​I allowed myself the luxury of laziness yesterday and watched the Sunday Series from Newmarket. It was my first time as I am ambivalent to the concept, unable to accept that money can be found for this project, when in reality, it is a Sunday race-meeting very much like any other Sunday race-meeting. And, yes, I fell asleep for the first hour or more, only rousing as they set-off for the race Mythical Guest won. I am old; I need power-naps after I have done my chores. F.Y.I. I had done the ironing, hoovered, washed-up the dishes, watered what goes for our garden and had lunch. Sleep is good for the soul.
Did I enjoy the waking hours following my much-needed forty-plus winks? Not really. I thought it dragged; the Jockey Cup element is less competitive than an egg and spoon race, with a small money-prize, at least for the mega-wealthy jockeys taking part, no doubt an irrelevance to the successful jockey. On this occasion, the likeable but hardly in need of the money, Will Buick took the prize. I suspect, and hope, he might have donated his little windfall to the charity that helps support his son – Downs Syndrone, is it?
To me, the Sunday Series, the intentions of which are laudable, could do with attaching itself to raising funds for charitable causes, whether it is a home charity like the Injured Jockeys Fund or an equine charity or a charity local to the community of the racecourse where the meeting is being held. By all means angle the sport towards people who would not normally choose to attend a race-meeting, while at the same time supporting a charitable cause.
I hold nothing against the Sunday Series, unlike the spurious nonsense that is the team event – can not even remember what it is called – that Matt Chapman gets overly-excited about, I just thought it a long day, with I.T.V.’s presenters having to work like compares in sparkly suits at an unenthralling local talent show, attempting to whip-up interest and excitement that was as lacking as oxygen at the summit of Everest. 
Charlie Johnson, proving he is chip off the old block, has, apparently, taken-up his father’s cause and has pleaded to have racecourses banned, or persuaded to refrain, from watering during the summer months. Young Johnson is as sensible as his father, with the potential to be both equally outspoken and correct with his opinions. 
There are some trainers who would like to go back to the days when ‘hard’ appeared regularly in going descriptions during the summer and autumn months. Back then, hard ground was raced on mainly due to racecourses having no irrigation systems to provide ease in the ground and to encourage grass growth. We must not go back to those days. Horses regularly suffered tendon damage on hard ground, with only a very few horses advantaged by bone-dry ground and who would rack-up long sequences of wins because of it.
We live in, occasionally, more enlightened times, with racecourse management now pressed by the B.H.A. to provide ‘safe’ ground, with good-to-firm the bottom line, though on a warm, breezy day, good-to-firm at the start of play can easily become firm by the third-race, yet meetings are never abandoned due to firm ground that might become as hard as the road by the final race. What racecourses should be pressed to provide is a deep sward of grass, with watering only allowed for this purpose, to take any sting in the ground. At least for flat racing. National Hunt horses need ground with plenty of ease in it, otherwise modern-day trainers will be absenting their horses on the day in large numbers, with the resulting shame of walkovers and a plunge in betting turnover.
As with the whip, watered ground is about public perception crossed with equine welfare. It is bad look to have horses pulling-up lame, especially after the finishing line when all effort has been expended by both jockey and horse, the whip used to eke-out the very last drop.
Perhaps there is merit is some racecourse being allowed dispensation to provide firm ground on a regular basis, with the proviso that there is a good sward of grass to race on. Whether that would become dangerous on the turns due to the grass becoming slick is another matter but I do think study and research should be conducted on the benefits and downfalls – downfalls, I suspect, being possibly the operative word – of lush grass growth and firm ground.
At the moment firming ground has appeared after a long period of soft-to-heavy ground, with trainers declaring on ground with the word soft in it, whilst on the day a warm sun has dried out the top surface, leaving the dilemma as to whether to risk a horse with a preference for ease in the ground. The cautious trainer will always want to save the horse for another day, though sometimes the less knowledgeable owner will high-handedly insist on running.
As always when a Johnson is involved, Charlie, as with his father before him, has a valid point and though racecourses should be allowed to water, a compromise should be established based on scientific study and research.

​Although there is always an element of sadness when news filters through that a fondly-remembered former racehorse has died, to me, at least, there is always a sense of joy if that horse has lived a long life of retirement, as with Native Upmanship who has passed away aged 31. It is a great achievement for those who care for a racehorse if it lives to such a grand age and the staff at Coolmore should be congratulated for their dedication to the care and well-being of not only Native Upmanship but all the retired horses that live out their lives at Ireland’s premier equine establishment.
