​In 1666, at Worksop races, ‘exciting substances were prohibited’. So, it seems, as far back as the 1600-hundreds unscrupulous people were intent on gaining an unseen advantage.
In 1812, a stable boy was hung on Newmarket Heath for doping horses with arsenic.
In the 1890’s, the American-born Newmarket trainer Wishard was known for administering ‘substances’ to his horses, as were other English-based American trainers, which presupposes that in their homeland doping was not only a normal event but was also known about and ignored by the authorities.
In the 1900’s the use of cocaine was widespread in British horseracing, with the Hon. George Lambton publicly calling it a ‘scandal’. The use of cocaine as a stimulant caused horses to become wild and unmanageable, their eyes would be bulging and stare-stricken, sweat would pour as if they were composed of salt-water, with the effect lasting long after a race, and it was known for horses pumped up on cocaine to run headlong into walls and buildings.
George Lambton, weary of complaining about the situation to stewards of the Jockey Club, took it upon himself to prove to them that doping was rampant and had to be stopped. He informed the stewards that he intended to dope some of his own horses. Not his best horses but those he had long struggled to win a race with. He sent a horse that previously had good form but was now known as a rogue to Pontefract, had a friendly vet dope it, and not only did the horse win but the jockey could not pull it up until it became too exhausted to continue galloping. Lambton doped a further 5 horses which resulted in 4 wins and a second. The Jockey Club were finally convinced there was a problem only they could solve.
Indeed, without Lambton’s intervention it has to be asked how long into the future would doping been the scourge of the sport?
It was 1904 when doping was made illegal in this country, though in some places it is reported that it was a year earlier.
In 1912 saliva tests were introduced by the Jockey Club, testing for alkaloids such as theobromine, caffeine, morphine and strychnine. Yet rumours persisted that some trainers were gaining an advantage through doping and as late as 1933 it was claimed that 50% of horses were racing with such ‘excitements’ as cocaine, heroine and strychnine in their systems.
The aim of this piece is to pose the question, how can we be sure that the ‘great horses’ of the past, say before 1940, to take an arbitrary year, were not doped in some way? I make no claim against any trainer of classic or Ascot Gold Cup winners but in their autobiographies, they were hardly likely to admit to using banned or suspicious substances, were they? The top trainers were always under pressure to supply their rich and influential owners with not only classic winners but, as now, stallions for their studs. I suspect the temptation to gain any advantage, even if illegal, was tremendous.
It is why I don’t believe we can be 100% sure that any great horse of the era before 1900 was not being given one kind of ‘exciting substance’ or another. I am aware I am casting a dark shadow across the names of horses that appear in the pedigrees of most of the great horses of the post 2nd-World War era, horses that will include Eclipse, Ormonde, Pretty Polly and any classic winner you might mention during what might be termed ‘the doping era’ of British horse racing. 
During this dubious era, it was approaching a common occurrence on Newmarket Heath, as George Lambton described in his book ‘Men and Horses I Have Known’, for a wild-eyed, snorting beast of a racehorse to get loose and attack horse and man alike. Though it may be common in present times for horses to get loose on the Heath, I doubt if any of them attack another horse or any trainer on his or her hack to have to run for their lives.
I do not pretend to know the year when we can claim with any degree of certainty that dope or ‘exciting substances’ was not involved in the winning of any race in this country and would hope that the doping agencies in this country and around the world remain one-step ahead of the ‘dopers’. But we cannot be 100% certain, can we, as horses remain to this day to be found (innocently, perhaps) to have prohibited substances in their systems post-race? And, of course, with cctv at every racecourse stables, it is far more difficult these days to dope a horse to win, though to ruin the chances of a horse you only need to give it a bucket of water before a race.
The past is the past. The dirty deeds of unscrupulous people died, one would hope, with them. Yet when a breeder boasts that his stallion or mare has a blue-blood pedigree that extends as far back as one of the legendary horses of what we might refer to as ‘the dark ages of the sport’, he or she is, in effect, perhaps, championing the exploits of an owner or trainer who were simply superior in their use of illicit ‘excitements’ (not that they were illegal in their time) than their contemporaries? 

