Busy, busy, busy

I've been very busy.  (I thought that I'd get that in, offering my excuse for not having put anything up here for four days.)  And there's been plenty happening all round.  When I wrote the last chapter, Indira was set to run at Kempton the next day.  I thought that she was set to run well, and happily that proved to be the case.  Ours always seem to go well when Jim Crowley rides for us; and he came close to making his strike-rate from this stable even better, as she and he finished third in a three-way photo-finish, beaten a neck and a head.

Our horses seem to be ridiculously long prices at present.  When Indira had run the previous week, she'd been put at at 4/1 in the Racing Post SP forecast, but apparently when off-course betting opened she was 14/1 (before stating at 5/1).  It was similar with Frankie at Stratford last weekend: he was a similar price in the paper - slightly shorter, maybe - but opened up at 8/1 on the off-course markets.  And then Indira on Wednesday: I thought that she had a first-rate chance, and her SP was 25/1.

Maybe this is a general thing when a trainer has worked his way onto the Cold Trainers' list, or maybe one layer has got it into his/her head that I've forgotten how to train (or never knew how to do so in the first place) and is just leading the market into putting our runners up at unrealistically long prices.  But that's fine (unless that layer is right, of course - but don't worry about that: he/she isn't) as there's no harm in finding yourself able to take a longer price than you'd been expecting, if you ever want to have a bet.

The other notable racing event that day was not good.  Poor David Crosse had ridden Wasabi for us at Towcester on Monday, and had ridden his first winner for over a year on the Tuesday - and then the Wednesday saw him have a fall in which he broke three ribs as well as fracturing a cheek bone and a bone in his neck.  Gee, that's the ups and downs for you.  And the post script to that?  Well, I read in the Racing Post that he's hoping to be back riding in roughly a fortnight!  Tough as teak.

Aside from the racecourse, the notable event for me this week was a trip to London on Thursday evening for the launch of Jane Torday's book, 'Dearest Jane'.  This is a biography of her father, the late Roger Mortimer, long-time racing correspondent of the Sunday Times and writer of many outstanding books, mainly on racing history.  The book is a personal reflection on this lovely man, the skeleton of which is made of excerpts from letters which he wrote to his relatives over the years.  It was a treat to go to the launch, and a further treat to start reading the book on the train on the way home.  So far I'm only up to page 38 (if I wasn't so busy, as mentioned above, I'd have finished it already because it is very, very readable) and I'm loving it.

Many of us grew up with Roger Mortimer's writing inspiring us to love the sport as he loved it.  There will be plenty of racing stuff later in the book; but, of course, there's plenty more besides.  It's perfect for me because I love military history as well as racing history, and there's some of that here too, which is really interesting.  The book provides a fascinating background to the last war, Roger Mortimer having been a 29-year-old captain in the Coldstream Guards at the outbreak of the war, having already been in the army for a decade by that time.  His war turned out to be a particularly miserable one as he spent nearly all of it in a German POW camp, having been wounded and captured shortly before the evacuation of Dunkirk.

Anyway, the book runs from Roger Mortimer's early adulthood right through until the end of his life, and, from what I have seen so far, is a lovely, beautiful portrait of a man whom I have admired since my childhood.  As the author observes, "Before Roger became a  parent at the age of thirty-nine, he had already lived nearly half his life and had the experiences which shaped the man he became: Roger the racing writer; Roger the husband; Roger the father; Roger the friend.  And throughout, Roger the wit."  For anyone who has been lucky enough to have enjoyed Roger Mortimer's writing, this book will be a treat, taking one through his interesting life  - and for anyone who hasn't, it will be both a treat and a reminder that second-hand book shops around the country contain some wonderful racing history books which should be tracked down and enjoyed.

Just before closing, I should add that the launch of 'Dear Jane' was also the launch of 'The Dark Wild', the second novel written by Jane Torday's son Piers (whose first novel is shown in the previous paragraph).  Further points to note are that today has been an exciting day for me as it was the first occasion when I bred a runner in a big(gish) race, Dream Walker running in the Spring Mile at Doncaster.  He was tipped by Spotlight in the Racing  Post, but turned out not to be good enough - but that was no disgrace.  Although unplaced, he ran quite well in a competitive race, so let's hope that his year-younger half-brother Roy (whose ears are seen this morning in this paragraph) can be inspired into following in his productive footsteps.