I will admit I was surprised, and equally delighted, to discover that the Magnier jumpers retire to Coolmore as I thought it was an empire that catered only for the most blue-blooded of thoroughbreds. I might be wrong, but it would not surprise me if Coolmore has an equine cemetery in order to give their former heroes a dignified passing into the world beyond as no stone is ever unturned at Coolmore when it comes to the welfare and respect of its residents.
Harcibald, too, died recently, aged 25. Noel Meade, who trained him to win 5 Grade 1’s, was quoted as saying the horse was treated like a king in retirement, which is a perfectly reasonable aspiration for how all racehorses should live when retired.
The horse racing establishment is finally mandating the principle of horses being cared-for from birth to death by keeping a register of retired horses, going a good distance towards a wardenship to govern where they are kept so their health of the retired herd can be, if loosely, monitored. It is a huge step in the right direction and for greater improvement in this vital aspect of the sport more funds should, one way or another, be made available. In fact, I believe, in the same vein as people who reach their one-hundredth birthday receive a telegram from the monarch, owners and carers of former racehorses that live till their thirtieth year should receive a plaque of recognition from the B.H.A. 
You might argue that vanity might encourage people to keep a horse going for longer than its overall welfare demands just for the recognition of receiving a plaque, though I would contend that people who care for horses, especially elderly horses, always put the horse before themselves and though the odd malefactor will act selfishly, overall that will not be the case.

The past week or so, at Chester and then again at York this week, there has been two incidents that have chilled my heart, two fatalities I found more harrowing that any I have witnessed over jumps for a very long time. Having only seen a replay of the finish of Hidden Law’s first race of the season and then the Chester Vase live on television, I had really fallen for the little horse and thought this was a Godolphin horse the public would take to their hearts. He looked such a battler and at Chester he also displayed true class. Derby favourite. Derby winner, I said to myself as he passed the post, only to have to avert my eyes as William Buick leapt off him as it was clear he had suffered a devastating injury as he pulled-up. I felt sorry for spectators who had to witness such tragedy as Chester is an intimate venue and it would have been impossible for vets and groundstaff to do their jobs in the privacy such a horrible task demanded.
Then in a sprint race at York, a horse formerly trained at Ballydoyle, Hispanic, broke a leg and carried on running until he was caught. A horse running on three legs is, I believe, the most horrible sight imaginable on a racecourse. Neither jockey was injured in either incident, nor was Tom Marquand in the following race at York, when his horse clipped heels and turned a somersault, thankfully rising to his feet uninjured. The jockey rising uninjured, however, never dilutes the chill of witnessing a horse sacrificing its life in pursuit of human entertainment, can never make a good news story out of a tragedy that hits hardest those closest to the horse.
The events at Chester and York put into perspective the disappointment felt by connections to King of Steel suffering an injury that will put him out of action until the autumn. Even if he never runs again, he continues to live and breath and will find gainful employment in the breeding shed at one fancy stud or another.

​Yesterday I sent off a manuscript to a literary agency, more in hope than expectation, forgetting to include the name of the agent I intended to give the ‘honour’ of being the first person to feast their eyes on my proposed book based on the concept that truth should be universally mandated as world law. The manuscript I found easy to write; the form, covering letter, synopsis, wearying to the point of stomach-churning. I had to go for a walk in the rain to regain both perspective and equilibrium. That my effort will go down the toilet, or down the tube of the delete button, due to my own inefficiency, is, at my age and growing senility, par for the course.
The above has nothing to do with the Dante at York or the Derby trials already run but it gives the reader a glimpse of what I must contend with on a daily basis. And, anyway, Lee Mottershead began his summary of the Lingfield trials with a story about having his appendix removed at age 13.
It would as pleasant as a massage if Hector Crouch and Callam Shepherd rode the Oaks and Derby winners this year? What a breath of fresh air that would be? Ralph Beckett’s filly won in nice style, even if the time was on the slow side. And take no notice of those who think Rubies are Red will reverse the form at Epsom. Does anyone think Ryan Moore wanted to be so far behind entering the straight? Didn’t come down the hill at Lingfield; will fall down the hill at Epsom.