​Bravemansgame is good, isn’t he? But how good? How special? His great strength is his unflustered style of jumping. He is not a great jumper in the Frodon style, in fact he is better in some respect. Frodon must use up a lot of energy with his enthusiastic assault on his fences, whereas Bravemansgame is neat, expending as little energy as is needed. Also, what should be mentioned is the good job Harry Cobden’s does with him. The horse is the anxious type, even if in a race he settles and the long rein and sitting as a quiet as a man in silent contemplation that Cobdens employs on him is what has made the horse he is. Really great riders do not need to be energetic and flamboyant, all movement and punchy as a welterweight boxer, as Cobden proves on a daily basis.
Of course, what we do not know is how Bravemansgame will react if he arrives at the last fence at Kempton in the King George in need of a big jump to close in or to repel Allaho or whichever Irish Gold cup contender contests the race this season? What is also interesting is whether Cobden will choose the youth and potential of Bravemansgame over the tried and tested Clan des Obeaux, especially if Clan were to win the Coral Gold Trophy (Hennessey) in November?
We shouldn’t despair about Ahoy Senor’s first run of the season. He is a big, strong horse and Lucinda Russell would not be the first trainer to undercook a horse for its seasonal reappearance for fear of doing too much too early or injuring the horse. Also, I think he is a horse who will be liable to running a poor race now and again. To me, he has always reminded me of Carvill’s Hill. He is either on the right stride at a fence or is wrong, with nothing in between, and being such a big, strong, long-striding horse, he allows the jockey little opportunity to correct his stride to help put him right. I see him as a thorough stayer and would be inclined to aim him at the Welsh National rather than either the Coral Gold Trophy at Newbury or the King George. I wouldn’t rule him out as a Gold Cup contender, though they might have to let him bowl along in front to use his stamina and his jumping (if he is on song) rather than allowing others to dictate the pace.
Goshen? What are the Moores to do with a horse like Goshen? Again, he is a horse who is always liable to throw in a poor effort. And Saturday was a very poor effort, albeit Jamie Moore accepted the situation and allowed the horse to school round in his own time. It is no excuse, of course, but the race was a handicap and even though he had never run in a chase before, Goshen was giving 11 Ibs to three good-class horses, testament to how difficult it is these days for trainers to find suitable races for good-class novice chasers. And what Ascot proved is that making novice chases handicaps is not a sure-fire way of attracting competitive and large-sized fields.
To return to Wetherby. The opening race, the Class 3 novice hurdle, should provide a hatfull of future winners. The winner, Hall Lane, looks decidedly full of promise and the second, who was far from an easy ride, Hurricane Bay must be equally promising. I also thought the third, Tommy Cullen, stayed on tenaciously, with back in the field William of York ran on as if 3-miles might be his game.
Bryony Frost has become a Marmite figure in the sport, which is devilishly unfair as a whole lot of the ire she has had to face is a result, I believe, of envy. No jockey in National Hunt connects with spectators as she does and no jockey can speak so eloquently and with such love and enthusiasm on what makes a horse tick. She should be invaluable to the sport, yet the obnoxious behaviour of one individual has tainted her reputation and perhaps devalued her appeal. And what is being lost on so many in the sport is that in her own individual style she is a damned good jockey/horsewoman as she proved with the ride she gave Hurricane Bay on Saturday, a horse that was very babyish, over-keen and taken by surprise by every approaching hurdle. What also should be remembered, though with the emergence of Lorcan Williams as a big race rider she may get less opportunities this season, is that Paul Nicholls has never lost faith in her. I suspect Frodon is not the horse of old and do not expect him to win the big race at Down Royal next weekend and I hope other quality horses come her way so that she remains in the spotlight. It will be interesting to see if she retains the ride on Greaneteen this season as he seems to perform better (or perhaps as well) with her than Harry Cobden, a jockey who might become another Adrian Maguire, known as the best jockey of his generation never to become champion. 

​I am not a journalist. That, I should think, is plainly obvious. In the accepted definition of the word, I am also uneducated. And old. With a different perception of life than anyone fortunate to be thirty-years or so younger than my three-score years and eight-and-a-half. As far as horse racing is concerned, my history originated back in the days of black and white television, back to the days of wonder and utter fascination. Back to the time when Arkle, unappreciated then, by this pre-teenaged council-housed kid, roamed with kingly head-carriage, the parade rings of Cheltenham, Newbury and Leopardstown.
