If you’re an equestrian, there are certain horse smells that are simply unforgettable – for better or worse.

Not even the glitziest and most glamourous are immune, either. Speaking to Glamour on the launch of her new fragrance, model and lifelong horse girl Bella Hadid revealed her first scent memory is “the barn”. More specifically, ‘horse poop’.

There’s no skirting around it, really. As long as you’re in their company, dung is one of those horse smells readily bound for the nostrils. But isn’t the whole idea of manure a signature yard scent a little, forgive me, on the nose? So ubiquitous is the stuff that it often just fades into the background, undetected once you’re immersed in your chores.

I asked around H&H HQ for the most pungent, unforgettable and, in some cases, beloved horse smells. Here’s what we came up with…

Five most iconic horse smells you’ll never forget

1. Burning hoof horn

This is such a weirdly specific horse smell that, once you’ve sniffed, you can’t un-sniff. Hard to describe but instantly recognisable, this smell is a regular feature of your life if your horse is hot shod. More specifically, every six weeks or so.

It’s always accompanied, of course, by billowing smoke and the clang of the hammer on the anvil. Perhaps, too, the taste of tea or coffee if you’ve done a drinks run for you and your farrier. An all-round sensory experience, indeed.

2. Fly spray

Head of Ecommerce Georgia Guerin contributed this one. She claims it’s not summer until you’ve smelled fly spray, and I’m sure there are plenty who’d agree. Georgia’s particular scent memory is Barrier Super Plus fly spray, which we’ve actually tested and rated H&H Approved.

Whether it’s the lemon-like scent of citronella or the pong of DEET, fly spray is a smell you won’t forget in a hurry, probably because you inadvertently end up applying a reasonable amount to yourself throughout the season.

3. Stockholm tar

Ahh, the memories. This potent-smelling hoof dressing with the texture of thick treacle has a smoky quality that’s brimming with nostalgia. Anyone who’s used it – or still does – will know it’s a unique fragrance explicitly linked to winter hoof care rituals.

4. Garlic granules

This horse smell is the ultimate love/hate stench, though perhaps quite a traditional addition to a horse’s bucket ration nowadays. Chicken Kiev, aioli, actual garlic – all these and more pale in comparison to the intense garlic aroma of the granule.

5. Horse urine

It’s got to be the more offensive and pungent of the two, right? Plus, it has an incredible ability to hang around. It clings to boots, clothes, even (God forbid) hair! Transport a stained stable rug in the boot of your car at your own risk…

There is one horse smell that’s best of all: the smell of your very own horse. There’s no better scent than the one you smell when hugging your horse and taking a big inhale.

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The 2024 Paris Olympics are almost upon us, and while we marvel at the efforts of today’s top riders, spare a thought for the colossal exploits of yesteryear’s stars with the challenges of a more experimental phase of equestrianism.

The Olympic motto Citius, Altius, Fortius – “faster, higher, stronger” – certainly applied to the early days of organised equestrianism.

One of the first recorded showjumping courses was at Madison Square Gardens in 1892, six fences of 1.75m to 1.83m (5ft 9in–6ft). The New York Times reported that one faller “had a narrow escape from bad injury, as he landed on the top of his head, and was spun about like a top, his foot caught in the stirrup”.

Sixty years later in New York, post-war icon Pat Smythe tackled similar rails – now thoughtfully cushioned by bamboo wrapping! For those brought up in the era of accuracy fences and nuanced distances, the archives leave you gasping, “Did they seriously jump that?”

The arena sport derived from high-jump contests in the late 19th century. Military riders galloped their multitasking steeds at fearsome sloping rails and other gimmicky obstacles.

In one famous photograph from 1904, Georges Crousse clears 2.20m (7ft 3in) while saluting the King of Spain. Contemporary sports writer Gustav Rau chastised riders for showing off, and looking back over the fence. The obsession with record-breaking fizzled out only after World War II, as civilians made showjumping their own.

The Hickstead Derby track gives a glimpse into the “natural” presentation of bygone showjumping, with its plethora of banks – invariably with gullies or hedges on the landing side – railway crossings and waters.

Uniformity did not arrive until the late 1960s.

Double Hickstead

Derby winner Alison Dawes (née Westwood) says: “Each show had its own style of jumps – so you always knew where you were. We saw a lot of spreads filled solidly on the landing side, and hexagonal or square-edge poles. You could give them quite a clout, until it was realised round poles were easier to knock down.”

One edifice at the Swiss show at Frauenfeld was known as the “monument”. Horses were encouraged to slide down the side of a bank, landing in water. Nice in France had many idiosyncratic feature fences, including a triple bar over some 12ft of water, a parallel of walls splaying out around the base, and a hollowed out bank with rails in the gap.

Several ditches were dug in the hallowed turf of Wembley Stadium for the 1948 Olympic jumping, their subsiding levels making them even more “starey” and eliminating many when, because of rationing, the London Water Board turned off the supply. Only one combination cleared the final water of 4.72m (15ft 6in) on what we’d now call a related distance to a 1.60m wall. Humberto Mariles and the one-eyed Arete had enough time-penalties in hand to afford four faults, so deliberately splashed through for double gold.

David Broome, whose illustrious career spanned post-war and modern eras, says: “People don’t realise how big we used to jump. The water was often 16ft – whereas it’s 13ft today. In the olden days it was about setting records. When [German course-designer] Olaf Petersen came along he made it more technical, and that saved the sport in a lot of ways, though we’ve gone away from testing a horse’s bravery.”

A big wall was standard in grand prix tracks. The second round of the Olympic individual at Mexico City 1968 included a wall at 1.80m, an oxer (cleared by only two) at 1.75m and a triple with a back rail of 1.70m, both with 2.20m spread. By contrast, in modern Olympics there is a maximum 1.65m height and 2m spread, except for triple bars at 2.20m.

Marion Mould (née Coakes) and Stroller won individual silver but were eliminated in the Nations Cup. Alison Dawes, their non-riding team-mate, says such heartbreaking tracks were deemed never to happen again: “They’d used a local course-builder and everyone said, ‘He’s a lunatic – his courses will be unjumpable for anything a little bit careful.’ Until Mexico, Stroller had never met something he couldn’t jump; so sad.”

The 1968 Olympic cross-country was equally notorious, for its floods; non-swimmer Tommy Brennan (Ireland) was among several washed downstream, to be rescued by then FEI president, Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh.

Team gold medallist Jane Holderness-Roddam (née Bullen) says the course would have been startling even if dry.

“Two fences were almost Pony Club, tiny piles of logs, but then you’d find a post and rail across a bridge with no sides, jumping from concrete to concrete. At fence five you hurtled off a ledge over a river with 8ft drop. Our Nobby was so out of control we practically went through the string by the VIP chalet.”

“Skinnies” were a faraway glint in the course-builder’s eye. This did not stop riders being regularly presented with “alien” concepts. Frank Weldon, Badminton director from 1969 to 1988, was the master “rider frightener,” putting his spin on Continental innovations such as Denmark’s Horsens Bridge – a huge drop invisible until the last second by solid rails off a ramp.

In 1977 Lucinda Green was convinced George would fall at Badminton’s first-ever bounce at the Lake. In those days of survival tests, George sailed through, also clearing Vicarage Ditch just as the bank collapsed in heavy rain (another occupational hazard until bases were routinely riveted) to return her third of six Badminton wins.

Yet bold horses could equally be confused by “new” questions. In 1973, Rachel Bayliss and Gurgle The Greek went under the trakehner – without penalty. In 1988, Murphy Himself launched himself off the Ski Jump – 3ft 6in logs atop a steep slope – in one go. World champion Ginny Elliot (née Leng) broke her ankle, and passed the ride to Ian Stark.

“At my first Badminton, there was the first-ever bounce from ditch to post-and-rails – it was chaos!” said Jane. “Even [three-time winner] Sheila Willcox stopped there; the horses simply didn’t know what they were expected to do.”

Another notorious track was the 1978 World Championship at Lexington, worsened by extreme heat. There was a Normandy bank with a 5ft 11in drop into water and the truly treacherous Serpent, a triple combination with two turns over three fences, complicated by water and angles. Old Fort Lexington was a treble combination of small cabins to a 3ft 7in bank topped by a 2ft stockade.

When asked how he would take the following ditch and rails, Japan’s Kuranjo Saito – who’d spent two years in the US training solely for this event – replied sadly: “Not get so far.”

Celebrated five-star course-designer Mike Etherington-Smith admits a fondness for the “old” sport, despite fences he would not dream of including today, such as vertical rails midway down a slope or the double bounce.

“I remember hacking down to the Normandy Bank and getting flashes of ‘this might hurt’,” recalls Mike. “People didn’t have the depth of consciousness about what works and is fair to horses. Now, we have to be more sophisticated.

“We are more mindful of the ‘balloon’ going up if you show the layman unpleasant images, but we never know if we’re doing the right thing for maybe five years. It’s a discussion we old codgers have all the time!”

It’s easy to overlook that before Britain became its spiritual home, eventing already had a long and colourful history.

At the 1936 Berlin Olympic cross-country, 35 of 50 starters were submerged upon landing in a sludgy pond. Bowie Knife, ride of Britain’s Richard Fanshawe, extricated himself and galloped off. A search party found him 4km away, tied to a tree. He was brought back, remounted and jumped clear. The escapade cost Fanshawe some 8,500 time-penalties but as only one of three teams to complete, Britain bagged its first-ever Olympic bronze.

Dressage at the first equestrian Olympics at Stockholm 1912 included five jumps at 3ft 6in, and an obedience test, walking past strange objects; that idea did not last long. But while modern-day excellence and the demographic involved bears no comparison, the actual sporting test of dressage has changed little over the years.

Four-time Olympian Jennie Loriston-Clarke recalls the biggest shake-up was the introduction of the freestyle – she was at the vanguard in the 1980s with Dutch Gold.

“Even the Germans were ‘anti’ the kür at first,” says Jennie. “No one would have imagined it would one day help decide the Olympic individual gold [from 1996.] People would complain that dressage to music wasn’t ‘classical’ and I’d reply, ‘Then why do they do it at the Spanish Riding School?’

“Kyra Kyrklund was the master of intricate new movements. I did some quite catchy things, too, such as piaffe into canter pirouette, and one-time changes down the long side.”

Loyalty to tradition means that the standard size of a dressage arena has never changed – 20x60m was the gap between “huts” on 19th-century German military barracks where informal dressage competitions took place. The seemingly random markers derive from letters over the doors of various personnel – P for Pferknecht (groom,) B for Bannertrager (standard bearer) and so on.

“I learnt the main ones by remembering it’s ‘heck’ [HEK] down one side and ‘more bloody fools’ [MBF] down the other!” says Jennie.

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The event rider’s record of six Badminton titles has yet to be surpassed. Lucinda Green tells Catherine Austen about those winning horses and the lessons each one taught her as we celebrate her 70th birthday today (7 November)

An unmistakable figure in primrose-yellow cross-country colours with that rock-steady lower leg position and arm stretched forward to allow the horse freedom, Lucinda Green was the public face of eventing for over a decade. Her six Badminton wins – and the popular books she wrote about the horses who gave her those victories – made her a household name.

Her legacy to the sport she loves is her passion for bold, safe cross-country riding and for passing that on to others.

No one, however, is born a fully fledged horseman or woman; their skill and understanding is built from myriad experiences with horses in all sorts of situations. Which lessons, therefore, did each of Lucinda’s most significant horses teach her?

The earliest tutorials were delivered by her New Forest pony, Jupiter.

“He taught me two of the greatest lessons of my life, when I was eight,” Lucinda says. “He taught me the timing of using the stick, and the art of soft fingers over the fence, because if I touched his mouth over a jump, he would stop dead at the next one.

“I learnt that, no matter how out of balance I was, I must allow him to have whatever rein he needed. This, I believe, is one of the fundamental reasons why those different horses tried their hearts out for me.

“The timing of using the stick came in handy with Be Fair, who never took the bit into a fence – he’d always have to be urged.”

Be Fair, who gave Lucinda the first of her six Badminton winners in 1973, was bought for her as her 15th birthday present. He was five, and had done little.

“He was a shocker – all he did was rear,” she says. “He was a very handsome spoilt brat, and I didn’t know what to do with him.”

Be Fair was sent to “reform school”, first with Betty Skelton and then Malcolm and Janet Firth. Finally, in the winter, it was suggested he was sent hunting.

“He went to a wonderful hunting farmer, Tom Payne, whose first ride on him was a day with the Pytchley. Tom found himself in a field with hounds when they took off. He had the choice of following them out over the only available fence, not yet knowing if this young horse could jump, or turning round and taking him to the back of the field.

“He chose to go, and that’s really why we’re talking now, because from that moment onwards, Be Fair never looked back. His whole attitude to life changed,” remembers Lucinda.

Three years later, in 1972, they finished fifth at their first Badminton – having learnt a couple of sharp lessons on the way.

“At our first intermediate at Sherbourne, he was having a good look at an upright rail with a drop behind. I saw an enormously long stride and gave him a wallop to jump it – and of course, when horses can’t see where they are landing they don’t want to take off on a long one,” Lucinda says.

“He put in a short stride, hit it and I fell off. Then at Wylye about six months later he fell at a revolting fence at the top of one of those very steep hills. It was called Griffins’ Grotto, and had an open front and some of the Midland Bank griffins as a groundline. I just kept kicking, and he turned clean over. I learnt that, when you arrive at the top of a hill, you need to recalibrate the horse’s engine.”

At that first Badminton, aged 18, Lucinda learnt never to wear leather gloves when competing.

“At Tom Smith’s Walls, I pulled to turn him to the second part, and the rein slipped through my hand. He didn’t run out – he never even turned,” says Lucinda with regret. “We were fifth with a stop, so we would have gone very close, even that first year.”

Taking the title the following year was “surreal – that only happens to others”, and on they went to their first senior championships, the Europeans in Kiev, later that season.

“That was the most extraordinary experience. Russia was a country I had only heard about at school, and there I was, with my horse,” she says. “It was such a long journey that we arrived two weeks before the competition, and there was nowhere to ride. The roads were far too busy, and the tiny, tennis court-sized arenas we were meant to school in were far too small.”

Kiev is remembered for its second fence, an oxer over a vast ditch at the bottom of the hill two strides after a turn, where 22 competitors fell.

“The Russians approached it fast down a vertical hill – we all came along a track in the valley and turned sharply to it. Somehow Be Fair made it – but at fence eight I learnt another valuable lesson,” she says.

“It was a log pile in a wood and the sun was shining through the leaves. Be Fair crashed straight into it. I learnt from that to be so careful when you are riding in woods, especially if there’s a bit of breeze, because the shadows then are moving which contorts the horse’s judgement even more.”

Lucinda’s bank of knowledge about cross-country was building up, and at Luhmühlen in 1975 she and Be Fair finished on their dressage score to become European champions.

“Really he taught me the power of love and of trust in a relationship. He was a ‘no’ horse, not a ‘yes’ horse, and it eventually became clear to me that this horse absolutely trusted me,” she says.

A different style of riding

After Be Fair, Lucinda had to adopt a different style of riding to find the best in Wideawake, who was sent to her as a seven-year-old novice.

“I’ve only met a couple of other horses who would never refuse – ever, which is quite frightening; they just always go,” she says. “He wasn’t a puller and didn’t go flat out, but he just took everything on. He had a long stride and was incorrigibly brave.

“He jumped in a pretty bad style – he hit a lot – and didn’t like being gathered up; he’d just hollow more, whereas Be Fair was completely naturally balanced.

“All I’d ever known was to kick, because Be Fair was always sucking back. If you kicked Wideawake, you can imagine what happened, so I learnt that you can’t kick everything – you have to find another way.”

Wideawake taught Lucinda another significant lesson when competing in the advanced class at Downlands.

“He’d been pretty awful in the dressage, and I was very cross with him. I led him back to the lorry in silence and loaded him into my little two-horse box,” she says. “I went between him and the partition to fix his rug, and he leant on me – he put his head away from me and leaned. He really meant it, and eventually I realised I was being deliberately squashed and screamed for help.

“I learnt from that that you don’t get cross with horses. I had done nothing physical to him, but I was mentally furious and just switched off him. Horses are so sensitive to the emotions around them and I learnt then that you don’t hold a grudge, and you wipe your mind clean, because they pick up everything you feel.”

Lucinda admits that they had a “difficult relationship”.

“He was an odd horse. When I took him hunting, if I queued for a fence, he would petrify – turn to stone – and stand there. Everyone would gallop off and we would still be there 10 minutes later. This did once land me in hospital when I aimed him at too big a fence rather than have to queue.”

The pair won Boekelo in 1975 on their dressage score by a margin of 18 penalties, but with quite a few “lucky moments”.

The following year, however, Badminton was theirs. “I’d never had such a good ride cross-country on him – he was inspired,” says Lucinda. “I had this extraordinary feeling when I was walking the course that we were going to win; oddly, I’ve had that premonition with several of my Badminton winners.”

With his long, flat stride and dislike of being held together, Wideawake wasn’t easy to showjump, but he pulled off a clear and took the Badminton title – Lucinda’s second. Tragically, the horse collapsed and died during his lap of honour of a suspected heart attack.

The aftermath was horrible, with Lucinda receiving “poison-pen letters” accusing her of killing her horse. Then a short time later at the finish of a silver-medal round at the Montreal Olympics, Be Fair slipped the Achilles tendon off his hock, and the bright young star of British eventing found herself in a dark place, having lost her two top horses within months of each other.

“Dick Stilwell, who was such a great influence on my riding, along with Pat Burgess, told me: ‘It’s not so difficult to get to the top. It’s staying there that’s hard.’ He was right – my God, you come down so fast,” says Lucinda.

However, doors open when you are least expecting them. On arrival home from Montreal, Lucinda had a phonecall from Charles Cyzer asking her if she’d like to ride his horse, Killaire, at Burghley three weeks later.

“Charles brought him down in this smart horsebox, and out came a really fat bay hunter,” Lucinda says. “With zero assurances that I would take him to Burghley, I said I would give it a go.

“We rode up later that day to [trainer] Toby Balding’s practice hurdles. It was hard to tell when he actually jumped because he scuttled along, lifted his legs up, the hurdle passed underneath him, he landed and scuttled off again. You didn’t feel any jump over anything.”

After a strenuous exercise regime, Killaire did indeed “scuttle round” Burghley three weeks later, having learnt extended trot for the first time the day before his test when David Hunt took away the two boards from the practice dressage arena and told Lucinda to keep going on the diagonal until Killaire eventually lengthened.

Miraculously, they finished second to Jane Holderness-Roddam and Warrior.

The following year Killaire was third at Badminton. An infected leg from wire meant missing Badminton in 1978. He won on his return in 1979 and was second the next year – creating a still-held record of first, second and third at Badminton.

Lucinda says: “I couldn’t hit him because he was frightened of the stick, but the year he won I was so scared of the Vicarage Vee that, as he was scuttling towards it, I thought, ‘This is so big that you have just got to make more of an effort,’ and gave him a slap as he took off.

“He did what you’d expect and veered away from the stick, and I had all of a second, which felt like a minute, to realise what I’d done – I’d taken him off his line and he couldn’t therefore land on that tiny patch of ground on the far side and was in fact plunging straight into the bottom of the wet, muddy Vicarage ditch.

“Do you know, that horse landed in the bottom sludge and jumped straight out of it again, up the bank, and scampered off as though nothing had happened?

“He had the biggest heart, and all he ever did was try. I learnt that a horse who was only an ordinary hunter could jump round courses like that, because he wanted to.”

‘A dire situation’

Killaire was the fourth of Lucinda’s Badminton sextet; before him, in 1977, came George.

“Dad was dying, and the Strakers rang up to ask if I wanted to ride George at Badminton. My initial thought was that the horse had fallen in his last five major three-day events. But I talked to Mum and Dad, and Mum encouraged me to take him on because she knew I needed a distraction from what was a dire situation,” explains Lucinda.

“I thought that was the bravest thing – she thought of me and what I needed.”

Like Killaire, George came to Lucinda three weeks before Badminton. Despite not knowing each other at all, George and Lucinda clicked and they won Badminton.

That autumn, the European Championships were held at Burghley and, a week after Lucinda’s father, the Major-General, died, she took her second individual gold medal.

“I was incredibly weak, because I had been on a sympathy fast for Dad for months, and George, despite being a thoroughbred, was old and leaned down on his big, intelligent head,” she says.

An error of course halfway round the steeplechase led to George tangling up in the roping and Lucinda falling off, but they still finished inside the time.

“I had the whole of phase C [the second section of roads and tracks] to wonder if I actually had the strength to go cross country,” she says. “I was last to go for the team, it was 5pm and virtually all the spectators had gone home.

“About three-quarters of the way round and knackered, this lone man raised his shooting stick and shouted, ‘Come on England! Come on George!’ That cry gave me the strength to finish.”

Lessons learned

Village Gossip didn’t win Badminton – he was second in 1978 – but the lessons he taught Lucinda gave her the tools to ride Regal Realm a few years later.

“David Kingsley bought Village Gossip for me after he’d been round Burghley as a six-year-old with Katie O’Hara,” says Lucinda.