Doncaster, of course, although the main meeting in England today, is not the main meeting full stop, with Rosehill's programme earlier on having seen Tom Hogan land a mighty victory with Gordon Lord Byron in the George Ryder Stakes (which prompted Gus into a dance of celebration).  And now we are midway through Dubai World Cup Night, which is really exciting.  Long John was a dismal disappointment which was a shame, although those wise enough to consider the woeful second-up record of his stable in Dubai won't have been surprised.  What hasn't been disappointing, though, is the race-calling of Terry Spargo.  I have previously observed that he's a very good, accurate caller, but that I have often felt that he lends too great an air of jolly informality to proceedings.  However, tonight, on Dubai's biggest raceday of the year, he has risen to the occasion magnificently: his calls have been terrific, with just the right amount of gravitas for a big, serious occasion.  Good on 'im.

C'est la vie

Meteorological highlight of this week was yesterday, and in particular yesterday morning.  We had one of this past winter's few frosts at dawn yesterday morning when the temperature was minus 3 and everything was white, but the sun rose so splendidly that we didn't have the chance to feel cold: the frost didn't last long as the crystal-clear skies overflowed with sunshine, which lasted more of less all day, which was really, really nice.  I took several lovely photographs, some of which adorn this chapter.

We had a runner yesterday - Wasabi at Towcester, who was unplaced but not totally disgraced - but I didn't go to the races as I had a long-standing hospital appointment to have a check-up after my hernia operation of 3rd February (which, happily, seems to have gone very well).  I'll be going to Kempton tomorrow when we have our second and final runner of the week, Indira running in a mile-and-a-quarter handicap, ridden by Jim Crowley, a jockey who has a terrific record for the stable.

Our jockey yesterday was David Crosse, and what was lovely was that today he rode his first winner of the season.  Well, it's not lovely that it was his first winner of the season as the season's nearly over - but what's lovely is that, as it was looking as if he was going to have drawn a blank for campaign, he is now on the score-sheet after all.  The Cold Jockeys' list in the Racing Post tells me that he'd gone 142 rides and 366 days since his last winner, which is terribly undeserving as he's a good jockey and a good man too.

We'll appear on the Cold  Trainer's list in tomorrow's paper (I think it's 28 or 29 consecutive losers spread over 31 weeks) so let's hope that we can follow suit in leaving the dreaded chart.  It is terribly demoralizing for both trainers and jockeys that there can be some in each category who are overwhelmed with patronage and success, and others - effectively doing the same thing in the same way - who find it very, very hard to take even the occasional trick.  But that's life, I suppose.

That was why it was so nice to see Joe Akehurst salute the judge on Saturday.  Like David Crosse, Joe really does not deserve to be so ignored, but I am  pretty sure that not only was that his first winner of this season, but also that he didn't ride one last term.  It's so tough - as I was reminded when I bumped into Matthew Salaman in the stable yard at Stratford.  Matthew, a very nice man and excellent horseman, was getting his own horse ready for our race - only he doesn't train him himself now, as he's given up the unequal struggle and has put the horse with Alastair Lidderdale.

Matthew made a really good start when he took over the stable of his father Taffy a few years ago, showing that he is a good trainer and seemingly showing himself to have a good career as a trainer ahead of him. Sadly, we now know that things didn't turn out that way, but I was really pleased to see him as I hadn't seen him for a while, and to see that he's still involved with the game - even if the pleasure was tinged with a reminder of how unjustly harsh this game can be at times.

Jolly

Yesterday (Saturday) dawned really, really splendid, as did today.  However, today it didn't last long at all and we seem to have gone back to winter as if it had been any colder the rain would have been hail or snow; while yesterday was lovely when the sun was out, but considerably less clement when it wasn't.  Yesterday's highlight was the trip to Stratford (for their second, not first, meeting of the spring) for Frankie to run.

The two photographs make it look very dismal, but it was actually very pleasant at times, although the very brisk wind made it rather bracing when the sun wasn't out (as it wasn't for our race).  Anyway, as regards the race, Frankie did his usual thing of running reasonably well without winning: again he looked a very plausible winner half a mile from home, but finished tamely.  In the end he finished third, beaten by horses trained by Gary Moore and David Evans, two of the very best trainers in the country, which makes it easier to swallow. 

And what made it even easier still to swallow was that the winner was ridden by Joe Akehurst, a good friend to this stable who gets very, very few opportunities but who is perfectly good enough to win any time that the horse is up to it, as he showed with a very nice ride on Osgood yesterday, his first winner for a long, long time.  He's had minor place-getters less distantly (including on Frankie at Plumpton last Easter, when they finished second) but this was a very well-deserved drought-breaker for Joe.  And I was delighted to see it (and photograph its aftermath, as you can see in the next paragraph).  