In a very minor capacity, virtually akin to Sunday League, I am a published author. Small stuff not worth bragging about, plus two self-published books, one an atheist-based, light-hearted novel titled ‘Linda Versus God’, to be found as an E-book, and a collection of horse-racing short-stories ‘Going To The Last’, which can be purchased in hard copy. Links to be found on this website.
I have no other authority to be writing about horse racing other than my life-long love affair with horses and horse racing.
As I have already stated, I am not a journalist. This fact of life, of course, does not excuse my inability (laziness?) in taking up my time in research to cast light upon my ignorance. Sixty-years of following horse racing and yet still I do not possess a coherent grip on the ins and outs of betting and the betting industry. I can work out £5 at 2/1 equals £10 plus the return of stake money but would only have a hazy calculation if that £5 was on a 11/8 or 100/30 shot. When I am told that a jockey rides a 170/1 treble I can only believe I am being told the truth as in sixty-years I am still unable to do the math.
I am also ignorant of racing politics. In fact, in my naivety, for many years into my love of horses and horse-racing I had no idea there was such a dark internal structure in horse racing. In my naivety, I must have thought that the sport consisted solely of horses, jockeys, trainers, owners and betting shops. Indeed, as recently as when the B.H.B. morphed into the utterly useless B.H.A., I was shocked to discover that those with the power to alter and impose the rules and regulation of the sport need not be people with an association of some sort with the sport or even had ridden a horse. I remain perplexed that the head honchos of the sport can be paid large salaries yet have no affinity or experience with horses or within the sport. Would the L.T.A. appoint as its chairman/woman someone who had never set foot on a tennis court? And only an air-headed optimist could have believed a tripartite agreement where all three parties had to agree on a matter before it could be ratified would ever work in favour of the sport.
As I say once again, though the evidence, I should imagine, is before ‘your very eyes’, as Tommy Trinder used to say (my apologises, comedian of the fifties/ sixties and before, I suspect, and a former chairman of Fulham Football Club). I admire all the Racing Post columnists, especially David Jennings and especially especially the part-time contributor that is Patrick Mullins. The former speaks with authority as he understands the niceties and intricacies of the sport and the latter through growing-up alongside thoroughly ingrained racing people. I don’t know about you, but I would would trade diamonds and gold simply to be able to address Ruby Walsh as an equal; to not go dumb just by being in his presence. Even David Jennings, perhaps even Tom Lee, would be a little on the back-foot to be alone in the same room as Ruby or any of the Walsh racing dynasty.
But I digress, something a trained journalist would never do. I digress a lot, losing my thread and train of thought on a regular basis. Something David Jennings would never do. Would never be allowed to do.
When I write best (or least worst) is when I allow my racing thoughts to come onto the page unaided by deep study. Stream of consciousness, if you prefer. In the same vein as James Joyce, though utterly not in the same silver lane as the writer of some of the hardest to read novels of all time. So, actually, a bit like James Joyce after-all. Beside me, to flesh-out my point, I have a few hastily scribbled research notes on the doping of horses. I have meant to write this up for over a week but I am held hostage by knowing for sure that I need to research the subject to a greater depth to achieve any sort of clarity and that it will involve a lot of literary knitting together for it to make any sense. It will require thought and planning, with the literary strength of character not to digress. 
My only concession to a small degree of professionalism is to confine myself to 1,000 words or less. I sometimes go over this limitation and yet I never edit back to the set number I restrict myself to. Tom Lee would be furious at my ineptitude and laziness! This very piece is now odds-on to go beyond the golden 1,000.