“I couldn’t ride one side of him. He’d come out of his mother with a very odd temperament and had attacked the person who fed him, even as a foal. He had been sold to someone who was learning to ride, and they had balanced on his mouth, which is why he found any pressure on his mouth intolerable.

“You couldn’t regulate him at all; everything was on his own terms. If you tried to collect him, to jump a coffin or something, he just stopped. I remember being in floods of tears hacking at home, thinking, ‘I’ve been bought this wonderful horse and I can’t find the brilliance that was there for all to see last year with Katie at Burghley. I can’t do it and I don’t know how to ride him’.”

It was at that point that Lucinda decided that if Village Gossip wanted to go fast, she’d let him and she wouldn’t interfere. They won their next event.

“In that moment I’d learnt how to ride him,” she says. “But you did have to let him go flat out into everything. He’d go storming into fences, shorten himself up and ping over.

“If I’d had him before Wideawake, I might have found Wideawake easier to ride. I learnt to be what I call ‘actively passive’. You didn’t just sit there and close your eyes; you used your body in the best way you could to balance him, and you were ready for anything, but you could do nothing. It was a huge lesson, because I’d always thought you had to do something.”

‘He had such power’

Australian-bred Regal Realm also liked to go very fast and pulled hard, but Village Gossip had accustomed Lucinda to that.

“He was much more negotiable mentally,” she says. “He was clever and, having done cattle work until he was seven, very nimble. He was ewe-necked and his ears were always in my mouth. I don’t think he ever basculed in his life – if he was with us now, we’d probably find that he had kissing spines – but he had such power.

“He taught me that it didn’t matter if a horse didn’t ‘make the shape’ over a fence, and because Village Gossip had taught me the art of doing nothing, I could find the amount of communication that he would accept.”

In 1982 they went to Luhmühlen and became world champions, winning Badminton a year later – Lucinda’s fifth title.

“The dressage is the bit that I remember most,” says Lucinda of the World Championships. “That winter I had been to America to have a couple of days of lessons with Bert de Nemethy. I’d stayed with General Jack Burton, who lived near him, and the snow came down and nobody could go anywhere. So I set out across country through drifts to walk to Bert’s to have this lesson.

“I don’t think General Jack ever forgot that, because he gave me the most ridiculously good dressage mark in Luhmühlen. I always felt that monumental trek through the snow had won me the World Championships.

“We were hot favourites to win individual gold at the LA Olympics in 1984, and Anton Bühler, who was judging, saw right through him. We earned the mark we deserved, and finished sixth overall.”

Lucinda’s sixth and final Badminton triumph was with Beagle Bay in 1984.

“He wasn’t as tough and hard as the other horses,” she says. “He would actually stop in the warm-up for the showjumping, which is another lesson. However much you trust a horse, you must be ready for him to stop, even if he is your Badminton horse.”

Although Lucinda’s domination of the sport drew to a close towards the end of the 1980s, she continues to ride, train, coach and compete today. Her fascination with horses, and discovering how to develop the best out of each individual, is as keen as ever.

A world champion on a world champion…

Lucinda regarded Mary Lowe (née Gordon-Watson), world champion in 1970 aboard Cornishman V (pictured), as an inspiration.

“I don’t know what made her do it, but she took me under her wing a little,” says Lucinda. “I went to stay with her one summer, and we went for hacks with her whippet. She became a totally touchable person, as opposed to an untouchable world champion, and she was happy to help me, which was wonderful encouragement.”

Asked why she thinks Lucinda achieved so much success, Mary answers: “It was her personality, really – her enthusiasm and positivity. If something goes wrong, she is eager to find a way round a problem. She was a very brave and forward rider whose attitude was that you never gave up. She got the best out of all types of horses, particularly on the cross country, which was her tour de force.

“She was absolutely meticulous when walking the course – much more like people are now. I think she inherited that trait from her father, who would turn up to competitions with several A4 sheets of paper with details about each horse.”

Dick Stilwell and Pat Burgess…

The two trainers who had the greatest influence on Lucinda were Dick Stilwell, a great, instinctive horseman who first taught Lucinda when she was a young teenager, and Pat Burgess.

“Pat was responsible for my defensive style of riding, and for me not worrying as people do now about striding,” says Lucinda. “I had no eye then; she told me to keep that medium-length stride and the horse will sort it out, and she was right.

“She was very into the ‘fold’ with the arms giving the horse full freedom. She was aware that horses’ confidence came from the knowledge that they would never be pulled in the mouth. That was vital.

“Now I find it fascinating learning not to fold so much, because the one thing I couldn’t do was land and have the horse back that first stride after a showjump. You see people stay much more upright through the air now because they can’t lose a stride on landing, especially in grand prix showjumping.”

Carrying the flag

Lucinda was chosen as the flag-bearer for the British team at the opening ceremony of the 1984 Los Angeles Olympics. She was – and remains – only the second equestrian athlete to do so; David Broome was the first in 1972.

“It was one of the most moving things I have ever done – up there with having my two children [Freddie and Lissa],” says Lucinda. “I was so flattered to be asked. We waited for a long time underneath the stands, very gradually creeping forward, and as we got closer you could hear the noise of clapping and cheering, which grew louder and louder.

“I thought then about what it must have been like to be a Christian waiting to be put into the amphitheatre in Rome with the lions – you could feel the crowd’s excitement.”

Lucinda’s medals…

• Team gold, 1971 junior European Championships (Be Fair)
• Team bronze, 1973 European Championships (Be Fair)
• Individual gold and team silver, 1975 European Championships (Be Fair)
• Individual and team gold, 1977 European Championships (George)
• Team silver, 1979 European Championships (Killaire)
• Individual and team gold, 1982 World Championships (Regal Realm)
• Individual and team silver, 1983 European Championships (Regal Realm)
• Team silver, 1984 Los Angeles Olympics (Regal Realm)
• Team gold, 1985 European Championships (Regal Realm)
• Team gold, 1987 European Championships (Shannagh)

Lucinda’s career in numbers

2 Burghley wins

19 The age she won her first Badminton

5 European gold medals

7 European Championships appearances

1982 crowned world champion and won team gold

6 Badminton wins on six different horses

Regal Realm: from Australian stock horse to Badminton winner and world champion

‘I don’t really believe it was me’: Lucinda Green reflects on her six Badminton victories 50 years since the first

Fun, focus and footwork: must-have cross-country riding advice from Lucinda Green

Improve your cross-country skills with advice from the six-time Badminton winner — from being flexible with bits to making sure

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Despite being described as an “awkward chap”, the quirky Ben Faerie son went on to have an extraordinary eventing record, notching up six gold medals with Ginny Holgate. Kate Green delves deeper into his story

NEVER was a horse more aptly named. Priceless, who cost £1,000 as a four-year-old in 1977, evented for nine seasons with Ginny Holgate (now Elliot) without a single cross-country fault, nor a championship pole down. He was world and European champion, he won Badminton and Burghley and six of his eight medals were gold.

“Mr P” was brainy, awkward and a law unto himself, “an unpredictable little beastie”, as Ginny puts it. You couldn’t use a whip on him or he would buck like mad, he snapped like a crocodile in the stable, he didn’t enjoy schooling and, to the end of his days, refused to be caught.

“If you told him, he would say ‘why?’, so the secret was to ask, to cajole. He was quite an awkward chap,” explains Ginny.

Standing 16.1hh “in his stilettos”, Priceless was three-quarter-bred, by Diana Scott’s thoroughbred stallion Ben Faerie out of the half-bred Reckless, and he looked more like his dam. Ginny went to try him at the Scotts’ Brendon Hill Stud in west Somerset; she felt that he might be too small, but also that he looked “cute”.

“I decided that if he jumped a ditch bravely, I would buy him, and he did,” she says.

They won their first big competition, Bramham in 1979, and never finished lower than 12th at an international event.

“Whatever was built, he jumped,” says Ginny. Her team-mate Ian Stark once described Priceless as having the versatility of a motorbike across country; he went in a D-ring snaffle and no “gadgets”.

They won double gold at the Burghley Europeans of 1985, where there was a bullfinch at the bottom of the hill, on an angle, a massive ditch toward.

“I was absolutely terrified of it,” recalls Ginny. “I tapped P with the stick and he fitted in three bucks, but still managed to jump it.”

At the Gawler World Championships in 1986 – another double gold performance – Priceless was “bored out of his brains” after 10 weeks of quarantine and training, as Ginny hadn’t wanted to risk competing him on hard Australian ground.

“He galloped at the first fence, missed his jerk, walked all over it, bucked and then carried on,” she says.

“Then there was a water complex where I thought the striding just wasn’t possible and I angled him so as to fit a stride into a bounce distance; he did it easily,” Ginny continues. His brilliance was his brain; he could assess things at high speed and had an incredible ability to adjust himself.”

At Burghley in 1983, Ginny told British chef d’equipe Malcolm Wallace and her friend Louise Bates that if she was short on time, she would go straight at the notorious brandy-glass fence, a route no one had tackled. As she approached, her supporters relaxed, because they knew she was in plenty of time; what they didn’t realise was that her stopwatch had failed and they had to cover their eyes as Ginny boldly kicked on, the only rider of the competition to take the direct route.

Priceless was team trailblazer at the Los Angeles Olympics in 1984, winning team silver and making Ginny the first British woman to win an individual Olympic eventing medal (bronze).

“The cross-country course was in Santiago and we got horribly stuck in traffic – it was nip and tuck,” she recalls. “I had no information about the course, but that was probably best.”

Here, they were the first pair to take the straight route at the Crescent Oxer, a spectacular massive parallel and drop. The photographer Kit Houghton asked trainer Dot Willis if she thought Ginny would go direct.

“Dot said, ‘Don’t worry, she will,’ so Kit got in a complete muck sweat running over to the fence,” Ginny says. “Sure enough, P did it. I was more than terrified, but he was unbelievable. We finished with only 0.4 of a time-fault and I was so thrilled. It was my most proud moment.”

IT had taken meticulous planning to get to this stage. In 1980, Priceless was sixth at Burghley with 22 time-faults; in 1981, he was eighth at Badminton with 34, and sixth and a team gold medallist with 16 at the Horsens Europeans in Denmark, by which time there was much muttering that he was “too common”.

Novel ways had to be found to manage him. Remember that, in those days, championships were “real” long format (incorporating roads and tracks and steeplechases) and the cross-country at five-star level; most horses ridden by women had to carry dead weight to reach the requisite 11st 7lbs.

Ginny sought help from the Yorkshire-based racehorse trainer Michael Dickinson, famous for producing fit horses – and the first five home in the 1983 Cheltenham Gold Cup. She volunteered to help him with gridwork if he would show her how to get Priceless as fit as a racehorse.

Michael advocated swapping interval training (which was then – and still is – the accepted wisdom, pioneered by the likes of Sheila Willcox) for hill work at different speeds every four days on the gallops.

Priceless hated being lunged and had to be kept occupied, so Ginny’s mother Heather would hack him out – on the route of his choice – and Mr P, as he was nicknamed by team trainer Lady Hugh Russell, was put on a diet: every four hours he would be given a tiny haynet and at night a 6lb one. He was fed four times a day, everything carefully weighed, and turned out in a bare paddock.

Fortunately, Priceless was “as sound as a pound”, only missing part of the 1983 season due to the blood poisoning disease leptospirosis.

“It was a team effort. Dot was a brilliant eyes-on-the-ground, and there was Mummy, Pat Manning [dressage trainer], Pat Burgess [jumping], Lady Hugh [cross-country] – all amazing people who chose to understand him.”

WITH horses such as Night Cap (also by Ben Faerie), Murphy Himself, Master Craftsman, Griffin and Welton Houdini, Ginny won two more European titles, two more Badmintons and medals galore. Altogether, she won at Burghley five times, four of them in succession and two of them on Priceless, of whom she says: “He mapped out my life.

“I would never have evented at that level without him or gone on to buy other horses. It was his brain, his attitude, his wilfulness and his guts that did it. He did what he did against all the odds. The long format was against him – in fact, it was against most horses – he was just a trooper.”

The breeder on Priceless

PRICELESS undoubtedly put Diana Scott’s prolific eventing sire Ben Faerie, a 15.3hh thoroughbred bought from Ascot for 240gns, on the map, but Priceless was “a funny little foal”. Born on Kings Brompton Common, he earned his name when Diana’s sister said: “Oh, isn’t he priceless!” And a farm worker said: “He’ll be no good – his ears turn in!”

Diana observes that Ben Faerie was “a pattern of a horse, full of quality. It didn’t matter what you crossed him with, he would put speed onto a non-thoroughbred.”

The dam, Reckless, came off the boat from Ireland and was bought from an Exeter sale for 120gns.

“She carried my father-in-law staghunting and he told me that she jumped all the gates,” recalls Diana. “I took him at his word and jumped all the farm gates on her. My husband, Maurice, was horrified as she hadn’t actually ever jumped anything before.”

Diana visited Priceless in his retirement: “He heard my voice and trotted over before shying, bucking and galloping off.”

Another of Ben Faerie’s legacies was a long life; Priceless was put down aged 28.

Priceless as hunter

HUNTING bookended Priceless’s career: he was a “mannerly” four-year-old out staghunting on Exmoor with the Devon and Somerset Staghounds joint-master Diana Scott, who led her small daughter from him, and Pytchley joint-master Louise Bates (pictured) enjoyed his superb jumping post-eventing.

“He was the most intelligent horse I’ve ridden – he knew where the fox was before the huntsman and would change direction even before hounds,” remembers Louise.

She recalls a “vintage” half-hour over huge Meynell fences.

“Another visitor, Bruce Hodges, later said to his brother: ‘My God, that Louise Bates goes well; I nearly killed myself following her! She was only riding a stocky little bay horse…’”

Louise took Priceless to Olympia for a parade of horse personalities. “Every time we came through the curtain, Raymond Brooks-Ward would holloa and I nearly fell off,” Louise says. “We also gave Mark Pitman and Corbiere [Grand National winner] a lead over a 2ft practice fence!”

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Hay wisp

IT looked so easy in the Pony Club Manual of Horsemanship – simply make a long, tightly woven rope from hay, before fashioning it into two loops and twisting the loose end through these. If the resulting tangle looked anything like a hay wisp, you were ready to use it with vigorous strokes to massage the horse and produce a deep shine.

Sometimes called strapping or banging, this was once considered an essential part of grooming. Was it worth the effort?

“My mum taught me how to make a hay wisp and my grandfather taught her,” says former eventer Ginny Elliot. “We used to spend hours strapping the horses and we liked to think it made a difference.”

Eventing Olympian Mary King, who would instead use a folded cloth (then termed a stable rubber) to produce the satisfying “slaps” that stimulated muscled areas, adds: “It certainly gave me some muscles. When I worked for [international eventer] Sheila Willcox, she was a stickler for strapping. All the horses had to be strapped, 60 times on each side: 20 on the crest of the neck, 20 on the muscle above the elbows, 20 on the quarters.”

International dressage rider Richard Davison says: “Strapping was a relic of our upbringing, and until about 20 years ago we kept a hay wisp in every grooming kit. We now know a bit more about muscle development, however; I’m not sure it was particularly effective.”

Richard admits that as a youngster working in a racing yard, he found an easier alternative.

“We would just pretend, making the strapping noise in the stable as we groomed,” he reveals. “People would think, ‘He’s working hard next door!’”

Rubber riding boots

“THEY were the coldest thing in the world,” recalls dressage star Anna Ross of her “plastic fantastic” boots, the must-have accessory at the riding school where she worked. In their day, rubber riding boots were the only affordable, entry-level option in lieu of long leather boots. But they were a let-down in more ways than one.

“I had such long, skinny legs that mine were literally like wellies,” Anna says. “They came halfway up my calves and were twice as wide – my legs looked like golf clubs from the side.”

Enduring the inevitable chilblains and with toes frequently squashed underfoot by recalcitrant riding school ponies, Anna sought to make the most of what she had.

“I’d get the furniture polish out to shine them up, which then made them squeak like mad,” she says. “I couldn’t believe my luck when I got my first pair of leather boots.”

Anna was also forced to consider a cheaper alternative when body protectors first hit the market.

“Before I did my British Horse Society stage three, I was a bit skint,” she explains. “A friend and I needed body protectors and noticed that there was something incredibly similar in the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles range in the local toy shop. The profile was almost the same under a cross-country shirt – if we could just get away with it…”

Boiled linseed

FOND memories abound of a cosy fug in the kitchen, as linseed and barley simmered on the stove: “We always had linseed boiling on the AGA,” says international eventer William Fox-Pitt.

“We cooked it to a gloopy, gelatinous mass and the horses would each get a blob once a week. A hot bran mash given the night before a day off would clear their systems and reduce the risk of colic.

“Horses back then certainly had a diet high in natural oils,” he adds, explaining that oats, bran and chaff, with additional boiled barley and linseed, formed the mainstay of feeding. “When you see photos of Badminton winners from the 1960s and ’70s, the horses looked very good.”

Mary King adds: “We would boil barley so it split, as it was good for fattening a horse. However, I remember my mum tearing her hair out when I let the linseed boil over on the old Rayburn, making a sticky mess.”

Yorkshire boots

BEFORE the advent of the fetlock boot, a double-thickness square of thick felt fastened around the joint with a tape did the trick.

“Yorkshire boots were very good; we still use them, in fact, for horses that brush or move close behind,” says former eventer and National Hunt trainer Henrietta Knight. “They’re much cheaper and you can put them in the washing machine.”

In general, modern boot technology has been a bonus.

“Many of the older boots for travel and exercise had lots of narrow leather straps, which were often over-tightened so the boot wouldn’t slip,” explains Alison Bartle of the Yorkshire Riding Centre, wife to eventing coach Christopher and a former Horse & Hound Groom of the Year. “This created individual pressure points. It was common to get boot injuries.”

Richard Davison admits that the overlapping Velcro straps on modern back boots can leave him baffled.

“In my day, all the straps had to face backwards,” he says, adding that he has been known to re-thread the bottom straps on flash nosebands to point the correct way.

“Our grooms have often questioned this; I once found my old Pony Club Manual of Horsemanship and photographed the relevant page to say, ‘Look, there you go!’”

Jute stable rug

ALLEGEDLY woven from natural fibres that allowed the skin to breathe, the original jute rug was in reality a cumbersome, damp-smelling beast that soaked up stable stains.

Time was when rugging up entailed first fitting a cotton summer sheet before adding one, two or sometimes three blankets and then hefting the jute rug on top – anchoring it all in place with a thick, padded roller fastened over the obligatory chunk of sponge.

The pampered horse then started sporting a duvet underneath, instead of blankets, that could be folded to form the neck covers we know and love today.

“We would make a ‘polo neck’ by pulling the duvet up to the horse’s ears; a ‘turtle neck’ by turning it down halfway, if it was warmer, or a ‘V neck’ by folding up the corners of the duvet and doubling it back over the rug,” recalls Alison.

“There were no cross-surcingles,” adds William. “We often used a heavy anti-cast roller. You didn’t have to worry about the horse getting cast, but at the same time it was like making him wear a saddle and girth all night.”

“I remember when leg straps first appeared and we had to learn to undo them before removing the rug,” says Anna. “There were more than a few horses doing the can-can around the stable when the uninitiated failed to do that.”

String girth

NOW made of softer, broader synthetic fibre than the thin, pinching cord of yesteryear, the string girth is still on the market. Sensibly, modern versions tend to be in brown or black.

“It was a nightmare getting the stains out of the white ones,” explains Henrietta, who would hang string girths from a bridle hook to give them a good scrubbing.

“So many things needed whitening in those days, from saddle linings to white lead-reins and the white browbands used for young horses. It was all so labour-intensive.”

Ginny adds: “My mum would ride and lead to pick me up from kindergarten on my pony – I remember the string girth and felt saddle, and also the plaited reins that were as slippery as hell when wet.

“We certainly had our work cut out washing those string girths clean.”

Anti-sweat rug

THE old-school sweat rug was a staple of the active horse’s wardrobe. This equine equivalent of the string vest was designed to allow air to circulate under another rug. Another technique to dry off wet and muddy horses was known as “thatching” – stuffing straw underneath the horse’s rug.

“After hunting, we were never allowed to wash the horses; we had to thatch them,” recalls William. “We’d warm the horses and give them their tea, before we could go indoors to warm up and have our tea.

“Later, once the horses had dried under their layers of straw, we would meticulously pick off every piece of mud with our fingers,” he adds. “This was meant to be better than brushing. It was certainly time-consuming, but I was young in those days and wasn’t given any other option.”

Richard adds: “Those string vest-style sweat rugs always looked a bit tatty. They were, in fact, called anti-sweat rugs – I remember getting that as a trick question in a Pony Club quiz.”

Kaolin poultice

UNTIL Animalintex provided a mess-free solution, poulticing was a sticky task involving the likes of bran or Epsom salts to draw out inflammation or infection. Kaolin, also known as china clay, was popular in paste form as a hot or cold compress, and is still available today.

