge, with a resultant 20-mile queue, it is possible/likely that it would have been via a long journey which tried, but failed, to include Lingfield), but that plan was aborted because the track remained 'good to firm, firm in places', and past experience suggested that running Lady Suffragette under those conditions wouldn't be sensible. It's rather ironic, therefore, that I'm now keeping a weather eye out for conditions at Salisbury, as we don't want it to be too soft there on Wednesday. He will have a new distance (mile and six) and a new jockey (Daryll Holland), but neither of those factors provides reason for pessimism, so I hope that conditions remain in his favour: he doesn't like it firm, but he doesn't like it soft either. Other than that, our only likely visitor to a racecourse this week looks like being Jill Dawson, who is pencilled in for a stalls test on Friday. The winners keep coming from our little side of town, with Jonathan Jay's Tidal Fury winning yet again at Auteuil yesterday. This followed an across-the-country (journoes usually say 'across-the-card', but I'm not quite sure whether that cliche makes any sense) double for Jonathan's neighbour Willie Musson eleven days previously. We, though, seem to be letting the side down, so we'll try to pull our socks up. Just don't hold your breath.
Just before I go, I must share one little story with you. It concerns a jockey called T.Barry. I believe he's called Terry, and I seem to remember him riding in the Western District of Victoria, although I think he now rides at Caulfield. (I presume that the situation is still that each jockey in Australia has to nominate a particular track where they are based; this used to be the case because it was compulsory for jockeys to make themselves available to ride trackwork, the reason being that, as there wasn't that much racing, jockeys could go quite long periods between race-days, and thus might not be fit enough if they weren't riding work either. Mick Dittman was the first jockey to refuse to ride in the mornings. He was good enough to get away with it, and it is possible nowadays consequent to that, and because there is now basically racing every day there, that there is no longer a requirement for a jockey to be licensed via a particular track). Anyway, I digress. T.Barry weighed out, handed the saddle to the trainer, rode the horse, won the race and weighed in, say, two kilos light. It transpired that the trainer, when saddling the horse, had omitted to place the weight-cloth under the number cloth and saddle, leaving it instead unnoticed on the floor of the horse's stall. Predictably, the horse was disqualified and the trainer fined. But this was the remarkable part: T.Barry was also fined, a couple of hundred dollars I think, because he had failed to check that the horse was wearing all the gear he'd passed to the trainer. Can you believe that? The jockey couldn't check that by merely looking at the gear, because the number cloth would obscure what was underneath it: he'd actually have to pull the number cloth up before mounting the horse and feel around to see what was underneath (and he'd have to remember what gear he was actually using for that particular ride). Have you ever seen a jockey do that? In thirty years of watching a lot of parade rings, I've never seen such a thing happen. And yet the stewards in Melbourne apparently believe it is, or should be, an automatic part of a jockey's routine. Amazing.
And on the subject of different things happening in different countries, I noticed yesterday that my father's kitchen sink does not contain a washing-up bowl, an item found in most pommie kitchens. This observation will mean absolutely nothing to nearly everyone who reads this blog, but it might bring a smile to one little face. It might even bring a comment in the replies section. We'll see.
Vale Gorgeous George
I'm writing this on one of the best mornings of the year: the Sunday when the clocks have gone back, and there has been an extra hour's sleep in the night. Sundays are good anyway because, unless one has a runner, or a social commitment (which I try to avoid), there's no rush in the mornings anyway. We do have a runner today, but that's at a local track (Towcester) so there's no hurry.
So all should be well, especially as we had the thrill of a winner on Friday. But just now I feel the same way that I'd guess most readers of this blog feel: just very, very sad at the end of George Washington's life. Of course we know horses, like humans, die every day, and if you don't know them, you don't know them; but the thing is we all feel as if we did know George Washington. He was such a charismatic horse, and we just loved him for his 'eccentricities'. But in retrospect those eccentricities maybe were just him expressing the fact that racing wasn't for him - did he have a premonition of doom, or more prosaically was there always some little aspect of unsoundness which made it stressful for him, and his quirks were the only way open to him of expressing to those around him that he'd rather not be doing it? Were they his distress signals which nobody heeded? When a horse dies in or as a result of action, it's always much more easy to accept when one can say that the horse died doing something he enjoyed. That's normally the case - but can we say that about George? I doubt it. I'm just glad I wasn't there - it would have been a miserable enough day even if that hadn't happened - and I just hope that the tragedy hasn't blighted too many people's ability to enjoy what is, most of the time, a wonderful sport, for humans and horses alike.
To happier topics, I can go back a day farther and recall our winner at Fakenham. We have Con Ryan and Jackie Gill to thank for that. Con's was the shepherd's crook which extracted the horses from the Godolphin herd, and Con made the connection between Take Me There and his owner Paul Devereux, and between Take Me There and this stable. And Con and Jackie have been integrally involved in the horse's preparation, so I was so glad that they were able to enjoy and take pride in the thrill of victory before they - reluctantly, I'd imagine - head off to Dubai for the winter. The horse's work with Lady Suffragette and Allouette had been good, if not spectacular, beforehand, so I found it very easy to see him making the frame, but in advance I found it hard to believe he could beat the unbeaten odds-on favourite. However, once the horses were assembled in the parade ring, he looked the pick of the bunch, while the favourite looked just an ordinary little mare, so it was easy to understand why the support came for him, and then unsurprising to see him and Tony McCoy come home impressive winners. It was a very happy day all round, hugely enjoyed by all concerned - particularly his connections who really enjoyed the trip over from Cork - so now Paul and his friends can look forward to seeing how his career develops. Another bumper in three or four weeks time is definitely something to look forward to; we'll see what happens there before making any further plans. In the meantime. Allouette runs at Towcester this afternoon. Although her form, such as it is, suggests she'll run really badly, her work with Take Me There and Lady Suffrgette suggests otherwise. However, the formbook is very often the best guide and, whereas Lady S and Tacky have bomb-proof, reliable temperaments unsullied by bad past experiences of racing, she hasn't, so we'll just have to wait and see what happens. And if disappointment ensues, we'll be ready for it. As last night reminded us, as long as the horse comes home safely, anything better than that is a bonus.