I remain, I admit, even after sixty-years, naïve in my approach and appreciation of the sport and my ideas and suggestions for the survival and marketing of the sport, though in my mind my ideas are both achievable and perhaps even aspirational, they are not written for public consumption neither after long study nor calculation of cost. I believe what I write, though. I believe a forty-runner Lincoln Handicap started from a barrier would be a better spectacle and start-off point for the flat season than the whimpering beginning we have now. I believe a fifth (non-festival) ‘Heath-type’ Day at Cheltenham would bring great opportunity and greater financial benefit to both the town of Cheltenham and the sport. I believe the whip, for the greater good of the sport, should be restricted to ‘one hit and that’s it'. You may disagree but as I am pretty certain only a handful of people read what I pen I am not going to lose any sleep over the possibility I might be wrong. And that includes Kevin Blake who belittled my first post on the subject and then completely ignored my rational defence of my position. I know, he’s too busy with his career to bother with the little people. I get that. Yet as it stands, I won the argument.
The reason, though, that I write and publish on-line my naïve thoughts and speculations on a sport I love, is because it is good for my mental health. My brain malfunctions on a daily basis. My memory is bettered by goldfish. My finger is sent a message to land on the r button yet somehow lands on the t, e or f button; the same with any of the 26 letters of the keyboard. And so on and so on. I write, therefore I am.
And I shall keep on doing it and yes, I really have no interest in the number of hits the site achieves and I have the same lack of interest in how many people have foolishly, with my sincere gratitude, bought ‘Going To The Last’. I do it because I can. And so could you.
Anyway, the Racing Post has fallen through the letterbox and it is time to read what the professionals have to say.

​I have never truly warmed to the concept of Champions’ Day at Ascot. I was not happy when the Champion Stakes was snatched from its spiritual home, Newmarket, and presented to Ascot to allow ‘Champions’ Day a race with the name champion in its title. I still miss the juxtaposition of a great handicap, the Cesarewitch, run on the same day as an important European Group I. Not that I am campaigning for the race to be returned to Newmarket. It is what it is and over the years I have come to accept the transfer.
Because of the timing of Champions’ Day in the race calendar, with the Arc, the Breeders Cup and the newly instigated Irish Champions Day distinctly competing for the same pool of top-class flat horses, there will rarely be a clash of equine titans, a race that determines equine champions be it sprinters, milers, middle-distance horses or stayers. So, it must befall the organisers to crown human champions, all of them.
As it is set-up, only the champion jockey and champion apprentice are crowned on Champions Day, with the result already determined before the big day. If all of the championships were to begin on the day after Champions Day, owners, trainers, female jockeys and the amateur champions could be crowned and celebrated at Ascot.
To me it is bizarre that the jockeys title is determined from one arbitrary date to another, with many top-class races not included, with the Lincoln, November Handicap and the Futurity at Doncaster notable for their exclusion, while the owners and trainers title encompasses every race in the calendar. It makes no sense and only plays in favour of the top jockeys and to the detriment of those jockeys who ride in this country from January to December.
Personally, I would prefer to see two flat championships for all divisions, with all-weather racing separated from the turf, with the jockeys winning the most races on the all-weather crowned all-weather champions, allowing the turf championship to be decided between the Lincoln meeting at Doncaster in March and the November Handicap meeting in November at the same venue, as history has had it since the year dot. If this revolutionary suggestion were to become the rule, the all-weather championship could end at the all-weather championship day in February or March.
The formula, and I use the word ‘formula’ deliberately as I believe the initial idea came from Bernie Eccleston who had a brief flirtation with horse racing, of deciding the jockeys’ championship on two arbitrary dates in the calendar and ditching the historical and more sensible method of using all the races in a flat season, came about wholly because of ‘Champions Day’. We will never return to finishing the championship at Doncaster, of course, and it will be as exacting as pulling teeth without anaesthetic for Ascot, Qipco or the B.H.A. to get on board with the common-sense of ending all championships on the same day. But the idea is now floated and I will keep at least two fingers crossed for the duration in hope of witnessing sensible change in my lifetime.

​Aidan O’Brien is quoted as saying that Auguste Rodin is ‘probably the most exciting we’ve ever had’. A bold assertion, especially coming from the ever-cool Aidan O’Brien. I suspect, though, he has said the same about one or two other Coolmore two-year-olds. Did he not say that Australia was the best horse ever trained at Ballydoyle, only to retract, and virtually apologise for his brashness, and put Istabraq on the pedestal of being the best horse ever trained there. He was quite bullish this time last year about Luxembourg if I am not mistaken. The Vertem Futurity might turn out to be a race of great depth, though I doubt it, or history might record it as a so-so race. Personally, I am not so certain that Holloway Boy would not have either won or gone very close if he had kept a straight course. To my mind he gave away a good five-lengths veering across the course and was beaten the same by Auguste Rodin.