“We would spread kaolin on Gamgee, with a bit of lint over the top and with cling film between the layers, before putting it in the freezer,” says Henrietta. “It was great for relieving bruising of the joints and legs, as it never got too cold to place against the horse’s skin. This was Peter Scott Dunn’s [the then British eventing team vet] wonderful remedy.”

Which old-fashioned practices do you still stick to today? Write to H&H at hhletters@futurenet.com and please include your full name and address.

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A royal rally

I have often felt the young of today have no idea what it was like living before and during the war on a farm without today’s “toys”!

I was 10 when the war was declared and virtually an only child with two brothers far older than me. I was reared on a huge farm which was geared to produce food.

“Dig for Victory” was the 1939 slogan and every acre was utilised to do just that, whether in animal or vegetable form.

My entertainment came from 24 Suffolk working horses, a pony and a few tame rabbits. There was the very occasional Pony Club rally in the summer holidays, and Battle of Britain gymkhanas held on a Saturday afternoon in the early 1940s on various local village greens to make a few pennies – for charity of course.

All else came from the wireless, books, or varying degrees of awful events which went with a county covered in air fields erected at speed to help win that wicked war. Blackouts, food rationing and no petrol was the order of the day, and a gas mask was one’s night and day companion.

An awful lot happened in a quiet way during that 1939–45 period. Today’s youngsters would be amazed, and that goes for my great-grandchildren (Piggy March’s nieces), aged 10 and 12.

This photo shows the occasion when Queen Mary requested a private viewing of the West Norfolk Hunt branch of the Pony Club at Sandringham, in the last year of the war. There were about 30 riding members, and we jumped a course and played games for her. Here she is inspecting us after our performance – it was frightening but fun.

Betty Powell

Bring back the sport I love

Sadly, endurance is now a dirty word, but it was not always so. I was a founder member of Long Distance Riding (now Endurance GB) as it was then called by the British Horse Society (BHS) in 1975 because they were concerned about the welfare of the horse in this emerging sport. The only ride at that time was the Golden Horseshoe, which the BHS later took over. There were strict qualifying rides of 40 rides before you could enter.

At the pre-ride vetting inspection, the standard of the shoeing was checked, the condition and the fit of the tack was looked at and the vetting was very strict. Penalties were awarded if anything was not up to standard.

I well remember an occasion at the vetting in the yard at the White Horse, Exford. A horse was brought out to be vetted and a clod of straw fell from its foot. “Hasn’t picked its feet out, give it a penalty,” said the vet.

Endurance riding was such a lovely sport, it gave you the opportunity to test your horse’s fitness and your riding ability to complete over tough country like Exmoor, the Black Mountains and the Pennines. It was also an opportunity to ride in beautiful parts of the country not always available to the public.

Sadly endurance racing was introduced to the detriment of the sport as is evident today. There is a move to bring it back to endurance riding again – I hope it is successful so people can enjoy it as I did all those years ago.

Margarite Burton

A proper education

After I left school in the 1970s I started taking the rides at the local riding stables. No one taught anyone, but I did always have a lead-rein on me and did my best teaching the riders (who were hatless) while we trotted up the bridleway.

I remember an especially big ride I took once. We had run out of string girths so I was happily legged up on a horse with a saddle and no girth and proceeded to ride for an hour – that sorted my balance.

The feed consisted of oats and chaff sourced from the local farmer. It was late 1970s when those odd “pony nut” things arrived on the scene, my boss wouldn’t use them though. The horses were all stall-kept and brought out twice daily for water. They were mostly trace-clipped and even in the coldest winters none wore rugs.

Bright yellow proflavine cream was used for all wounds and I would love to have it again. The horses all had tetanus jabs yearly and wormed twice a year with the only wormer that was available. Nobody had heard of flu jabs and coughing horses were steamed with a nosebag of hay, hot water and eucalyptus. Laminitis wasn’t heard of either.

I progressed to running my own yards and have spent my life teaching. I have several pupils who have gone on to be stars over the years. I wouldn’t change it for the world as it was a far better education than any get these days!

Candida Wood

Hacking to the station

Despite being born into a non-horsey family in 1934, I was horse-mad from day one.

I used to get the H&H for sixpence. Around 1947, I discovered a riding school had opened nearby in a suburb of Leeds, which was manna from heaven to me. All my spare time was spent working there for a free weekly ride.

One day the owner asked if I would like to take a thoroughbred called Priory Hill to York Sales. In a flash I said yes. I had to ride him to Leeds city station, where there was a rail box booked, and once there the porters would deal with him.

On the morning of the sale I arrived at the stables at about 6am, where Priory Hill was tacked up in snaffle bridle and no saddle, just a saddle blanket with surcingle.

How I got to Leeds city station in rush hour, through tramlines and traffic lights, was more by luck than anything. As I rode into the station I was met by a flurry of porters wanting to know what I was doing there. The horse carriage was already attached to the passenger train, and he loaded like a saint from the platform as the train smoked and steamed.

The owner was at York to meet us and sadly I never heard of Priory Hill again. My return home was not without incident but that is another story.

David Hartley

A wartime memento

From ploughing to being a pony granny, horses have always been part of my life.

I left school in 1940 age 14 and went straight into working on the farm, having been around horses with my dad from an early age. Ploughing was a favourite – the horses did all the work, you just had to walk behind. I always regret I never learned to ride when I was young but I wasn’t allowed to ride the work horses.

This photo shows me sitting on Billy in the hay field with a friend’s baby. The picture was taken to send to the baby’s father, who was away at war.

When I married, we had a hill farm, and we always kept a horse in case we needed to get out in the snow as we didn’t have a phone – a good excuse!

Sarah Oliver

Ref Horse & Hound; 9 July 2020

Photographic technology may have advanced over the decades, but some of our readers’ oldest photos bring back the fondest memories, reminding of us how life used to be

Time for tea

I had Arden Love Affair in the 1960s. He was second in the 14.2hh-and-under class at Horse of the Year Show (HOYS) in 1964. In 1965 he measured out, so I showed him as a small hack. He was equally successful and was again second at HOYS. Unusual to say the least. He was the most comfortable ride, very smooth and an extravagant mover and a huge character. The photograph was taken for the Evening Standard at the Richmond Royal Horse Show in 1966. There was some tea in the mug. I am sitting on the family Land Rover which towed our trailer.

Debbie Lee

On top of the world

Marian Procter was nine years old when this picture was taken of her and Toby at Ulverston Show in 1951. Later when Marian was 12, she (by herself) took Toby on holiday, travelling on the train from Kirkby-in Furness, South Cumbria, to Northallerton, North Yorkshire, where she stayed with her sister Margaret and husband Jack Ward.

Judith Stitt (Marian’s niece)

The milk round

These are the horses I worked with seven days a week, from the 1950s to early 1960s. There were 61 working horses for Northampton Co-op dairy. The stables were two tier, upstairs and down. After the dairy changed from horses to milk floats, all the horses went for slaughter, with the last one going in 1974.

Chris Haynes

Checking the hunters

Checking the hunters in summer, 1954. We were walked miles in our pram and constantly had to share on the way home with the hound puppy! The walk proved too far for him, so he changed places with me in the pram. He was called No Go and later excelled at Peterborough for the South Oxfordshire Hunt. We still have the pewter mug he won at the puppy show.

Celia Summers (née Medley)

Suffolk Ranger

This photo was taken at a hunter trial in 1949/50. The horse was called Suffolk Ranger, and he was out of a Suffolk by the thoroughbred stallion that walked around Suffolk every spring as part of the Hunters’ Society Improvement scheme.

Ranger arrived with me when he was a just-backed seven-year-old in 1944. It took a long time to train him, but we did compete at HOYS in 1951 doing the prix caprilli. We also competed at one of the first one-day events at Great Alkham, 1950.

He was such a good jumper and would tackle anything. For a bet we jumped the point-to-point drop fence at Newton Green from the wrong direction.

Shirley Shea

Impeccable standards

This picture was taken at Great Gransden Show in 1979. In front, the late Betty Gingell, master of the Cambridgeshire Harriers, riding Badger. They won the class and were HOYS heavyweight champions in the late 1970s. Behind, Toffee and me, who came second. The job was very hard but also very rewarding. The high standards that were expected have endorsed how I now prepare for a show.

Rebecca Jarvis

The way we were…

Tommy and me, 1967, having fun in the garden – no tack, no riding kit!

Fiona Hicks

Ref Horse & Hound; 9 July 2020

A childhood spent in the saddle sparks special memories. Here’s a snapshot of the halcyon days before busy traffic, health and safety, and comfy girths

Simple but Sparky

I was three years old in 1974, when this photo was taken, at the Mid Surrey branch of the Pony Club under-10 show at Walton-On-The-Hill. I was riding my older sister Clare’s pony, Red Spark (Sparky), who was 12.2hh. He had a huge buck in him when Clare was riding but always looked after me; I used to sit in front of Clare on the pommel while she cantered circles in our field.

My mother had to make the jacket I’m wearing because she couldn’t find one small enough to fit me. The elastic strap holding my hat on wouldn’t pass health and safety tests these days. I love the fact that Sparky’s wearing a simple eggbutt snaffle and cavesson noseband; you so rarely see a pony in such a straightforward combination these days. But I don’t miss the old string girths.

This also reminds me of the wonderful Pony Club shows we used to spend our summers attending. We would compete in such a broad range of activities, from showjumping to showing to gymkhana, and learnt so much along the way.

Annie Assheton (née Grey-Edwards)

A real child’s pony

I believe I am, at 67, the oldest woman still showing regularly at leading shows. Back when I was nine, I had one of the best 12.2hh show ponies in the country, All Springs Gem. When we sold him the people paid in cash; notes and coins were piled up on the table.

The pony pictured is my 12.2hh show pony Bennedon Bambi, in 1959. When we took him to Horse of the Year Show (HOYS) at Wembley, it took two days to drive from Sheffield with no motorways, in a Hillman Imp car towing a canvas-topped trailer.

Bambi looked sparkling. He had been washed with water containing Blue Bag, a blue dye used for white laundry. I too looked very smart in my new jacket and jodhpurs made to measure by Bernard Weatherill of Savile Row.

There were no lead-rein classes at HOYS, so aged six, I was in the 12.2hh class. I had practised my show a million times, but during my figure of eight, Bambi stopped and spent a penny. The judge came over and said not to worry, he was a real child’s pony.

I could never have imagined that I would be a regular competitor at HOYS, that I would have a horse, I’m Blue Chip Too, who would be champion there two years running, or that I would have a horse feed company that would be one of HOYS’ longest-standing sponsors.

Bambi started having skin problems – he was one of the first ponies to be diagnosed with leukaemia. One day, when I was eight, he disappeared; he had been put down. I was inconsolable. Parents then didn’t discuss things with children before they happened.

Clare Blaskey

A timeless jacket

My first pony, Dazzle, was offered as a raffle prize, but when the winner didn’t want him, my great-aunt and uncle generously acquired him for me, though he was not a success. The pony pictured is my 14hh Sovereign, a Welsh cob/Arab who had an incredibly big jump.

I have many happy memories of a childhood riding: taking part in the Pony Club week, when we had lessons in which we had to ride a mile or two to a level field and then a gymkhana at the end. We used hard canvas girths, followed by nylon string girths, later to be followed by the padded girths. We also had heavy canvas New Zealand rugs which went as stiff as a board when wet; the neckline was lined with simulated sheepskin to stop it rubbing. For indoors, there were jute rugs with woollen linings which were impossible to wash. And woollen rugs and bandages for travelling with gamgee underneath.

I remember the disappointment of going to a posh saddlers in Chester in 1979 and trying on a beautifully cut black Melton cloth showing jacket to be told it was over our budget at £32 – and then the joy of being able to have it when the saddler said we could buy it for £28. I still have it today, it still fits and the quality fabric looks like new.

I also recall heavyweight rubberised cotton riding macs with a belt round the middle, and my first pair of elephant-eared jodhpurs in Bedford cord. However, I mainly rode in jeans and jodhpurs or Wellington boots; riding clothes were for special occasions.

And I remember Dad telling me our vet had told him about some brothers near Huddersfield who were winning everything at the local gymkhanas. I have been watching them ever since – they were the Whitakers.

Judith Harris

Making the pennies count

This year I will have been riding for over five decades. Fifty-one years ago, I was looking forward with excitement and apprehension to my first riding lesson at Streetly School of Equitation (cost seven shillings and sixpence, stout shoes/boots essential).

A chance purchase by my father of a copy of RS Summerhayes’ Riding on a Small Income, at a jumble sale, provided me with much-needed confidence, coming from a thrifty non-horsey family.

On the appointed Saturday morning, attired in my stout school shoes, borrowed twill jodhpurs, a yellow polo neck and faded second-hand cap (padded around the brim to fit and with the elasticated chinstrap knotted), I waited in the tack room inhaling the sweet aroma of newly soaped leather.

Then, at a brisk walk, came our instructor Gitta Tangye, now remembered for running the Streetly branch of Riding for the Disabled. A crinkly smile and a bright, “Good morning, you must be Wendy, shall we tack your pony up?” and we were off.

An amazing world opened up which has always filled me with a sensory overload of sounds and smells. My first lesson, in which I managed to rise two or three strides to the trot, propelled me into a lifetime of horsey endeavours; looking after horses for friends, Pony Club, as groom on various stages. At the age of 27, finally owning my own horse, and now, delighting in the discovery of trail riding, which I can enjoy with my daughter.

Without doubt, I owe part of my horsey history to Mr Summerhayes – whose charming book I still possess.

Wendy Lethbridge

The good old days

Around 1954, when I was 10, a friend took me to a riding school and I went on a hack. I had no riding wear and rode in a dress and sandals. Although I bounced about on the poor pony’s back, I got the riding bug.

Soon afterwards my parents bought me a pony and I learned to look after her the hard way. She was a sweet little pony, but so old she had a docked tail. The bridle had no buckles and everything was stitched together. My saddlecloth was a pillowcase I “borrowed” when Mum was not looking. My riding hat was so old it was soft. The only time I wore it was when going to Pony Club and then I had to bake it in the oven to get it hard.

The highlight of the year was Pony Club camp. It was held in Stanley Park, Blackpool, where the Royal Lancashire show was held. Because of the location the ponies had superb accommodation, but we slept on camp beds in an old hangar.

There was no such thing as giving your pony supplements or having your saddle checked, and I can never remember having a vet out. Yes, those were the “good old days”.

Fiona Burns

Happy hacking

This photo was taken at a local gymkhana in Cheshire. I am pictured with my friend Beverley Howlett (née Heath) and her pony Misty. I’m riding Silver, whom my non-horsey parents bought when I was eight and he was three, so it wasn’t ideal, but somehow we managed.

Beverley and I probably hacked there although sometimes we booked a lift in a cattle wagon, which would collect each pony and load them with just a slat between them.

We spent many happy hours hacking for miles – I find it sad that young people and their ponies today are not safe on the roads and miss out on the freedom we had.

Joy Toomer (née Price)

No one-trick pony

I’m one of many riders whose best riding years were in the 1960s and 70s. In the 70s you had one horse and did everything with them; eventing, dressage and showing. My 15.2hh mare, Tearnside Melody, evented when it was called BHS eventing and there were only three categories: novice, intermediate and advanced. She was fab at dressage and a winner in the show ring, too. Most importantly, it was fun.

Fences were huge and nailed together; you didn’t wear back protectors and you had a GP saddle for everything; the only boots you had were felt brushing boots with leather straps that took days to dry, and you only wore two studs, one on each hind foot.

There were no sections for young riders or young horses – simply put, if you were advanced, you were Badminton level.

Horses had no special diets: a few rolled oats to give them a bit of fizz and a bran mash with Guinness was a treat after competing.

The pony pictured is my 13.2hh Steven at the North Shropshire Pony Club branch one-day event. We won our under-12 class and I still have the grooming kit prize.

Louise Stewart-Muir

Seaside thrills

What is it about me and horses? They have always utterly enthralled me.

When I was a child, all sorts of interesting horse traffic went past our house regularly – rag-and-bone men’s ponies, coal-lorry heavy horses, milk-float horses, and assorted draught and riding horses. Wonderful.

I particularly liked to see one horse – Major – waiting patiently while his owner humped sacks of coal to people’s coal houses. He never moved a muscle until his owner climbed back on to the cart and then off he would go to the next customer, knowing exactly where to stop.

My riding lessons were the pinnacle of my childhood existence. I was allowed one every six weeks when my parents could afford the six shillings.

One particular riding school was run by a woman called Doris, who would ride a large horse to which the ponies were attached on either side, sometimes two at a time. They would be tacked up ready for the riders whom she would collect from their respective homes. When she had a full complement, off we would set at a cracking trot down the main street of St Annes-on-Sea down to the beach.

I often marvel that once life was so free of traffic that ponies with inexperienced little girls on board could rattle through the town unimpeded and vaguely safe. Once on the beach we all went like the clappers – oh the thrill.

Jennifer Lewtas

A Whitaker leg-up

In the early days of having my own pony, I enjoyed playing cowboys and Indians with friends all atop our hairy little ponies. A tin of soup heated on the Primus stove in the tack room followed, then a hack to nearby woods.

But the one thing I really wanted to do was showjump – like Pat Smythe. Showjumping on TV was everything in those days.

Eventually my wishes came true, and I went from pony showjumpers to horses, under the expert instruction of John Lanni. I was lucky to have a lovely horse, Gilt Edge, who rarely touched a pole and qualified for the Foxhunter final. But he hated water jumps. Once at Lincolnshire Show, he stopped at the water and I sailed “over the handlebars” for a bath. I stood up, emptied my boot, looked up and there was Michael Whitaker leading my horse. He asked if I was OK, and gave me a leg-up. I was so shy I didn’t even say thank you!

My showjumping “career” ended in my early 20s; looking back I’m sorry I stopped. I got back in the saddle three years ago after 30-year break and it was great. The feeling was still there, I still wanted to jump. Thankfully the fences were much smaller this time.

Anita Cross

Ref Horse & Hound; 9 July 2020

The great showjumper gilded an already exceptional career with gold in Rio in 2016. Jennifer Donald traces the steps that led to that impressive crowning moment

“When you saw the hunched shoulders and attacking position of Skelly about to do the business, you knew the class wasn’t over,” says Graham Fletcher of double Olympic gold medallist Nick Skelton CBE.

For 40 years, that familiar silhouette set the benchmark in arenas all over the world. With his natural talent, attention to detail and fierce competitiveness, Nick could out-jump, out-gallop and out-turn anybody. He was a born winner, amassing an unparalleled trove of silverware, medals and grand prix titles.

But in the twilight of his exceptional career – and long after most sportsmen have called time – one prize still eluded him. Then on an historic afternoon in 2016, 58-year-old Nick and the legendary stallion Big Star claimed the greatest accolade of all.

“Just before I set off in the jump-off in Rio, I thought: ‘This is my last chance – there ain’t going to be another one’,” says Nick. “But winning Olympic gold was the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me.”

An epic page-turner

Nick’s story is an epic page-turner of devastating setbacks, hard graft and heroic success, beginning 62 years ago in Warwickshire.

Nick was pony-mad, with a talent for getting into scrapes. He learnt to ride on 11.2hh Oxo, who joined the Skelton family at the age of two – when Nick was 18 months old – for £40. This equine saint lived to the age of 39 and taught both Nick’s sons to ride.

“I used to go to all the gymkhanas and even then I liked winning,” remembers Nick.

His team-mate turned commentator Steve Hadley says of the future champion: “Nick was always a great competitor, even as a kid in the bending race. I’ve never seen anyone have so much belief in their own judgement to be able to make a horse jump at its absolute best.”

Nick inherited his love for horses from his parents, as well as his father David’s passion for racing, and an early ambition to become a jump jockey was sparked on annual visits to watch the Cheltenham Gold Cup.

That his sons Dan and Harry have forged paths as leading National Hunt trainer and jockey induces immense pride in their father.

“It’s not easy following in the footsteps of a parent who has been successful in something, particularly in sport,” says Nick. “But I’m very proud of how successful they’ve been.”

It was on a similar pilgrimage to Horse of the Year Show that the seeds were sown for Nick’s career. “I used to sit at the warm-up and watch David Broome, Harvey Smith and the Schockemöhles,” he recalls.

“David rode in a rhythm that looked so effortless and I thought: ‘If I’m going to do this one day, I want to do it like him’.”

After several successful years jumping on ponies, it would be David’s sister Liz and her husband Ted Edgar who recognised Nick’s talent and helped pave the path for this ambitious 15-year-old straight out of school.

He earned £7 for working seven days a week, but he stayed with the famous Everest team for more than 12 years – grabbing every opportunity and making a massive impact on the sport.

One of his abiding memories is winning the 1980 leading showjumper at Wembley riding Maybe. “I was up against Harvey Smith on Olympic Star in the jump-off,” he says. “I was 22 and beat him. That felt good.”

But typical of Nick – to him, nothing seems impossible. It’s a trait he would display time and again, not least when at Olympia in 1978 he and Lastic broke the British high jump record at 2.32m – just over 7ft 7in.

As Nick Brooks-Ward remembers: “His sheer bravery that night and his trust in Lastic was something that became a benchmark for his career.”