One of many things I do not understand about racehorse trainers is when they say, as Ralph Beckett said at Lingfield after the Oaks trial, a horse will come on bundles for the run and yet immediately rules out going for a classic in favour of a race at Royal Ascot. Treasure, I believe, will turn out to be the better filly to have run at Lingfield and would cope with Epsom’s unique topography.
Also, I do not understand Aidan O’Brien running horses in classics that ‘will come on for the run’, as he did in France this weekend. No help to ‘the lads’, I would suggest and placing an enigma within a dark mystery for punters and tipsters.
At latest count, Coolmore have seven-possible Derby horses, Los Angeles, Capulet, Agenda, Grosvenor Square, Diego Velezquez, Capulet and the burst bubble that is City of Troy. As he could be supplemented, I will add the name Highbury to the list as I thought he was the most impressive of Aidan’s recent 3-year-old winners, albeit in a minor maiden.
The betting suggests that the 2024 Epsom Derby is Godolphin verses Coolmore, with Ancient Wisdom and Arabian Crown representing Charlie Appleby. Of course, but for the horror that occurred at Chester, with the fatal injury to the immensely likeable Hidden Law, we would have a different Godolphin horse heading the market. In some ways, after what happened at the end of the Chester Vase, Charlie Appleby deserves to win at Epsom. I hope he does; I hope he doesn’t.
Macduff and Caviar Heights are possible candidates pre the Dante, though I hope come Epsom a new trainer appears on the scroll of honour, as well as new owner and jockey. The trainer has no need to keep his fingers crossed as the horse will, if he gets there, represent him at Epsom, though if I were Callum Shepherd I would keep toes and fingers crossed in case Frankie makes a transatlantic phone call to the Gredley family reminding them of their long friendship, his availability and the need to have an experienced jockey riding for them at Epsom.
Do I fancy Ambiente Friendly? Not at this stage as though his time was close to a track record at Lingfield, I suspect he beat little of importance, even if he won with his head in his chest.
I am tipping a horse that will perhaps be kept for the Irish Derby. But I was impressed by Highbury and if he needed the run to bring him on, he might be the 3-year-old of the season for Coolmore.

Finally, and on a different matter altogether. I am presently re-reading Ivor Herbert’s book ‘The Winter Kings’ and was reminded of one fact, with an add-on that stretches symmetry to the point where one might be forgiven for exclaiming ‘Spooky or what!’ Can I suggest a spiritual passing-on of the banner of true and unarguable greatness.
Golden Miller died the same year Arkle was born at Ballymacoll Stud, then owned by Dorothy Paget, who owned Golden Miller during his illustrious career and who I was relieved to find out ensured he had a long and happy retirement.

​My understanding of the world of finance is equal to my knowledge of the streets of Kazakhstan’s capitol, Alma-Ata, and I not 100% certain I have the name of the capitol city correct. So, any reference or opinion I make to money, finance and institutions concerned mainly with the making and distribution of money should be viewed for what they are – ignorance defeating instinct by technical knockout.
When the proposal by Peter Savill, owner these days of Plumpton racecourse and once upon a time head honcho at the B.H.B., the forerunner of the B.H.A., to follow football, rugby and nearly every other major sport in this country and attach the word ‘Premier’ to our top race meetings, instinct told me it would not provide the benefits hoped for it. And ‘hope’ ruled the roost as the proposal was adopted, though severely tinkered-with and adjusted, by the B.H.A. I suspect the leaders of racing’s stakeholders were all suffering from muscle fatigue after all the arm-wrestling and twisting during the many meetings that lead to agreement on the new way forward. They all ‘hoped’ and I, at least, hoped I would be proved wrong, as I am on too many occasions these days.
As we know, the hope was that Premier fixtures – I have given up on the word ‘premierisation’ – would right the ship from uncompetitive racing, failing attendance at racecourses (mainly due to the cost-of-living crisis) increase betting turnover, preventing the export of top-rated horses to far-flung places and boosting prize-money, which is being achieved at the expense of race-meetings that represent the foundations of the sport.
Flying in the face of reason, the great leap forward began on January 1st at Cheltenham with no fanfare, virtually no signage and no explanation to racegoers as to how Cheltenham’s traditional New Year’s Day fixture in 2024 varied from all the New Year’s Day fixtures that had preceded it. And that has set the tone up until this very day as though Premier Racing has a logo it has only a minimal marketing budget.