Surprise of the weekend was that my chapter on Pat Cosgrave's suspension has made it (without my permission) onto Mike de Kock's website.  Which is fine, except for the fact that my reference to Terry Spargo's calls has been highlighted (presumably only because the website editor had access to a photo of Terry).  This was unfortunate because the article isn't about Terry, who is a good, accurate caller (as he proved in Australia prior to going to Dubai, his good record in Australia being the reason why he got the job).  The point I was trying to make was that, until this draconian treatment of Pat Cosgrave, we'd had the impression that racing in Dubai is a cosy, friendly, relaxed little community - as is confirmed by Terry's adopted style of calling (which he'd never use back home, because it's very different to the style which every caller in Australia uses).

The invariably exuberant Dubaian style of race-calling involves frequently referring to horses by nicknames and to jockeys by their Christian names (only) during the races, and making references which local insiders will understand, but which a more remote audience might find baffling.  One thing one might say about this informal style is that Johnners or Blowers or whoever it was wouldn't have had the embarrassment of saying "the bowler's Holding, the batsman's Willey" (he'd have said "the bowler's Michael, the batsman's Peter") but another thing one might say (and this is the point I was trying to make) is that it gives the impression that this is a small, informal, friendly, close-knit little club where everyone's on first-name terms with each other and it's all rather jolly - ie that it's not the type of place where punishments are draconian.

Anyway, Stratford was rather jolly (despite the disappointment of the discovery that, if one takes one's pet otter or beaver to the races, one can't have a shower with him/her, as the previous paragraph confirms).  Let's hope that Towcester can be jolly too, because Wasabi runs there tomorrow.  The form book says that she has a bit to find, but she's very well, so shouldn't be disgraced.

Self-certificates (yawn)

Right.  We'll start with the particular, and then move to the general. The particular is that we'll head to Stratford tomorrow with Frankie / Douchkirk (pictured here standing proud on a wonderfully sunny February morning last month) who drops into selling class (and in distance to two miles) and who ought to be one of the principal chances in the first hurdle race run at Stratford this year - and the fact that it is the first should mean that, notwithstanding that the course spent quite a lot of time under water in January and February, he should be racing on lovely ground.  Let's hope that he can relish the conditions and do the right thing.

Now to the general.  There are two ways of looking at 'self-certifcates', rather in the same way that Alan Partridge, in a meeting with his nemesis / bete noir Tony Hayers, found that there are two ways of looking at regional detective series. Normally I'd be with Tony Hayers on this one in that we hear too much of them, but as I've been asked (on Twitter) for my views, here goes.  Basically, the introduction of the 'self-certificate' when scratching a horse has been a wonderful innovation, one which has righted a glaring injustice.

There are so many disincentives to dissuade people from owning horses.  One is that they aren't machines: people would like to think that a horse can run 15 times a year and win four, but sadly it doesn't work like that - they are very fragile animals, and all too often it's rare enough that they can run, never mind win.  Another is the plethora of 'stealth taxes': levied on horse owners: we know it's an expensive business, but racehorse owners are forever being hit with hidden extras, and these really piss people off.

Here's an illustration which combines the two drawbacks.  Emma owns the bulk of Oscar Bernadotte, whom she bred, with Steve McCormick owning the other share.  Oscar's now six and has run once, 13 months ago, February 2013 (as seen in paragraphs two and three).  He's forever going wrong, and isn't in work at present.  That's frustrating enough, but that's racing.  And then this week she received a bill from Weatherbys for the annual re-registration fee for maintaining the registration of her colours, which she had previously paid to register and paid to have made.  And she received another bill for renewing the registration of Oscar's joint-ownership, which she had previously paid to register.  And another bill to re-register the fact that Oscar races in her colours, which she'd previously paid to register.  Get my drift?  To adapt Blackadder's observation, a racehorse owner is like a platypus because, whichever way he/she turns, he/she is faced by a ruddy great bill.  Which is hard to swallow because owners are what we all (trainers, jockeys, staff, media, administrators, racegoers, racecourses, punters, bookmakers) rely on to prevent the whole show from grinding to a halt.  And they are forever being taken for a ride.