So all should be well, especially as we had the thrill of a winner on Friday. But just now I feel the same way that I'd guess most readers of this blog feel: just very, very sad at the end of George Washington's life. Of course we know horses, like humans, die every day, and if you don't know them, you don't know them; but the thing is we all feel as if we did know George Washington. He was such a charismatic horse, and we just loved him for his 'eccentricities'. But in retrospect those eccentricities maybe were just him expressing the fact that racing wasn't for him - did he have a premonition of doom, or more prosaically was there always some little aspect of unsoundness which made it stressful for him, and his quirks were the only way open to him of expressing to those around him that he'd rather not be doing it? Were they his distress signals which nobody heeded? When a horse dies in or as a result of action, it's always much more easy to accept when one can say that the horse died doing something he enjoyed. That's normally the case - but can we say that about George? I doubt it. I'm just glad I wasn't there - it would have been a miserable enough day even if that hadn't happened - and I just hope that the tragedy hasn't blighted too many people's ability to enjoy what is, most of the time, a wonderful sport, for humans and horses alike.
To happier topics, I can go back a day farther and recall our winner at Fakenham. We have Con Ryan and Jackie Gill to thank for that. Con's was the shepherd's crook which extracted the horses from the Godolphin herd, and Con made the connection between Take Me There and his owner Paul Devereux, and between Take Me There and this stable. And Con and Jackie have been integrally involved in the horse's preparation, so I was so glad that they were able to enjoy and take pride in the thrill of victory before they - reluctantly, I'd imagine - head off to Dubai for the winter. The horse's work with Lady Suffragette and Allouette had been good, if not spectacular, beforehand, so I found it very easy to see him making the frame, but in advance I found it hard to believe he could beat the unbeaten odds-on favourite. However, once the horses were assembled in the parade ring, he looked the pick of the bunch, while the favourite looked just an ordinary little mare, so it was easy to understand why the support came for him, and then unsurprising to see him and Tony McCoy come home impressive winners. It was a very happy day all round, hugely enjoyed by all concerned - particularly his connections who really enjoyed the trip over from Cork - so now Paul and his friends can look forward to seeing how his career develops. Another bumper in three or four weeks time is definitely something to look forward to; we'll see what happens there before making any further plans. In the meantime. Allouette runs at Towcester this afternoon. Although her form, such as it is, suggests she'll run really badly, her work with Take Me There and Lady Suffrgette suggests otherwise. However, the formbook is very often the best guide and, whereas Lady S and Tacky have bomb-proof, reliable temperaments unsullied by bad past experiences of racing, she hasn't, so we'll just have to wait and see what happens. And if disappointment ensues, we'll be ready for it. As last night reminded us, as long as the horse comes home safely, anything better than that is a bonus.
October morns
We've had a run of truly spectacular mornings, which sadly seems to have come to an end as today has the more usual overcast conditions. But those golden October morns were great while we had them. Frost, mist, a golden sunrise allowing the clearest blue to slip down from above to take over the whole sky for the day. And the sun didn't take long to warm everything up. It was a very special period of weather, which probably came to an end as we were driving home from Yarmouth yesterday at dusk, the whole countryside and sky becoming a hazy pink as the sun got lower - but by morning grey cloud cover, which had been absent for more than a week, had rolled back in, meaning we had a warmer dawn, but followed by a colder day, than had become the norm. Stupidly I didn't take any dawn photographs during the perfect period, which was particularly inexcusable because last Friday I rode the ideal horse from whom to photograph, Ex Con, who is great. Emma was out on the Heath that morning, because we had her friend Georgie Welch (pictured), a very good sculptress, staying with us and she was riding Panto, so we might get a shot of that exercise if we are lucky. If not, you'll just have to imagine what it was like.Perhaps the best view we enjoyed of the Heath during the week, however, was on Friday afternoon, when we were lucky enough to spend some time in one of the boxes high up in the Rowley Mile grandstand. These really do provide the best view in the house. Georgia House Stud, of which Chris Dwyer is manager, was the sponsor of the two main races on Newmarket's Friday programme (one of them was the Darley Stakes, which wasn't sponsored by Darley, in the same way that the Godolphin Stakes at the previous meeting wasn't sponsored by Godolphin) and Chris was kind enough to invite us up to the stud's box. It was a glorious afternoon, and the view over the racecourse and Heath was breath-taking: it would have been worth going up to the top of the stand to see it even if there hadn't been any racing taking place.