What the B.H.A. failed to grasp is that though football’s Premier League concept is successful worldwide, during the season there are only a handful of matches that can be honestly described as being out-of-the-ordinary or premier. Luton v Sheffield United would not be one of them. Nor would Notts Forest v Burnley. Throwing money at a Musselburgh handicap does not magically turn it from a competitive and worthy horse race into premier status on a par with the Epsom Derby.
I have flipped from hating the idea of premier racing due to the ‘have and have-not’ status it implies, to thinking that there was a grain of a good idea within the concept, to where I stand now – wishing it would go away and leave the sport alone. Since I.T.V. won the contract to broadcast racing on terrestrial t.v. premier racing has thrived without any need for re-branding. Ed Chamberlain and I.T.V. have been brilliant for the sport, especially during the ‘covid years’. Unfortunately, Ed and his gang’s on the front foot contribution to marketing the sport has not been matched by racing’s stakeholders.
The only races that need to be protected from the overkill of races being run at the same time at other racecourse are the genuine premier races, the classics, Grade 1’s and Group 1’s, the major handicaps with long histories. Supporting races do not need such protection. With big screens at racecourses, racing all over the country could halt for sixty-minutes to allow a build-up to the Derby, for instance, and for a period afterwards for reflection, t.v. interviews and replays. The limited marketing budget used to promote races of international prestige.
As for the latest ‘big idea’ to come from the B.H.A. – taking ownership rights for the country’s premier races away from the racecourses where they are held, to give to a new company that could then source a global sponsor with a marketing budget the sport can only dream-of – smacks of selling the family jewels to a friend of a friend who knows someone of influence in high foreign places who might or might not be involved in human rights violations but on the whole is a nice guy who can be trusted implicitly to do right by us.
Some thing needs to be done, of course. Perhaps Baldric has a cunning plan that does not involve turnips. Otherwise, a scenario might pan out where the Ascot straight mile is one day used for growing turnips and other agricultural practices. 

​The views and ideas I express on this site are honestly felt, even if, in time, my opinions may change. Also, although I can be radical at times with the ideas I put forward, I am also aware that I can come across naïve if compared to the work of professional journalists, especially the expert commentators who work at the Racing Post. Occasionally, as proved by the Post’s guest columnists in yesterday’s edition, Simon Bazalgette and David Thorpe, my lack of knowledge on a subject can allow my comments to attract ridicule. 
I have recently re-read Tim Fitzgeorge-Parker’s 1968 publication ‘The Spoilsports. What Is Wrong With British Racing’, a well-written, and at the time, thoroughly researched dive into why British racing lagged behind other horse racing countries in funding and infrastructure. Comparing Fitzgeorge-Parker’s views in 1968 and the state of British horse racing in 2024, it is fair to say that not much has changed in that Britain still lags behind other countries when it to general funding and especially overall prize-money.
Fitzgeorge-Parker had no doubt the problems he wrote about in 1968 were due to the sport refusing to accept that the only solution was to follow the example of countries funded by some sort of Tote Monopoly. Now, after reading the Bazalgetter/Thorpe column, all that has changed is that, I believe, in the shadows of the sport it is accepted that a Tote Monopoly would be a good way to go if only it had not been nationalised and sold off in 2011 to Betfred. An example of the British government acting in its own best interests in the wake of world financial chaos.
Where I erred in my strong belief that some sort of Tote Monopoly should be reconsidered, with the oft-used phrase ‘that ship has sailed’ laid to rest for the sake of the sport, is in not referencing Britbet, which is a pseudo-type Tote and through its inclusion in the World Pool brings a large amount of revenue to the sport.
The major stumbling block to ensuring the sport’s future funding is, as always, the self-protectionism of all the individual factions that make up horse-racing’s bodily structure, with bookmakers only batting for themselves, racecourses likewise and so on and so on. I suspect only at the 11th-hour of the 11th day will all parties come together to achieve a cobbled solution to keeping the sport afloat; a solution that will be based on cut, cut and cut again, saving the premier at the expense of the minnow.
The B.H.A. are no help in the matter as its members seem to believe that as long as prize-money is doubled or trebled at Royal Ascot, York, Ascot and other high-profile festivals all will be good and the sport saved, with little or no thought given to how the smaller racecourses, trainers, jockeys and owners might survive if or when the sport goes belly-up. Bread and butter, I would suggest, can sustain the majority, while caviar, champagne and fancy French cuisine will only make fat the social elite.