The pair featured on the front pages of all the newspapers the following day. “Although not actually clearing it – smashing it to pieces the time before!” says Nick.

Soon after, he and Lastic won the grand prix in Geneva and then came his first Nations Cup call-up. Even in his rookie days, Nick played the pathfinder role – setting the gauntlet and instilling confidence in his team-mates for the next 37 years.

“I’m impatient and I like to get it over and done with,” says Nick, who represented his country an astonishing 180 times. “I will always feel very honoured to have done that – to hear your national anthem is a great thing.”

His first taste of an Olympics came with Maybe in the 1980 alternative Games in Rotterdam.

“It may not be counted in the history books, but I still have the medal. It was a massive step forward for me,” says Nick, who came away with team silver – he, Graham Fletcher, Tim Grubb and John Whitaker were beaten by just a time-fault by Canada.

It speaks volumes that Nick was selected for a further seven Olympics, but the gold medals for which he is now so famous didn’t come easily. The silverware, however, readily filled his shelves and his name is etched on nearly every major trophy.

The hallowed turf of Spruce Meadows and Aachen have been the scene of some of Nick’s greatest triumphs.

He won the Nations Cup on his first visit to Aachen in 1981 and only had to wait 12 months before joining the illustrious grand prix roll of honour, which he went on to win a further three times.

“It was my first big title at the age of 25 – Aachen is the Wimbledon of showjumping and it’s the best feeling,” says Nick, who had to jump four rounds in heavy rain to win that first grand prix with If Ever.

‘A massive influence’

The 1980s and ’90s marked an incredible era of Rule Britannia in the sport; it was the time of “the three amigos” – Nick, John and Michael Whitaker – who dominated teams, hauled in the medals and took the sport to a new level.

“Nick was always a good man to have on your team,” acknowledges John. “He’s been a massive influence on a lot of people, myself included.”

While John had his legendary partner Milton, Nick had the white-faced Apollo, who gave 28-year-old Nick his first individual medal – bronze at the 1986 World Championships, decided in those days by the top four riders all swapping horses.

“I’m pretty satisfied with all I achieved, but I would have liked to have won a World Championship,” reflects Nick.

Apollo loved the big occasion, and as well as championship gold medals, he proved his versatility with puissance wins, two Aachen grands prix and the second and third of Nick’s consecutive Hickstead Derby victories.

“I’ve been watching showjumping since I was a small boy but that is the finest competition and jump-off I have ever seen,” said Hickstead’s owner Douglas Bunn after Nick beat Joe Turi (Kruger) and Philip Heffer (Viewpoint) in a three-way tie-breaker in 1989.

Apollo went on to make a tremendous hunter for Nick’s stepmother in retirement, living to the venerable age of 31.

By this time, young groom Mark Beever had joined the team, an association that has continued for over 30 years. The astute horseman has devoted meticulous care to each of Nick’s horses and looked after one of the yard’s all-time favourites, the 16.1hh mare Dollar Girl, with whom Nick won the World Cup title in 1995, helped Britain to European team silver the same year and scorched home first in a string of grands prix. She won over £1m.

“She was very intelligent and every morning she had her head out looking for you,” remembers Nick. “She had all the ability but you had to make her do it.”

The decade ended with Hopes Are High – owned by Lord and Lady Harris – taking Nick to his third World Championship team bronze, third Du Maurier, a fifth Dublin grand prix and his fourth King George V Gold Cup.

A horrific fall

For two decades, Nick had ruled the showjumping circuit, but his world came crashing down at the start of the new millennium when he broke his neck in a horrific fall at Parkgate Show, later receiving the bombshell prognosis that another fall could be fatal – at 43, his career was deemed to be over.

“I never think about the injury now, but things could have turned out very differently,” says Nick, who endured a torrid time, unable to accept a life out of the saddle. “But if Arko hadn’t been waiting in the wings, I don’t think I’d have bothered coming back.”

A fortuitous meeting with John and Pat Hales in Ireland shortly before the accident would provide the perfect tonic for Nick and a reason to defy every doctor in the country, as he returned to the saddle on their youngster Arko III, two years after his fall.

Nick was back where he belonged, and this partnership went on to win over £1.2m in a meteoric wave of major successes.

Great Britain didn’t qualify a team for the Athens Olympics, but Nick was selected as an individual.

“You can make excuses, such as Arko not being experienced enough, but I didn’t ride him properly, so I got the result I deserved – I didn’t win,” says Nick with the frustration of having the gold medal snatched from his grasp in the final round. “I felt really down for a long time. I thought that was my chance and I’d blown it.”

An evolving sport

Most admirable in Nick is that in a career spanning four decades, he has adapted to an evolving sport and kept winning on many different horses. But the final credits go to Big Star, who was spotted as a five-year old by Nick’s partner Laura Kraut, relaying that he was “the best she’d ever seen”.

Gary and Beverley Widdowson, two of the sport’s greatest supporters, signed the cheque and would later turn down eye-watering sums for their horse. In Florida one year, Mark Bellissimo introduced them to Donald Trump by saying: “They own the best horse in the world and even you haven’t enough money to buy it.”

Nick says: “I couldn’t have done any of this without the support of the owners – Sue Welch, the Hales family, Gary and Beverley – I owe it to them all.”

By 2012 the emerging megastar had stamped his arrival in the sport’s top tier and was Nick’s choice for London. There was little expectation – it was 28 years since Britain’s jumpers collected an Olympic medal – so when Nick, Peter Charles, Ben Maher and Scott Brash won gold, the cheers reverberated across the city.

“Many of you will remember Skelly’s premature leap on to the podium at London 2012,” says Graham Fletcher. “It gave us a glimpse of just how much riding and winning for his country means to him.”

But the full heartache of the sport played out again in the individual as, with every chance of gold, a rail fell, leaving Nick “devastated”.

H&H’s Olympic reporter Catherine Austen summed up: “Four faults – what an excuse to keep going for another four years,” and thanks to nine-year-old Big Star having age on his side, Nick brushed off the disappointment to make Rio the goal.

The irrepressible stallion suffered a string of injuries along the way, while his rider was plagued by debilitating back pain and had undergone a hip replacement, knee and shoulder surgery. That both made it to Rio was nothing short of a miracle.

“Around February of Olympic year, I thought: ‘We’re not going to make this,’” says Nick. “But Big Star is an unbelievable character – he knows the occasion.”

The then 13-year-old stallion’s last win prior to Rio was back in 2013 when Nick claimed his fourth Aachen grand prix, 31 years after his first title there. But according to Nick: “That was the last time we tried to win – everything else was in preparation for Rio.”

Then on that momentous day, displaying brilliant horsemanship despite unimaginable pressure, he and Big Star proved they were the absolute best, Nick stepping up on the podium as Britain’s first-ever Olympic showjumping champion.

“If you want something in life, you have to drive for it – but I’ve also been very lucky,” says Nick. “Big Star should have been on that podium, too – I dedicated that medal to him.”

The story could easily have ended there, but Nick added a final postscript in the ring at an epic Nations Cup final in Barcelona in October followed by the legend’s final appearance, a second-placed finish in the Toronto grand prix in November.

Then came the shock announcement that he – and Big Star – would be bowing out.

“It probably was the toughest decision of my life, because you never want it all to end,” says Nick. “But I wasn’t getting any younger and it was nice for the two of us to end on the highest note possible.”

Slipping out of his Team GBR jacket for the final time at Royal Windsor in 2017 remains one of the most poignant moments in showjumping history. This time around, he was content to leave the sport that has provided a lifetime of adventures.

“I’m more relaxed now – when I was riding, I suffered from real stress that stemmed from a fear of failure,” reveals Nick, before adding: “There was a day last winter when I had a proper jump on Big Star and he felt fantastic. The temptation was there – for a while I really thought Tokyo was a possibility. But that fear of failure returned and became the turning point – quit while you’re ahead, I reminded myself.”

There was talk of a movie being made, and Laura Kraut’s film-writer son Bobby took up the mantle to write the screenplay; all it needs is the green light from Hollywood so we may relive this incredible story once again.

Nick always claims: “It’s not what you win in a day or a week, it’s what you win in a lifetime” and it’s fair to say he nailed it.

“What would I tell my 15-year-old self? Don’t panic, it will all come good at the end.”

Harvey Smith on Nick

“He was always so dedicated, and he just improved until he won the gold medal in Rio.

“When Nick first started out, David Broome and I were the leaders, so when the next generation came through – Nick, John and Michael Whitaker – they had the best schooling ground because the only way they were ever going to win was by getting as good as us. We raised the bar for them, if you like.

“We doubted Nick a bit when he first joined us on Nations Cup teams because he always seemed to be riding as an individual; to him it was all about the grand prix. But as time went on, he became more of a team player – the best team player there was, in fact.”

The horses that meant the most

Arko III

Lisa Hales says of the family’s Argentinus stallion: “Nick and Arko had such an amazing partnership. British showjumping has a lot to thank Arko for – if he hadn’t brought Nick out of retirement, there would have been no Big Star and no Olympic gold.”

Nick adds: “Arko was such a beautiful, classic style of jumper. He wasn’t the easiest horse because he was a bit mouthy, but he was very careful and extremely brave. He was special.”

Big Star

Nick teamed up with the Widdowsons’ Dutch warmblood stallion “Henry” as a five-year-old and the son of Quick Star became only the second horse after Hans Günter Winkler’s Halla in 1960 to win gold at two Olympic Games.

“He’s the ultimate horse – brave, with all the scope, he’s careful, he has so many gears and he’s clever,” says Nick. “Big Star felt as if he could jump absolutely everything. I always thought if there was a horse that could win gold, it was him.”

John Whitaker on Nick

“There are no grey areas with Nick and he says what he thinks, but he’s always positive. Over the years we travelled a lot together, and had some good times along the way, but you can guarantee that wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, at 8pm he falls asleep.

“There was no better man when he was on a mission and he was utterly focused on winning the right classes. After winning that brilliant team gold in London but missing out on the individual, he knew Big Star had it in him; for the next four years he planned it and he did it, and for that he’ll always be remembered.”

Did you know?

• Nick took part in the first-ever team chase at Hickstead in 1974, televised live on the BBC. His team mates were Ted Edgar, Bob Ellis and Rowland Fernyhough. Nick ended up in hospital for four days after falling at a ditch.
• He has watched every episode of Only Fools and Horses “too many times to remember”. His sons gave him a replica of Del Boy’s three-wheeler one Christmas, complete with blow-up doll and a set of furry dice.
• The saddle Nick rode in at the Rio Olympics, he’d been using for 35 years: “I’m not superstitious, I’m just a creature of habit.”

Ref Horse & Hound; 9 July 2020

The winner of more than 40 HOYS championships, Robert Oliver’s breadth of horsemanship is such that few can match. Tricia Johnson looks back at his stellar career

Showing legend Robert Oliver, who celebrated his 80th birthday in May, holds a unique place in the record books. In a career spanning some 70 years, he has won and been champion in every category of horse class at Horse of the Year Show (HOYS) and Royal International (RIHS) – many times over – and his animals have stood supreme multiple times at both shows.

Since posting their first HOYS wins in 1970, Oliver-produced horses have claimed more than 40 HOYS championships in total, including 12 cob, nine hunter, six hack, two riding horse, two ladies’ and five small hunter titles.

Robert took the coveted hunter tricolour at Royal Windsor four years running with the middleweight Kings Warrior, who also topped the line at RIHS and HOYS three times, standing supreme at the latter in 1991/92.

Other Oliver horses are legends in their own right too, and none more so than the amazing cob Super Ted, who had an eight-year unbeaten run at RIHS between 1987 and 1994 – standing overall supreme in 1990 and 1991 – and also landed six HOYS titles.

These two stand out in Robert’s memory. “I’ve been so very lucky with the horses I’ve had, but I suppose my favourite would be Kings Warrior,” Robert says. “He won so much for me, was always sound and was a great hunter as well. Super Ted was amazing too; he never missed a show, apart from when he got injured.”

Another star was Kempley, who took his first of three consecutive HOYS championships in 1977, going on to land his first of two titles at RIHS and the overall supreme there the following year.

The hacks Tenterk and Rye Tangle were both triple HOYS champions – the latter standing supreme in 1986/87 with Robert’s third wife Ali, who also partnered the Bamfords’ JCB to the top riding horse spot at both HOYS and RIHS.

Another hack, Tomadachi, was champion at RIHS three times for Robert.

The year 1979 perhaps capped them all, though, as Robert won the cob, hack and hunter titles in addition to the remaining hunter weight and small classes at RIHS, receiving the Sherry Slippers Trophy as outstanding personality of the show. Three months later, at HOYS, he produced the champion hack, cob and hunter – Tenterk, Kempley and Dual Gold – as well as the winning small hunter, Footpath.

More recently, the imposing heavyweight hunter Loughkeen Dancing Lord campaigned at the very top of the tree for seven seasons, ridden first by Robert and, following his retirement, by his wife Claire.

In 2006, Robert was inducted into the British Horse Society Hall Of Fame for his outstanding achievements in showing, and he was presented with the HOYS equestrian of the year award in 2018. He has also been a long-serving president of both the British Show Pony Society and the Irish Draught Horse Society.

Robert is also very proud of his 21-year judging stint for the SEIB Search For A Star (SFAS) series.

“I was involved right from the word go and never missed a final,” he says.

‘A very strict disciplinarian’

Robert was born in Herefordshire, the son of non-horsey parents, but his uncle – on his mother’s side – was the renowned farrier William John Watts, and he encouraged the young boy to ride.

“He had stables behind his farrier’s shop and I also used to go all over with him,” says Robert, who began showing when riding ponies for the Eckleys at Cusop Stud. “He taught me a hell of a lot about conformation and I also learned a huge amount from the eminent equine vet John Ryan.”

Next came a five-year stint as a farm student. “This was the making of me,” Robert maintains. “My boss, Colonel Cleghorn, was ex-army and a very strict disciplinarian. Everything had to be just so, done right and with no mistakes – I’ve never forgotten that.

“He had a herd of 100 pedigree Friesian cows, and I’d even have to clip and wash their tails to make them look smart when they came in for milking!”

Robert reckons that he had an easy choice of career. “I’ve always had an eye for a lovely horse and a pretty lady, so horses gave me the obvious way to be involved with both,” he jokes. “Livestock farming would have been my second choice, but I was very lucky that my parents never put any pressure on me.”

He also had the chance to hone his skills when working for the great nagsman Ernest Evans, who had showjumpers and pointers – among them horses belonging to showjumper Sir Harry Llewellyn of Foxhunter fame.

A period working for wealthy landowner Derek Crossman at Harwood End, Ross-on-Wye, saw Robert in charge of everything from racehorses to hunters, and he also field-mastered for the South Herefordshire Hunt.

Robert’s first HOYS winners were Major Helme’s small hunter Lord Sorceror and the middleweight Gay Moss, who came from David Somerset – later Duke of Beaufort.

“These two horses put me on the map,” says Robert. “Gay Moss also won at the Royal and RIHS, and was later sold to top eventer Sheila Willcox, who renamed him Law And Order and was very successful at top level with him.”

Another successful Oliver show horse to change direction was Andy Guy, who went to Olympic gold medal event rider Richard Meade, and Robert also found Bertie Blunt, who won Badminton under Mark Todd.

Robert’s final move came in 1974, when he and his second wife Gilly bought Upper House Farm, Gloucestershire, where he still lives.

“We had some lovely horses,” he reflects. “One year we had seven winners at Windsor.”

A lifelong passion

Hunting has been Robert’s lifelong passion after showing, and he has hunted with seven different packs in all – including the cream of the Shires. He was field master for the Ledbury for five seasons and then joint-master for a further seven.

His daughter Sophie – who helped him produce show horses for 10 years – now carries on the tradition as her partner, H&H columnist John Holliday, currently hunts the Belvoir hounds.

“I started hunting when I was about eight, and never missed a season after I was 10,” Robert recalls. “I remember once hacking seven miles from Hereford to a meet of the Ross Harriers, and even back then, my pony was clipped out and looking smart.

“I’ve always loved the thrill of crossing the country on a high-class horse – I’ve been very lucky as I’ve never had to ride any bad ones – and I’ve hunted most of my show horses.

“It kept them sweet and I can honestly say that none of my family ever crocked one up by hunting it,” he says proudly.

“My only fear was getting one kicked by another horse so woe betide anyone who came too close – they got a proper bollocking!

“In 1981, I was kindly invited by the Duke to send down a couple of horses I would like to hunt with the Beaufort, so off went the show champions Dual Gold and Brigadier; I had the most wonderful season with them. Plus, they both stayed sound, which I wonder how many show hunters would today.

“After that, my great friend Guy Landau would always call me ‘Lord Oliver’ in the ring, much to everyone’s amusement.”

Sadly, at the opening meet of the Ledbury in 2005, a crashing fall resulted in Robert’s hospitalisation with several broken vertebrae.

“We jumped a ditch, but it had concealed wire which flipped the horse upside down,” he relates. “I hit the ground very hard and was taken to Gloucester Royal. I wouldn’t let them call the air ambulance – apparently I lay on the floor shouting, ‘It’s too bloody expensive!’

“After that I wasn’t allowed to hunt or jump, and my last ride in the ring was on Loughkeen Dancing Lord in 2010, when he was reserve at HOYS.”

Winning many trophies

Robert still helps from the ground, but no longer rides at home. “I used to mind a lot, but I don’t really miss the riding now,” he says. “I have plenty to keep me busy.”

The Olivers breed Norfolk terriers, and have had the champion bitch at Crufts. Robert also bred and showed Border canaries very successfully for several years, winning many trophies. But that ended after his helper, Graham Booth, bought a champion show bird for £400, only for it to die the week after.

“That finished me,” says Robert. “Within a week I’d sold the lot.

“This is something I’ve done all my life: I’ve always made snap decisions, saying yes or no on the spot, right or wrong. My other fixation is punctuality. That dates from my time with Colonel Cleghorn; to this day, I can’t abide people being late.

“I also never bear a grudge. Forgive and forget is my motto, but I can’t stand bad losers – in or out of the ring. My school motto was ‘manners maketh man’ and I’ve always tried to stick to that.”

Robert on Bill Bryan

“I really looked up to the great showman Bill Bryan, with whom I spent a lot of time when I was young; I used to ride for him sometimes,” says Robert. “Year after year, he would break in a youngster, show it to be champion, hunt it and then point-to-point or hunter chase it. He did this on several occasions, and one was a lovely brown middleweight called Basnet, who won many classes and was second with me at The Royal. Then he went chasing and was favourite for the Grand National one year.”

Jethro on Robert

“I’ve been passionate about horses ever since I was a small child, and then when I had some nice ones of my own, the next step was to find a good rider,” recalls Cornish comedian Jethro. “I thought to myself, ‘Who is the best around?’ and came up with Robert’s name.

“Our association lasted more than 15 years; my word, did we have some fun along the way and we never disagreed.

“We used to party at people’s wagons after the day’s classes – it was all about nonsense and mickey-taking then; there was never any bad feeling between competitors. I remember once at Royal Cornwall, Robert got me so drunk I couldn’t walk – somehow he got me back to my lorry. To this day, I have no idea how.”

Racehorse training

Robert and his wife Claire were among the first to embrace the concept of retraining racehorses for the show ring, and one of their success stories was Another Man, a full-brother to the Hales family’s Cheltenham Gold Cup winner One Man. This smart grey won the SEIB Racehorse to Riding Horse final at HOYS in 2008.

Allister Hood on Robert

“Robert always made his horses look so good, and I hoped I would be able to get mine going as well as he did,” says Allister, Robert’s friend and rival. “He invariably looked comfortable, as though he was just sitting there enjoying himself.

“He once gave me a piece of advice which I’ve never forgotten. We were at HOYS when it was at Wembley, and he told me the preparation for this show was like no other. He said that when you work your horse in, and get to the point where you feel it’s going well and you’ve done enough, give it 10 to 20 minutes more work – 20 if it is a bit sharp; 10 if it’s more level-headed. I still do that.”

Alan Edmunds on Robert

“When judging Robert’s horses, you knew they would all ride in a very similar way,” says Alan, a judge. “They’d be light in the hand and going forward from the leg; you only had to think of the next gear and they went straight into it, taking a good contact and holding their shape.

“One of my favourite horses of Robert’s was Meynell Tumbler – he was a grand horse: a true lightweight. He stood only around 16.1hh, but with great depth and front and a lovely line of shoulder. He was a lovely mover that just stroked the ground, and he was ideal to carry up to 12st 7lb.

“Robert always convinced you – or tried to! – that he had the best horse in the ring.”

Robert’s highlights

“Apart from the 1979 HOYS and RIHS tally, which was magical, my best result came in 2008, when Claire was hunter champion and supreme at the Royal of England with Jethro’s hunter, Masterful,” Robert says. “This was particularly special for me as I’d bought the horse for £2,000 at Malvern Sales as an unbroken three-year-old and persuaded Jethro to buy him.”

Things haven’t always gone according to plan, however. “I was in the hunters at HOYS one year when my horse bucked me off in a corner of the ring,” he remembers. “I was so badly bruised that I couldn’t ride for the rest of the week… Ali [his then-wife] took over all my rides.”