Now we combine the two.  Of all the real frustrations, having a horse go amiss once
he is finally ready to run is the real sickener  - and, until the advent of the 'self-certificate', the owner, if/when he was hit by the real kick in the guts of having his horse fall lame or sick the day before he was due to run, had to face the extra salt rubbed into the wound, the extra kick in the balls, of having to pay not to run the horse. Strange but true: the trainer couldn't run the horse because he's lame or unwell, but he had to run him unless he paid (ie unless the owner paid) a vet to send a bit of paper to Weatherbys to confirm this, when common sense said that the trainer ought to be able to pass on this disappointing information for nothing.  If the BHA had so little confidence in a trainer's ability to tell when his horse has fallen sick or gone lame that it felt that a second (paid-for) second opinion was required, then the trainer shouldn't have had a license in the first place.  The good thing was that finally common sense kicked in: the trainer could make the diagnosis himself and not pay for a second opinion so that, while nothing could ease the disappointment of not being able to run the horse, at least one didn't have to pay extra for the privilege of this disappointment.

That's that. However, there now seems to be a school of thought that believes that when a trainer declares a horse to run, he is immediately looking for a way out of running him.  That isn't the case: when I declare a horse, it is because I want to run him - and it is bloody frustrating when, as inevitably happens occasionally (and particularly now that we declare two days, rather than one day, before the race), something crops up to make me reassess the opinion that the horse is fit to run.  Under those circumstances, it is in nobody's interests to have the horse run: not in the owner's interests, not in the horse's interests, and particularly not in punters' interests, as they'll do their dough backing a horse who I know isn't right.

It was previously insane that I had to pay a vet to pass on the opinion that the horse shouldn't run.  Thank God we no longer have to do so: we still have frustrations of horses going amiss, but we no longer have to pay extra not to run ill or lame horses.  I understand the logic of all the stealth taxes which are levied through Weatherbys (because the costs of racing's administration are colossal and racing receives a return from the betting industry which falls a long, long way short of covering the costs of running the sport in the style which bookmakers and punters demand, so owners have to be hit with umpteen stealth taxes to pay for racing's administration)  but vets' certificates?  They make no contribution towards keeping the show on the road, and merely go straight into the vet's pocket, for doing nothing other than coming round to the stable to sign a piece of paper.

I am aware that there appear to be a few trainers who abuse the system; trainers who, having declared a horse, might have second thoughts about running because, the declarations having come out, they find that the race is stronger than they were expecting it to be, or that their horse is drawn really badly.  Or even that they can make money betting by taking their horse out.  That's a problem, and it is one which probably does need to be tackled.  But the way to tackle it would NOT be to go back to the previous system of making owners pay for the privilege, having just suffered the kick in the nuts of their horse going lame or falling sick shortly before the race, of not running their horse who clearly shouldn't be running anyway.

I'd make two points.  Firstly to re-emphasise that I - and, I presume, the large majority of trainers - have never withdrawn a horse on a self-certificate for any reason other than that I am no longer happy with either his health or his soundness.  I  have often got to the races and scratched my head, reflecting that the horse is in a stronger race than I ought to have been able to find for him, or that he's really badly drawn and that that's going to make it hard - but I have never scratched (and would never scratch) the horse because of it.  And, secondly, scrapping self-certificates wouldn't solve the problem of their abuse anyway: the horses would just come out on a vet's certificate instead.  If one wanted to pretend that, say, a horse was showing a sign of ill-health by having lost his appetite and one needed a vet to vouch for this, it would be a piece of cake.  An hour before the vet arrived, one would give the horse more food than any horse could possibly eat, two thirds of which the horse would wolf down.  When the vet arrived, he'd see a horse standing and staring at a manger half-full of oats, but showing absolutely no interest in it.  What would he do?  Well, of course he'd, completely genuinely, sign a piece of paper to confirm that the horse hadn't eaten his feed, and that he was genuinely happy to confirm that the horse shouldn't run.

Scrapping self-certificates, therefore, would achieve nothing other than to punish racehorse-owners for owning horses which are frail flesh and blood, just like we all are.  What it wouldn't do is to curb abuse of the withdrawal system, if indeed such abuse does indeed exist.  What the answer is I don't know - but I do know what it isn't.

Oh yes, and we had some nice sunshine today, as you can see.

The wrong stand?

We're getting used to this with Indira: on Tuesday she paid her fifth visit to the unsaddling enclosure from her six runs, but she's still a maiden.  As so often happens at Southwell, it was an odd race, with the winner winning by seven lengths; but second, third, fourth and fifth all had a reasonable tussle with each others, so she didn't run badly in finishing fourth.  She seemed to be making heavy weather of it from a long way out, so again she was very brave.  Anyway, in short, we have nothing to show for the run, but it was not a bad effort.  God willing, things will all fall into place sooner rather than later for her.  She's a wonderfully tough and willing battler, so she deserves a win.

