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Making Allowances
Chapter 9, Part 2
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“This picture was taken around
late February. It was one of your Dad’s last days at Gaffer’s, before he was
called up to do his National Service. It would have been about a month before
the Gold Cup.” “The Gold Cup he won?” I
interjected. “Oh no, no,” he replied,” that
was the year before.” “Oh,” I exclaimed, a little
confused. ”I wasn’t aware that the Gaffer trained him.” “No, you’re right, he
didn’t,” said Dennis. He continued. “What happened was this.
Sidewinder was trained by a bloke called Harry Tatlow, who had stables up near
Harrogate. Harry and the Gaffer were jockeys at the same time, travelled a lot
together, shared a lot of things, even lived in the same house for a while. They
were great mates. I think Harry was Gaffer’s Best Man when Gaffer married
Alice. Tatlow ran a successful yard, and Sidewinder was the Jewel in his Crown.
I saw that Gold Cup win. Never seen another like it. He completely destroyed the
field, won it by 15 lengths, totally destroyed ‘em. “The next year, he won a couple of
good handicaps, but made a bad mistake in the King George and had to be pulled
up. Nevertheless, he was a big ante-post favourite for the Gold Cup, lots of
money going down, lots of expectation. “Then, about two months before the
Gold Cup, Tatlow brought him down to run at Chepstow. Whilst he was down at the
meeting, there was a terrible fire back at his yard. Several people were badly
burned and he lost a couple of horses. The yard was damaged severely, engulfed
by t’ fire and Tatlow had no boxes for his horses, nor horseboxes to drive
‘em round in. Tatlow’s biggest worry was Sidewinder, and he asked Gaffer to
house him in the run-up to the Gold Cup, which Gaffer did. “Gaffer thought very highly of
your father, and he asked him to look after Sidewinder, your Dad would work him
and school him up on Cleeve. They looked invincible up on those gallops, nothing
could hold a candle to them. Your Dad looked after him and cared for him all
this time, on top of his other duties. He considered it a privilege beyond all
others. “On the day he left the yard, the
last thing your Dad did was go over to Sidewinder’s box and give him the last
few mints out of his Newmarket coat. I am sure I saw a tear in his eye; it was
the only time I ever did. “Someone up there must’ve had it
in for Tatlow, because, a week before the Gold Cup, he suffered a double blow.
First of all, his first jockey Willie North was suspended for six days, which
included the Festival. Then, the jockey who was going to deputise, Jim O’
Connor, was killed in a car crash. A bit bloody unlucky.” “Tatlow was desperate and asked
Gaffer if he could approach Gaffer’s first jockey, Vic Graydon, to ride
Sidewinder. Tatlow asked Gaffer if he thought Vic, who was in the twilight of
his career, was up to the job. Gaffer, you could see, was in turmoil. Lately, he
and Vic had had a number of arguments. Gaffer thought Vic was past his best, and
just looking for a payday, Vic didn’t like this, naturally, but the Gaffer was
a shrewd a judge as any. Vic never seemed to do anything to prove the Gaffer
wrong either. He would never do any more than he really had to. “Gaffer was having second thoughts
about Vic, he told me about it much later, but it was pretty clear at the time,
anyway to those who knew him. He would walk around the yard as if the cares of
the world were on his shoulders. In the end he agreed to let Vic ride Sidewinder
in the Gold Cup. “That was a big mistake. “Some people reported that they
saw Vic in a Montpelier pub on the eve of the Gold Cup, but I don’t know
whether that is true or not. Whatever the truth is about that, the truth on the
day was that Vic gave him a bloody awful ride and Sidewinder, one of the
best-backed post-war Gold Cup favourites sank without a trace. He ran away with
Vic and just ran out of juice, by the top of the hill three out, he’d shot his
bolt and I think Vic had, too. “That night, Gaffer came into the
tack room late on. I was in there on my own. He sat down and wiped his tired old
face with his tired old hands, he shook his head. I made him a cup of tea and he
sat there with a sad half-smile on his face. ‘You knew Graydon would blow it,
didn’t you, boss?’ I asked him. ‘Yes Dennis’, he quietly
replied. Then do you know what he said? He said ‘I wish that our boy had
been on him.’ The ‘boy’ he was talking about
was your father.” Dennis went on. “Gaffer said to me, ‘If our boy
hadn’t been called up to the Army, I’d have had no second thoughts about
telling Harry to give him the ride. That lad is a born horseman, Graydon’s a
loser, he’s a soddin’ has-been didn’t deserve that sort of chance. But
that boy, he would have bloody won
it.’ Gaffer sighed and cursed for two hours solid. He knew he was right,
see.” I listened in a state of wonder and
mild shock. “Does Dad know about this?” “No,” said Dennis. “Moments
pass and we couldn’t do owt to change it. Besides, you’ve not heard
everything yet.” (There was more?) Dennis continued again, “Any road,
Graydon was finished by that poor ride and he left the Gaffers yard at the end
of that season. One of our other jockeys left for a big stable. With the yard
beginning to get smaller, and your Dad now away, Gaffer made me up to first
jockey. But the thing is lad, I know Gaffer wanted your Dad as first jockey.” “What makes you think that?” I
asked. Dennis laughed, “I heard it plenty
of times, when Gaffer and me didn’t see eye to eye over something. ’Bugger
you, Eaves’, he’d say. ’I knew it was a bad idea to make you first jockey.
Lucky for you our boy got called up, he’s twice the jockey you are.’” “That must’ve hurt”, I
remarked, sympathetically. “Nahh. The thing is lad,”
murmured Dennis, “he were bloody right.” “This life”, Dennis concluded,
“is a funny old thing. It’s not much more than a game of chance, when all is
said and done. I was one of the lucky ones, your old chap was out of the picture
when Gaffer needed a first jockey, and I got the chance. I was reasonable, but
not brilliant, but I took my chance. I won a few good races and was lucky enough
to do that by getting rides on some good horses, like Red Rosette and Principle
Boy. I made a few bob and a bit of a name for myself, got a few contacts, and
got a few kind breaks which helped me set up a yard. The luck carried on,
contacts brought in business, winners meant success and more horses, a growing
reputation, all these things stemmed indirectly from those days with Gaffer.” “But it wasn’t all luck,” I
said, “it’s hard work.” “Yeah”, Dennis pondered, “but
no harder work than a man like your father, with a home to run and kids to feed.
All this could have been his, just as easily. He was the better horseman, better
jockey, the only difference is, life dealt me a better hand than him.” “Was he that good?” I asked
seriously, sadly. “One of the very best, lad”,
said Dennis. “I just hope that one day, some of the luck will find its way to
him, maybe it will through this horse of theirs.” He looked up at the window as he
heard the sound of the jeep returning to the yard. He winked at me, “Somehow
everything will even out, lad,” he smiled, “c’mon”. We walked out into the sunlight
again, I walked to the car as my Dad and Uncle said their goodbyes to Dennis. I
watched the two old colleagues and felt a strange mixture of immense pride
tinged with an aching sadness. At long last, I fully understood what was driving
Dad back into riding in races; the final piece of the jigsaw had fallen, after
an agonisingly long time, into its place. And now I could see the whole picture,
and understand its appeal, I wanted to show it to other people. The question was, how?
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If you would like to contact Richie, please email him at: richie@baylands.fsnet.co.uk
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