Students made up more than a quarter of the crowd at Cheltenham on Saturday, which is both heartening and alarming at the same time. It is only to be hoped that a quarter of the 5,000 students in attendance – there, I suspect, more for the party and the music laid on for them, than the horses – visit a racecourse of their choice in the very near future. Mirroring what I have said about putting on free coaches to encourage local people to attend race-meetings, the students were picked up from their halls of residence and accommodation. Clerks of courses should learn from this. Oh, and £7.50 for a pint of Guinness is close to racketeering when in my local hostelry it is half that amount.
As always, my favourite racing journalist Patrick Mullins – he’s a bit decent as a jockey by all accounts – wrote an entertaining article on his first visit to Far Hills to support Shark Hanlon’s Hewick win the absurdly named American Grand National. 2-miles 5 and a hurdle race! Not much commentary on the race itself from P.M. but a whole lot about the drink, the food, the dress-sense of the young women woman and the non-racing entertainment.
Holly Doyle is forsaking us this winter to ply her trade in Japan. The Japanese will doubtless fall in love with her, so its comforting to read that husband Tom is accompanying her. Or is it the other way round. Anyway, they have both been granted licences to ride and I hope they are not too much of a success in case the Japanese want them back every winter! Apparently, they fly off this week, with Holly requiring two-days leave of absence to ride Nashwa and The Platinum Queen at the Breeders Cup.
Desert Crown has returned to Michael Stoute (didn’t know he had been away) after a short holiday munching grass at Dalham Hall Stud. Keeping everything crossed that he keeps injury-free through the winter as Derby winners kept in training as 4-year-olds rarely have any luck.
Lewis Porteous in the latest Post journalist to bang on about the Cheltenham Festival staying at 4-days. Anybody would think it was the relief of Dunkirk or Mafeking the way racing’s great and the good have wallowed in ‘their triumph’. I, too, am reasonably pleased, though I think it may be an opportunity spurned, not that I’m going on and on about it.
If you trawl the Birthdays column you are faced with an awful truth – most racing people are very old, almost elderly. Former jockey Tony Kimberley is 80. Paul Tulk 84. Sir Thomas Dunne K.G., former steward at Hereford and Ludlow, is 89 and Rupert Lycett Green is 84.
A news item that I thought more worthy of greater highlighting was the triumph of Marie Velon in the Prix Royal Oak (the French St.Leger, if I am not mistaken) on Iresine. This must the first time two female jockeys have won European classics in one season, Holly Doyle having won the French Oaks, a bigger deal, of course, on Nashwa. Small history, maybe, but a hop and skip for females in sport.
Having begun with Aidan O’Brien, I must finish with the great man. He must have run Emily Dickinson fifteen-times this season, all over the wrong distance, it seems, in Oaks and St.Legers and after disappointing on every occasion, the filly waltzed away with a Group 3 at the Curragh on Sunday. The paddocks will have to wait a year for her as Aidan thinks she might be a good understudy for the imperious Kyprios in the Cup races next season.

​The decision by the Cheltenham Executive to keep the National Hunt Festival at 4-days has proved very popular. Although I am perfectly content with the decision, and fully appreciate the logic of rejecting a move to a fifth-day, I am still harbouring the instinct that a missed opportunity has occurred. 
Don’t get me wrong; I fully take on board the overwhelming sentiment that the quality of races has already diminished close to a point of no return. And yes, I did put forward a plan that could have incorporated all of the opposing factions; those who wanted the Festival to return to 3-days, those who were happy at four and Nicky Henderson who would have been quite happy to have a fifth-day. (A quick summary: I put forward the suggestion that all the championship races could have occupied the first three-days, with the fourth-day comprising all the handicaps, with the fifth comprising consolation races for the major handicaps, the Cross-Country race and the races dropped from the Festival over the years, including the United Hunts hunter chase and perhaps the often mooted mares bumper. The meeting to be renamed Cheltenham week incorporating the National Hunt Festival.)