So, although I may have been off the mark in previous forays into this subject, my overall opinion that some form of Tote Monopoly is the only sure way to proceed in raising the revenue required to kick-start British racing’s return, if not to the top, to equality with other racing nations, I accept that Britbet may be the baby step required to eventual success.
Of course, what is wanted is for all individual portions of racing’s stakeholders to row in the same direction and experience assures us that is unlikely as Willie Mullins showing mercy to his rivals by running only one of his horses in any one race.
As someone who is more enthusiast than expert, I believe the best solution is for bookmakers to only be able to trade on-course, though allowed to trade on the High Streets on other sports, whilst acting as agents for a horse-racing owned Tote. But then again, I may be wrong.

​If you think about it, being a jockey is a mad profession to choose when there are so many other less dangerous and more rewarding ways to earn a living. Imagine what a careers advisor would say to your teenage son or daughter when told ‘I’m going to be a jockey when I leave school. I have a pony already.’ Broken bones followed by broken dreams is what most careers advisors would point out in a pointless attempt to direct the child towards university education or a job within the manufacturing industry. 
A career advisor, on assessing the survey I had filled out, thought I should consider selling as a career. I do not care for buying much, so selling stuff I had no interest in would hold very little interest to me. Anyhow, I have found so many other ways to waste whatever abilities I might have had.
We, as enthusiasts or bettors, owe the brave men and women who go between the white rails day after day to entertain and enthral us, and, of course, to earn the fee that pays their bills, a debt we can never repay, though we can respect them. We must never forget that jockeys are flesh and blood, with mortgages to pay, cars to run and children to educate. It is so easy to criticise when sat in a comfy armchair in front of a warm fire, with a mug of tea in your hand. Gambling adds so much spice to the sport that a non-gambler like myself has no right to say that betting slips are harmful to evaluative thinking.
Not that you need to bet regularly to skew thought processes. I have never come within a hundred-miles of either Jack Kennedy or Paul Townend and I am not even Irish by birth or heritage, yet I desperately wanted Kennedy to become champion jockey. Not because I do not respect or have anything against Townend, it was just that he had already won the Champion Hurdle, Cheltenham Gold Cup, Grand National, plus the majority of Grade 1’s in both Ireland and Britain and enough was enough. Kennedy has suffered more broken bones in his comparatively short career to sustain a fracture clinic all on his own, and he had finished second to Townend in the Champion Hurdle, Cheltenham Gold Cup and the Grand National, plus a zillion other races during his career. He deserved to be champion jockey and I hope he retains the trophy next season.
As an aside, Paul Townend had a 38% winning percentage in Ireland last season. There should be a trophy for best winning percentage as even riding for Willie Mullins that is some achievement. The highest profile job comes with an expectation of achievement and that must come with pressure to succeed and more opportunities to cock-it-up, yet Townend rarely gets anything wrong. We all thought Ruby Walsh would be an impossible act to follow, yet Townend has made it look as easy as shelling peas.
The mad aspect of the Irish racing scene is that a jockey who rides mainly in bumpers can finish fourth in the championship, finishing above the loveliness and talent of Rachael Blackmore. Patrick Mullins may be the greatest amateur rider in history, or he may not be, after all he rarely throws his leg over a ‘dodgy one’, and also a mega and multi-talented communicator of the sport, with riches at his disposal that would tempt a saint to the sin of envy, yet should he be finishing in front of so many of Ireland’s top professionals? Given that Irish jockeys have far fewer opportunities in Ireland when compared to their colleagues in Britain, I would suggest half of their bumper races should be opened-up to professionals, even if restricted to professionals that are still claiming an allowance. Sorry Patrick, I even want to take the National Hunt Chase at Cheltenham away from amateurs!
On the domestic front, though pleased for her, personally I find it disappointing and not a little heartbreaking that Bryony Frost has had to make the decision to take her career to France in order to chase greater opportunities. Paul Nicholl’s has, apparently, asked her to return to Ditcheat in October, though now she is to be Simon Munir and Isaac Souede’s retained rider in France there is every possibility her appearances on British racecourses will become few and far between. Of course, the deciding factor in offering Bryony the job was the rather patronising 2Ib allowance female riders receive in France to encourage connections to give greater opportunities to the fairer sex, but it also seems a bit daft giving someone of Bryony’s success and experience an advantage over leading male jockeys. The 2Ib, apparently, does not apply to graded races.