The big story of the day, of course, was not Indira's fourth place, but Pat Cosgrave's 6-month suspension in Dubai.  That really was stunning - and I'm writing from the point of view of someone who took a dim view of Pat's riding on the day.  There's no excuse for doing what he did, ie looking around to check the whereabouts of his better-fancied stablemate, and then moving over to make sure that that horse doesn't get boxed in.  It's indefensible, not least because if makes it look as if he might have had a bet on the other horse, and that's an appalling impression to be giving.  But in the great scheme of things, it's hard to see how anyone could work out that his undoubted misdemeanour merits a 6-month ban, bearing in mind that he gave his horse a faultless ride in every other respect, and actually probably rated him better than most of the other riders in the field did their mounts.

I was expecting him to be severely reprimanded and cautioned as to his future conduct, with an accompanying word in his ear to say that if he ever did it again, he'd be for the high jump.  Maybe this WAS his second offence and this IS the high jump, but if so that's news to me.  One should, of course, mention that there is a precedent for a jockey in this situation receiving a six-month ban: that's what 'The Sherriff' John Schreck handed out to Shane Dye after the 1987 AJC Derby at Randwick, when Shane moved off the rail on Dr. Geoff Chapman's second string Imprimatur to let the first string (the Mark de Montfort-ridden Myocard, who won the race) through.

But that was Sydney in the '80s, when The Sherriff was in town, when Ron Quinton received a three-month ban for causing interference when winning the Golden Slipper on Marauding, interference which didn't cause a fall and which wasn't serious enough to be interpreted as foul riding, which would have seen his mount disqualified.  And it was the '80s anyway, when penalties in general were far harsher than is the case nowadays - and it was, after all, in Sydney, where penalties at the time were far harsher than anywhere else anyway.  Pat would have received a six-month ban had he done that in Sydney in the '80s and he wouldn't have had any grounds for complaint.  But nowadays?  Well, you'd expect a slap on the wrist.

In France such a manoeuvre wouldn't attract any attention at all, but I'm not suggesting that the base ourselves on the French model (with horses in the same ownership coupled for betting purposes, and with the only requirement being that the jockey on one of the entity is trying, with the others free to ride their horses as uncompetitively as they like) .  We've seen umpteen similar instances in Britain or Ireland (often involving either Godolphin or Coolmore) go unpunished, but I think that it is now the case that in Britain a week's ban would be the penalty.  I am indebted to Graham Cunningham for reminding us that that is what Johnny Murtagh and Colm O'Donoghue received for 'team tactics' after Duke Of Marmalade won the Juddmonte International when it was run at Newmarket after the Ebor Meeting was washed out in 2008; and I am indebted to Robert Havlin for pointing out that BHA Rule b57.1 states that the offence for making a manouevre to allow another horse a clear run but causing no interference is 5 to 10 days.

It is, of course, terrible to adopt a habit of saying that, because a misdemeanour carries such and such a punishment in one's own country, it should carry that punishment in all other countries. That's xenophobic nonsense.  But, even so - SIX BLOODY MONTHS!  (And in a country where there is no betting, which ought to make this less of an issue, rather than more).  All I can say is that it would disappointing if the ban weren't reduced by at least 95% on appeal; and, if it weren't reduced, it would be disappointing if the BHA didn't elect not to reciprocate the ban, bearing in mind that it took the major step last year (with the Martin Dwyer Indian thing) of setting a precedent that, if a jockey is given a punishment by an overseas turf authority which, by our standards, is completely beyond the pale, it won't be applied here.

As regards the appeal, the most important thing for Pat to take with him into the appeal is a video of the 2001 Irish Champion Stakes (after which no bans were handed out) in which the tactics used by the Godolphin team were similar, only worse (ie not only did the rider of the Godolphin pacemaker move off the rail to let the Godolphin first string Fantastic Light through, but he also forced the main rival Galileo wide in the process, thus affecting the result, bearing in mind that Galileo failed only narrowly to catch Fantastic Light).  As Timeform reported, "Fantastic Light made the first move, striking for home as Give The Slip was eased off the rail on the final turn to allow him through.  Galileo had to begin his own challenge three-wide, racing round the outside of Give The Slip ...".  It's worth remembering that all employees of the ERA are, in effect, indirectly employed by Sheikh Mohammed, so I would suggest that Pat points out to the stewards that they might like to reflect on the fact that these are tactics which their boss appears happy to adopt.

