Autumn quickly appeared in the changing scenery and the leaves twirling to the ground. In mid-October, the hunter’s moon drenched the darkness in a surreal silvery light, as if a spotlight had been switched on. Even when a fog settled low and muffling, the night was still bright, conjuring up images of bygone poachers and adding to the spookiness of foxes screeching in the woods.
A Winner, A Photo and a Farewell
On the 4th, I led up my first winner of this season at Fontwell. I’d gone on the solo trip with ‘my’ Broughshane. In the past, his form had always been a bit disappointing and he’d ran out on his first ever race at Ascot and had fallen when looking promising at Chepstow. Yet this time, everything fell into place and he won by just over a length. He looked really well and his coat was very shiny – he is a credit to his head girl Georgia Plumb – and it was a relief for him to win after so many previous setbacks.
I call him Shaney and he is such a cheeky character. When I worked in the barn, I sometimes mucked him out and it always took longer because he was so messy. He’d dig his hay into his bed, empty his feed bowl, fill his water with shavings and lean over the wheelbarrow, windsucking on the door frame if given the chance! His most annoying habit was occasionally tipping out one of his refreshed water buckets moments after I had put it back into his stable. He obviously gripped the handle in his teeth as it would always rattle and then there'd be a rush of water out from under the door. To be honest, however, I forgave these little annoyances when Shaney won and he behaved impeccably all day.
A nice little touch from Fontwell Racecourse was receiving a photo for being the winning groom. More and more racecourses are showing appreciation to people who take the horses and lead them up, plus it's always really nice to be able to have a memento of the day.
I was also pleased to be there to say farewell to my friend Alice Campbell, who was on her last day’s racing for Nigel Twiston-Davies and she too had a winner with Stream Of Stars. She is off to go and work in a stud and I wish her loads of luck. Through racing, Alice and I have been friends for about, so we worked out, nineteen years and she's worked for a lot of other trainers including Tom George, Charlie Brooks, Fergal O’Brien, Tom Lacey and had been at Twiston-Davies’ for over four years. She went out on a high, with a winner, and there's no better way.
Out with the Old and In with the New
October was a new era for Jonjo O'Neill Racing as it became O'Neill Racing, encompassing the boss Jonjo, his wife Jacqui and both sons, Jonjo Junior and AJ. Owners were invited to the launch where they watched the horses on the gallops, swimming in the pool and drank champagne, before going off to Chepstow to watch the racing. As staff, we had a new uniform, still navy in colour and with the same sponsorship but with different logos and different colours of lettering.
The longest-term staff member Alan Berry pulled on his coat, nostalgically muttering about it being his fourth uniform. During his length of service, he has worn uniform emblazoned with, firstly, Eddie Stobart, then the royal blue of Jewson and the latest two designs of Wasdell sponsorship.
The old saddle pads were stacked up in a tower, before being donated to a local dog rescue centre to be used as beds. The rest of the old uniform is piled up, awaiting sorting for either recycling or being given away to charity.
Some lovely and generous owners sent the staff some treats from the Cotswold Larder and they were the most delicious brownies and cookies. What a way to celebrate a new start!
Welcome Back, Golden Leaves and Delicious Smells
After Lucy Westlake moved to Australia, which sadly didn't work out but through no fault of her own, we welcomed her back and she returned to her old job here. On her first morning, she got dropped going onto the short gallop. There was the staccato of hooves on the tarmac by the Plough Stables where I was mucking out. So, I legged Lucy up and it was as if she hadn't left.
The Plough Stables are our quarantine block and are situated opposite the local pub. At the moment, it is decorated abundantly with the golden yellow leaves of the sprawling horse chestnut tree; the shiny conkers long fallen. A smaller tree is stubbornly holding onto its green leaves, whereas another has fiery leaves of the bloodiest red. I muck out there to the noise of the lorries rattling past and the delicious scents wafting from the pub’s kitchen, making my tummy rumble in hunger.
By Halloween, the obligatory pumpkins had been placed outside the hostel doorways. This year, they were definitely the most creatively carved they have ever been; my personal favourite being the grinning jockey.
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