Friday, December 08, 2017

Death of a racing great

It's not our parish as he was a Lambourn man (THE Lambourn man) to his boots, but even writing from Newmarket the overwhelming news today is that an era has ended with the death of Peter Walwyn.  I started following racing in the '70s and he was the country's leading trainer at the time.  But even then his stable's fortunes (ie Seven Barrows' fortunes) were on the wane, and Henry Cecil was starting to take his place, with obviously Vincent O'Brien in Ireland the towering presence overall.  The guard probably changed properly when Daniel Wildenstein's UK-based horses moved from Peter Walwyn to Henry Cecil (ironically because Peter Walwyn asked him to take the horses away if he wouldn't have the stable jockey, Pat Eddery, on board - only to have Pat Eddery leave him a year or so later to take up the job with Vincent O'Brien).

I remember Grundy beating Bustino at Ascot in the 'King George' in 1975, the 'Race of the Century'.  I remember hearing my parents talking about it, but I don't think that I watched it.  At the time I was more interested in football, and the Grand National would have been the only race I watched.  The first 'King George' I remember watching was in 1977 (by which time I had lost interest in soccer and honed in 100% on racing) and I remember watching it on the TV at Ayr with my father, the first time that I visited that racecourse.  Derby and Irish Derby winner The Minstrel (Lester, Vincent O'Brien) won the race that day, but even then Peter Walwyn's runner Orange Bay (Pat Eddery) was only beaten a short head. So from the very early days of my following the sport, Peter Walwyn was a towering presence.  His passing really is the end of an era.

From a totally selfish point of view, I treasure the fact that I did meet him once.  All too often a great man dies, and one wishes that one had met him while it was still possible.  In general, I don't like going to weddings.  I struggle with both the formality and the jollity, if that makes any sense.  (And I'm aware that that makes me sound like a miserable git, and I don't actually think that I am - but there you go).  But one which I did enjoy was that between two people whom I like very much, Rupert Erskine Crum and Emma Candy.  That was a few years ago; I can't remember which year, but it was on St Leger Day.

Rupert and Emma are lovely people and I am honoured to call them friends.  It was a joy to share their big day, their happy day.  It was a beautiful autumn day, a warm September afternoon under a blue sky.  The wedding was in a lovely old church, in Sparsholt I think.  And the reception took place at Emma's parents' property Kingston Warren, which is one of racing's special places and that was (and still is) the only time I've been there.  So that was special.  And there was a fly-past by a Spitfire, owned and flown by a farmer-friend of Emma's father.  That in itself was a treat.  But (and I hope that Emma and Rupert won't mind my saying this, and I'm sure that they won't) the memory which I treasure from the day as much as any other was meeting Peter Walwyn.

Sir Mark Prescott always cautions us against meeting our heroes, as (he correctly says) it generally leads only to disappointment.  But I'm glad - no, I'm more than glad: I count it as a blessing that I met him that one time - that I met Peter Walwyn that day.  He was every bit as impressive, pleasant and charming as one would have hoped, and much more humble than one might have expected from the 'Basil Faulty' impression which he was reputed to give.  The history books will always confirm that Peter Walwyn was one of 20th-century racing's great men.  I'm very glad that I had the chance to find out that he was not only a great man, but a very nice man too.  The racing world has lost a colossus.  His family and friends have lost a loved one.  I offer them my most sincere, most respectful condolences.

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