Anyway, God knows what has got into the ERA stewards.  Over the years the ERA has, rightly or wrongly, given the impression of being a cosy little club.  Godolphin's travails over the past year or so certainly have only served to add to this impression (as, incidentally, do the folksy, homely, cheer-leading race-calls of Terry Spargo).  And the fact that Pat Cosgrave even felt that it might be OK to do what he did in the race shows how far down the wrong road, the road towards laissez-faire cosiness, the ERA had gone.  Maybe a decision has been taken, in the aftermath of Lord Stevens' report, to make it clear to the world that the ERA is not just that cosy little club which it had always seemed.  If so, I applaud the stand which it has decided to make - but I also urge it to consider whether this was indeed the correct issue on which to make it.

Good day

Yesterday (Sunday) was a lovely day, and not only for the fact that it was a lovely day, as we can see in this photograph.  It was also a lovely day because of whom we can see in this photograph: 'Ralph', properly known as Carl McEntee, one of my longest-standing friends.  When I started training in the former Loder Stables in Hamilton Road in 1995, Ralph's late father Phil had been the previous trainer on the property, and the McEntee family (well, Phil and his wife Lindy, plus their youngest child Carl who was still at school and thus still living at home) were still living in the bungalow on the property.  And the whole family became really good friends to me.

I did, in fact, already semi-know the family, having worked with one of Ralph's elder brothers (Mark, fraternal twin of Phil junior, who now trains in Hamilton Road, having previously trained in part of this property).  Anyway, Phil senior (an outstanding horseman who had been champion apprentice in Ireland in 1966, and a really decent and likeable man to boot) and Ralph became two of my most-valued friends, and at various times I was lucky to have the help of both of them in the stable (as you can see in this photograph of Phil, taken here in I would guess 1997). Ralph rode in a few races for us in his younger days, but he was always going to be a lot bigger than his dad, and riding was probably always going to take a back seat sooner rather than later.

Ralph duly heeded the time-honoured advice 'Go west, young man' and has forged a really good career for himself in the bloodstock world in the States.  He's currently in a very good job at Darby Dan Farm in Kentucky, former home of Ribot, Graustark and Roberto, and it transpired that he's making a brief visit to Europe trying to put together what seems to be a very exciting project which he has got brewing on the farm's behalf - and yesterday, completely out of the blue, he appeared in this yard, which made my month, never mind my day.  We'd been in touch intermittently, but I hadn't seen him for years, and it was a real delight to see him.  I'll just have to make sure that it isn't however many years it was before I see him next.

So that was lovely - and let's hope that tomorrow can be a lovely day too.  Tomorrow's highlight (I hope - although it could obviously turn out to be tomorrow's lowlight) will be our trip to Southwell with Indira, who is set to run in what I believe will be a very suitable race.  She's very well and I hope that a mile at Southwell will turn out to provide suitable conditions.  You can see her perky ears in the previous paragraph, in the sunshine yesterday morning at the bottom of Long Hill.  (And you can see the perky ears of the other horse whom I rode yesterday, Douchkirk, in this paragraph's photograph, in which you can see one half of that famous duo, me and my shadow.

Treasures

That was lovely to see Davy Russell ride those three winners today, including the Gold Cup.  He's been my favourite jockey for years (our own jockey William Kennedy excluded, of course) as, to my mind, he's the perfect jockey.  When Richard Dunwoody was riding I used to say that I'd never seen a better jockey, Flat or National Hunt, and for the past few years I've been saying the same thing about Davy Russell.  That doesn't appear to be a commonly-held view, but I'm probably less rare in holding it now than I was 24 hours ago.  If ever a jockey deserved to be described as a centaur - half man, half horse - it's D. N. Russell.

But, rather than bore you to sleep eulogising about a man who's been on your TV screens all day, I'll just add a lovely footnote to the previous chapter's Roy Higgins appreciation.  After posting yesterday evening's chapter, I received an email sent by our friend in Sydney, Barry Wallace, former employee of Roy's long-term patron Angus Armanasco and of Gus' neighbour Rob McGuiness, and also former Flemington-based and Rosehill-based trainer (and now travel agent).  I won't quote the full email, but here are a few sentences from it:-

"Dear John, just a quick one to say thanks for the lovely piece you wrote on Roy Henry.  In the '80s, albeit for a short time, Roy was my business partner.  I bought horses from him when I was trading to Malaysia ... Roy was a treasure, he was honest, he was transparent and he was friendly.  When I say friendly, he went beyond that.  There was nothing he wouldn't do for you if it was within his reach ... It was a pleasure, an absolute pleasure, to have known him; if I can go to my maker half the good human being Roy was, then I shall be happy".

I don't think that any man could ever receive a finer or more heart-felt tribute than that, so I'm sure that Barry won't mind my passing on his reflections.