Since Cheltenham announced the possibility of extending the Festival to a fifth-day, I advocated a ‘Heath Day’ on the Saturday, as was the case with Royal Ascot which when it was a four-day meeting concluded with an Ascot Heath meeting on the Saturday and which featured as the main race the Churchill Stakes.
I also advocated moving the Midland National to the Saturday before the Festival so that it combined with Sandown’s Imperial Cup to make a big betting day for the industry.
I hope the ‘Heath Day’ option remains on the back-burner as I believe this is a ‘missed opportunity’ for the wealth of the sport and the town of Cheltenham. Firstly, and I appreciate concerns about the ground deteriorating if Festival week coincides with wet weather, though that remains a possibility even at four-days, doesn’t it? And my ‘Heath’ suggestion actually offers Cheltenham a great amount of wriggle room if the weather gods do play havoc during the week. If, as happened the year of the big wind, one-day is lost due to the weather, instead of smuggling extra races into the following day or two, a fifth-day would allow Cheltenham to discard some of the planned Saturday races and run all the races temporarily postponed through the week. A safety-net, you might say.
I would have removed the Cross-Country race from the Festival proper, plumped-up the prize-money to compete with similar races on the continent, and had the race as the feature on the Saturday, building a programme around it in a similar vein to my suggestion for how a fifth Festival day might have worked.
The ’Heath Day’ would also allow the media, I.T.V. especially, the opportunity to reflect on the week, to interview jockeys, trainers and owners who triumphed on the biggest stage at length, with questions prepared and not asked ad hoc, with updates on the beaten horses and those that did not complete. And, as a Heath Day, it wouldn’t really matter so much if it was aired on I.T.V. 3 or 4. Also, if possible, a parade of the equine heroes might be arranged before they return to the stables, no doubt most of them across the water.
And, of course, being a Saturday there is greater marketing and publicity opportunities, with the meeting advertised as a ‘Family Fun Day-Out’, a chance to attract a newer audience to the racecourse, with perhaps local competitions with free tickets as prizes.
You know, I think a myth has been created that since the inception of the National Hunt Festival all the races were competitive in the extreme, especially the championship races. It simply isn’t true. Sure, there were golden periods, think of the Champion Hurdles of the late sixties through to the early nineties, when any one of a number of horses might win. Yet very often the great horses frightened away the opposition or, say in the case of Istabraq, one horse was so superior it was neither a good betting proposition nor did it make for a very interesting or exciting race. This season’s renewal may be one of the great years but its early doors and a Willie Mullins horse could easily look unbeatable and rival trainers could do a Paul Nicholls and keep their better horses for Aintree for easier pickings.
British horse racing needs all the revenue streams it can muster at this time of great upheaval, when the ‘Great Reset’ demands sky-high prices, the jackboot heel stamping on the self-employed, with ‘You will own nothing and be happy’, a W.E.F. motto that looms over us with the same menace as the Nazi army advancing through the territory of your neighbouring country. But I digress. We are living in uncertain times and the sport cannot be prissy and allow opportunities for growth to go untapped and untested.
The sport, and Cheltenham racecourse in particular, has a responsibility toward the town of Cheltenham. Over the past few years, the town lost the income from abandoned arts festival as well as the Cheltenham Festival and annually has to put up with anti-social behaviour and noisy good-humoured revelling. A fifth-day would bring greater revenue to the town’s pubs, hotels, clubs and restaurants. A fifth-day would be a way of saying thank-you.
We were all too fixated on the fifth-day being a Festival day. It need not be.

​If you inspect the foundations of those old, sometimes ancient, thatched or formerly thatched, cottages that prettify the villages of our country, it might surprise you that many of them have virtually no foundations. You see, the craftsman of olden days were aware of the earth beneath their feet, the lie of the land, and built on solid ground, the cottage orientated to be ‘side on’ to the prevailing winds, the thatch over-hanging to ensure excess rain-water dripped clear of the earthen walls.
