THE HENNESSEY FIFTY YEARS AGO.

​I am indebted to a reader who informed me that on Saturday it is fifty years since Spanish Steps, as a six-year-old, won the Hennessey. Yes, fifty years ago. Where does the time go? I was fifteen at the time and in the interim I have almost used up my full quota of years upon this Earth. Chastening or what!
I am convinced that if I were to include reference to Spanish Steps in every blog I post my readership would be many-fold larger than whatever it is. During the early months of horseracingmatters I vented my spleen over the powers-that-be allowing Coolmore to name a two-year-old Spanish Steps. I was livid. Incredulous. That blog continues to draw in replies, all of which agree with my position on the matter and stagger me with the popularity of Edward Courage’s horse and the affection people still feel for him. The stuffed shirts at the B.H.A. cannot seem to get it into their corporate heads that the famous equine names of the past are what brought us to the sport. Names are not simply names but the source of fondly recalled memories; the great names should never be replicated.
I have only been able to find on YouTube film of the last few fences of the 1969 Hennessey. Viewing this short footage gives the impression that the race only drew a small field rather than the respectable 14 that went to post. The main opposition to Spanish Steps were Larbawn, a top-class handicapper owned and trained by Michael Marsh and Gordon Richards’ Playlord, the winner of the previous season’s Great Yorkshire Chase and Scottish Grand National.
The ground was firm, which on all known form would be against Spanish Steps and in favour of Larbawn, a firm ground specialist. At the fifth fence Spanish Steps got a big doss of luck as directly in front of him, as he was in mid-air, both Lady Mynd and Cottager fell, one rolling to the left and bringing down Limeburner, the other to the right, bringing down Playlord, leaving a clear landing strip for Spanish Steps. The race was run at a tremendous pace, with the course record to be broken by nearly 2-seconds. Up that long, unforgiving straight, the race became a two-horse affair between Spanish Steps and Larbawn. The spectators in the stands were expecting a titanic Newbury-type battle to the line but they were to be denied as Spanish Steps drew clear at the second last to win by fifteen lengths, becoming, perhaps, the first in a long-line of heirs to Arkle’s crown. In winning the Hennessey, remarkably, as if scripted, Spanish Steps was his owner/breeder’s 100th winner as a trainer and placed him top of the trainer’s championship. I doubt if we shall see again a permit trainer at the pinnacle of the profession.
A young lad of 16, Paul Dunne (where is he now?) penned this little verse to the great horse (taken from Michael Tanner’s gem of a book ‘My Friend Spanish Steps):
‘Like a proud king he stands   A monarch of all he surveys   A Napoleon of the Turf
Every racecourse his realm’.
I dare say only a few reading this will remember Spanish Steps or will comprehend the fondness of the memories he instilled in us. All I say is go search the archive for the years between 1968 and 1975, all the top chases, Hennesseys, King Georges’, Gold Cups, Grand Nationals. Listen to Peter O’Sullevan’s commentaries and the common denominator will be Spanish Steps. To use a modern phrase ‘he danced all the right dances’ and was always in with a shout, always running on gallantly, usually picking up prize money. He was fourth in the greatest Grand National ever run in 73 behind Red Rum, giving him 22lbs, Crisp and L’Escargot, his first try at the race aged 10. The race record time was broken by a staggering 19 seconds, if my memory serves me correctly. In 1974 he was 4th again, with 11st 9lbs. In 1975 he was 3rd beaten only by dual Gold Cup winner L’Escargot and dual Grand National winner, at the time, Red Rum. In 1976, aged 13, he finished 9th. His dam never fell around Aintree, neither did her most famous son.
In all honesty, even his greatest admirers could not place Spanish Steps’ name alongside the names of the greatest steeplechasers. He won a Hennessey; he won the novice chase at the Cheltenham Festival now known as the R.S.A. and in all he won 16 races. He was too often the bridesmaid. But that is not the point. He was honest, game and never once let his connections or his adoring public down. He began his career as a racehorse at Chepstow as a 4-year-old ridden by John Buckingham and without missing a season in between he finished aged 13 at Aintree in the Grand National ridden by Jeff King. If only they had chanced their arm a year or two earlier at Aintree.
It is a scandal that the powers-that-be allow such hallowed names as his to be given to other horses. These noble knights of our sport should be given the honour of having their names die with them. I have not asked Michael Tanner’s permission, and I hope he will excuse my impertinence, but here is the final paragraph of his fine tribute to Spanish Steps. His beautiful sentiment speaks for so many of us.
‘Never a day passes without my thoughts drifting peacefully away toward that green patch of North Oxfordshire wherein Spanish Steps holds court. I often wonder if he relives the halcyon days as much as I do. I cannot claim to have settled my debt to Spanish Steps but hopefully this tribute will ensure that those deeds of derring-do at Newbury, Cheltenham, Aintree and the rest will never be forgotten by anyone who ever knew, or loved, the noblest of animals. I, for one, both know and love Spanish Steps and will never forget him.