Even so, there is no doubt about which was the best day at the races we've had recently: Kempton on Sunday wins hands down. And that is because the fun we had by being involved in what our jockey John Francome described as "the geriatrics' race". It wouldn't have been unrealistic in advance to think that we might have been going to provide the 'greatest jockey' with a winner because Brief Goodbye did look perhaps the classiest flat performer in the race - old Wait For The Will was in there too and he's been a grand horse over the years, but he isn't as effective as he was formerly - but as it turned out we were fated to finish a tenderly-handled sixth. Remark of the day was John's observation that "it was like riding in an apprentice race" as he unsaddled, having been very badly hampered on the final bend, after which he dropped back to last. After that he couldn't win, so he just let Brief run on home into an unpressured sixth, prompting John Hunt, the commentator, to observe "... and then it's Brief Goodbye and John Francome - could be a stewards' enquiry ..."! But where he finished wasn't an issue at all: it was just such a thrill to be providing a mount for the 'greatest jockey' and to have enjoyed the whole day. 
The organisers put on a lunch before racing for the riders, connections of the runners and various other 'identities', and the whole day was just really special. How about this for a line-up of hoops: Richard Dunwoody, Charlie Swan, Colin Brown, Brendan Powell, Steve Smith-Eccles, Norman Williamson, Peter Scudamore, Jimmy Frost, John Francome, Simon Sherwood, Hywel Davies? A worthwhile project would be to calculate the total number of championships, Grand Nationals, Gold Cups and Champion Hurdles won between them. It has to be around fifty I'd say, but perhaps someone can give us a more acccurate answer. (And if you are trying to work it out, don't forget that Charlie Swan was champion jockey in Ireland ten - I think - times).Trips to Plumpton are usually enjoyable, and the following day's outing there was no exception, notwithstanding the fact that Lady Suffragette's run was rather frustrating. She took a surprisingly long time to regain her momentum after an uncharacteristic blunder at the third hurdle, so started her run from much farther back than she should have done; but it was pleasing to see her run up the final hill so strongly that she finished only 3.5 lengths off the winner, and she would have been even/considerably closer than that had she not been checked on the final turn. A good run, but a case of 'if only'; and as we have been worryingly short of success lately, 'if only's aren't welcome.
There was also merit in Imperial Decree's run at Yarmouth yesterday, because she did everything right for most of the race until seeming to find the soft ground too taxing in the closing stages. So, with her as well as with Lady S, we can look forward to next time. We'll give her a run on the all-weather, where soft ground won't be an issue, before letting her have a well-deserved holiday. She still looks so young, so a good break to mature a bit has to do her a lot of good.
Just before I close, I have a few names to mention in dispatches. Squeaker, of course, can't keep his name out of this blog for long, and he's back in the news having taken his career total of winners ridden to five at an evening meeting, I presume at Taby, in Sweden last night. The text came through to let me know this morning, so again 'Good on yer' Squeaker - and many thanks, as always, for keeping in touch. It is appreciated. Another hoop to be saluted - and I hope he doesn't mind taking second place in the roll of honour to Squeak - is Ted Durcan, pictured here with his agent and lifestyle coach Mark McStay, whose 11,993/1 four-timer at Newmarket on Friday was a feat to remember. To put it into perspective, Seb Sanders rode a treble at Redcar the same day, at odds of about 50/1. Seb's longest-priced winner was 9/4 favourite; Ted's winners were 9/4 second favourite, 7/1, 8/1 and 50/1. A great effort - and he won a Group race on a Godolphin second string at Newmarket the next day. It's nice to have the occasional bit of proof that success doesn't go only to the undeserving. The best sights of all, though, were seeing Jimmy Scott back in the saddle on the Heath last week and Laurie Bell leading a horse around the stable yard at Yarmouth yesterday. They are two of the most respected travelling head lads, and very nice men to boot, so to see that each has bounced back from a heart attack earlier this year was really good.
And the winner is ...
Many thanks to Emma for illustrating the chapter which I put up yesterday. It's interesting seeing the pictures one has taken blown up on the computer screen, because merely viewing on the back of the camera can be very deceptive: I'd taken what I'd believed was a lovely picture of a tired Le Miracle standing in the winner's enclosure, but it transpires that the focus wasn't all that I'd hoped, but then I found that my view from above shot of the Arc finish was far better than I could have expected. I don't know, though, if there will be any illustrations for this short entry, because I just thought I'd put up a few quick comments on a couple of items from today's Racing Post.
Firstly, Big Dave Osborne seems to have relinquished pole position in the Chat Room to Newmarket's most diligent work-watcher, Peter Hadden. But Big Dave has fought back today with a request for information on Taffy Thomas' whereabouts. I'm sure some else will be able to furnish a more thorough reply to the query, but I'm sure I wasn't the only person to see Taffy walking off the stands at Newmarket on Cheveley Park Stakes Day. I hadn't seen him for a while: although he rode out for Ed Dunlop for several years after finishing race-riding, he stopped that a few years ago, so I was pleased to see him looking pretty much unchanged from the last time I'd seen him. Newmarket races is often a good place to spy a few ex-hoops: on one day in the summer, I saw three in the owners' and trainers' bar on the July Course at the same time, all of whom had been involved in the finish of big races within a year or two of each other in the '80s: Billy Newnes (Oaks winner), Geoff Baxter (Oaks place-getter, I think - third on New Coins for Ben Hanbury I think, although I could be totally wrong there) and Rae Guest (Coronation Cup place-getter). And then you can't walk down Newmarket High Street for long without bumping into two of the top apprentices of 30+ years ago, David Dineley and Richard Fox. Or being run over by a huge and spotlessly clean car driven by Cliff Wigham, runner-up to Pat Eddery in the apprentices' title, which would have been in the late '60s, I suppose, who is now a driver for Sheikh Mohammed's crew. I like seeing all these faces from yesteryear still looking well. And I hope someone can put Dave Osborne's mind at rest about Taffy, or I'll have to do so.
