'True Colours'.

​There is only one aspect of Barry Geraghty’s autobiography, ‘True Colours’, that I take issue with and that is the cover, a black and white lateral photograph of a muddied Geraghty, with his name picked out in gold. It is a photograph of a professional jockey, the monochrome a contrast to the book’s title. It is an arty design and does not reflect the true colours of the man, a man who is far from being a one-dimensional professional jockey. Of course, if you look at the photograph and jacket design as a work it is clearly of great merit, as any damn fool would agree.
‘True Colours’ is an excellent read, within touching distance of being as good as Ruby Walsh’s autobiography. I suspect the difference in my appreciation of the two books is that Ruby has an edge to his character, he has opinions and he doesn’t have favouritism as to who gets to know about them. Barry Geraghty on the other hand comes across the page as a really nice bloke and nice blokes, as I know to my own detriment, are not by nature as interesting to readers and everyone else as those born edgy and who cultivate edginess as they go about life.
That said, ‘True Colours’ will sit on the shelf next to Ruby’s book, with A.P.’s book on the other side. Which is only as it should be as the three jockeys are all within the width of a cigarette paper as being the best National Hunt jockeys of all time. Barry Geraghty, and perhaps the other two, would have me put Paul Carberry’s book, ‘One Hell of a Ride’ next to them but 1) his book is not in the same league and 2) Paul Carberry is, to my mind, the greatest horseman of my lifetime but not necessarily up with Walsh, McCoy and Geraghty as a jockey. The Carberry’s are, of course, the greatest National Hunt family in Irish history. Or any country’s racing history, I suspect.
There is a deftness of prose in ‘True Colours’ that is not to be found in either Walsh’s autobiography of A.P.’s. And he gets on with the interesting stuff, his career, and does not waste pages on his adolescence. There’s enough to give a good flavour of his roots but not so much as to have the reader skipping chapters to get to the actual riding career. He also does not make a song and dance about meeting Paula, his wife, and conveys all that she means to him in simple sentiments that leave the reader in no doubt that she is the great woman behind the great man.
The first thing you will notice when opening the book is that it is dedicated to his wife and children. That tells you all you need to know about Geraghty the man. He loves his family and they adore him. That was plain to see when his children burst into his trophy room as he was conducting a zoom interview to present him with his Hero award the other night. He thought he was being interviewed about his book. But was he miffed to be interrupted? No. You could see the pleasure it gave him to have his family share in his success.
Barry Geraghty rose in my estimation the day he pulled up Sprinter Sacre at Kempton. I suspect he might have saved Sprinter’s life that day; certainly he gave Nicky Henderson the chance to get the horse eventually back to something like his best during the 2015/16 season; to regain the 2-mile crown. Nico de Boinville may have been the successful jockey that day but Geraghty was instrumental in allowing him the opportunity to ride into the history of the Cheltenham Festival. 
The only part of the book I will give away is this: J.P. McManus phoned Geraghty and told him that a good few of his trainers were complaining that he was too quick in pulling up horses. It was hinted that the retainer might not be renewed the following season, though J.P. said to Geraghty that he should set about proving his doubters wrong, which he did, of course, to great effect. But in his defence Geraghty writes that a jockey has a duty of care to the horses he rides and it was a responsibility he did not take lightly. When I read that, he went up another notch in my estimation. A proper jockey and quite possibly an even better man.
If you don’t get this book this Christmas, I suggest you first scold your family for their negligence and then secondly you go buy the book for yourself. £20 well spent in my opinion.