Though horse-racing, I would argue, came into being with the rocky foundations of being an entertainment for the idle rich, a medium solely constructed on ego and gambling, the sport gradually sought respectability amongst rules and regulation, a sport for gentleman as well as aristocracy, with foundations that encouraged everyone from all realms of society to enjoy the sport.
Of course, it remains a rarity even today for someone outside of the modern-day ‘aristocracy’ - the mega-rich of the world, the ruling monarchs of Arab states, the global racing empires - to achieve success at the top-level of flat racing, yet the structure of the sport, its foundations, if you like, allow for the ordinary man or woman to ‘shoot for the moon’, with Pyledriver’s victory in the King George and Queen Elizabeth in 2022 a prime example.
It concerns me that if Peter Savill’s proposals for the sport to ‘kite-mark’ Premier League fixtures is adopted, there might become an acceleration toward the elitism of a dozen trainers (or less) dominating, with a similar number of jockeys lapping up the cream and even fewer owners gobbling up the bigger and strategically targeted prize-money.
If Peter Savill’s report contained democratic leanings there would be no need for it to remain a ‘secret’, known its entirety to only the few, even if the main ingredients have been leaked to the Racing Post, where, of course, it should have seen the light of day in the first place. I have no doubt that Peter Savill and his cohorts have acted in good faith, with the health of the sport their main consideration, yet this sport belongs every bit as much to me and to you as it does to an elite of the sport that Peter Savill is very much part of.
The very fact that on the front page of Thursday’s (Oct 6th) Racing Post, directly underneath Bill Barber’s article on Peter Savill’s secret report, there was the headline ‘The Highest Grossing Session in European Auction History’, which highlights the wealth that exists in and around the sport. Has anyone considered taking a percentage of the sale price of these million-pound yearlings to help fund the prize-money they will be racing for in later years?
The issues that concern Peter Savill – the real-time decline in prize-money, the drain of equine talent to places such as Hong Kong, Australia and the oil-rich Arab states, and low-field sizes – are shared by us all. I just do not believe that protecting and enriching the players who compete at the very top of the sport, whilst, and this will end-up coming to fruition, believe me, allowing the rest to sink or swim, is neither a healthy nor democratic strategy to ensure the sport survives and thrives.
Whether I prefer the minnows of the sport to survive and thrive is not the point. This sport has a basic requirement for the mega racing empires to remain profitable. Without Coolmore, Godolphin, Shadwell, etc, the sport would eventually become rudderless in a sea of poverty. From the creation of the sport, at its core the stables of the wealthy have underpinned the sport. Yet, at the same time, the sport was open to small-time owners, people who bred from a single mare, successful trades people who used their disposable income to own a racehorse or two, though, of course, syndicates and shared ownership now occupy that space within the sport. I argue, and will continue to argue, that prize-money for the classics and Group 1’s in this country is perfectly acceptable. What is not acceptable is the level of prize-money at the bottom end, the Monday meetings at Leicester or Redcar and throughout the race programme. The aspiration should be to have no race run in this country where first prize-money is below five-figures. And that should only be a short-term aspiration. The long-term aspiration should be no first prize below – well, name your own figure.
I would go as far as suggesting that ten-per-cent should be shaved off the prize money of all Group and classic races and used to plump up prize money at the basement level. The winner of the Epsom Derby will be worth an amount that far exceeds the prize-money won on the day, what difference would it make if the Derby was worth 1-million to the winner of £900,000. That £100,000 would make a huge difference at the bottom end of the sport and leave not a dent at the top.
The pyramids on the Giza plateau have survived mainly intact for thousands of year because they have solid foundations. Skyscrapers, unlike 16th and 17th century cottages, have solid and expansive foundations. They were not designed top-down but down-up. My fear is that Peter Savill and his cohorts are too obsessed by a desire to enrich the elite and if their plans become reality inadvertently the baby will be thrown out with the bathwater.
The greatest threat to the survival of the sport, in my opinion, is not the declining financial returns of the power-houses of the sport but the public’s perception of the sport as an entertainment of the idle rich. Which, of course, was perfectly true around the time the aristocracy had the sport of horse racing all to themselves.