The second item to catch my eye was the list of finalists for the HWPA writer of the year, these four being James Willoughby, Julian Muscat, Richard Edmondson and Chris McGrath. As was reported in the paper, I had the honour and the pleasure of being, along with Paul Hayward and Tim Richards, a member of the committee deciding on the short-list's composition. The idea is that the award is, as its name suggests, judged on what people have actually written over the past year, rather than merely Buggins' Turn. If 20 people entered, sending in 3 pieces each, there is no way that any of the members would bother to read all 60 pieces before casting their votes, so it was decided that an independent panel would read all the articles and produce a short-list, and then the members could vote from this short-list, with the option of reading the twelve articles they'd written if they chose. Plus it means that the the brochure at the lunch can give a list of four from whom the winner will be announced, as is standard at awards' ceremonies. To make this panel patently independent, three people were selected to go on it who have no particular affliation to any camps: Tim Richard (winner last year on his retirement), Paul Hayward (formerly a highly respected racing journo, now an award-winning general sports journo), and - surprisingly - me. So I had the pleasure of reading all the pieces, nearly all of which were extremely good, and then joining the other panellists, plus Geoff Lester, for an extremely good lunch in a restaurant in London last Thursday. The selection process went very well. We discussed each entry, and then Paul, Tim and I all produced our own list of four; as there were four journalists whose names appeared in at least two of the three lists, that made the composition of the final list easy. It'll be interesting - from my point of view, anyway - to see who does now win the award. All would be worthy winners, and there were several who, if this was a show-ring, despite not making the final four would be given 'Highly Commended' rosettes, including Marcus Armitage, whose description of his day riding out with Enda Bolger was one of the funniest articles I've ever read. So it was a real pleasure to be involved with that, the bonuses being not just a good lunch, but also an excuse to visit Hatchards book shop in Piccadilly, whence I returned with several volumes to add to the pile beside my bed, including the latest offerings by Peter Temple (which I started once I'd finished the Patrick O'Brian I was reading), Robert Harris and Wilbur Smith, plus a William Boyd and a couple of Henning Mankells. So if we have a long cold winter ahead of us, at least I'll have plenty to keep me occupied on those dark evenings.
Firstly, Big Dave Osborne seems to have relinquished pole position in the Chat Room to Newmarket's most diligent work-watcher, Peter Hadden. But Big Dave has fought back today with a request for information on Taffy Thomas' whereabouts. I'm sure some else will be able to furnish a more thorough reply to the query, but I'm sure I wasn't the only person to see Taffy walking off the stands at Newmarket on Cheveley Park Stakes Day. I hadn't seen him for a while: although he rode out for Ed Dunlop for several years after finishing race-riding, he stopped that a few years ago, so I was pleased to see him looking pretty much unchanged from the last time I'd seen him. Newmarket races is often a good place to spy a few ex-hoops: on one day in the summer, I saw three in the owners' and trainers' bar on the July Course at the same time, all of whom had been involved in the finish of big races within a year or two of each other in the '80s: Billy Newnes (Oaks winner), Geoff Baxter (Oaks place-getter, I think - third on New Coins for Ben Hanbury I think, although I could be totally wrong there) and Rae Guest (Coronation Cup place-getter). And then you can't walk down Newmarket High Street for long without bumping into two of the top apprentices of 30+ years ago, David Dineley and Richard Fox. Or being run over by a huge and spotlessly clean car driven by Cliff Wigham, runner-up to Pat Eddery in the apprentices' title, which would have been in the late '60s, I suppose, who is now a driver for Sheikh Mohammed's crew. I like seeing all these faces from yesteryear still looking well. And I hope someone can put Dave Osborne's mind at rest about Taffy, or I'll have to do so.
The second item to catch my eye was the list of finalists for the HWPA writer of the year, these four being James Willoughby, Julian Muscat, Richard Edmondson and Chris McGrath. As was reported in the paper, I had the honour and the pleasure of being, along with Paul Hayward and Tim Richards, a member of the committee deciding on the short-list's composition. The idea is that the award is, as its name suggests, judged on what people have actually written over the past year, rather than merely Buggins' Turn. If 20 people entered, sending in 3 pieces each, there is no way that any of the members would bother to read all 60 pieces before casting their votes, so it was decided that an independent panel would read all the articles and produce a short-list, and then the members could vote from this short-list, with the option of reading the twelve articles they'd written if they chose. Plus it means that the the brochure at the lunch can give a list of four from whom the winner will be announced, as is standard at awards' ceremonies. To make this panel patently independent, three people were selected to go on it who have no particular affliation to any camps: Tim Richard (winner last year on his retirement), Paul Hayward (formerly a highly respected racing journo, now an award-winning general sports journo), and - surprisingly - me. So I had the pleasure of reading all the pieces, nearly all of which were extremely good, and then joining the other panellists, plus Geoff Lester, for an extremely good lunch in a restaurant in London last Thursday. The selection process went very well. We discussed each entry, and then Paul, Tim and I all produced our own list of four; as there were four journalists whose names appeared in at least two of the three lists, that made the composition of the final list easy. It'll be interesting - from my point of view, anyway - to see who does now win the award. All would be worthy winners, and there were several who, if this was a show-ring, despite not making the final four would be given 'Highly Commended' rosettes, including Marcus Armitage, whose description of his day riding out with Enda Bolger was one of the funniest articles I've ever read. So it was a real pleasure to be involved with that, the bonuses being not just a good lunch, but also an excuse to visit Hatchards book shop in Piccadilly, whence I returned with several volumes to add to the pile beside my bed, including the latest offerings by Peter Temple (which I started once I'd finished the Patrick O'Brian I was reading), Robert Harris and Wilbur Smith, plus a William Boyd and a couple of Henning Mankells. So if we have a long cold winter ahead of us, at least I'll have plenty to keep me occupied on those dark evenings.
