FROST.

​I am presently reading ‘Centaur’, a book about Declan Murphy, a jockey as famous for nearly dying as for being one of the most naturally gifted jockeys for many a generation. For a book about racing, it is flowery and poetic, with a literary style all of its own. It is not, though, a biography or even an autobiography written in the third person. Officially it is a memoir. As with the subject matter, the writer (Ami Rao) dares to be different and that should always be admired. And I do admire the book. But, and this a really bugging But! The reader is forever told that Declan Murphy was a brilliant jockey. The most gifted horseman ever to live, almost. No one could tell him how to ride a horse, a race. There is a fine line between self-confidence and bragging and the writer, on behalf of her subject, oversteps that line. I am only halfway through the book. I may be missing a point that will rise up and hit me in the face in later chapters. But enough already!
The book I read previous to ‘Centaur’ was the complete opposite. ‘Touched By Frost’, the autobiography of Jimmy Frost, though as he admits to being practically illiterate I suspect the book was wholly written by Lucy Johnson, has no pretentions of being anything other than a bog-standard telling of Jimmy’s career. The style of the book reflects the character of the subject matter. It is straight-as-a-die, matter-of-fact, with no frills.
But what the book does have that makes it as unique as ‘Centaur’, and which is, not glossed over exactly, but given no prominence, is a murder, a particularly gruesome murder, it has to be said. As a trainer, one of Jimmy’s grooms was murdered by someone who was a friend of the Frost family. Obviously, Jimmy would not his want the story of his life or his family defined by this one barbaric incident and perhaps Lucy Johnson honoured his wishes by burying it near the back of the book. Others, though, would have used the gruesome event as ‘mud on the page’, as one prolific author once advised me, a hook to help the publisher sell the book. I would have referenced the incident on the opening page and referred to it, as obliquely as possible, in other chapters, building the readers eagerness to ‘learn all about it’. Of course, I am not right in my opinion. I am neither the subject matter nor the writer. And as the book was published in 2003 my thoughts are worthless.
Of course, in hindsight, the story about the murder is given greater capacity to chill the soul as you know that the murderer is now out of jail. He may even read this piece. The Frosts may even encounter him in their daily lives. Perhaps when, as it is inevitable, Bryony writes her life-story, we might read a different perspective of the event.
Which leads me to Bryony, the only daughter of the Grand National winning jockey. In 2003 she was but a rider of Shetland ponies. Her father could not include her in his life story because for most of it she was not born. Yet her smiling presence is the shadow across the narrative. In fact, I would encourage Jimmy to phone Lucy Johnson and ask about the viability of a second book dealing with his pride at the achievements, if lesser than his own at present, of his children. His daughter is without doubt the most popular jockey riding and to chart her progress through the eyes of her parents would make for a fascinating read.
Along with the remarkable Rachael Blackmore in Ireland, Bryony could put our sport on the front pages of the newspapers. She is a naturally ebullient character and her love and enthusiasm for the sport is a perfect outlet to promote the sport. With the backing of Paul Nicholls and Neil King, she has the opportunity this season to crack the glass ceiling that thus far has stopped female jockeys from competing regularly at the top level of the sport. We, as enthusiasts of the sport, need her, though also other female jockeys, to be riding in the top races. Not on also-rans but horses with obvious chances of winning. I would like her to ride horses like Lil Rockerfella, when Wayne Hutchison is unavailable, and the top horses of Paul Nicholl’s, when Cobden, Bowen and Twiston-Davies are unavailable. And if she is good enough to ride Robert’s Star for the Bradstocks, why would she not be suitable for Coneygree? If the horse gets to Cheltenham this season both de Boinville and Johnson, his regular pilots, will, hopefully, be otherwise engaged.
When Bryony publishes her first book – there will be more than one, believe me – it must not focus on horses she did not ride but be highlighted by big-race winners that helped to change the course of British racing.