Robert’s career in numbers

29 HOYS section championships

23 RIHS championships

6 HOYS supremes

6 RIHS supremes

Ref Horse & Hound; 2 July 2020

Penny Richardson charts the career of the brilliant Irish showjumper and his partnership with quadruple Hickstead Derby winner Boomerang

Ireland is a country full of equestrian myths and legends and among her modern-day tales is that of a man who in the 1970s bestrode the world of international showjumping like a colossus.

Eddie Macken now lives in Canada, on the other side of the Atlantic from his beginnings in a small town in Co. Longford, but he has never been forgotten in his home country. In 2015, a project by 27 schoolchildren, which included his great niece, called for a statue in his honour to be erected in Granard, the place of his birth.

It wasn’t only in Ireland that this unassuming man was a superstar. In 1982, the BBC made a documentary on his partnership with his great horse Boomerang and two years later, he was the subject of ITV’s This is Your Life.

Surprisingly, Eddie doesn’t come from a family of horsemen and he often insists that much of his success was due to being in the right place at the right time.

“We were farmers and butchers, but I always loved horses. Like many small children still do, I practised on the arms of chairs and then taught myself to ride on the pony that worked on the farm,” he remembers.

Young Eddie’s interest in showjumping was sharpened after Irish rider Seamus Hayes won the first Derby at Hickstead in 1961, and every day after school Eddie would hone his skills at the local riding school run by vet Brian Gormley and his wife Ann.

The Gormleys must have recognised the latent talent in their young pupil, as it was through them that Eddie got his first big break.

“They were friends of Iris Kellett and in 1969 they arranged for me to go to her stables in Dublin as a working student,” he says.

This was a huge opportunity, as Iris was herself a top international showjumper and renowned trainer. “For the first five or six months I never even sat on a horse,” says Eddie. “Instead, I worked on the yard and learnt the basics, mainly mucking out. I think that’s something every young rider should do.”

It didn’t take long for Iris to recognise that she had found a diamond in 20-year-old Eddie and just six months after she allowed him to start riding her horses, he was on his first Irish team. It wasn’t just any team, either. Eddie had been selected for Dublin in 1970, the Mecca for every Irish showjumper.

Eddie’s mount was Morning Light, the horse that had carried his boss to victory in the ladies’ European Championship at the same showground the previous year, so the pressure to perform well was intense.

“It was a bit of an experience,” says Eddie, with typical understatement. “I didn’t really have time to be nervous. I was mostly hoping that I wouldn’t let everyone down by taking the wrong course!”

He didn’t. The home team won the 1970 Aga Khan Trophy and Eddie was now Iris Kellett’s stable jockey.

‘The most beautiful rider’

It was in that same year that Eddie met the horse who really made his name. After being started by his owner-breeder Jimmy Murphy, the thoroughbred/Irish Draught gelding Boomerang arrived for training at Iris’ finishing school.

Eddie first rode him as a four- and five-year-old. “As a young horse, Boomerang was very, very difficult in the mouth, but really careful too. He jumped a lot of clear rounds, but he didn’t make the best shape. His front legs were a bit long and dangly and looking back on it, it’s hard to see how good he would become,” says Eddie.

At the start of his six-year-old season, Boomerang moved to Britain after being sold to Ted Edgar, whose wife Liz took over the ride.

“Liz was the most beautiful rider. She put in the time and the flatwork that laid the foundation for Boomerang to become the horse he did. I owe her everything,” says Eddie, who became a firm friend of the Edgars.

“Ted was an amazing man who was ahead of his time. Whenever I was in England, I used to go to him for flatwork help and whenever I had a problem, he was the first person I’d ask for advice,” explains Eddie.

One of Eddie’s first top rides for Iris Kellett was Pele. Later known as Kerrygold due to a sponsorship deal, Pele was shared by Eddie with another Kellett trainee, Paul Darragh, who rode him to victory in the 1975 Hickstead Derby.

“Pele was a lovely horse and riding him would have been the highlight of most peoples’ careers,” says Eddie. “He was so kind and willing that anyone would have felt safe on him. He might not have had the fight and carefulness of Boomerang, but he was still a fantastic horse.”

Pele was Eddie’s chosen mount when the World Championships were held at Hickstead in 1974. They went there more in hope than expectation, as neither horse nor rider had much experience at the level. Despite this, they came agonisingly close to glory, taking silver after a jump-off against Germany’s Hartwig Steenken.

“Looking back on it, I was too innocent and didn’t know if I was coming or going by the jump-off,” admits Eddie.

‘A hard decision’

However, this result was the catalyst for Eddie’s first move to Germany.

“After Hickstead, I had job offers from all over the world. It was a hard decision to leave Ireland, but I needed to go somewhere different if I wanted to really succeed on the international stage. Paul Schockemöhle offered me the most attractive deal,” explains Eddie, whose new job was riding for German oil magnate Dr Herbert Schnapka, owner of many horses at the Schockemöhle yard.

In early 1975, Eddie had taken his then top horse Easter Parade to Hickstead’s spring meeting and after the show was cancelled due to bad weather, it was thought that the gelding would enjoy some time in the field.

“Something must have spooked him, he tried to jump out over post-and-rail fencing, misjudged it and broke his back,” says Eddie, who was then left with no top ride.

But in the yard was Boomerang, then Paul Schockemöhle’s speed horse. Also owned by Dr Schnapka, the gelding had many riders in the Netherlands and Belgium after being sold on by Ted Edgar.

“Paul suggested that I ride Boomerang until I found something better,” says Eddie. “He wasn’t a great prospect at the time because he’d been through the mill and was stopping. He’d been mucked around and was still as difficult to ride as he had been as a young horse.”

The big breakthrough came when Eddie tried Boomerang in a bitless bridle. “He was a different horse straight away. He’d always been very brave, but he’d just become confused,” says Eddie.

It truly was a match made in heaven. Boomerang is most remembered as the horse who won four consecutive Hickstead Derbies, but he was actually so much more. From 1975 to 1979, he and Eddie won 32 major grands prix and Derbies and record prize-money of £250,000 (around £1.5m today). Dr Schnapka gave the horse to Eddie in 1977 and Boomerang repaid his new owner by helping him to top the world rankings for three consecutive years.

In 1978, Eddie travelled to Aachen for the World Championships, determined that Boomerang would erase the heartache of his narrow miss four years earlier at Hickstead.

“I had lived with that defeat for four years and vowed that it would be different next time,” he said beforehand.

It wasn’t to be. Boomerang never touched a pole throughout the competition, but in the final – when the best four riders overall used to partner each other’s horses to decide the champion – Eddie miscalculated the time on Dutchman Johan Heins’ Pandur Z. He collected a quarter of a fault and again had to be content with the silver medal.

“It was a stupid mistake that I shouldn’t have made and I felt really bad for my horse, who deserved to be champion,” says Eddie. “I have to admit that missing out on individual gold for the second time was really disappointing, but that’s the way the sport goes. I didn’t have much luck in the European Championships either, but I did win four medals altogether, which is something to be really proud of.”

A fractured pedal bone meant retirement for Boomerang at the early age of 13 to Rafeehan Stud in Kells, Co. Meath, then the base of Eddie and his first wife Susanne. Sadly, the son of Battle Burn, also the sire of Harvey Smith’s dual Hickstead Derby winner Mattie Brown, did not enjoy retirement and with his foot deteriorating, he was put down after three years.

Not forgetting his roots

After Boomerang and Pele retired, Eddie continued in international competition, but without the real star horse that would recapture those glory days. By 1996 he was back in Germany, riding for industrialist Michael Nixdorf and after meeting Kathi Ballentine, later to become his second wife, he moved to Canada in the early 2000s.

He and Kathi now live at New Kells Farm in Langley, British Columbia, close to the Thunderbird international show centre. Named after Boomerang’s final resting place, Kells, Co. Meath, the property comprises 10 acres, with 20 stables and indoor and outdoor schools.

However, Eddie didn’t forget his roots and continued riding for Ireland until his international career ended in 2010. Only two years before that, he was back at Hickstead for the first time in a decade and from there he went on to Dublin, where he was a member of the second-placed Nations Cup Irish team. In 2004 he had been appointed trainer to the Irish team in the lead-up to the Athens Olympics. A falling out with then team manager Tommy Wade over being given no input into selection meant that he was fired from the unsalaried position, then reinstated following a riders’ strike.

“Despite what happened then, I would have loved the chance to be Irish chef d’équipe,” says Eddie, who then chose to concentrate on coaching and sourcing horses for his North American clients with the help of son Stevie.

“Stevie and his family live in Florida and he commutes between there, Canada and Europe. He’s very good at what he does because he has a great eye for a horse,” says Eddie, whose other son, Jamie, worked in TV before starting his own sponsorship business.

“Jamie rode as a kid and was very talented, but he chose another path. He has two children and a lovely life in Ireland,” says Eddie.

At the age of 70, Eddie says that his riding days are now over. “The last time I sat on a horse was a year ago and to be honest, the younger generation of riders are now so much better than me,” he laughs. “I don’t work from home any more, but I travel to Florida to coach, which demands so much of my time.

“I have two main pupils, Mexico’s Eugenio Garza Perez and American rider Eve Jobs. They were both 2019 Pan Am Games medallists and compete at top level, so although I’m no longer riding I’m still part of the international scene, which makes me happy and keeps me interested.”

Eddie on Boomerang

“Boomerang was a unique horse who was brilliant at everything he did. He was everything you wanted him to be and could jump anything you asked. I think he’s the best horse there’s ever been and I was very lucky to ride him. Our fourth Hickstead Derby win was the most precious.

“The pressure was on to set a hopefully unbeatable record and the going was the worst I’d ever seen there. Other riders wanted the course modified but Dougie Bunn, God rest him, wouldn’t hear of it. Boomerang then gave his all.”

Eddie on Iris Kellet

“I feel very lucky to have been trained by Iris. She was the queen of Ireland at the time and although she could be a bit intimidating if you got things wrong, she was actually extremely kind.

“As well as being a great rider, she was an unbelievable coach who made sure that I had all the basics right before I started my career.”

Our sport’s future

“I was selected for the Montreal Olympics in 1976 and then told I couldn’t go because I was a professional. I missed my chance because at that time Boomerang was probably the best horse in the world and although I had nice horses when I did make it in 1992 and 1996, they weren’t superstars.

“I do think equestrian sports still have a place in the Olympics and although many people don’t like the change to three-man teams, it had to be done and was probably the right thing.

“It’s easy to think of the good old days and I’m a traditionalist who loves the big grass arenas at Hickstead, Dublin and Aachen, but sport has to move with the times and at least ventures such as the Global Champions Tour [GCT] and League give talented riders the chance to earn a real living. Although the GCT is a good thing, I tell the riders I train that they should get grands prix and hopefully team appearances under their belt before doing those shows.

“Another reservation is the cost of it all. Modern showjumping is a very demanding sport and horses cost so much these days. To be fair, it’s all relative. In my day, we thought it was great if a grand prix was worth £1,500 to the winner, but a good horse still costed us as much as a house would have done to buy!”

The greatest feeling

Only in Ireland would major roads in the capital be closed for a horse show and most of the country settle down to watch the Nations Cup on prime time TV.

“When I made my final appearance in Dublin in 2008, I can’t remember whether I had been on the Irish team there 27 or 28 times, but the feeling of pride never went away. Every time you get the chance to try to win the Aga Khan Trophy for your nation, it’s like a dream come true. It’s the highlight of every Irish rider’s career and always should be.”

Remembered forever

After Boomerang’s death, he was buried at Rafeehan Stud in a grave surrounded by four evergreen trees. This symbolised this remarkable horse’s four consecutive Hickstead Derby triumphs, four clear rounds in the final of the 1978 World Championship, four double clears in a row in Nations Cups at Dublin and four Horse of the Year Show grand prix wins.

It is the latter feat that Eddie considers their greatest. “At the time, the show at Wembley was the best in Europe and to win a class there was a huge achievement. When Boomerang won the grand prix three years in a row, it was amazing.

“He should have made it four the next year, but we had the last fence down in the fastest time. Then we came back and won it again. Those four wins at Wembley were definitely the highlights of my career.”

Eddie Macken in numbers

4 consecutive Hickstead Derby triumphs

£250,000 Boomerang’s record prize money

3 consecutive Aga Khan Cup wins with the Irish team

4 Horse of the Year Show grand prix wins

2 individual silver world medals

Ref Horse & Hound; 25 June 2020

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The Flat jockey’s killer instinct, unique style and tremendous race record secured him a place with the all-time greats – despite a chequered personal life, writes Julian Muscat

It was a sight as distinctive as it was reassuring. When Lester Piggott was still standing bolt upright as jockeys around him crouched low into their saddles, his legion of backers would start counting their money. Never mind that there might have been another furlong left to run. Piggott’s silhouette in cruise control always told its own story. Then he would shift his weight imperceptibly and his mount, duly prompted, would gallop away to victory.

You couldn’t mistake the “Long Fellow” for anyone else. Uncommonly tall for a Flat jockey at more than 5ft 7in, Piggott developed a riding style that was all his own. He had an aquiline presence: perched high above the withers, motionless and unblinking, poised to strike with deadly effect.

That’s why Piggott held the nation in thrall, from owners and trainers right through to housewives having their annual flutter on the Derby – a race Piggott won a record nine times.

No other equestrian pursuit is as immersed in betting as horse racing. It was an act of blind faith for punters to entrust their hard-earned to the man in the saddle. But then, Piggott and his fans were united in a single cause. Winning was all that mattered.

So much so that Piggott’s gilded career would also trawl the depths. Disdainful of authority and impervious to anything in his path, he would pay a heavy price. In 1987, he served the first of a three year jail sentence for tax evasion after he was less than forthcoming with Her Majesty’s Revenue and Customs, prompting Her Majesty to strip him of the OBE he’d been awarded 12 years earlier.

That royal censure torments him to this day. As the late Sir Peter O’Sullevan, one of Piggott’s closest confidantes, told me when discussing the jockey in 2013: “Going to prison really changed Lester because it was like imprisoning a wild bird in a cage. He coped with that, but what really upset him was losing his OBE. He felt the tax matter wasn’t at all connected to his other achievements.”

That sorry chapter was as sad as it was almost inevitable. O’Sullevan’s “wild bird” analogy is apt for a man who was intensely groomed for saddle life from the day he was born. It would bear fruit, even if his upbringing was woefully short of human empathy.

A landslide record

Most records in racing are broken because the fixture list keeps expanding, in the process providing jockeys with increased opportunities. Yet Britain’s five Classic races have endured for more than 200 years. Piggott’s haul of 30 remains a landslide record. Furthermore, Piggott won 14 of the 15 Classics in Britain, Ireland and France. No other jockey has come close.

His record alone speaks volumes, although riding prowess was only part of the equation. Piggott’s public persona – diffident and truculent, uncommunicative and curmudgeonly – was a legacy of the burning ambition his mother fostered in him.

Iris Rickaby hailed from a family steeped in jockeys. “It was all down to the way Lester was brought up, with his mother putting the brakes on all the time,” O’Sullevan said. “As a Rickaby she had seen jocks fall by the wayside and their extravagant excesses. She was determined the same wouldn’t happen to her son.”

O’Sullevan’s view is corroborated by Jimmy Lindley, much of whose riding career overlapped with Piggott’s. “From a very young age, Lester’s mother could see he was going to become quite tall,” he says.

“She ran much of Lester’s early life, especially his diet,” Lindley continues. “I think he would have become too heavy and lost interest were it not for his mother. His life was very restricted; he never had a childhood. Nothing ever came into his life except horses.”

Nor was his father Keith, a jockey-turned-trainer, any sort of mitigating influence. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“Keith was absolutely terrified the flame [in Piggott] would be extinguished,” O’Sullevan said. “When Lester rode over hurdles in his youth, Keith encouraged him to put other jockeys through the wings.

“If Keith was coming to the last in a hurdle race and was lying 14th of 15, he’d put the jockey behind him through the wings as a matter of course. Keith was a hard man. He wanted to bring up a hard son to do the job.”

Between them, Piggott’s parents inclined to overkill in their tutoring. The fact that Piggott was an uncommunicative child was not entirely down to partial deafness in one ear and a slight speech impediment.

This, then, was the backstory to a man whose ruthless exploitation of his gifts would see him rewrite the prevailing master/servant relationship between trainers and jockeys. It was a detail that resonated with blue-collar punters: he was their champion, a man in fear of nobody, least of all crusty racecourse stewards, in a career that spanned five decades.

A rough school

He rode his first winner when he was 12. Six years on and he’d won the first of his nine Derbys aboard Never Say Die, in 1954. By then, aged 18, he was already a weighing-room mainstay, riding at a time when patrol cameras monitoring the action did not exist.

In those days, race-riding was a rough school, more akin to the Wild West. And the loner with a face of stone was the deadliest gunslinger in town.

“Back then, Lester would try to win at all costs,” says Joe Mercer, another contemporary of Piggott who was champion jockey in 1979. “When he was an apprentice, the senior guys got very upset because he showed them no respect. He filled every hole, did everything he shouldn’t do.”

Piggott’s repeated acts of daring came to a head at Royal Ascot two weeks after Never Say Die’s Derby triumph. Riding the same horse, he was adjudged to have caused serious interference after Sir Gordon Richards, the doyen among jockeys who’d been knighted the previous year, pinned the blame on Piggott during a stewards’ inquiry.

In consequence, Piggott was banned indefinitely and made to work away from the stable of his father, whom The Jockey Club perceived as a bad influence. Soon after Richards retired, the stewards suggested Piggott should reapply for his licence and he returned after a 12-week hiatus with typical defiance. He rode a winner on his comeback ride at Newmarket.

In Mercer’s eye, that four-month stint at Newmarket with his uncle, Jack Jarvis, had the desired effect. “He was a bit of a rascal, but after that, he seemed to grow out of it,” Mercer says. “It did him good, but he was still a tough cookie.”

If anything, the explosive talent of a man born on Guy Fawkes Night – 5 November 1935 – was heightened by his enforced absence. He may have ridden less aggressively, but he was still consumed by desire. He was also courted by Noel Murless, who trained at Warren Place Stables, in Newmarket.

Theirs was an alliance that would span 12 seasons punctuated by a herd of signature horses. Crepello, sometimes cited by Piggott as the best horse he rode, won the 2000 Guineas and Derby in 1957. In that year, Piggott also won the Oaks aboard The Queen’s Carrozza.

Yet the horse that defined the Piggott/Murless axis was the dappled grey filly, Petite Etoile. A three-year-old in 1959, Petite Etoile won all six of her starts that season, among them the 1000 Guineas and Oaks, together with the Yorkshire Oaks, Sussex Stakes and Champion Stakes. Doubtless abetted by Piggott on her back, she built up a devoted public following. All of which served to render the 1960 King George VI and Queen Elizabeth Stakes the most contentious of races. It saw the settling of some private feuds among jockeys. Piggott was the victim.

Between them, Scobie Breasley and Geoff Lewis ensured Piggott and Petite Etoile had no racing room throughout the race, in which Aggressor, ridden by Jimmy Lindley, made the running on rain softened ground that was not to Petite Etoile’s liking.

“Scobie and Geoff were great mates,” Lindley relates. “They both had the needle with Lester, who’d done something to upset them. In the race, they gave Lester no quarter and I rumbled this as I rode along out in front.

“I heard shouting behind me as we went into the home turn,” Lindley continues. “I sensed trouble so I kicked as hard as I could. Aggressor was a good stayer and the advantage I poached saw me home after Lester had become trapped on the inside.”

Piggott was roundly slated for his ride after Petite Etoile finished second at prohibitive odds of 2/5. “To be fair to him, he never said a word about it,” Lindley recalls. “Not a single word of complaint.”

On that day, Piggott reaped what he sowed. Despite his links with Murless he rode for a spate of other trainers, often dislodging other jockeys from regular mounts on big days.

“He became the ruthless killer that he was, taking rides from everybody,” says Steve Cauthen, the crack American jockey who came to ride in Britain, aged 17, in 1978. “If a trainer didn’t want him on a horse, he’d call the horse’s owner.

“He could get away with it because he was so phenomenally gifted. They used to call him ‘JC’ in the weighing room. He could walk on water; he could get people eating out of his hands.”

That was Piggott in a nutshell. Just about every other jockey lived in daily dread that Piggott would “jock them off” their best rides. As Vincent O’Brien, the trainer for whom Piggott rode a succession of great horses, replied when asked about the merit of having Piggott riding for you: “It means he isn’t riding against you.”

Cauthen cites several facets to Piggott’s all-round brilliance. “There’s no question he was an exceptional horseman through and through,” he says, “but that’s only part of it. He was the best at getting on the best horse, and when he did, he rode them with great confidence.

“He also knew the strengths and weaknesses of the horses he was riding against, and he had the killer instinct and raw desire. Desire is probably the most important thing. It doesn’t necessarily make you happy, but it makes you the most successful. For Lester, that was everything.”