I will miss Bryony, especially through the quiet months of summer, though I hope she career choice is successful and proves to all those trainers and owners who might have supported her what they have missed out on. She was our golden communicator, yet British racing decided to sideline her. Is it any wonder our sport is limping alone while in other racing jurisdictions it thrives?
I cross my fingers that the Racing Post takes an interest in her progress in France and allows its readers, and Bryony admirers, to know how she is getting on. A ‘Big Read’ feature on a Sunday would be appreciated, if she should grant the Racing Post the privilege!

​Occasionally I read about a racing story that has escaped my attention since it burst onto the front pages of the racing newspapers – the Sporting Life and Sporting Chronicle were the trade papers back in 1961 – and then struggle to find any reference to it in any of the books I own or when I go on-line. No doubt in the coming days Google in its infinitely puzzling way will enlighten me with an asked-for video on the subject.
The curious case of Zonda was brought to my attention by Tim Fitzgeorge-Parker in his fascinating book ‘The Spoilsports. What’s Wrong With British Racing.’ The final chapter, of which, is dedicated to this curious doping scandal.
Zonda was a decent staying chaser in Ireland in the late fifties and early sixties, as proved by finishing second, carrying top-weight, in a Hennessey Gold Cup at Newbury. The race that proved so controversial was a minor conditions chase at Leopardstown, the Rathfarnham Chase. There were only 4-runners, one of which was the 1959 Cheltenham Gold Cup winner Roddy Owen. The bookmakers had little doubt it was a 2-horse affair, with Roddy Owen sent-off the 5/4 favourite, with Zonda at 7/4. Bookmakers noted no unusual betting patterns. Zonda won by 8-lengths, with Roddy Owen finishing a tired third after making a bad mistake at the eleventh-fence. From the perspective of today any suspicion would be on Roddy Owen finishing a sixteenth-length third after being backed from 6/4 to 5/4 at the off. Apart from the Gold Cup winner performing below par, there was nothing surprising in the result.
Dope testing the winners of all races in Ireland was a relatively new thing and the racecourse veterinary surgeon took samples of Zonda’s saliva and urine. To cut a long and distasteful story short, the nominated Irish analyst, Dr. Pennington returned a positive verdict for caffeine. Strangely, and this what is needed to be explained and never was explained, is that the check analysts, Herd and Munday found the sample positive for strychnine, with only a trace element of caffeine. It is a tale worthy of a Dick Francis novel or even Agatha Christie.
At the subsequent inquiry the Stewards were convinced of wrong-doing and banned Zonda’s trainer, Matt Geraghty, for 12-months, yet, though Zonda was disqualified from the Leopardstown race, he was allowed to continue racing in Ireland under the care of another trainer.
Zonda’s owner, Mrs. Peggy St John Nolan, was concerned the decision of the Irish Stewards would prevent her horse from running in England as she hoped to run Zonda in that year’s Cheltenham Gold Cup. She sought advice from Weatherby’s and was advised not to press for an English enquiry which, they considered, might go against her. Confusingly, she was advised by another authority that Zonda could not run without an English enquiry. She decided on asking for an enquiry.
The English stewards thought a fraudulent practice had taken place, whereas the Irish stewards had only considered the dope implication. Her dilemma having doubled, Mrs. Nolan sought the expert assistance of Brendon Thomas Farrelly, a Master of Science, a Doctor of Veterinary Medicine and a university lecturer in clinical pathology in the faculty of Veterinary Medicine. He studied all the analytical reports on the Zonda case, drew-up submissions and set-off for London to argue his case. The English stewards were not particularly interested in anything he had to say, preferring to stick with the findings of the original analysts. The judgment was in alignment with the findings of the Irish Stewards except the English stewards went a step further in their punishment by banning Zonda from all British racecourses.
This was clearly a miscarriage of justice as there was no proof anyone connected with Zonda was guilty of introducing either strychnine or caffeine into his body. And that is without making any sense of how one expert had found caffeine to be drug the involved and the other strychnine. Or that Zonda had shown no improvement in form in the disputed Leopardstown race and went on to finish second in the Hennessey Gold Cup before either of the two enquiries were held.