La Belle France, and the perfect wedding
Once again, I've got rather behind in posting my musings. This is particularly bad as a lot has been happening, although in my defence I can add that I haven't had much opportunity to log it: we have two computers, only one of which (ie this one, which is the one which Emma usually uses) seems able to make the connection to blogger, and for most of last week the other one was the only one in the house, because Emma had various jobs to do at Tattersalls which required her taking this machine up there with her. So, what's been happening?Well, most recently we've been in Ireland for a very happy event, the wedding of Aisling and Charlie which took place in St. John's Cathedral in Limerick and was followed by a very memorable reception at Glin Castle, about 35 miles away along the south bank of the Shannon Estuary. This is a wonderful place which we enjoyed in glorious spring-like weather and which proved the perfect setting for a lovely reception, made all the more special by the belief of all present that the happy couple are perfectly matched - how often can one say that with confidence? - and it was just a joy and privilege to be part of it. As we'd flown over on Friday afternoon and stayed with John and Terre McNamara at Golden Vale Stud that night, before staying in Glin Castle after (although 'during' would be a more appropriate word) the reception, that has to count as an excellent outing.
And the previous weekend we'd enjoyed another one as we went to Longchamp on Arc Day and didn't come home until the following day, enjoying the hospitality of Alix Choppin in Paris. But I have to go back a further couple of days to find the start of the French chapter, because two days before the Arc I'd had the pleasure of enjoying a very tenuous connection to Natagora's Cheveley Park success. Our friend Alan Taylor, who rode out here during the summer, has asked whether I took the opportunity on Jill for a post-stalls test flying dismount - well, I found myself well placed the following day for a flying dismount, had I chosen to do one, as I rode past the Rowley Mile winners' enclosure on Pantomime Prince, acting as companion for Natagora on a Cheveley Park morning stroll. Camilla Millbank had been the intermediary, putting us in touch with Pascal Bary and Patrick and Helen Barbe (agents for the filly's owners, as well as for the owners of her Japanese sire Divine Light) when she knew that they were seeking a companion for the filly. 
The upshot was that I rode up to the racecourse stables at the Links on Panto to meet Natagora, ridden by her attendant Jildrs (who doesn't normally ride the filly, but was on this occasion because her usual lad also rides Zambezi Sun, so he was staying at home to maintain that partnership in the run-up to the Arc) and accompanied by Pascal and his travelling head lad (also called Pascal) at 8.30 on a perfect autumnal Cheveley Park Day morning. We rode over to the Rowley Mile, walked around the parade ring a couple of times to let the filly stretch her legs and get used to her new surroundings, and then rode back to the stables. The perfect post-script, of course, was the filly's tremendous win later that day, and it was a real thrill to go up to the course that afternoon and cheer her home.That set us up perfectly for our trip to France two days later, which saw us having an early start to the Sunday to catch the 7.50am Eurotunnel motorail from Folkestone. Ken Gibbs, who has attended the last 20 Arcs, tells me it was the best weather for an Arc he's known, and it could well have been the best ever. It probably wasn't the best Arc ever, but still, as a long-standing admirer of Dylan Thomas, I was delighted to cheer him home from an excellent vantage point high in Longchamp's superb stand. By my calculations, no horse has ever won the four biggest races in Europe (Derby, Irish Derby, King George, Arc), but he has now come the closest, having now won three and been beaten inches in the fourth (last year's Derby). That's a wonderful record, especially as it has two Irish Champion Stakes thrown in too. If he could add a Breeders' Cup Turf success to it too, as seems likely, that would be the icing on the cake. Of the other horses in the race, Authorized was clearly well below his best, while Soldier Of Fortune didn't look nearly as mighty as he did on the soft ground in the Irish Derby - but he'll have other days. Mandesha is a shadow of the mare who broke the 2000m track record in the Prix de l'Opera last year, while Zambezi Sun isn't yet up to races that competitive. Of the other races that day, the best memories seem to be Rio De La Plata winning an extremely weak Prix Jean-Luc Lagadere extremely easily; Zarkava sprinting away from her rivals in the final stages of the Prix Marcel Boussac before jumping a shadow on the ground just after the post; and lovely Le Miracle slogging home for a well-deserved Prix du Cadran success under his usual partner Dominique Boeuf.
Olly Marsh accompanied Emma and I to France, and the three of us have Alix and her parents to thank for putting us up in their splendid apartment in the centre of Paris, after Alix had taken us (after a really good dinner, which we enjoyed with her FRBC colleague Marilyn Charlton) on a spell-binding tour of Paris by night, which has only fuelled my desire to see more of such a beautiful city. And then the treats just kept coming, because we drove out to a foggy Chantilly in the morning. Alix was so kind and had arranged the best weekend possible for us, and in Chantilly she took us to the stable of the trainer Jean de Roualle (pictured with Olly and Alix), for whom she used to ride out. 