The lovely vernal weather continues, by the way; although, as you can see in the first picture through Roy's ears, the fog was very, very thick early this morning, even if it was already dispersing rapidly by 8 o'clock.

R.I.P. The Professor

I mentioned that I'd like to pay tribute to Roy Higgins on this blog, so what I'm going to do is to print my column in 'Al Adiyat' in this chapter.  I submit my column every Sunday, but I think that the magazine is published on the Tuesday or the Wednesday. Anyway, whichever it is, it'll have been published by now - and out of courtesy to the magazine, I didn't want to print my column here until after it was already out in its proper form.  If you didn't know who 'The Professor' was, the column will fill you in, and it should also make it clear why so many people feel that a friend has died, even if, like me, they never met him.  There was a memorial service held for him at Flemington today, and I would imagine that there will have be thousands of people there.  To an English reader, the best way of explaining his position would be to say that riding-wise he was Lester, but out of the saddle was as approachable as Lester is withdrawn.

I never saw Roy Higgins on a horse, but I've seen a lovely video of ten champions of the late '60s and early '70s, horses such as Taj Rossi and Vain, and he's riding most of the horses in the film.  I'd love to get a copy of that video again even if only to watch him riding: he was a beautiful rider to watch, like Joe Mercer only more so.  But the two ways in which he appeared on my radar most were firstly on the radio and then in Winning Post.

Roy Higgins retired from race-riding in 1984.  His first non-riding project was as advisor and organiser (including organising the jockeys such as Mick Mallyon and Greg Hall who did ride in the film) for the Phar Lap movie, although correctly speaking this took place before his retirement.  But then his main retirement job started on Blue Diamond Preview Day at Sandown in February 1991.  I remember this because I was in Melbourne but wasn't at the races, so heard it.  His new role was as mounting yard pundit on the radio station 3UZ, now Sport 927.  The first race was the Fillies' Blue Diamond Preview, and the David Hayes-trained Maribyrnong Plate winner Raise A Rhythm was odds-on favourite.  Roy picked out an unraced grey filly on looks, called Irises, trained by Rick Hore-Lacy and ridden by Greg Childs if my memory doesn't fail me.  She won at 12/1.  That got his new job off to the best possible start, and he and his microphone duly became an integral part of the mounting yards of the four Melbourne racecourses pretty much until he died.

His second retirement job made him and myself colleagues, a fact which used to give me a lot of pleasure.  I have three weekly columns (the aforementioned one in 'Al Adiyat', my stallion profile on the thoroughbredinternet website - whose subject is, needless to say, one of Roy Higgins' mounts this week, Century - and the international round-up in 'Winning Post') and the 'Winning Post' column is the most long-standing, as come this summer I'll have been doing it for 22 years (and will have missed only one week).  Roy didn't write his column in the paper for that long, but he was doing it for quite a few years.  Roy did an awful lot for charity, and I think that, although he was paid for the column, he basically started writing it as a favour to Fr. Joe Giacobbe, the paper's founder and former proprietor.  The paper was set up to raise money for Father Joe's charity, the Doxa Youth Foundation which helps under-privileged children and to which Roy gave a lot of his time, and it was a massive boost to the paper that Roy used to write a (very good) weekly column in it.

Anyway, the world became a slightly poorer place on Saturday, and I thought that this blog should mark that.  Here we go.

R.I.P. THE PROFESSOR

Last Saturday should have been a wonderful day for Australian racing, with the past two Emirates Melbourne Cup winners Fiorente and Green Moon filling the quinella in the Darley Australian Cup over 2000m at Flemington.

The Darley Australian Cup can be regarded as Australia’s premier weight-for-age race (although the Moonee Valley Race Club might disagree – and the newly re-branded ‘Championships’ coming up in Sydney might alter that assertion anyway).  The Emirates Melbourne Cup, though, remains Australia’s most iconic race, and it is a huge boost to its status that its past two winners have now confirmed their status as true weight-for-age stars.

However, as Flemington’s card on Saturday afternoon drew to a close, news broke of the death of Roy Henry Higgins, one of history’s greatest jockeys who ultimately proved himself much, much more than ‘just’ a great jockey.  In a heart-beat, this news turned a day of general jubilation into a day of mourning.

Roy Higgins rode in the era when Australia’s greatest jockeys generally spent significant parts of their careers in Europe.  He was a rarity in that he mostly stayed at home.  Consequently his international profile was lower than that of some of his peers – but in Melbourne he was king.