I have little doubt enquiries both in Britain and Ireland are not as amateurish as demonstrated back in 1961. But in order to prove ‘how straight’ racing is in both jurisdictions, it is too easy to destroy reputations, as was the case with Ryan Price, a genius of a trainer, with the Hill House affair, where science finally proved that the horse made his own dope and that Price was innocent of all charges. What is forgotten when the story is told is that by having his licence to train taken from him, Ryan Price was denied the Grand National winner he so richly deserved as Anglo was in his care at the time and that he recommended he be sent to Fred Winter upon noy being allowed to train him himself.
The Zonda case reminded me of the Tramore case – Charles Byrnes (?) memory failure – where it could not be proved the trainer was in any way responsible for doping his horse.
It is so easy for stewards to apportion blame for the convenience of ‘proving’ how they are on top of the problem of doping.
Also, stewards’ decisions become an equine welfare issue when a horse is banned for life from racing. The horse is the most innocent party in these affairs and yet in banning the horse its existence could become precarious if it is unsuitable for any other equine discipline.

​The most hurtful accusation made by members of Animal Rising and others like them is that horses are used by greedy humans to make money and when they are no longer able to contribute to their keep, they are discarded as one might take a car with a knackered engine to the scrapyard. The accusation hurts not because it is true but because it is so far from the truth.
In a perfect world, all horses when retired would live-out their lives under the sun, their bellies rich with good green grass. But there is no such place as a perfect world and thoroughbreds unfit for other equine disciplines or with injuries that cannot be healed must, in an act that is more a kindness than an unsympathetic decision, be euthanised. In the wild, where Animal Rising suggest is the best place for thoroughbred horses, where only the strongest survive, the old and the maimed would taken from this world by predators and perhaps suffer a lingering death.
The truth is simple, we give life to racehorses and, as one would might be forced to do with elderly relatives, we must take desperately difficult decisions at the tail-end of their lives. The important bit is how we treat racehorses in between the birth and the end-of-life.
Owners, trainers, jockeys and those who are fortunate to live beside and look after racehorses, care deeply about the welfare of the horses in their care. There are no crocodile tears in horse racing. The death of a horse is not the ‘tragedy’ of a missed putt on the last hole of a golf tournament; the missed penalty that gives the other side the trophy. A horse that suffers a fatal injury on a racecourse is, especially for the groom who must return home without his or her horse, a tragedy that is a dagger to the heart, leaving a scar that may never heal.
Horses live on in our memories and in our hearts long after their passing. There are as many statues and memorials to racehorses as there are for people involved in the sport. If you omit Queen Elisabeth the 2nd, her mother and Sir Winston Churchill, I would suggest there are more equine memorials than for humans.
For many horses the memorials are less public. Those mighty warriors that Peter Easterby had the honour to train, Sea Pigeon and Night Nurse, are buried in a metal-railed grave-site at the back of his house. Indeed, Peter Easterby’s wife made her husband promise to have her buried when she died alongside ‘the old boys’, a promise which was kept. I suspect Peter Easterby may have demanded that he too be laid to rest in the same plot of land.
Jack Morgan, Edward Courage’s head man for all the time he held a permit, is buried next to Spanish Steps, a honour I suspect Michael Tanner wishes could be prescribed to him. Read his book ‘My Friend Spanish Steps’ and you will understand my comment. I, too, would be honoured to lay beside the great horse. Or any of the many horses whose memory is as much in my heart as in my head.
Monty’s Pass is buried in the garden of Jimmy Mangan and Norton’s Coin in the garden of Sirrell Griffiths, no doubt laid to rest close at hand as their devoted carers could not face having them anywhere else. I dare say there are hundreds of other racehorses buried similarly, hopefully with a grave-marker and an inscription documenting their triumphs. Not that a horse need have won golden trophies to be worth deserving of a home burial. Bush Guide who took part in the 1984 Grand National, is buried in the front paddock of Val Jackson’s, who rode him at Aintree, home. He died on Christmas Day at the age of 24. In Chris Pitt’s wonderful book, perhaps my favourite racing book, ‘Down To The Beaten’, Val Jackson is quoted as saying. “I’ll be buried next to him. That’s what I want, to be buried next to the horse.” 
