I'm writing this in the evening of Monday 30th November, so we've nearly got through the month. It's been a much easier month to get through than either September or October because it hasn't been nearly as wet. It's actually been as good as November can be, as dry and as mild. We've had some wet days, some windy days and some cold days, but nothing too extreme; and we've had plenty of nice days. And, while for many people it's been a bad month because of lockdown, we're lucky in the stable in that lockdown doesn't really change our daily routine. Mind you, there are plenty in the same boat in that respect: during the lockdown in the spring the country was so quiet, but now it doesn't seem any different to normal.
So tomorrow's the first day of Advent, and we start counting down to Christmas, which is when English people become even sillier than normal. (Witness the fact that COVID protocols will be changed for a few days for no reason better than the fact that people are going to do what they want anyway, so the government has decided that it might as well legitimise their behaviour rather than being portrayed as 'Scrooge', which, of course, is the worst insult that can be levelled at anyone during 'the festive season'). (You might wonder why I remain so bemused by the whole Christmas thing, but I grew up in Scotland where it's never been a big deal. Or certainly wasn't when I was there. I'm pretty sure that when I was young there was only one Public Holiday in Scotland at Christmas - 25th December - compared to two at New Year - 1st and 2nd January - and it wasn't that long since the days when even 25th December had been a normal working day).
To return to the present day, I wrote the last chapter when we were shortly going to take Kryptos to Lingfield. He ran well again, finishing third to Yes My Boy, who had been third when Kryptos had won at Wolverhampton the previous week. Yes My Boy was 8lb better off so they probably ran more less to the pound, although (rightly or wrongly) I rather feel that Kryptos acted better at Wolverhampton, where he flew round the bend and up the straight, than at Lingfield, where he ran wide on the bend and seemed to take the first half of the straight to get balanced and going forward. I had suspected that that might be the case. (And I might be imagining it anyway).
Looking ahead, The Simple Truth should run at Chelmsford on Thursday; Surooj should make her debut in the three-year-old fillies' bumper at Wetherby on Saturday; Das Kapital might have his third hurdle-race outing at Huntingdon on Sunday; and Hidden Pearl might go to Chelmsford on Monday. We'll start worrying about the latter two of those when we get nearer the time, not least because I don't yet know what likelihood there might be of Das Kapital getting a run in a race from which I guess there will be eliminations, but hopefully The Simple Truth and Surooj will be running. (I never like to describe a horse as a definite runner until the race is under way).
To move on to a more serious topic, Friday started badly when I received a text from Chris Dwyer just after 6.00 to let me know that his father-in-law Barry Rawson had finally and inevitably succumbed to terminal cancer in the early hours. Even when you know something like that is definitely going to happen sooner rather than later, it's still a dismal day when it does happen. Barry was a lovely man whom several people reading this might have known, and plenty more will have seen at racecourses in this area over the past few decades. You'd certainly have seen his ever-smiling face if you'd ever gone to Yarmouth.
Barry was my landlord in Cedar Lodge Stables in Hamilton Road during my first two years training, 1995 and '96. We all need a bit of help when we're getting going (well, we all need a bit of help at any time) and Barry certainly was a huge help to me. You could not have asked for a nicer, kinder, more helpful, more accomodating or more encouraging landlord. He was a lovely man, a proper racing enthusiast. He was also a very good plumber, which I have cause to remember every time I use the toilet downstairs in the yard. When I moved in here in the spring of 1997, there was (amazingly) no toilet in the stable, so he converted the alcove under the stairs in the porch for me. It wasn't an easy job as the situation meant that the water in the outflow needs to flow uphill to get away, so a pump was required. At the time I thought that this was a recipe for repeated repairs being required - but here we are, 23 years later, and the original pump still works. That's a skilled man very good at his job.
I know that I've gone off at a tangent there, but that's an illustration of Barry: he wasn't just a very nice, very friendly, very kind and very decent man - he was a very skilled and industrious one too. He and Christine were always very integral to Chris and Shelley's training operation, loving the involvement and the success. He will have got a lot of pleasure in his final weeks from the news of Chris' employment by Dr Johnny Hon (which, by the way, is an inspired appointment by Dr Hon as it will mean that his horses will be trained expertly and he will be treated very fairly - there are plenty of people he could easily have ended up employing and found neither of those applying) which sees Chris returning to the training ranks.
He will have got a great deal of pleasure in recent years of the success which Silvestre De Sousa has enjoyed while Shelley has been booking his rides, most notably when he was champion jockey. But what was particularly lovely was that Barry lived long enough to see Shelley's niece Jessica Macey train her first winner. He'll have loved that - and when lovely genuine little Trinity Girl stuck her neck out at Chelmsford on Friday evening and refused to let Sir Canford go past her, it was very easy to imagine Barry cheering her on from above.
Jessica has had another winner this evening at Kempton (Phoenix Star again) and the reasons to raise a glass to Barry will keep coming. Sadly gone, but fondly and gratefully remembered, and never forgotten.
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