He kindly made us very welcome, taking us out into the forest with him to watch his string exercise. This was great, and particularly well-timed because we were able to offer our congratulations to him, to his staff - and to the mare herself - following the victory of his stable star Satwa Queen (seen here having a quiet stroll around the yard) in the Group One Prix de l'Opera at Longchamp the previous day. There was racing at Chantilly that afternoon, but sadly trains wait for no man, so regretfully we had time, after a bit more sight-seeing and a good lunch, to watch only one race before hitting the road to Calais for the return journey home. But all in all, our cup overfloweth in terms of treats, as they might say on television, so many thanks are due to all who have contributed to two very special weekends away - and to all who have kept things going here, particularly Hugh who has looked after Stan and Sebastian (an even more weighty responsibility than looking after the horses!).
Thanks to the stalls team
Big relief! Jill passed her stalls test today, albeit by the skin of her teeth. What saved us I think was that she didn't do anything wrong, but for what seemed like ages she just did nothing at all. We'd got her in a routine at home where she was going in freely. Stalls rug on, Yarmy would lead me forward and she'd just go in. This time the rug went on, but nothing happened. Pushing her does more harm than good, so as the seconds were ticking a blindfold seemed the best (only) way of clutching at straws. So on it went; and she still just stood still. And then - and all power to the starter and stalls handlers - the suggestion was put forward that I hold her tail. It just shows that you never stop learning with horses. Maybe to some people this would be the obvious thing to do, but it wouldn't have crossed my mind, and even if it had I wouldn't have predicted what would happen next with the certainty that the stalls handlers showed. It was easy for me because Jill wasn't jumping around at all, so I just had to turn round and one of the stalls handlers passed her tail up to me. "Keep hold of that - don't let it go, whatever you do - and we'll push her in; she definitely won't kick us if you're holding that". So I kept hold of it - more than kept hold of it, in fact, because I pulled on it too to provide extra leverage - and one stalls handler got each side of her; they locked hands together, got right in behind her, and pushed. And it was exactly as they'd predicted: she just walked in, albeit providing none of the momentum herself. Once she was in, that was it, because she could stand in there all day, so I just sat and chatted for a bit, thanking profusely all concerned - including Yarmy, of course, who has been excellent with her, a real help - for their heroic efforts. What I'd equate it to would be needing par on a hole of golf, but having a few swings at the ball before you finally make contact - but being creditted with a par because, starting from your first connection with the ball, that's what you got. So all was well that ended well.
Other than the uncertainty for a minute or so about whether we were going to pass or fail the test, it was a very pleasant excursion. Obviously one canters down to the start and then back up again afterwards, so it's always a pleasure to have the rare thrill of riding along the famous Rowley Mile - as most of you will know, horses more or less never use the racecourse in training, and there is something special about riding up that hallowed (and I don't think that's misusing the word) stretch of grass. (Fingers crossed I'm going to canter up it again tomorrow, which I'm really looking forward to, but we'll save that for the next chapter). It was a busy testing time, because there were four horses having tests, which was rather jolly. All passed: one trained by Michael Quinlan, one by Geoff Wragg (Alpes Maritimes) and one by Clive Brittain (a very nice strong two-year-old filly called Dubai Power, or Dubai Something anyway). Jill was the naughtiest, Clive's filly was a little awkward, and the other two were very good. Yarmy was helping with Alpes Maritimes as well as with Jill. And the icing on the cake was that it's a beautiful day. At Salisbury yesterday I jested that, on October 3rd, it was nearly the nicest day of the year, and today was even better. It was a beautiful dawn, and it's only got better since then. Can we have a few more please?
On the subject of Salisbury yesterday, it was a very pleasant, if unproductive, trip. All we took out of it were a couple of positives: the longer distance route is definitely worth exploring, and we think blinkers will bring a bit of improvement. Micky had suggested that Brief had got rather complacent, and Darryll confirmed this yesterday, making the blinkers suggestion unprompted. So we can look forward to next year with a couple of aces up our sleeve. Plus a third, because his handicap mark is becoming more attractive all the time. He's still in good shape physically, but I suspect we might run short of options for this year - but if we have to wait until next year before having another shot at getting everything to fall into place, then that's not the end of the world. The only slightly unsatisfactory thing about the race was how far behind the rest of the field Brief got in the early stages - he must have been six lengths behind the second last horse after a furlong - but I don't think that's a sign of anything amiss (I usually question whether there is something wrong with a horse who doesn't jump off smartly), rather that Darryll took my exhortation to ride him with confidence too much to heart.
So that was all very nice, because Salisbury's a lovely place to be when the weather's nice and the company is good. I had an extra bonus too, because the first race featured the first runner saddled in the UK by Jeremy Gask. Some of you may have read of his appointment to succeed Simon Earle at one of Britain's strangest training establishments. He brings to this job a wealth of experience. I first got to know him when he worked for Mark Tompkins in the mid-90s, at which time he did me the huge favour of introducing me to the music of Paul Kelly, and since he's been home he's established himself as a first-rate trainer in South Australia. The last time I'd seen him prior to yesterday was chez Tidmarsh at Cambridge (NZ) in 1998 when he was in New Zealand for the ready-to-run sale at Karaka, and I was there on holiday, and it was great to see him again. He packed in training a year or two ago, and I'm not sure how he's ended up where he is now. He's been in the UK for seven weeks and his family are due to arrive shortly, so let's hope that it's a happy and successful venture for them. It will be if he's allowed a free hand, and the fact that his runner yesterday was wearing plates on his all four of his feet (previous runners from the stable have generally competed bare-foot) was a positive sign in this respect. I was very pleased to see him yesterday and hope to see plenty more of him over the coming months and years: and if he's training plenty of winners, then that will be great, and just the way it should be.
