Wine And Roses

‘They are not long, the days of wine and roses.’

No indeed and we all know what the English poet Ernest Dowson meant when he wrote his poem well over a hundred years ago. Sadly, the line lived on many years longer than Ernest himself, who died aged 32 and barely made it into the twentieth century.

The sentiment  –  make the most of your good days  –  was too good to miss as far as filmmakers and lyricists were concerned. The line is quoted in the 1944 film Laura and employed again in The Days of Wine and Roses, a 1962 picture starring Jack Lemmon and Lee Remick and dealing with their descent into alcoholism. Henry Mancini was responsible for the music; the lyrics  –  ‘the days of wine and roses laugh and run away, like a child at play’ etc are rather more coherent than anything we hear today.

When I listened to the King George VI Chase (a modest field but a tremendous finish) I felt that Harry Redknapp’s horse The Jukebox Man would prevail in the photo. You might suggest his ‘wine and roses’ days were anything but short because it’s well over fifty years since he was scampering up and down the right wing for West Ham. I know this because I reported the games.

But Harry knew the occasional sacking and court appearance later on and the term quince and nettles does not have quite the same ring to it.

We lost a few people in 2025 that I either knew or interviewed or respected from afar. I have no hesitation in including Denis Law in the top five British footballers I have ever seen, his brilliance on the pitch augmented by a Danny Kaye-like desire to entertain. When he raised a single arm to celebrate a goal, it was his way of saluting the world and if you want to see a born entertainer at his best, go back to the 1963 FA Cup Final, where he owns Wembley and even turns up at right-back sometimes just to show he could.

Personally, I believe his days of wine and roses came at Huddersfield, Manchester City the first time and Manchester United. A persistent knee injury inhibited him to a degree later on and he was industrious as opposed to deadly. But he had a nice sense of humour and no conceit. Post career, he invested a lot of money in carpets. When asked about the venture, he said they turned out to be magic carpets because all of the money had flown away. A lovable man.

I didn’t know Terence Stamp, who was much in evidence in the tabloids in the Sixties, partly because of his long-running relationship with the model Jean Shrimpton. A handsomer pair would have been hard to find but he was a serious actor, too, his performance as the unreliable, arrogant charmer (those flashing, dangerous eyes!) Sergeant Troy in Far From The Madding Crowd (1967), John Schlesinger’s perfect evocation of Hardy’s humble, bucolic Wessex, stands out.

Stamp’s career never quite took off and he knew occasional disappointments with the roles he was offered. The same might be said of Ray Brooks, who made a fortune from voice-overs but was seen to great advantage as Robbie Box in Big Deal, a gambling tv series which showed betting offices as they used to be, smoke-filled bolt-holes with plenty of time between races, greyhounds with actual names and managers and counter-hands who liked a bet themselves.

The midnight and early-hours spielers (card schools) were captured perfectly and, like the shops, now look part of a vanished England and a seedier East End. Brooks understood all of this, as well as the risks to family life which attach themselves to the committed gambler. Even so, there needed to be a vineyard in his career and a rose garden rather than a single proud bloom.

Fulke Johnson Houghton possibly came a little closer. All those years at Blewbury, the top-class winners, Lester on the phone whenever one looked right, the faith in John Reid from an early age, family man, gentleman, ability passed on to daughter Eve and a very polite way of following his own path. Even the most famous names, Sheikh Mohammed and Charles Engelhard among them, had to leave the training and planning to Fulke.

He’d have had a quiet little smile when his Fireside Chat, a 2/9 chance, failed to land the odds at Salisbury many years ago. Well, if you come up against Mill Reef making his debut, at least you have a story to tell your children.

All of which takes us on to Ian Balding, who just made it into 2026. I knew him fairly well through the Southampton connection  –  he once deputised for the great philanthropist Herbert Blagrave as president at the Dell and took over his horses for a short time as well  –  and I didn’t need to read all the obituaries, which concentrated on his time at Cambridge, his talent on the rugby field, taking over at Kingsclere, raising a richly talented family and Mill Reef, of course.

I remember little things like old Gub-Gub travelling everywhere in his dotage, the total support for apprentices, both male and female, his droll sense of humour  –  he once said he was pleased Clare had a female partner because she was much better at golf than most of the men that he, Ian, played with. He invited me to watch the hugely popular Lochsong work before her unavailing trip to America. He kept faith with John Matthias, even after the latter’s critical error on Glint Of Gold in the Coronation Cup and, incredibly, entrusted 7lbs claimer Frank Arrowsmith with the ride on Lochsong in the Ayr Gold Cup, which she won by a couple of lengths.

Ian Balding had time for everyone and never played the snob, despite his background. Like his great Derby and Arc winner he was something to brighten the morning. Good on you, son. The days of wine and roses lasted right up to the end and I guess we’d all be happy with something like that.

Ian Carnaby’s books are available to buy on our website by clicking here

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