​When Christophe Soumillon was given a lengthy ban by the Sandown stewards after the Eclipse, I thought him harshly done by. In fact, during that day the sentiments he displayed took me from being indifferent to him to admiring him. He became, in my eyes, one of the good guys.
So, I was amazed, perhaps even shocked, by his assault on Rossa Ryan at Saint Cloud. Whether it was an accidental assault or deliberate remains undecided, at least in my reading of the incident. The Racing Post continue to use the phrase ‘flying elbow’ to describe how Rossa Ryan became unseated from his horse during the race, yet if that ‘flying elbow’ had occurred outside of the sporting arena, in a supermarket, for instance, or in a pub, I am pretty sure on the charge sheet you find the word assault used to describe the incident.
On first hearing of his punishment by the Saint Cloud stewards, I again thought Soumillon hard done by. Yes, I know, the consequences of that ‘flying elbow’ could have turned out to be far worse for Ryan than a few bruises. He might easily have broken his neck. And Soumillon in the days since has pleaded contrition, apologised and accepted his punishment, a punishment that has become far more severe with the severing of his lucrative association with the Aga Khan’s string of horses. For Soumillon, it is now a case of ‘doing his time’ and then ‘building bridges’.
From what I have read, Soumillon has not suggested his ‘flying elbow’ was accidental and was in fact a deliberate act to keep Rossa Ryan’s mount from denying him to move forward. Now I have had time to process the ramifications of the incident and the two-month suspension, I believe Soumillon has got off rather lightly. A two-month suspension at the end of the season, though inconvenient to Soumillon as he will miss big-race engagements around the world, notably the Breeders and Japan Cup, is more of an opportunity for him to holiday, to spend more time with his family and at his stud farm. And because of French rules, he also can continue riding until the 14th of October. 
Soumillon is a very wealthy man, the humiliation and consequences of his impulsive behaviour will hit him far harder than a dent to his potential earnings at the backend of a season. I feel now that the punishment should be considered along the lines of ‘what if Rossa Ryan had been hospitalised with broken bones’. Oisin Murphy, for example, was given a suspension lasting the duration of a whole season and his crime did not involve assaulting a fellow jockey.
Personally, I believe Christophe Soumillon should have received a 12-month suspension of his licence, with a fine commensurate to compensating the connections of Rossa Ryan’s mount as through no fault of theirs they were denied a sporting chance of winning the race.
Christophe Soumillon is undoubtedly a brilliant jockey, that though does not justify any lofty thoughts that he might harbour be above the law. A sportsman at the top of his league has a duty of care to the reputation of both his sport and his profession. He has failed himself and the sport on all counts.

THE SANCTUARY OF THE WEIGHING ROOM.
More evidence has come to light to suggest Bryony Frost’s was correct in her testimony at the inquiry into her mistreatment at the hands of Robbie Dunne and that her fellow jockeys’ attestation that the weighing room was a welcoming and loving community was far from the truth.
In an article in the Racing Post, Paul Hanigan described the weighing room ‘as at times a toxic environment’ and recently Hayley Turner had cause to report John Egan to the stewards accusing him of ‘threatening and abusive language’ and he was subsequently banned for ten-days after being found guilty of ‘improper conduct’.
The complaint of senior jockeys is that young jockeys are too cocky and do not serve up the respect they believe is their due. The young upstarts also do not take any notice of any advice offered to them, especially when it comes to what I’ll term ‘race protocol’.
I’m not sure John Egan has made himself any more popular with his fellows by suggesting the depth of talent in the professional ranks is far lower than when he started out as a jockey. And he did not set a good example to the young upstarts riding at Chester that day by mouthing-off to Hayley Turner in front of them, impressionable young scallywags that they are.
Odd, isn’t it, that the most popular female jockey riding on the flat received the same treatment from a senior jockey as the most popular female over jumps received from a senior jockey. Coincidence, do you think?
If jockeys cannot be relied upon to police social standards in the weighing room perhaps it is time for an outside influence to lay down protocols, especially when it comes to the injudicious riding offences of young upstarts. Perhaps instead of senior jockeys confronting the offending young upstart a phone call should be made to the young upstart’s jockey coach and have the problem dealt with in a more civil manner?