One nice touch to that piece of serendipity was that it transpired that Jeremy's runner was taken to the races by Wally Irvine. I'm sure that that name will ring a few bells for having been a jockey in the West Country, primarily for Ron Hodges I think - I seem to remember him riding the steeplechaser Charcoal Wally, although with the coincidence with the names that could just be my memory playing tricks on me - but I only knew him latterly when he was in Newmarket working for Godolphin or David Loder (I can't remember which, but they were basically the same thing anyway). I hadn't seen him for a few years, so was very pleased to bump into him yesterday. He's back in the south west, living in Dorset, and making a living as a horse transporter. He said he'd been in this stable earlier in what pretended to be the summer, picking up a horse from Dave Morris, but that I hadn't been around when he was here. And that brings us to the final nice aspect of yesterday: Dave's youngest son Ben had his first ride, in the concluding amateur race at Nottingham, on old Surdoue. The combination didn't cut any ice, but they got round happily enough so that was a start. Ben's an excellent little lad whose riding has really come on over the past year. He rides his father's horses every day, and gallops for Sir Mark Prescott (as does Jeff and Lydia Pearce's very good son Simon) on Tuesdays and Fridays, and I'd like to think that yesterday's ride will be the first of very many for him.
Other than the uncertainty for a minute or so about whether we were going to pass or fail the test, it was a very pleasant excursion. Obviously one canters down to the start and then back up again afterwards, so it's always a pleasure to have the rare thrill of riding along the famous Rowley Mile - as most of you will know, horses more or less never use the racecourse in training, and there is something special about riding up that hallowed (and I don't think that's misusing the word) stretch of grass. (Fingers crossed I'm going to canter up it again tomorrow, which I'm really looking forward to, but we'll save that for the next chapter). It was a busy testing time, because there were four horses having tests, which was rather jolly. All passed: one trained by Michael Quinlan, one by Geoff Wragg (Alpes Maritimes) and one by Clive Brittain (a very nice strong two-year-old filly called Dubai Power, or Dubai Something anyway). Jill was the naughtiest, Clive's filly was a little awkward, and the other two were very good. Yarmy was helping with Alpes Maritimes as well as with Jill. And the icing on the cake was that it's a beautiful day. At Salisbury yesterday I jested that, on October 3rd, it was nearly the nicest day of the year, and today was even better. It was a beautiful dawn, and it's only got better since then. Can we have a few more please?
On the subject of Salisbury yesterday, it was a very pleasant, if unproductive, trip. All we took out of it were a couple of positives: the longer distance route is definitely worth exploring, and we think blinkers will bring a bit of improvement. Micky had suggested that Brief had got rather complacent, and Darryll confirmed this yesterday, making the blinkers suggestion unprompted. So we can look forward to next year with a couple of aces up our sleeve. Plus a third, because his handicap mark is becoming more attractive all the time. He's still in good shape physically, but I suspect we might run short of options for this year - but if we have to wait until next year before having another shot at getting everything to fall into place, then that's not the end of the world. The only slightly unsatisfactory thing about the race was how far behind the rest of the field Brief got in the early stages - he must have been six lengths behind the second last horse after a furlong - but I don't think that's a sign of anything amiss (I usually question whether there is something wrong with a horse who doesn't jump off smartly), rather that Darryll took my exhortation to ride him with confidence too much to heart.
So that was all very nice, because Salisbury's a lovely place to be when the weather's nice and the company is good. I had an extra bonus too, because the first race featured the first runner saddled in the UK by Jeremy Gask. Some of you may have read of his appointment to succeed Simon Earle at one of Britain's strangest training establishments. He brings to this job a wealth of experience. I first got to know him when he worked for Mark Tompkins in the mid-90s, at which time he did me the huge favour of introducing me to the music of Paul Kelly, and since he's been home he's established himself as a first-rate trainer in South Australia. The last time I'd seen him prior to yesterday was chez Tidmarsh at Cambridge (NZ) in 1998 when he was in New Zealand for the ready-to-run sale at Karaka, and I was there on holiday, and it was great to see him again. He packed in training a year or two ago, and I'm not sure how he's ended up where he is now. He's been in the UK for seven weeks and his family are due to arrive shortly, so let's hope that it's a happy and successful venture for them. It will be if he's allowed a free hand, and the fact that his runner yesterday was wearing plates on his all four of his feet (previous runners from the stable have generally competed bare-foot) was a positive sign in this respect. I was very pleased to see him yesterday and hope to see plenty more of him over the coming months and years: and if he's training plenty of winners, then that will be great, and just the way it should be.
One nice touch to that piece of serendipity was that it transpired that Jeremy's runner was taken to the races by Wally Irvine. I'm sure that that name will ring a few bells for having been a jockey in the West Country, primarily for Ron Hodges I think - I seem to remember him riding the steeplechaser Charcoal Wally, although with the coincidence with the names that could just be my memory playing tricks on me - but I only knew him latterly when he was in Newmarket working for Godolphin or David Loder (I can't remember which, but they were basically the same thing anyway). I hadn't seen him for a few years, so was very pleased to bump into him yesterday. He's back in the south west, living in Dorset, and making a living as a horse transporter. He said he'd been in this stable earlier in what pretended to be the summer, picking up a horse from Dave Morris, but that I hadn't been around when he was here. And that brings us to the final nice aspect of yesterday: Dave's youngest son Ben had his first ride, in the concluding amateur race at Nottingham, on old Surdoue. The combination didn't cut any ice, but they got round happily enough so that was a start. Ben's an excellent little lad whose riding has really come on over the past year. He rides his father's horses every day, and gallops for Sir Mark Prescott (as does Jeff and Lydia Pearce's very good son Simon) on Tuesdays and Fridays, and I'd like to think that yesterday's ride will be the first of very many for him.
