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How time flies. Here's a tale about a race that happened 64 years ago today.
It was the summer of 1961, and as the days passed I became more contented with my decision to take out a training licence. The winners were coming and the horses running well but there was one beast in particular that vexed me. His name was Steal A March and he was owned by Henry Brown.
Henry was one of my first owners and I could write a whole book about him. I think back to the day of George Black's funeral when he tried to pinch his late friend's clothes, the borrowed suit and the trip to Pontefract races and Betty's in York when he reckoned to have forgotten his wallet. He was a very entertaining character was Henry. It's now more than sixty years on and it still makes me chuckle. But for now here's the story of Steal A March.
Steal A March was the most reliable horse in the yard but his consistency was becoming the cause of much frustration for he always finished second.
I'd watched him finish runner up at Thirsk in the Norby Plate and then again at Ripon in the Pateley Plate and he was proving impossible to win with. The lazy old goat would hit the front in his races and then he'd stop thinking he'd done enough. He was a bit 'doggy' and it was time for a change of tactics.
Henry loved Steal A March and every Sunday morning he would come down to the yard and he'd talk to the colt as he looked over the stable door. If he was lucky he'd get a carrot but as I'll tell in my other tales Henry was frugal and it would only ever be one. Even for a Yorkshireman Henry was tight.
In Henry's eyes Steal A March was a winner but the formbook told another tale as Steal A March boasted form figures of '22222' and he was paying his way but he just wasn't getting his head in front.
The tendency for Henry Brown's big black colt to finish second actually began at Edinburgh on the same day that I sent out my first winner. Great Rock had won the Spring Handicap and Steal A March had finished second in the following race, the Inveresk Plate, thus denying me a double just five days after my first runner had taken to the track.
In a bid to find that elusive win I entered Steal A March for the Monkton Handicap at Ripon and booked Eddie Hide.
I accompanied Henry to Ripon, and as usual it was in my car. Henry had made an excuse that his battery was flat or his petrol tank was low, or something along those lines so that the old skinflint didn't have to use his own fuel.
Henry was in his element that day and he was convinced that his luck was about to change and Steal A March was going to win. However, despite his cheerful demeanour he still never managed to put his hand in his pocket all afternoon.
I stood with Henry as the jockeys came out from the weighing room and Eddie Hide walked across to talk to us.
Henry was clearly wanting to talk with Eddie, and those of you who have read the previous tales will perhaps now appreciate my concern.
Here we go, I thought to myself, hoping that Henry wasn't planning to give out instructions as we didn't have that much time.
"Her-her-her-hello Err-err-err-Eddie", stammered Henry as he greeted the rider. "He's in ger-ger-ger-good form is Ster-Ster-Ster-Steal-A-Mer-Mer-Mer-March. I think he might wer-wer-wer-win today".
While Henry continued his lengthy introduction, I interjected to give Eddie instructions, not that he needed them as he'd had watched Steal A March's previous races and had a plan to cover him up in the race and come late on. He'd been ridden "all wrong" in Eddie's words and today we'd put that right.
It was a brave move as if timed to anything other than perfection the jockey would inevitably get blamed. However the only way to get the old rogue to win would be to kid him and that is precisely what Eddie planned to do.
Eddie and Steal A March went to post and Henry and I headed for the stands. It was a Saturday afternoon in August and it was Ripon's biggest meeting of the year. The racecourse had been packed, although the crowds had started to thin out a little with it being the last race on the card.
We'd just watched Final Test win the two-mile Tote Investor’s Cup and Cracksman take the Ripon St Leger Trial and now it was our turn.
The runners set off and Steal A March was handy. Henry was frantic, he was convinced his horse was going to win and anything other would be a great disappointment. Two furlongs out Eddie had plenty of horse left under him.
Then as the horses approached the furlong post Henry started up with is unique brand of encouragement.
"Cer-cer-cer-cer-come on Ster-ster-ster-Steal-A-Mer-Mer-Mer-March," he stuttered at the top of his voice.
Eddie made his move and there was a roar from the stand.
I was glad of the noise around us as it drowned out Henry's urgings.
Eddie's plan was executed to perfection as he got Steal A March up right on the line to finish a neck ahead of Jack Waugh's horse, Abundance, and it all happened before Henry had got out his final "Mer-Mer-March".
Henry scuttled off to find his bookmaker, his horse had been returned at 8/1 and nothing was going to stop the old penny-pincher from being first in the queue to pick up his money. I made my way to the winners' enclosure as I hasn't trusted Steal A March to deliver and left it to the owner to strike his loyalty bet.
A few minutes later Henry joined me, a huge beaming smile on his face as, winnings in pocket, he was about to receive a further pay-out of the £500 first place prizemoney.
I was happy with another winner in my first season but I was nervously thinking ahead to the presentation.
Thank God it was the last race.
I'd be lucky if Henry would manage to spit out everything he had to say before it got dark.
It was perhaps a good thing that that it was the middle of August and we did at least have daylight until about half past eight.
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