When Animal Rising make their accusations, they lay heavy insults not only on the sport but on animal-loving people who would drain oceans or walk on fire in the cause of the welfare of their horses. Could we, as a sport, do more. Of course. There is always more that could be done. But what must be remembered, it is because of horse racing that veterinary procedures are as advanced as they are, with advances in treating currently untreatable diseases happening year-on-year. Yes, throwing buckets of water over the winner of the Grand National on a cold day is nothing more than virtue-signalling, but the welfare of the horse is paramount in every stable in the land.
The sport must, though, accept that it has a duty to support all equine charities and strive to raise as much funds as those charities require to rescue any ex-racehorse failed by the people charged with caring for them and to retrain ex-racehorses for a long-lived life away from the racecourse. There should be dedicated race-days throughout the year to raising funds, and for the Grand National, and perhaps the Epsom Derby and Royal Ascot, used for this purpose.
Racing people care deeply about the horses in their care and we need to shout about it more loudly than Animal Rising shout its insults and misinformation.

​The death of Shishkin last weekend has left a mark. Watching a recording of the Punchestown Gold Cup yesterday evening, the first thought that came into my head was that Shishkin should have been there. It was not that his absence left Fastorslow a lucky recipient of his Nicky Henderson’s tragic loss, just that fate can choose to be so damn mercurial and unkind at times.
In terms of British steeplechasers, Shishkin was important, even if he was rising to the veteran stage as he was one of the very few top-class horses we had in this country. Nicky Henderson does not have a ready replacement and I doubt if Paul Nicholls has a horse in his stable that will be challenging the Irish for honours in the Gold Cup next season. He may have become a little eccentric as he grew older but Shishkin was, perhaps, the best chaser in Britain and his loss will be keenly felt, not only at Seven Barrows but throughout the no doubt coming barren years for British trainers in Grade 1 chases.
For a horse to lose his life in its own stable is infrequent, yet in recent weeks two top-class horses have suffered that fate, with John Quinn’s Highfield Princess also dying after being cast in her stable. Usually, a horse that rolls completely over in its stable so that its hooves strike the stable wall, can get enough purchase to free itself. The accident to Shishkin must have happened after the staff had gone home, otherwise his predicament would have been heard and someone would have quickly fetched a rope and two people would have heaved the horse gently away from the wall. Some horses will just accept their plight and if not found in time will die of suffocation as the lungs of a horse are compromised when it lies down for too length of time. It is why you will often see a horse dozing standing-up. They will sleep lying down but not for long periods.
The horses who do themselves damage while cast are those that panic and I can only assume this was the case with Shishkin, his plight only recognised too late to save him from the self-inflicted injury that caused his demise.
No one should downplay this tragedy or accuse the people who worked with and around Shishkin of not caring, of carrying on with their lives as if nothing extraordinary had occurred. Henderson’s staff will be heartbroken. Jaden Lee, the employee fortunate to care for both Shishkin and Constitution Hill, will be bereft. He loved Shishkin and like hundreds like him, he lived for the horses in his care. He will never get fully over the loss of a horse who will forever reside in that special place in the heart for those who are no longer there to love.
I can guarantee that if a journalist asks Nicky Henderson to remember Shishkin next season tears will form in his eyes and his voice will tremble. Nicky Henderson is a softie; he cares deeply for the horses in his care. If anyone watched the video of Barry Geraghty riding Sprinter Sacre on the Seven Barrows gallops before this year’s Cheltenham Festival and on returning to the stables Nicky Henderson greeting his greatest-ever horse with the words, “Welcome, old friend,” will know that his passion for his horses exceeds his passion for the sport.
Life always goes on as it must, yet that does not infer that the heart beats the same as before. Tragedy leaves scars and the stable in which Shishkin met his fate will forever be associated with his name.
One aspect of a horse dying in its stable that is never talked about, and I assume Shishkin was attended-to in his stable as if he was too injured to be saved, he would have been too immobilised to be sedated to get him to an equine hospital, is the ugliness of removing a half-ton horse through the confines of a stable doorway. To have to imagine, let alone watch, a horse you loved and cared-for, pulled by chains or rope onto a knacker-wagon is the stuff of nightmares, far worse, I believe, than the actual euthanizing of the horse.
There is nothing as numbingly sad as a horse that you would empty your bank account to save but for whom the vets offer no hope. Life is not a box of chocolates; at times, life is a bastard!