The cold eye of an assassin

Then there was Piggott’s intimidating aura. This was amplified vividly by the late Hugh McIlvanney, the signature sports writer in Britain for four decades. He put it to me thus: “When Piggott walked into the paddock before the Derby, it was like seeing Marlon Brando on the screen. You couldn’t look at anything else. It wasn’t that he was so much taller than any of the jockeys; there was that sense of aloofness, almost a kind of aura of superiority.”

And then there was Piggott’s initial connection with a horse when he was legged aboard in the paddock. Having stared down the opposition with the cold eye of an assassin, he would turn his attention to his mount.

By any definition, Julie Krone is the most successful female jockey of all time: so far the only one to win a US Triple Crown race, and the only one to ride a Breeders’ Cup winner. She rode more than 3,700 winners in her 22-year career.

Krone had a handful of rides at the Breeders’ Cup meeting in 1985, when Piggott was also in action. She resolved to take a closer look at the man about whom she had read and heard so much, but had never previously seen in the flesh. She went down to the paddock before the Breeders’ Cup Turf, in which Piggott was riding Theatrical.

“All the stuff I’d read about him; he’d been such a huge image in my mind and when I saw him, he was no different in person,” she recalls. “That wily personality and that tom-cat physique; and from the moment he started moving towards his horse in the paddock, he was like liquid mercury.

“He got a leg up and sat purposefully soft,” Krone continues. “You could see the quality of his horsemanship in every movement: his lower back all relaxed, but at the same time his upper back not collapsed at all. Whatever he had, it looked to me like he had it from the first moment he ever sat in a saddle.

“Going to post, he sat dead still. He let that horse use its whole body. And the horse broke from the gate, quite a hard-pulling horse, and he fed it the reins. Before you knew it, he had his position, the reins were loose and the horse was totally relaxed. It was beautiful to watch, just beautiful.”

The fact that Piggott finished nearer last than first was totally academic. Krone had seen for herself why Lester Piggott stood alone.

Steve Cauthen on Piggott

“Lots of rides stand out, but one summed him up that was typical and very funny,” says Steve, Piggott’s American counterpart. “In a finish at Deauville, Lester had his whip knocked out of his hand, so he leant over and snatched [rival jockey] Alain Lequeux’s whip from him. Lester went on to finish a close second, so it nearly came off. Just the thought of anyone doing that: that will to win, and raw desire.

“He used to make us laugh like crazy. He was one of the richest guys in the world, but he’d do anything to avoid having to pay his way. He’d never pay for the ice creams and would get lifts to the races with guys who could barely afford to drive. He was a funny bird in that way. I doubt we’ll ever see another like him again.”

“You had to admire him secretly,” says Jimmy. “He’d nick a ride from you, but have no issue with asking you about the ins and outs of the horse before he rode it.

“For me, his best ride was winning the 1990 Breeders’ Cup Mile on Royal Academy. He’d only had a handful of rides, having just come out of retirement at the age of 54. He’d been off for a few years, so to come back with the edge he showed that day was extraordinary. He was probably the all-time great. There’s no one thing you can put your finger on; it was the all-round package.”

Julie Krone on Piggott

“He rode so differently to most jockeys I grew up riding with in America,” says Julie. “He just pinched on his horse and let his reins go: there’d be no scrubbing or rowing. The horse would feel him change his weight, and that was its cue. The fire of his body heating up, and his focus on getting the horse to go faster: horses just ran for him like it was magic.”

Joe Mercer on Piggott

“Lester and I were apprentices together,” says Joe. “I’ve known him since I was 14 and he hasn’t changed at all. When he first went to America, he came back with goggles and raised his stirrups a couple of notches. Everyone copied him, although his riding style was unique.

“He rode so many big-race winners, but one that stands out was when he won the 1972 Derby on Roberto by a whisker. It was spectacular. The way he hit that horse was like machine-gun fire. People say he was hard on the horses, but he’d hit them on the top of their flanks, not under the girth as you see today. His horses always came back for more.”

Piggott’s career in numbers

• Champion jockey in Britain 11 times
• Won a record 30 British Classics, among them a record nine Derbys
• Won the Derby’s equivalent in France, Germany, Ireland, Italy, Singapore and Slovakia
• Won the Gold Cup at Royal Ascot a record 11 times
• Won the 1970 Triple Crown aboard Nijinsky, the last horse to achieve it
• Rode 4,493 winners between 1948 and 1995

Greatest horses he rode

1957: Crepello, winner of the 2000 Guineas and Derby

1959: Petite Etoile, winner of the 1000 Guineas, Oaks, Sussex Stakes, Yorkshire Oaks and Champion Stakes

1968: Sir Ivor, winner of the 2000 Guineas, Derby, Champion Stakes and Washington DC International

1969: Park Top, winner of the Coronation Cup and King George VI and Queen Elizabeth Stakes

1970: Nijinsky, winner of the Triple Crown

1972: Roberto, winner of the Derby

1977/78: Alleged, winner of consecutive renewals of the Prix de l’Arc de Triomphe

1981: Ardross, “stayers” Triple Crown and Prix Royal-Oak winner

Ref Horse & Hound; 18 June 2020

Britain’s first dressage medallist Jennie Loriston-Clarke put the sport well and truly on the map in this country through her extraordinary love of horses and consummate all-round ability, discovers Lucy Higginson

For years, when young hopefuls at H&H job interviews were asked to prove their knowledge by naming a British dressage rider or two, one name was offered above all others: Jennie Loriston-Clarke.

Jennie is in some ways the archetypal English horsewoman; riding from an early age, hunting through her childhood and surrounded always by ponies, hunters and foals. Yet in other ways, Jennie has been a pioneer, taking up dressage in its infancy in this country and doing much to put the sport on the British map with her skill, showmanship and generosity over a 35-year riding career.

One of six siblings raised by Anne and Colonel Jack Bullen at their home, Catherston, Jennie – remarkably – is one of three siblings to have ridden at the Olympics. Her elder brother Michael evented in Rome on Cottage Romance and in Tokyo with Sea Breeze, and her sister Jane (now Holderness-Roddam) won team gold eventing in Mexico on Our Nobby. Meanwhile, the stud named after the Bullen home is still thriving, in its fifth incarnation near Nether Wallop, Hampshire. Anne Bullen supplemented the family’s income by producing, breeding and showing horses often for owners – besides being a tremendously talented artist.

“We had all sorts of oddments at home, mostly for hunting really,” remembers Jennie. “My parents would go on buying trips to the moors – Dartmoor, Exmoor and Wales – brought home various wild things and tamed them to make riding ponies.”

Clearly an intuitive and imaginative horsewoman, Anne Bullen influenced Jennie hugely, particularly in the way she trained animals not just for riding, but other things too, like the small circus she ran between the wars.

“She was a very go-ahead person, vivacious and quick-thinking,” says Jennie of her mother. “And she understood how an animal thinks – she never dominated it, but asked and gave a reason for doing something.”

Small wonder that people say almost exactly the same thing about Jennie in turn: “She’s a go-getter, a practical person, very down to earth and exceptionally knowledgeable,” says former Olympic dressage rider turned eventer and performance coach Christopher Bartle. “She puts herself into the skin of the horse and thinks like a horse. She was the British rider I looked up to in my early days.”

Smart show animals

The Bullens began crossing a small thoroughbred polo pony called Golden Fern with native ponies to produce smart show animals, and Jennie and her siblings competed widely – going to some shows even by train – learning early in life how to present a horse to its best advantage to catch a judge’s eye. Inheriting her mother’s skill in teaching ponies for more than just the show ring, Jennie taught some of them other tricks too, which led to some novel side projects over the years, including training horses for a Lloyds Bank advert.

It was a demonstration at Horse of the Year Show one year by Danish rider Lis Hartel, however, that helped Jennie to cement her focus on dressage. A polio victim who had to be lifted on to her horse, Lis was an Olympic silver medallist who could do extraordinary things with her horse, Jubilee.

“She rode a beautiful display to music including piaffe, passage and one-time changes,” remembers Jennie. “I decided I’d love to do that one day.”

Anne Bullen was able to persuade Lis’s trainer Gunnar Andersen to give some clinics at Catherston, one of several instances when she persuaded leading figures in the horse world to come and teach. Over the years, Jennie was able to learn from many continental experts including General Linkenbach (“He used to say, ‘Do not touch zee mouse!’ – meaning mouth,” says Jennie); Germany’s team trainer Willi Schultheiss and Franz Rochowansky, former chief rider of the Spanish Riding School.

“You take the best of everyone and they all had good points,” Jennie reflects.

While numerous riders have come to dressage from a showing background, including Charlotte Dujardin, few can say they have hunted, point-to-pointed, evented and even qualified a horse for Badminton, as Jennie has.

“I do think it’s helped in many ways, the variety,” reflects Jennie now. “How can you really lengthen a horse’s stride if you’ve never felt a horse gallop properly?”

Carl Hester also thinks this made Jennie a particularly brilliant demonstrator: “I settled down for what I thought would be a stuffy dressage demo she gave once at the Fortune Centre, I think on Dutch Gold. And she ended it with 15 one-time tempi changes, reins in one hand, into a 3ft 6in parallel,” he laughs. “She’s a complete and utter horsewoman in every respect.”

An elegant show hack

The first horse Jennie taught proper dressage was an elegant show hack, Desert Storm. The mare’s paces equipped her well for dressage, but her temperament less so – she was prone to tying up and hated standing still. Although they were shortlisted for the Mexico Olympics, Jennie accepted she didn’t really have the temperament to go, but Jennie still made a great contribution to Team GBR there by grooming for her sister Jane and Our Nobby, members of Britain’s triumphant eventing team.

“I was totally reliant on her help and expertise at the Olympics,” says Jane. “I mentally wasn’t interested in dressage and nor was little Our Nobby, but Jennie had amazing patience and got the best from both of us. He probably did his best test ever in Mexico.”

The quest to find a horse capable of making British teams led eventually to the purchase of Kadett, a sharp Trakehner/thoroughbred gelding from Germany. Although the horse took her to both the Munich and Montreal Olympics, it became apparent that he did not have sufficient talent to win medals. That honour fell to her next championship horse, the stallion Dutch Courage, who also became a sire of huge importance for the Catherston Stud.

Bought as a three-year old in the Netherlands, Dutch Courage was not an overnight sensation, but by the time he was six Jennie knew he was the best horse she’d yet had – supple, athletic and eager to learn. By the age of eight, he was finishing in the top 10 at the European Championships.

Dutch Courage gave Jennie one of the best moments of her career and a milestone for dressage in Britain, by winning bronze in the grand prix special at the 1978 World Championships at Goodwood – “on home ground too, at a wonderful place. It was very exciting,” says Jennie. But he was also desperately unlucky never to get to an Olympics. In 1980, the British boycotted the Moscow Games and the horse contracted a virus shortly before Los Angeles four years later.

“That was very tough because he was going so well,” says her sister, Jane. “She was really at her best then and felt that if he’d been on the team, they’d have been in the running for team bronze.”

It was some redemption perhaps to be riding at the next Olympics, in Seoul, on Dutch Courage’s son Dutch Gold, where they finished 14th individually. With a light, elegant frame, Dutch Gold evented alongside his dressage for some time, even winning the Midland Championships at Locko Park.

“I loved riding horses which were children of horses I’d ridden before – you almost knew the personality before you got on them,” says Jennie fondly. “The public loved Dutch Gold because he was so elegant and light.”

And Jennie, at the peak of her powers, really knew how to show him off. Although sadly dressage to music did not join the Olympic programme until later, the pair found an outlet for their natural aptitude for it on the World Cup circuit, winning six qualifiers and attending the finals in Gothenburg one year in company with the great showjumper Milton.

One qualifier in Paris ranks among Jennie’s most treasured memories: “The Parisians loved Dutch Gold and began clapping as soon as we halted at X,” she says.

A young Carl Hester remembers it too: “Her degree of difficulty would be right up there today… she went down the centre line doing one-handed zig-zags and the crowd went mad.”

“I was always competitive”

Since retiring from competitive riding, Jennie’s life has been predictably full, running a stud, teaching, judging and more.

But as with so many top riders, it’s the competing she loved best: “I was always competitive – I had to be with three brothers. I loved the Olympics when it’s just you and one horse, no other worries, and you just have to do your best.”

She cheerfully admits she’d kill to be 50 years younger and be able to do it all again, especially with her stallion Timolin, by Totilas, now competing at small tour in dressage and eventing to intermediate level.

“He’s so stunning and talented, another Dutch Gold in my opinion, only better. I’d love to be doing it again now,” she says.

“I can’t imagine many people know as much as she does; eventing, breeding, long-reining, you name it…” says Carl, who also loves that this comes with generosity and emotion.

Although public recognition for her sport did not come until later, the role Jennie played in helping British dressage to the top of the podium will never be forgotten. As Carl says: “It makes it very special that when we did finally start winning gold medals, she was there, crying her eyes out.”

Jennie on two special ponies…

Mossy: the Bullen family’s grey 13.2hh was thought to be by a pure-bred Arab. He made his way to the Bullens having originally been found pulling a knacker’s cart in Ireland, and was in poor condition initially. “Dad fed him up, gave him eggs and whisky and God knows what,” says Jennie.

Having lovely movement, he did well showing and went hunting and so on with Jennie, and was eventually ridden by her daughter Anne in turn.

“You could teach him anything,” recalls Jennie. “I rode him without a bridle, jumped through fire, all sorts of things. My parents nearly sold him once and I was devastated. I nearly died! I loved him.”

Bubbly: a 13.2hh pony stallion, who was palomino champion for a decade and very influential in Catherston breeding, his progeny including Second Thoughts, Catherston Moonstone, Catherston Moon Fairy, Catherston Double Bubble and Baby Sham. Competed mostly by Jane Bullen, he also produced some good jumping ponies.

Jennie on four favourite horses…

Desert Storm: an Anglo-Arab mare, found in a Newmarket stud as a three-year-old. Anne Bullen fell for her movement straight away. She became a very successful show hack and ladies’ hack and was the first horse Jennie trained properly for dressage, yet she hated standing still.

“She was a spectacular mover; spectators would gasp as she floated across the arena in an elegant, powerful trot,” said Jack Hance in H&H at the time.

When someone from Germany expressed interest in buying her for dressage, her owner, Miss Stubbings, kindly gave the horse to Jennie instead.

After starting dressage at advanced medium, the pair soon found themselves on a British team for some German internationals alongside Lorna Johnstone and Brenda Williams (Mrs V D S Williams).

Xenocles: this handsome thoroughbred stallion was “bred to win the Derby, but never made it”, says Jennie. “He was a lovely horse.”

He (and his progeny) proved versatile and kind, and would allow small children to pick out his feet. In Jennie’s hands, he rose to prix st georges in dressage and went advanced eventing.

Jennie says: “He was never top-class in dressage as he was quite difficult in the mouth and sensitive. You could never wear spurs.”

Dutch Courage: the horse people will forever associate with Jennie. “Bill” was bought as a colt from the Netherlands after he’d failed his gradings and been earmarked for castration. But Jennie liked his head, attitude and the way he moved. He was bought for £750 and arrived in a steaming temper on a lorry. Jennie thought: “I’ll need some Dutch courage to ride this one!” and thus found his name.

A clever and brilliant horse – he picked up piaffe in just three days – the Germans tried to buy him after Jennie took him training there once on a scholarship. The highlight of his career was probably winning individual bronze with Jennie at the 1978 World Championships at Goodwood.

His offspring included many great names such as Dutch Gold, Dutch Auction, Catherston Dazzler and Catherston Dutch Bid.

Dutch Gold: the son of Dutch Courage, “Willow”, became Jennie’s last international ride. An immensely versatile stallion, he won the Midland Bank eventing championships at Locko Park in 1984 and was doing grand prix dressage by the following year. Jennie once warmed him up for his dressage in Aachen by popping fences in the showjumping warm-up.

The pair became real specialists – honed on the indoor world cup circuit – at dressage to music. The pair were 14th at the 1988 Seoul Olympics.

Carl Hester on Jennie…

“I came third in a talent-spotting final when I was 17 and part of my prize was £20.

“I was based in the New Forest then and Jennie was not far away in Brockenhurst. Realising I was desperately keen, Jennie very kindly said she would give me three lessons for £20 – obviously not her going rate!

“I’d hack about 12 miles to Brockenhurst for my lessons and hack back. It took me all day. But she’s just so normal and generous. She’s willing to help anybody who asks.”

Career milestones

1972: Jennie rides in her first Olympics in Munich, on Kadett. They finish 19th individually.

1976: a second Olympic appearance in Montreal (along with team-mates Diana Mason and Special Edition and Sarah Whitmore on Junker), but Kadett is largely unsettled.

1977: European Championships in St Galen on Dutch Courage, aged just eight. He and Jennie finish ninth individually.

1978: World Championships at Goodwood. Despite being first to go, Jennie and Dutch Courage win individual bronze in the Special, a milestone for British dressage.

1980: Alternative Olympics for dressage are held at Goodwood. Dutch Courage is sixth individually.

1984: Jennie is devastated when Dutch Courage develops a virus shortly before the Los Angeles Games. Diana Mason (team chef d’équipe) offers her the ride on her own Prince Consort instead. Christopher Bartle finishes sixth on Wily Trout and Jennie still believes they might have claimed team bronze had Dutch Courage been able to go.

1985: The European Championships in the Danish capital, Copenhagen. Jennie competes on the British team with Dutch Gold, although he was only nine at the time.

1988: Jennie’s final Olympic appearance in Seoul on Dutch Gold, finishing 14th individually.

Between 1988 and 1990: The combination also won six World Cup qualifiers and took two fourth and two fifth places in the World Cup finals.

Ref Horse & Hound; 11 June 2020

The teenage girl on a pony who conquered the world stage has become the stuff of showjumping legend. Penny Richardson finds out more about Marion Mould and her partnership with the inimitable Stroller.

It is a tale to rival National Velvet: a teenager begs her father to be allowed to keep her pony and they end up becoming world champions and winning an Olympic medal.

This is the unlikely but true story of Marion Mould (née Coakes) and the incomparable Stroller. In 1960s Britain, it struck a chord with every pony-mad girl who had Stroller’s picture on their bedroom wall and dreamed that one day they too would hit the showjumping heights.

The story began in Hampshire in 1950, when three-year-old Marion was taught to ride by her father, farmer Ralph Coakes.

“There were always horses about at home. Dad bred Shires, did ploughing matches and showed them with a wagon at county shows,” remembers Marion. “He even had a stagecoach we used to play in when it was in the barn for the winter. One of my first memories is watching Dad get the Shires ready: cleaning the feathers and doing those special plaits.”

Ralph took Marion hunting on the lead-rein. “We went out with the New Forest hounds and buckhounds, the Wilton and the Portman hunts. I’m told that I jumped everything and Dad used to say: ‘Follow Marion and you’ll be OK!’” she laughs.

Marion was one of six children and because two older brothers and one sister were already showjumping, it was natural for her to follow them into the sport.

“I started out in gymkhanas. We used to hack to shows or pack our ponies into the lorry and off we’d go,” she remembers. “I absolutely loved the games: apple bobbing, musical chairs, bending, you name it.

“In those days, you went to a show and did everything from games to jumping. We also did hunter trials, so it was an all-round education.”

‘A fabulous pony’

Marion remembers the day she first saw Stroller. “It was in 1960 at Lavant show. Dad missed it as he was clearing up from a show he had run the day before. I was 14 at the time and I saw Stroller jumping with Sally Cripps. I went home and told Dad that I’d seen a fabulous pony,” she says.

It wasn’t until the Horse of the Year Show (HOYS) at Wembley that year that Ralph was able to secure the deal that changed his daughter’s life.

“Stroller was jumping there and by this time, everyone was after him,” says Marion. “Dad knew the Cripps family and somehow managed to buy him. I missed it all because I was at school, so I didn’t even have the chance to try him.”

The new pair’s first meeting wasn’t the greatest success. “We went to pick Stroller up and Dad said I’d better have a go on him. I fell off,” laughs Marion.

But from then on it was a match made in heaven between Marion and her magical Irish-bred Connemara/thoroughbred. Although he stood just 14.1hh, Stroller was a horse in miniature, which meant that his length of stride made pony classes difficult.

“I did struggle in combinations to begin with because the distances were so short for him,” admits Marion.

Two years later it was time for Marion to move on to horses, and Stroller was due to be sold. Ann Moore, who went on to ride Psalm to individual silver at the 1972 Olympics, was due to be Stroller’s next partner.

“I was devastated and in a real hump with Dad,” says Marion. “We went to stay at Ann’s house near Birmingham so that she could try Stroller and I was upset for the whole time. In the end, Dad said: ‘If you want Stroller that much, we’ll keep him.’ I owe Dad everything. Ann’s parents were offering an awful lot of money.”

After Ralph agreed to keep him, it was thought that Stroller would give Marion a gentle introduction to young riders classes.

“The idea was to run him alongside an old grade A schoolmaster, but I think Stroller had other ideas!” says Marion.

It wasn’t long until Marion and her supersonic pony were taking on and beating the world’s best. It didn’t matter which challenge: Stroller was up to it.

When Marion was 17, they won the Derby trial at Hickstead and finished second in the Derby itself. The following year the pair joined Britain’s Nations Cup squad. They were on three winning teams and Britain captured the President’s Cup, then the World Championship for teams.