Roy Higgins did, in fact, spend two summers (1963 and ‘64) in France in his younger days, but the trips were not successful, and at the end of the second stint he was delighted to come home and stay there.  From a British point of view, his most notable victory in France came in a relatively minor race at Chantilly in September 1963 on Grey Lag, trained for Sir Peter O’Sullevan by his great friend Rae Johnston, the legendary New South Welshman who (after a lengthy and stellar international race-riding career based mainly in France in which he won every English Classic at least once, including winning four of them in one year, 1950, alone) enjoyed a tragically short stint as a trainer in France before suffering a fatal heart attack at the races in 1964.

Roy Higgins might have cut little ice in France, but at home he dominated.  He hit the ground running on his return to Melbourne in 1964, winning at Caulfield on the Roy Shaw-trained Sir Dane on his first day back and then following up on the same horse in the Cox Plate later that spring.

Thereafter, the winners kept flowing.  Higgins won the jockeys’ premiership in Melbourne in 11 of the 14 seasons from 1964/’65 to 1977/’78, his reign only interrupted twice by Harry White and once by Jim Johnson.  He was a supremely gifted rider, possessing tremendous balance and a beautifully correct style.  Furthermore, he was peerless in his preparation and tactical acumen – hence the nickname ‘The Professor’, inspired by Professor Henry Higgins in ‘My Fair Lady’ and given to him early in his career by ‘Sporting Globe’ writer Rollo Roylance.

Born in Koondrook on the Victorian bank of the Murray River in June 1938 but raised in Deniliquin in New South Wales, Roy Higgins served his apprenticeship with Deniliquin trainer Jim Watters before moving to Melbourne, where he lived for the rest of his days.

During the years in which Roy Higgins was Melbourne’s dominant rider, he rode for most of the leading stables in the land, including as principal jockey for Melbourne’s seven-time champion trainer Angus Armanasco for nearly two decades.  However, ahead of all others, Roy Higgins’ name will be linked with the Flemington stable of Bart Cummings, the pair teaming up to land great wins with a stream of champions during 17 glorious seasons.

Although Roy Higgins had had a ride for Bart Cummings (who at the time was still based solely in Adelaide) on a horse called Native Statesman at Moonee Valley a couple of years previously, the Cummings/Higgins bandwagon started to roll in the spring of 1964 when they teamed up to win the Edward Manifold Stakes, VRC Oaks and Sandown Guineas with the tiny filly Light Fingers.  The following spring Higgins landed an emotional victory on his favourite mare in the Melbourne Cup, getting home by a nose from her stablemate Ziema.

Two years later, Higgins and Cummings won another Melbourne Cup with Red Handed, while at the other end of the spectrum they won the Golden Slipper in Sydney in 1966 with Storm Queen and in 1973 with Tontonan.  Other champions for the team included Century, Taj Rossi, Leilani, Galilee, Big Filou, Lowland, Fulmen, Dayana, Cap D’Antibes, Lord Dudley and Leica Lover.  Furthermore, Higgins won numerous big races for Tommy Smith, including the 1972 Cox Plate on the mighty Gunsynd.  He also had the leg up on Smith’s two greatest horses Tulloch (in a trial at Pakenham shortly after he had finished his apprenticeship) and Kingston Town, and was called up to ride the outstanding Victorian sprinters Vain and Manikato when their regular jockeys Pat Hyland and Gary Willetts were unavailable.

Roy Higgins battled with his weight from the outset, and even aged only 27 he really struggled to ride Light Fingers at 8 stone 4lb in the Melbourne Cup.  Ultimately he gave up the unequal struggle in March 1984, having not ridden in a race since the previous October, when he had taken time out of the saddle to act as consultant to the makers of the movie ‘Phar Lap’.  He always used to say that his ambition was ‘to become a fat old man’, and he duly found it a blessed relief to be free to set about achieving this aim.

However, in ‘retirement’ Roy Higgins became much, much more than just a fat old man.  As a jockey Roy Higgins had been supreme – but in the final 30 years of his life, he graduated from great jockey to great human being.  As radio pundit, journalist, charity worker, pillar of the racing community and ‘fair dinkum good bloke’, Roy Higgins – Member of the British Empire, Inductee into the Australian Racing Hall of Fame – enriched the lives of succeeding generations of racegoers, professional and public alike, sharing his wisdom with kindness, humour and humility.

To paraphrase John Donne and Rudyard Kipling, send not to know for whom the bell tolls, because when it tolls for a man of the calibre of Roy Henry Higgins – a man who talked with crowds and kept his virtue, who walked with kings nor lost the common touch - it tolls for us all.