the ups and downs of gay kindersley.

​The title of Robin Rhoderick-Jones’ biography of Gay Kindersley, no doubt considered appropriate, an illumination of the character whose life was in need of immortalisation, is the weakest element of what is in general a very easy read. ‘A very easy read’, by the way, in my estimation, is akin to three or four stars out of five. ‘Flings Over Fences’ is not so much a biography of a former champion amateur National Hunt jockey and trainer, but a romp through the life of a sexual predator although otherwise really nice guy.
Gay Kindersley was born with two handicaps in life, or maybe three. He was heir to the Guinness empire, which surprisingly to though of us who have had to manage throughout life without such trappings, was more of a curse than a blessing, and his father somehow believing that naming his son Gay would not in any way be either a hindrance or embarrassment to him in later life. In fact, his son got off rather lightly as if it was not for his mother arguing against it, he would have been christened Gaylord after an American playboy who fell from a speedboat in the South of France and got close up and personal with the propeller. The singer Kirsty McColl met her death in a similarly gruesome way.
The third handicap, I suspect to leading a respectable life, was that neither parent set a good example in the fidelity stakes for him to follow.
To my way of thinking, bit of a prude that I am, Kindersley’s greatest achievement, at least in racing, was being part-owner of Carrickbeg, runner-up to Ayala in the 1963 Grand National, ridden by John Lawrence (Lord Oaksey) as Kindersley himself was injured at the time.
Like so many of us the Grand National held Kindersley in its thrall and his greatest dream, the ambition of his life, I suspect, was to win the race in some form or other. Given that Gay’s only ride in the race only lasted until the third fence, the author may have given either Carrickbeg or perhaps Earthstopper, who he trained to finish fifth in the great race in 1983 at least the same prominence, if not a few paragraphs more, as any of Kindersley’s affairs of the genitals. Carrickbeg, perhaps it can be argued was documented in exquisite detail after the race and in later life by the incomparable Lord Oaksey, so the author can be excused the few lines he devoted to the race for fear of failing in comparison. Earthstopper, though, demanded more than the page a bit devoted to him, especially as he collapsed and died after the winning post. Kindersley trained an honourable number of winners from what was never a prospering stable and Earthstopper’s gallant effort – it can only be surmised that he would have finished closer as he lost his prominent position from the third last fence when many people thought him a likely winner, no doubt because his heart was already ailing him – could so easily have been Kindersley’s greatest moment.
The book, though, to be fair is a mirror-image of the titular character. It is a romp, with no doubt many young ladies left on the cutting room floor to facilitate an abridged version of Kindersley’s scandalous life. He was married twice and begat six children. Which for a man who seemed in competition with Casanova demonstrated that he was never was a devotee of the Catholic church and its teachings on fidelity. Kindersley was a sex-addict, as well as a very serious drinker. In this day and age, he might have sought, or been persuaded to, counselling.
He was, though, it seems, a very affable guy who very few thought badly about. He took little seriously and was always up for a laugh, with his natural charm a magic bullet for getting him out of all-manner of scrapes. He was both a racecourse steward and an elected member of the Jockey Club and rather like John Francome could mix cordially with all members of society from road sweepers to monarchy, he had no airs and graces and could be found on the back of a tractor or mucking out in the morning and dressed in a tuxedo wining and dining with the elite in the evening.
In 1955, at Stratford, he suffered one of his worst riding injuries when he broke his back. In 1962, the reason he was unable to ride Carrickbeg at Liverpool, at Hurst Park, he broke his back again. He was advised to retire from race-riding, advice he ignored. From his teenage years to his death, aged 80, in 2011, Gay Kindersley was devoted to National Hunt racing. Hopefully by then his pursuit of whatever records Casanova held was but a distant memory. His philandering made for a more interesting book, no doubt. I for one would have preferred to have learned more about Kindersley’s racing life. ‘Flings Over Fences’, though, is an enjoyable read and recommended if you should ever stumble across it.