That season, Stroller and Marion were victorious in the first ever ladies’ World Championship at their favourite venue of Hickstead. They also won the first of their two Queen Elizabeth II Cups at the Royal International, at that time held at London’s White City.

In 1967 they were back at Hickstead, where Stroller carried the 20-year-old Marion to a clear round and Derby victory, despite a stumble when coming down the Bank. Marion’s record as the youngest Derby winner lasted until 2019, when Irish rider Mikey Pender triumphed aged 19.

Marion and Stroller added two more second places and a third to their tremendous Hickstead Derby record, and in 1970 they scored an unforgettable win in the Derby at Hamburg, the class that inspired Douglas Bunn’s great course in Sussex.

In Hamburg, Stroller jumped the sole clear, only the 50th ever achieved over the course, simultaneously making Marion the first lady winner of the class.

“There was a crowd of 25,000, and when we landed over the last fence they went crazy. It was one of the most exciting moments of my life,” said Marion at the time.

Those were the days when horses – and in Stroller’s case, ponies – did every type of class, and Stroller was also a skilled puissance performer, clearing 6ft 8in (2.03m) and just dislodging a brick from the 6ft 10in (2.08m) wall to share the honours at Antwerp.

Their crowning moment came at the 1968 Olympics in Mexico. Despite an infected tooth, Stroller jumped clear in the first round of the individual competition over fences up to 1.80m and only had two mistakes in round two.

They just missed out on jumping off for the gold medal, but still won an extraordinary silver behind America’s Bill Steinkraus and his 2hh bigger thoroughbred Snowbound.

Stroller’s tooth problem had worsened by the team competition and he refused for the first time in his life. A second refusal and a fall put Britain out of contention, but Marion and her pony had already done their bit.

“When I was 10, I decided I wanted to jump at the Olympics, but I never really thought it would come true and I certainly didn’t think it would be on a pony! It’s still quite unbelievable,” says Marion.

Superstars

Marion and Stroller returned to Britain as superstars, but 1968 had already brought another life-changing moment when Marion met her future husband. David Mould was a leading National Hunt jockey; he rode for The Queen Mother and, like Marion, was a popular public figure.

“Our first meeting was at the Horse & Hound ball at the Dorchester Hotel in London. I think David may have had a bit to drink, as he fell over in front of me,” laughs Marion. “We got to know each other properly at a barbecue at Hickstead later that year. I did think he was very good looking and he’s still not too bad after 52 years together!”

Marion’s new boyfriend was also a hit with her family. “Dad loved racing and trained a few point-to-pointers, so he was delighted when I brought a jockey home,” says Marion. “Dad and David used to go racing together, but jumps racing was something I never really got into. Even today, I prefer to watch racehorses on the flat. They’re just so beautiful.”

Marion and David’s wedding in September 1969 brought more headlines, with Pathé News there to film the nation’s showjumping sweetheart’s marriage to her dashing jockey.

Marion competed Stroller for another four seasons before he was retired aged 21 with 61 international wins on his CV. He enjoyed 15 years in the field before he died and was buried on the family farm. The land is now part of a golf course, but with the site of Stroller’s grave marked.

After Stroller’s retirement, Marion was successful with more regular-sized mounts, including victory in the 1976 Queen Elizabeth Cup on Elizabeth Ann, but the hours on the road and the constant battle to find good horses had taken its toll.

“In those days, we drove ourselves to shows and slept in our lorries. There was none of this leaving the driving to grooms, flying to the venue and staying in hotels. It was great fun, but I hated the travelling. I can’t remember exactly when it was, but one day I got into the lorry, looked at the road ahead and thought: ‘I don’t want to do this’.

“As good horses were also getting almost impossible to find and cost too much, I decided to stop competing and start training people instead,” explains Marion.

She and David set up a training centre at their home near Lingfield in Surrey. It was an immediate success and among their pupils was actor Michael Caine’s daughter Nikki. “She arrived when she was 14 and stayed for five years,” says Marion.

Future Olympic champion Rodrigo Pessoa was another teenage trainee. “Rodrigo came to us for a summer,” remembers Marion. “He’d been taught by his father Nelson and was already incredibly talented. You told Rodrigo to take off here, take off there, and he did it perfectly because he found everything so easy. He used to laugh in mid-air and I couldn’t help thinking: ‘You’re too good already.’”

After running their centre for 10 years, Marion and David sold up and they and their three-year-old son Jack moved to America for eight months.

“Some friends in Virginia asked us to set up an equestrian centre for them,” explains Marion.

When they returned to Britain, the Moulds settled in Hampshire.

“We had a normal family life. Jack had a pony, but he didn’t really want to ride. He was more interested in football. It usually ended up with him getting off and kicking a ball while Mum rode the pony,” laughs Marion.

Jack’s footballing talent became more apparent and he moved to Spain, where he played for eight years.

“We’d bought him a house in Dorset as a British base, but when he came home, he got married and wanted to live elsewhere, so David and I moved in. It’s only a little house with a small garden, but it suits us perfectly,” says Marion. “We love living in Dorset. It’s a beautiful county and our family members all live less than half-an-hour away.”

Although she watches showjumping on TV – “I like the World Cup shows” – Marion’s life is now a world away from the heady days of international sport. She has joined a local walking club and taken up cycling.

When she talks about her past career, she is so modest that it’s almost as though Marion Coakes was another person. It’s doubtful whether fellow ramblers know that among their party is a former Olympian and Sportswoman of the Year, and you would hazard a guess that Marion Mould prefers it that way.

Marion on Hickstead and the Bunn family…

I’ve been going to Hickstead since it started. I went to the first ever show in 1960 as a groom for my brother and was back there last year to watch as a guest of the Bunns.

I competed at the same time as Douglas Bunn and his second wife Sue became a great friend. She’s now my son’s godmother.

One time, I was among a convoy of British riders – in five horseboxes and with Douglas in a Rolls-Royce – who drove to Poland for a show. It took forever. We must have been mad!

‘My life with Stroller’

Stroller was an absolute freak and when I look back, I can’t believe the things we did. It never occurred to me that he might be too small or that we couldn’t try something. Stroller simply did everything I asked of him. I suppose when you are young you don’t see danger, and I was basically just a kid from a farm trying to keep up with my big brothers.

When Jennifer met Marion…

Actor, comedian and writer Jennifer Saunders has long been one of Marion’s greatest fans.

“I was pony-mad and got my first pony when I was 11, when Marion was at her height. I kept my pony on my friend’s farm and we would trot around the field and jump tiny jumps, imagining we were competing at Hickstead or Wembley. The dream Marion lived was our dream. Your pony could get to Wembley and the Olympics because Stroller had.

“There was something serene about Marion. She was out there with all those ruffians like Harvey Smith and we knew they probably resented her talent and her pony, but she never lost her cool. We also knew she loved her pony. There was that moment at the Olympics when she and Stroller fell and her first reaction was to rush to him. It still makes me cry now, just thinking about it.

“She was also extremely brave. When you see the size of some of the jumps she faced where you could just about see Stroller’s ears as he approached, it was a real feat of trust and courage. I learned later that the guys on the big horses were so fed up of being beaten by a girl on a pony that they insisted on every competitor carrying the same weight – and she still beat them!

“This was showjumping before they earned big bucks and had triple-deck luxury boxes. I love the pictures of Marion feeding and mucking out her own horses. They’re something so real. It fired up the whole country’s imagination, too. Showjumping was on TV all the time and Stroller was a national hero.

“When I met her, Marion was everything I expected and hoped. She was unchanged and so modest. It was David, her husband, who told us how brilliant she was as a rider. He said that all horses went better for her.”

Marion on sponsorship in the 1970s…

I was lucky enough to have good sponsors, but in my day any support was usually through products. I got new kitchens at home and in the lorry when I was sponsored by Elizabeth Ann Kitchens. I actually won another kitchen in their class at HOYS, but I had to give that to one of my owners as I had nowhere to put it.

My final sponsors were Lancôme. I did possess an awful lot of make-up!

Marion on then and now…

Kids starting today don’t know how easy they’ve got it. I never had a manège or a flash lorry and I did my training on the local beach or in a field. We had a common next door, so Stroller did plenty of hacking. We could never have imagined a Global Champions Tour full of magical horses. Showjumping is a totally different sport now.

Heroes and heroines

I loved watching riders such an Anneli Drummond-Hay. She was such a strong character with a brilliant horse in Merely-a-Monarch. I got on very well with Harvey Smith, but my real hero was Irish rider Seamus Hayes. Seamus won the first Hickstead Derby in 1961 and I got to know him well when we travelled together to indoor shows in Germany. He was a lovely man and a fantastic rider.

When I watch present-day riders, I’m impressed by William Whitaker. I met him and Scott Brash in London and they were both extremely kind, calling me their heroine, which can’t possibly be true! Scott is the ultimate horseman and is the best British rider at the moment. He is also a really nice guy.

Marion on joining the Pythons…

There can’t be many riders who have starred in a Monty Python sketch, but Marion did just that in 1969.

“It was filmed at Hickstead and I had to jump the first Derby fence, the stone wall, and knock down a row of men’s heads! I had no idea what it was about, but I was paid extremely well and met the Monty Python cast, which was great fun.”

Major achievements

● 1965: women’s World Championship gold (Stroller)

● 1965: winner of Queen Elizabeth II Cup (Stroller)

● 1967: winner of Hickstead Derby (Stroller)

● 1968: Olympic individual silver (Stroller)

● 1970: winner of Hamburg Derby (Stroller)

● 1970: women’s world Championship silver (Stroller)

● 1970: winner of leading showjumper of the year (Stroller)

● 1971: winner of Queen Elizabeth II Cup (Stroller)

● 1976: winner of Queen Elizabeth II Cup (Elizabeth Ann)

● 2006: inducted into BHS Hall of Fame

Ref Horse & Hound; 28 May 2020

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Every Horse & Hound reader knows Captain Mark Phillips; he may even have been writing his H&H column longer than you’ve been around to read it. To the layman, he’s a horseman who married the Princess Royal, but to riders he’ll always be one of the greats: a four-time Badminton winner and Olympic gold medallist; a prolific team trainer (for the Spanish and Americans); then a world-class course-designer in the current phase of his career.

In his best-selling book Outliers: The Story of Success, Malcolm Gladwell explores the idea that genius doesn’t just pop up randomly. It emerges when someone with huge potential meets with opportunity to learn, absorb, practise and practise again until they achieve that “genius” status.

When you discover that Mark joined his local Pony Club branch (encouraged by his horsey mother Anne) to ride alongside a young Jane Bullen (later Holderness-Roddam), Jennie Bullen (later Loriston-Clarke) and future top-level eventer turned commentator Mike Tucker, you realise this was no ordinary epoch in the Beaufort branch of the Pony Club. And Mark was destined to become no ordinary rider.

The branch instructors were equally mind-boggling. Mark remembers trotting 20-metre circles under the watchful eye of Molly Sivewright, founder of Talland School of Equitation; being trained by Colonel Alec Scott, who’d won team bronze in the 1936 Berlin Olympics, then Lieutenant-Colonel Frank Weldon (team gold medallist from the 1956 Stockholm Olympics and later course-designer at Badminton), “actually sitting on his British team horse, whom he’d ridden at Rome [Olympics] – talk about inspiration!”

But Mark’s biggest early influence by far was another from that Stockholm team, Bertie Hill.

“Frank Weldon sent me to Bertie on a sort of gap year [before joining the Army],” says Mark. “He was a natural horseman, like Mark Todd – and became my mentor.”

Bertie told Angela Rippon for her 1982 biography of Mark that he “had all the ability in the world… it was just a matter of adding a bit of polish”.

His pupil speaks more plainly about it now: “I thought I knew how to ride – but on my first day at Bertie’s, he said, ‘Follow me!’ and took me flat out down Devon cleaves and heaven only knows what… I thought, ‘Holy s**t!’ That changed me from a Pony Club kid into something else.”

Bertie helped an 18-year-old Mark to produce the horse that would become his first serious eventer, Rock On, from a fearless but frightening novice into a Burghley horse in the space of a season, as you could back then. Fourth there followed by fourth at Badminton resulted in Mark becoming travelling reserve, aged 19, for the gold medal-winning British team in Mexico 1968.

Distinctly average horses

In many ways, this set the tone for so much in Mark’s career – producing fantastic results from self-made or sometimes distinctly average horses – yet too often ending up on the peripheries when it came to Olympics. Bizarrely, for such a prolific rider, he never won an individual championship medal.

“I was never in the position to go out and spend big figures on horses,” says Mark. “I bought four-, five- or six-year-olds and occasionally lucked out.”

Former Badminton director and riding contemporary Hugh Thomas agrees that Mark’s success “on a great many different horses and catch rides is one of the things that makes him stand out. His greatest achievement I think was winning two Badmintons and an Olympic gold on Great Ovation who was not the most generous of horses.”

Lucinda Green agrees: “I could tell even then what a bad horse Great Ovation was, but he just lifted him over every fence… he just made it happen.”

Mark always was open about Great Ovation’s limitations. He was terrible in the autumn: “Out of the hunting field, he was a winner. Out of a long summer on hard ground, he was a donkey.”

Mark’s 1973 Burghley triumph with Maid Marion – another horse sent his way by Bertie Hill – is another example of skill over scope. Or as Mark puts it today: “I had to carry her round.”

Yet when Mark finally got his hands on a truly brilliant ride – Columbus, owned by The Queen with whom he won his third Badminton in 1974 – their partnership was beset with injury.

He also speaks animatedly about his mid-1970s foray into the world of showjumping, thanks to owner and dealer Trevor Banks. Trevor even let Mark compete his former Olympic horse Hideaway on several victorious Nations Cup teams, including Calgary.

“You think Badminton or Burghley gives you an adrenaline rush – you try going against the clock over 1.60m,” he recalls.

This was another element in what Mark considers his “probably unique” equestrian education. The showjumping “made me a way better rider. I just wish I’d done it earlier in my career – I’d have won a lot more.”

He learnt from others along the way too, including Dick Stilwell, Ferdi Eilberg, Bert de Némethy, and “a fantastic amount” about dressage from his second wife, Sandy.

Mark’s career also spans eventing’s development from being a truly amateur sport – with training crammed around the Army and later farming – to a far more professional one, with riders finally landing big sponsorship contracts by the 1980s.

Though a hugely effective rider across country, what else made Mark stand out? “He was particularly brilliant at speed,” remembers Hugh Thomas. “We didn’t ride to minute markers back then, but he rode the tightest lines, practically booting the fence posts out with his leg.”

“Most people then weren’t good on the flat but Mark had feel,” adds Lucinda Green, “and he definitely looked the part in his uniform.”

Despite Mark’s array of medals when it came to Olympics, things never quite went his way. Even winning team gold in Munich, he was the discard score on Great Ovation and was gutted only to be travelling reserve for the 1976 Games in Montreal.

In 1980, the British boycotted the Moscow Olympics and his ride, Lincoln, went lame at the alternative event at Fontainebleau. Mark made the British team a final time in 1988 for Seoul, but Cartier tied up on the roads and tracks. It seems horribly unlucky. “I was,” agrees Mark. “I probably wanted it too much.”

Despite his reputation as a coach and course-designer, it’s his time as a rider that Mark looks back on most fondly: “If you’re a competitor, you’re always a competitor,” he reasons. “I had such a good time riding. I’ve been extremely lucky and my hobby became my profession.”

And the very best days of that extraordinary career? “That’s quite simple… I grew up in the Beaufort Pony Club dreaming of one day winning at Badminton, so that first win – oh my God!” replies Mark. “And seeing that flag go up at an Olympics, that’s unbelievable. And the British team hasn’t seen it since, nearly 50 years later!”

Mark on…

Zara: “Funnily enough, I’m quite relaxed when Zara goes cross-country because she has good instincts. Dressage, I’m nervous, but showjumping I’ll sweat buckets because she doesn’t have that same natural instinct for it.”

Luck: “I’m a great believer that you make your own luck. Most times ‘bad luck’ is because you made a bad move. People used to say to me: ‘What do you do for the Americans?’ and I’d say ‘Mostly, I keep them honest… No, you weren’t unlucky there, you rode a crappy turn.’”

Riding position: “[Former showjumping trainer] George Morris says he’s a position freak; well, I am too. Whatever you have in life you have to work on, and I used to analyse my photographs and check the angles were as they should be.”

Four horses Mark will never forget…

Chicago: Bertie Hill’s classy grey partnered Mark to his first and only World Championship team title in 1970. Hopes of doing more with him were thwarted when the horse was eventually sold to Germany. “He had a big head, but a lot of quality and a better temperament than Columbus, a more push-button ride,” says Mark.

Rock On: “Rock On was amazing. He made me, to be honest,” says Mark. “Up until then I’d just ridden family hunters and my first real thoroughbred ended up being a superstar.” Under Bertie Hill’s guidance, this raw, zany and brilliant jumper went from novice to fourth at Burghley in one season. “We were 38th out of 40 after dressage,” points out Mark. “I didn’t know what I was doing. Because of him, I got to go to Mexico [as reserve] while I was at Sandhurst, then rode him at my first Europeans. “That’s why I got the ride on [Bertie Hill’s horse] Chicago, and the rest is history.” Does Mark wish he’d had him later in his career? “I wouldn’t have been brave enough to ride him later on!”

Hideaway: Formerly the Olympic ride of Mike Saywell, this top jumper owned by Trevor Banks gave Mark some of his best thrills in the saddle, including four Nations Cup victories, fourth place in the King George V Gold Cup and second in the Hickstead Derby Trial.

“The most frightening thing I ever did was turning him into the 7ft puissance wall at Olympia,” says Mark.

Cartier: Mark’s last international horse came from a working hunter background: “It was easy to fast track him up through the grades.” Having finished seventh at Lexington in 1986 and 12th at Luhmühlen in 1987, the pair were selected for Seoul, but Mark’s Olympic bogey continued: after torrential rain during their dressage, the horse tied up on the roads and tracks.

The Badminton trio

Columbus: “The best horse I ever rode,” says Mark of the 17.1hh grey owned by The Queen. He came to Mark, before his engagement to Princess Anne, when it became clear in 1972 that he was too strong for her. Though it took a while for Mark to get to grips with the headstrong horse – they had two falls at their first Badminton in 1973 – the following year they won with a double clear. “He did everything – won Badminton, big jumping classes, even took me round the Grand National course [for a BBC challenge against former jockey Richard Pitman],” says Mark. “Obviously he needed a thousand half-halts before the dressage because he was thoroughbred and wanted to gallop and jump. But with him I had all the options.”

Mark’s sometime team-mate Hugh Thomas agrees: “Columbus would have stood out at any time, not just in his time – he could gallop forever and jump everything.”

Great Ovation: It would be impossible not to highlight the horse who won two Badmintons back to back for Mark and partnered him on the gold medal-winning Olympic team in Munich. Yet this smart gelding, co-owned by Mark’s ever supportive Aunt Flavia, was “a very average horse”, says Mark. “OK, he did a good dressage test and was quite careful showjumping, but he was chicken s**t cross-country. You always had to put him in deep to a fence. And any time you thought he was better than he was, he would either stop or fall over.”

“I took him hunting once and even then he wasn’t that great,” adds Mary Low (née Gordon-Watson). “He never really picked up the bridle.”

Lincoln: A horse remembered less for his talent than the challenge he presented his rider with before winning Mark’s fourth and final Badminton in 1981. “Lincoln was another magical story because I spent 18 months trying to get him to go like a normal horse,” says Mark. “Lincoln wanted to storm into fences and slow down at the last moment while I wanted him to come into them in a rhythm.

I took him to Taunton Vale one day and had 17 stops on the cross-country trying to do it my way,” he remembers. “So I gave up and rode him his way and let me tell you, coming at 60 metres a minute into a coffin frightens the life out of you.”

Mark’s medals

1970, team gold, World Championships, Punchestown

Mark rode Bertie Hill’s smart grey Chicago alongside team-mates Richard Meade, Mary Gordon-Watson and Stuart Stevens. Despite Mark’s cricket score late on the course, he finished 11th. Britain was the only team to get three home, to win gold.

1971, team gold, European Championships, Burghley

Princess Anne won the individual title, riding as an individual on Doublet, but Mark was on the winning British team (and fifth individually) with Great Ovation.

1972, team gold, Munich Olympics

Mark captured an Olympic gold medal with team-mates Richard Meade, Bridget Parker and Mary Gordon-Watson. Great Ovation had two falls across country but still completed.

1974, team silver, World Championships, Burghley

Mark won silver on The Queen’s Columbus. Yet this event was as much about what he lost as what he won: a blistering clear put Columbus nine points ahead. But a slipped tendon off the hock forced them then to withdraw, putting paid to Mark’s best chance of an individual title.

1988, team silver, Seoul Olympics

A final Olympic team appearance for Mark with Ian Stark, Ginny Holgate and Karen Straker. Though Mark had to withdraw on the roads and tracks, the team took silver.

Ref Horse & Hound; 21 May 2020

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Few have ridden across country with the panache of Ginny Elliot, the petite eventer whose distinctive purple colours blazed a trail around the sport’s toughest tracks. Yet Ginny delivered not just style, but substance.

