MANY MORE HAMLETS STILL TO DISCOVER

Well now, we can probably all agree that the Load of Mischief should be a pub and, if so, our sort of place. In fact, these days it’s a private house in Blewbury, its pub days a thing of the past with only the Red Lion and the Barley Mow fighting the good fight.

I like the sound of Blewbury and every time Eve Johnson Houghton has a winner I look to see if it has reappeared as her base, recalling the halcyon days when her father, Fulke, sent out Classic winners in the hands of Lester Piggott.

Charles Engelhard’s Ribocco and Ribero won the St Legers of 1967 and 1968 and favourite backers were confident that Ribofilio would complete the hat-trick in 1969 but Intermezzo proved just too strong.

(In an extraordinary run Piggott, with Vincent O’Brien supplying much of the ammunition, rode whatever else took his fancy and won the next three Legers on Nijinsky, Athens Wood and Boucher.) The great man went his own way and we shall not look upon his like again. Whether he ever knew or cared that Hamlet’s tribute to his late father applied equally to him we can only ponder.

Eve still trains on the Downs high above Blewbury so there has been no change  of location since Habitat, Rose Bowl and Ile de Bourbon claimed their fair share of headlines. However, winners are generally listed under the stable name of Woodway near Didcot in the county of Oxfordshire. Forty years ago Blewbury, where Kenneth Grahame came to live after completing The Wind in the Willows, was part of a tract taken from Berkshire and awarded to the neighbouring county.

Fulke Johnson Houghton trained for very powerful people  –  Charles Engelhard, the Aga Khan and Sheikh Mohammed among them  –  though he once admitted to me that some of the relationships  might have lasted longer, had he not held so firmly to his own beliefs. He was totally loyal, encouraging the young John Reid, who won the 1978 King George VI & Queen Elizabeth Stakes for him on Nijinsky’s son Ile de Bourbon. These days apprentices are noted when their claim drops to 5lbs but Richmond Sturdy saw the potential in Reid and put him up when the full 7lbs was available.

When I was younger I followed trainer-jockey relationships with almost religious zeal. The great philanthropist Herbert Blagrave wanted David East (chubby cheeks in stark contrast to the rest of him} on board bottom-weights in top handicaps, while any powerful northern yard seeking the services of L C Parkes needed careful watching

This was in the days when the handicap range went down to 7st 7lbs but you also needed someone fully effective at nine stones for more important races. I’m sure Norman McIntosh  –  ‘seven stones wet through’ as we used to say  – would have coped well enough on one of Scotland’s most famous days when George Boyd’s Rockavon won the 1961 Two Thousand Guineas at 66/1 but Norman Stirk got the nod in the end. Well, if you were Scottish and called Norman you had a chance…

But a few years later the partnership which fascinated me most was Henry Candy and Billy Newnes  –  the perfect English gent and the Scouser through and through. They were both a pleasure to interview, Henry because he helped as much as he could when you asked about a horse and Billy because he looked at you sideways as if sizing you up and then said things like: ‘I know more about that horse than you do.’

This was unquestionably true but he’d still give you enough in the end. Maybe his star burned too brightly and briefly  –  he won the Oaks on Time Charter but was later stood down for three years for accepting a bribe. This was extremely foolish of him because he could certainly ride and was the last man on earth to be overawed by big occasions. His career never really recovered after the suspension and he rode out his time in Germany, which was something of a waste.

Before I realised that Woodway had hardly changed at all, I had it in mind to visit several older yards and see what had happened to them. I’d been to Lewes and Stockbridge and it was in my mind to end my journey just outside Doncaster, where Eddie Magner trained a small string many years ago. My dad, an old miner himself, never deserted him, regular offers of 33/1 and upwards a mere bagatelle.

A modest (to be kind) strike-rate never bothered Eddie, who cheerfully admitted in an edition of the Directory of the Turf that they ‘weren’t worth two bob, any of them.’  Well, every dog shall have its day and a young Lester was on hand to steer Johns Key to victory at Pontefract in the late 60s. My dad was on, needless to say.

What makes us fall in love with racing? My mum and dad’s sixpences and shillings, together with Bill Wightman’s manoeuvres proved irresistible, although various names have stayed with me for well over sixty years. How could I scratch my head over new passwords in the modern computerised world when all I had to do was call up Qarazan, Karkeh Rud and Qalibashi, all members of John Meacock’s team from his time in the Gulf with the British Army? I think someone had already claimed Derby contender and Wincanton scorer Vakil-ul-Mulk.

During my various stints in betting offices in the 1960s and 70s I’d try to wait for Bank Holidays before having a bet because that was when Bolton trainer Willie Carr struck. His yard at Dunscar/Bromley Cross would be my last call on the planned trip to Doncaster because Willie was a very clever trainer indeed, running his horses only rarely and producing them, fully fit, when everyone was looking the other way. And they were all connected to the sire Constable  –  The Country Lane, The Cornfield, Flatford Mill etc. On one occasion Raceform Notebook commented that ‘The Country Lane was stlll trying to kick a rival at the start when the tapes went up. She lost all of four lengths but still scythed through her field to win comfortably.’

Like Proust, I’d probably find all these places very different from the sleepy, rose-tinted hamlets I pictured in my youth. Well, there’s only one way to find out.

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