Sergeant on parade
It's good to get away. I don't really like leaving home, but I must say that I do today feel better for having had a 48-hour holiday, Emma and I having visited my father in Devon over the weekend. Last week was so cold, and then so wet, but fortunately the weather was rather pleasant in Devon while we were there, which certainly was a boon and which made it easier to relax: if I'm away from home and the weather is bad, I worry whether that is causing any problems in my absence. Devon is such an unspoilt part of the country, and my father lives in one of the many really quiet areas in the county, that it's a shame to go there and find that the weather makes one unwilling to go outdoors. No such worries this time fortunately, which was particularly fortunate for Stan, because he had a ball bounding around the fields.
One particularly happy excursion was to Sara and Duncan Kittow's Plainsfield Farm, home of our former inmate Sergeant Small (pictured here with Sara). He used to be well named as regards his size as well as his pedigree (international music connoisseurs will appreciate a son of Dr Devious being called Sergeant Small) but that first aspect no longer applies, because he's a good-sized horse now that's he's had another couple of years to grow, being now aged five. He's really fallen on his feet at Plainsfield, and he and Kate, their elder daughter, have made a very good combination at young-riders' events around the country. He always was a very happy little horse, but now he really exudes contentment, and it was great to catch up with him, as well as with his owners and rider.
On our drive back - a journey enhanced by the audio book 'Set In Darkness' by Ian Rankin - we saw another graduate of the academy, although in this case a far more recent, if more mature too, student: we called in to see Jack Dawson in his new home, where he'd arrived the previous day. As you can see frm the picture on the right, he too looks set up for life so, having recently received communication out of the blue from the owner of Lake Wobegone, a little Inchinor gelding bred, like Sergeant Small, by Golden Vale Stud and whom I re-homed to the polo club ten years ago, to telling me that he's alive and well, I've found the past month a very pleasing one from the point of view of keeping in touch with our former pupils.We might have headed to Devon on Friday evening via Lingfield (although as I heard on the radio that the M25 was blocked south of the Dartford Bridge, with a resultant 20-mile queue, it is possible/likely that it would have been via a long journey which tried, but failed, to include Lingfield), but that plan was aborted because the track remained 'good to firm, firm in places', and past experience suggested that running Lady Suffragette under those conditions wouldn't be sensible. It's rather ironic, therefore, that I'm now keeping a weather eye out for conditions at Salisbury, as we don't want it to be too soft there on Wednesday. He will have a new distance (mile and six) and a new jockey (Daryll Holland), but neither of those factors provides reason for pessimism, so I hope that conditions remain in his favour: he doesn't like it firm, but he doesn't like it soft either. Other than that, our only likely visitor to a racecourse this week looks like being Jill Dawson, who is pencilled in for a stalls test on Friday. The winners keep coming from our little side of town, with Jonathan Jay's Tidal Fury winning yet again at Auteuil yesterday. This followed an across-the-country (journoes usually say 'across-the-card', but I'm not quite sure whether that cliche makes any sense) double for Jonathan's neighbour Willie Musson eleven days previously. We, though, seem to be letting the side down, so we'll try to pull our socks up. Just don't hold your breath.
Just before I go, I must share one little story with you. It concerns a jockey called T.Barry. I believe he's called Terry, and I seem to remember him riding in the Western District of Victoria, although I think he now rides at Caulfield. (I presume that the situation is still that each jockey in Australia has to nominate a particular track where they are based; this used to be the case because it was compulsory for jockeys to make themselves available to ride trackwork, the reason being that, as there wasn't that much racing, jockeys could go quite long periods between race-days, and thus might not be fit enough if they weren't riding work either. Mick Dittman was the first jockey to refuse to ride in the mornings. He was good enough to get away with it, and it is possible nowadays consequent to that, and because there is now basically racing every day there, that there is no longer a requirement for a jockey to be licensed via a particular track). Anyway, I digress. T.Barry weighed out, handed the saddle to the trainer, rode the horse, won the race and weighed in, say, two kilos light. It transpired that the trainer, when saddling the horse, had omitted to place the weight-cloth under the number cloth and saddle, leaving it instead unnoticed on the floor of the horse's stall. Predictably, the horse was disqualified and the trainer fined. But this was the remarkable part: T.Barry was also fined, a couple of hundred dollars I think, because he had failed to check that the horse was wearing all the gear he'd passed to the trainer. Can you believe that? The jockey couldn't check that by merely looking at the gear, because the number cloth would obscure what was underneath it: he'd actually have to pull the number cloth up before mounting the horse and feel around to see what was underneath (and he'd have to remember what gear he was actually using for that particular ride). Have you ever seen a jockey do that? In thirty years of watching a lot of parade rings, I've never seen such a thing happen. And yet the stewards in Melbourne apparently believe it is, or should be, an automatic part of a jockey's routine. Amazing.
And on the subject of different things happening in different countries, I noticed yesterday that my father's kitchen sink does not contain a washing-up bowl, an item found in most pommie kitchens. This observation will mean absolutely nothing to nearly everyone who reads this blog, but it might bring a smile to one little face. It might even bring a comment in the replies section. We'll see.
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