During an astonishing decade, she dominated the international scene – claiming multiple Olympic, World and European Championship medals alongside a Badminton hat-trick and five Burghley wins. “We hit a real purple patch in the 1980s,” she recalls. “I’d had a tough time but, thankfully, everything suddenly clicked.”

She certainly made it look effortless. Fellow eventers admired her, spectators adored her and no pony-mad youngster’s bedroom was complete without posters of Priceless, Night Cap and Master Craftsman on the walls. But the polished performances came after an arduous climb to the top.

Ginny, whose maiden name was Holgate and first married name was Leng, was born in Malta, in 1955. Her father was a Royal Marine so she spent much of her childhood abroad, with spells at school in the UK.

“My interest in horses grew from my mother [Heather]’s side, as she and my grandfather [Ewart Rice] had always been into showing and polo,” explains Ginny, who started riding at three and whose first proper pony was a Welsh Mountain mare called Misty. “Grandpa had a passion for buying horses. One day he arrived with a foal he had bought for me, for £35, from Five Lanes Cattle Market in Cornwall.”

The colt, christened Dubonnet, would play a pivotal role in Ginny’s success.

“When ‘Dubby’ was five, I would hack him over for lessons with Sally Strachan [elder sister of eventer Clarissa],” recalls Ginny. “He was only 15.2hh, but we were excited to discover that he was by the same sire as Mary Gordon-Watson’s great Cornishman V. I just imagined that Dubby would be the same.”

Despite early eliminations and many rookie mistakes, she and Dubby progressed from Pony Club teams to become junior European champions – even taking a tilt at their first Badminton, in 1974. Ginny developed a small string and was long-listed for the Montreal Olympics with a promising youngster called Jason.

But her plans came to a shuddering halt soon after her 21st birthday, when she broke her left arm in 23 places in a fall with Jason at a one-day event. Thanks to the skill of a talented surgeon, the jigsaw of bone fragments was pieced back together and Ginny’s arm was saved from amputation.

‘We had no money’

Ginny was back in action at Burghley later that year with up-and-coming star Tio Pepe, but faced bigger hurdles on the path to success.

“My poor dad had developed multiple sclerosis and we had no money,” she says. “Mum said we would have to find a way, so we bought and sold horses to make ends meet. Every week, we bagged up sacks of shavings at a sawmill, because they were free. We had to scrimp and save.

“Mum sent me to Pat Manning for lessons and I would live in a caravan, mucking out 22 boxes in return for a one-hour lesson,” Ginny recalls. “It gave me the opportunity to decide whether I really wanted to do this or not.”

Disappointments came thick and fast, however, as all three of her advanced horses were forced into early retirement with health issues. Ginny admits that she was close to giving up when she started schooling Priceless and Night Cap, two five-year-old Ben Faerie sons bought locally in Devon. As they started to make their mark, she set about securing financial support.

“I would go up to London on the train once a week to try to find a sponsor,” says Ginny, whose efforts eventually paid off with backing from British National Life Assurance. “I’m not particularly competitive, but I am determined.”

And so began that extraordinary run of results, when, as Ginny explains, “everything went right”. Priceless led the charge, defying the critics who claimed he was too common by backing up world and European team golds with a win at Burghley in 1983.

Ginny became European champion three times in a row – in 1985 with Priceless, in 1987 with Night Cap and in 1989 with Master Craftsman. She clinched World Championship gold in Gawler in 1986, with Priceless, before riding Night Cap to victory at the alternative worlds later that year (laid on at Bialy Bor, Poland, because many nations couldn’t travel to Australia).

Ginny also claimed individual bronze and team silver Olympic medals with Priceless in Los Angeles in 1984, achieving the same with Master Craftsman in Seoul in 1988. Slotted between were additional Badminton and Burghley wins – Master Craftsman took both titles in 1989, four years after Priceless had achieved the same feat.

“I really respected how wonderful the horses were in those years,” says Ginny. “I like to think they trusted us. I used a training ethic taught to me by Lady Hugh Russell and Pat Manning, and we went to some lengths to prepare them – turning them out every day, incorporating roadwork, hillwork and gallops into their routine, but never using gadgets.

“I begged racehorse trainer Michael Dickinson to show me how to get them really fit, helping him in return with some gridwork for his racehorses.

“I was incredibly fortunate with my team,” adds Ginny, who had built a formidable back-up crew that included Heather and Dot Willis (Pat Manning’s former head girl), with showjumping input from trainer Pat Burgess. “Everyone paid attention to detail. It’s like a Formula One driver with the mechanics – you can’t win without them.”

Ginny is quick to credit the likes of Mark Todd and Lucinda Green for the help she received on the way, saying: “I love asking questions. I asked lots of those at the top of their game and they all managed to put up with me.”

The world stage

Just as she had studied her heroes, all eyes were on Ginny as she established herself on the world stage. Her preparation was second to none.

“I like doing things properly and hate making mistakes, so I would double-check everything,” she says. “I used to get pretty nervous. Everyone else was as cool as a cucumber; Mary King always seemed so calm. I was envious!

“The worst thing was waking up on cross-country day to the sound of rain falling on the caravan roof, and thinking, ‘I wish I wasn’t here,’” she adds. “But, as soon as the starter said, ‘Go,’ I was fine. All those horrible feelings just disappeared.”

Ginny remembers coming to terms with her fame with a smile. “At Badminton, in 1985, it was announced on the tannoy that I’d finished the cross-country in the lead. We packed the 10-minute halt stuff [long-format eventing] into the car and I was sitting in the back with my great friend Louise Bates while mum drove.

“As we fought through the crowds, I noticed that everyone was waving at me. ‘Amazing,’ I thought, ‘We’ve really made it!’ Then a man tapped on the window and said ‘We’re not waving at you, you prat – you’ve left a bucket on the roof’. Talk about coming down to earth with a bump.”

Horses being horses, there were inevitably ups and downs. Murphy Himself proved one of the tougher nuts to crack.

“He was the sort of child you wouldn’t want at school,” says Ginny, who bought the gung-ho gelding when he was advertised as a four-year-old in Horse & Hound. “We were told he’d been backed, but we later heard they’d tied a sack of nuts on his back and he’d jumped out of the arena. If he was fed up, he’d rear. It took so much patience to try to understand his personality and his brain. He was a monster, but in a charming way.”

After winning Burghley in 1986, aged just eight, Murphy took it into his head to leap from the top of Badminton’s notorious “ski jump” to the bottom.

“I fell off, fracturing my ankle,” explains Ginny, who still managed to finish third on Master Craftsman. “My family said Murphy was just too strong. I was determined to find a way, but they put pressure on me and I bent. I passed him to Ian Stark, who did a great job with him, but to this day I regret moving Murphy on.”

Welton Houdini proved a different challenge. Described by Ginny as “talented but timid”, he took a crashing fall in the quagmire that was Badminton 1992.

“He liked to carry his head quite high into the jumps, so one day I lengthened his martingale,” she says. “Along with some hunting, to build his confidence in the mud, it transformed him. He won Badminton the next year and never went better.”

Hanging up her boots

“I didn’t go out with fireworks,” says Ginny, who explains that her international career “petered out” after her last team appearance at the 1993 European Championships at Achselschwang.

She had just married, for the second time, and was settling down in her new Oxfordshire home with farmer Mike Elliot. Her sponsorship had ended, Houdini had a soundness issue and Ginny was “tinkering” with two intermediate horses. When she broke her leg in an accident on the gallops, the decision was made for her.

“It was the right moment to stop,” she says. “I did wonder whether to announce it, but decided to disappear quietly. Mikey and I tried for a family and after that I thought, ‘Why go back? Remember the good times and appreciate them.’”

Now an MBE, Ginny has written autobiographies and children’s fiction and devotes time to charities such as Spinal Research and the Horse Trials Support Group, of which she is the current chair. She also coaches, has trained point-to-point horses, and, as performance manager, steered the Irish eventing team to a fifth place at London 2012 – a role she describes as “eye opening”.

“I had no idea how much people had done for me when I was on teams; I now appreciate the enormity of their efforts.”

In Ginny’s day, eventers completed the long format – which included roads, tracks and steeplechase – and fans wrote letters to their idols to ask for autographs. What does she make of the modern scene? “The sport is changing, but that’s very healthy,” she says. “I would have loved to be eventing now, as I hated the steeplechase.

“It’s easier these days to get your profile out there, with social media, but back then we became icons,” adds Ginny, whose TV and radio appearances included A Question of Sport, This Is Your Life and Desert Island Discs. “It was so much fun.”

While she has a few hunters, Ginny reveals that there are no special horses in her life. “I’ve always fancied a crack at pure dressage, so you never know,” she laughs. “But the love in my heart goes to all those boys in the ’80s – my heroes.”

Starring roles

“It was a hoot,” says former eventer and Badminton media director Julian Seaman, who, along with Ginny and other eventers including Jane Holderness-Roddam and Richard Meade, secured a riding part in the film International Velvet. “Ginny was a good friend of mine and had one of the lead roles, doubling for Tatum O’Neal. It was filmed at Burghley right after the 1977 Europeans, and it was just like grown-up Pony Club camp; we would play chase-me-Charlie over the fences every morning.”

Ginny on her top trio…

Priceless – “‘P’ was like an army sergeant: forthright, well-built and bossy, but a real soldier. He was just 16hh and 3/4-bred, and in those days I had to carry a lot of lead. He put up with me and my mistakes and never had a fault across country. He was genuine and incredibly intelligent – I adored him.”

Night Cap – “Night Cap was far more polite – a real gent. He was not overly brave, but very talented. With what P taught me, I could give him confidence.”

Master Craftsman – “The George Clooney of the horse world, Crafty was good-looking, charming and courageous. He didn’t really have a flaw. While he hit a few fences as a youngster, when he reached four-star [now five-star] he turned into a machine. He was the perfect event horse.”

Ian Stark on Ginny…

“What we all admired about Ginny was her set-up,” says Ian Stark. “Ginny was obviously brilliant, but Heather Holgate, Dot Willis and the team were meticulous about detail. They were out-and-out winners.

“We travelled together a lot and they were good fun to be with,” he adds. “They seemed to have a great system for producing horses, and Ginny rode them in such a stylish way. The whole team worked as one, which played a big part in her success.”

Ginny on Lucinda Green…

“I watched endless videos of Lucinda in action and tried to emulate her amazing lower leg position and upper body balance. When I ended up riding on a team with her, it was awe-inspiring. We formed a lifelong friendship and even now will walk a course together, as we did at Burghley last year. She’s a special girl.”

Ginny’s career in numbers

5 Burghley wins

3 Badminton victories

8 European medals overall

2 Individual World golds (Gawler and Bialy Bor 1986)

3 consecutive individual and team golds at European Championships

4 Olympic medals

2.5 stone: the lead weight Ginny had to carry (around 15kg)

Ref Horse & Hound; 14 May 2020

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“Even in retirement, I still think about my failures and the races I didn’t win, more than I think about my achievements,” muses the 20-time consecutive champion jockey and all-time great Sir AP McCoy.

Many of us would find it unbelievable that the Northern Irishman cannot now sit back on his laurels and enjoy his accomplishments in the saddle, five years after retiring. Becoming the first jump jockey to ride to 4,000 victories, breaking Sir Gordon Richards’ record for most wins ridden in a season, two Gold Cups, a Grand National, a BBC Sports Personality of the Year crown, an OBE and a knighthood to top off a career that was successful at a meteoric level.

It is unlikely we’ll witness another AP McCoy during our lifetimes. However, it is his astonishing mindset that no doubt made him the untouchable champion he was for two decades.

“I went through a stint of seeing a sport psychologist, but it didn’t work out for me – I just ended up thinking my therapist needed help,” quips AP.

“I thought I needed a way to feel better after a bad day’s racing, but then I realised I didn’t want to feel OK about a bad ride – I wanted to feel crap so it would drive me to push myself further and further.

“I was never satisfied with what I was achieving, I always wanted more. But ultimately, I enjoyed the torture and pressure I put myself under. I had to have goals to drive towards and push myself out of my comfort zone.”

He adds: “As a young jockey, you have to watch and learn from whomever is the best and most successful – analyse what makes them better and find a way of beating them. They are at the top for a reason.

“When I started out, Richard Dunwoody was champion and I wanted to be good enough to compete with him and then find that extra edge to beat him. If you don’t want to be champion in your respective sport, you shouldn’t be doing it.”

His first win

Rewind back to March 1992 and a fresh-faced, 17-year-old Anthony Peter McCoy claimed the first win of his career on the Jim Bolger-trained Legal Steps in a Flat race at Thurles in Ireland.

AP credits the Irish trainer for kick-starting his career, albeit as a Flat jockey.

“I started out as an apprentice for Jim and I stayed there for four and a half years. I wasn’t very successful, but he taught me a lot – he was a perfectionist and always expected the best,” he reflects.

When weight went against AP, who is 5ft 10in, he switched codes to the National Hunt game and moved across the Irish Sea, basing himself with racing royalty in the form of late trainer Toby Balding.

In his first season riding in this country, AP topped the champion conditional jockey leaderboard. The following season, having ridden out his claim, he bagged his first champion jockey title at the end of the 1995/96 season and went on to retain his crown every year until his retirement in 2015.

He was soon attracting the eyes of big trainers and in 1997 he joined forces with “genius” trainer Martin Pipe, who was the first handler to use both interval training to get his horses fit and a lab at his yard to test equine bloods.

“I was never actually officially Martin’s stable jockey, but I remained riding for him for seven and a half years and notched up over 1,000 winners for the yard,” says the 45-year-old.

“Martin was a pure genius, he was so far ahead of his time. He trained his horses like human athletes, taking inspiration from Czech long-distance runner Emil Zátopek – he focused so much on the horses’ health and fitness.

“I learnt a lot from Martin, he turned me into a machine. He had the mentality that sport wasn’t about just taking part; it was about winning and being the best.”

With horsepower courtesy of late owner David Johnson – including Arkle winner Well Chief and top chaser Cyfor Malta – Martin and AP, in David’s famous blue and green silks, were a dominant force for many years.

A new challenge

In 2004, AP felt ready for a new challenge and he accepted the offer to be the retained jockey for top owner JP McManus, which enabled him to ride more for trainer Jonjo O’Neill.

“I just had a gut feeling that it was the right thing to do at that point of my career; my main focus was still to remain the champion jockey,” reflects AP. “I cried when I told Martin I was leaving because riding for him changed my life. Aside from my agent, Dave Roberts, who got me on to so many great horses, Martin was the person who helped me break so many records during my career.

“Riding for JP was a very different job and I was riding much more in Ireland, but leaving Martin had been a decision I made entirely on my own – I told no one.”

It was on one of JP’s horses, Don’t Push It, that the “Champ” won the Grand National in 2010, a race that had previously eluded him.

“Whenever I was away on holiday, people would always ask me if I’d won the Grand National and I could never say ‘yes’, so it was nice to tick that one off the list before I retired; it probably would have annoyed me otherwise,” he admits. “However, I wouldn’t have lost sleep about it – there are many great jockeys who retired without winning a National.”

AP also won two Cheltenham Gold Cups 15 years apart, first on Mr Mulligan in 1997 and then on Synchronised for JP McManus in 2012.

Amid the dazzling silver cups and bulging trophy cabinets, AP recounts his greatest achievement in the saddle was reaching 4,000 career wins in 2013, a record held by legendary Flat jockey Gordon Richards for 55 years. He became the first ever jump jockey to do so, and the unprecedented milestone came at Towcester aboard a horse called Mountain Tunes.

At that point, AP had already rewritten the history books in 2002 when breaking Gordon’s record of 269 winners in a season – on a horse trained by Martin Pipe called Valfonic at Warwick. “Another day I will never forget,” he reflects.

Hanging up his boots

During a career spanning two decades, AP has endured countless injuries and broken bones, including both collarbones, shoulder blades, lower and middle vertebrae, ribs, cheekbones, a leg, ankle, arm, wrist, punctured lungs, chipped teeth and a dislocated thumb. On the flip side, he has ridden some of the best quality horses in the sport.

“Many of the best I rode were actually catch rides when I was deputising for other jockeys,” he reflects, “such as winning the Melling Chase on Viking Flagship in 1996, the King George VI Chase in 2002 on Best Mate and I rode Master Minded twice when Ruby Walsh was injured and won the 2008 Tingle Creek Chase on him.”

Having ridden a record 4,358 winners, AP retired in 2015. He dramatically announced hanging up his boots live on Channel 4 Racing to a stunned Rishi Persad, while being interviewed after winning at Newbury on Mr Mole – his 200th win of that season.

“Retiring was tough,” he muses. “But I accepted straight away that my riding career was over. I had made the decision five years previously that I would retire when I did. I knew once I hit 40, I wouldn’t be riding for much longer and I wanted to go out at the top.

“As much as I’d have loved to carry on doing it, you have to be a realist. I didn’t want to be a sports person that carried on too long and for people to think that I wasn’t as good as I once was.”

AP’s original plan was to aim for 300 wins in his final season, before retiring. However, an injury in the October – just as the National Hunt season was getting going – put a sad end to that goal, something AP says he “will never get over”.

“When I realised the 300 mark wasn’t going to happen, I changed it to 200, which happened to fall on that day at Newbury. Not many knew about it; my late mother found out I was retiring from the TV. It was hard announcing it live on television. I was tearful and it was tough getting the words out of my mouth.”

AP has been keeping himself busy during retirement over the past five years, managing to adapt following that life-changing announcement at Newbury.

He’s been able to enjoy his food and he’s relished days spent with his family, wife Chanelle and young children Eve and Archie, while not forgetting his beloved golfing holidays abroad. He has also set up a pre training yard at his Lambourn base, Lodge Down Stables, and he assists in the management of JP McManus’ racehorses in the UK.

Perhaps most notably, AP has been part of the ITV Racing presenting team on the big days, such as Cheltenham and Aintree – an experience he says “keeps his mind occupied”. He also partnered up with top showjumper Big Star in 2016 for the pages of Horse & Hound, featuring as the cover hero for that week’s issue of the magazine.

“Nothing will ever fill the void left after being champion jockey for so long, it consumed my life,” he reflects. “But I don’t miss having doctors on speed dial. I don’t miss spending hours on the motorway. I just miss winning, that’s the one thing I miss more than anything.”

‘My favourite horse’

Synchronised – AP won the 2012 Cheltenham Gold Cup on the Jonjo O’Neill-trained gelding, who was owned by JP McManus.

The pair then contested the Grand National a month later. They fell at the sixth fence. However, the nine year-old got up and ran on loose before being fatally injured.

“Synchronised was particularly special to me because I actually won on his dam, Mayasta, at Punchestown in 1996. She was also owned by JP and it was back when I was getting going as a jump jockey,” says AP.

“So winning the Gold Cup on him was sentimental and he provided me with one of my best days in the saddle. Losing him in the Grand National that year was tragic.”

Richard Johnson on AP…

“He was a brilliant jockey and very tough, he never gave up on a horse. He was a fierce competitor and we had many great seasons riding together – I have fond memories that bring a smile to my face.

“In any sport, to be champion for two decades is just incredible. He was also a much-liked jockey – you’d be hard pushed to find anyone with bad words about him.

“He was the person I used to go to for advice; we were on the same wavelength and I found him easy to chat to. Of course, my riding career benefited hugely when he retired and I was able to become champion jockey.”

Dave Roberts on AP…

“I was his agent from day one and we spent two brilliant decades working together. It was my job to get him on the quantity of horses that would help him remain champion.The late trainer Toby Balding had sent me a videotape of him riding in Ireland and you could just see that he was way above average for a young jockey. He just had a knack of getting horses to win who shouldn’t have done. He had the right attitude and mental strength; he was just obsessed with winning.

“Looking back, there were more highs than lows and we never had a cross word between us, he was the ultimate professional. We didn’t see that much of each other – it was all done over the phone – but we had a good understanding of each other. He made my job much easier and we had a great friendship, too. I will always be very proud of him and what we achieved together.”

Oliver Townend on AP…

“Watching AP in the saddle, what always stood out for me was the complete confidence he had in himself that he could win any race on any horse. Sometimes I convince myself that, whatever horse I’m riding, I can win and when I don’t, I beat myself up about it – I can relate to AP in that way.

“He impressed me with how focused he was during his career and he’s impressed me after his retirement, anybody who can hold it together after retiring from a career they love has my utter respect. His strength of character has been inspirational.”

Ref Horse & Hound; 7 May 2020

As winner of scores of top-class championships, David Tatlow followed his father to become one of the most revered showmen of his generation – and he was pretty successful outside showing, too, as Tricia Johnson discovers

True showing legends are few and far between, but hunter specialist David Tatlow certainly ranks as one of them.

During a career in the ring spanning some 60 years, he notched up more than 40 Horse of the Year Show (HOYS) wins and championships, numerous Royal Windsor and Royal International (RIHS) titles, countless championship show triumphs, and pretty much every major county show tricolour not once but several times.

The boy who grew up on a farm in Warwickshire was certainly bred for the job – his father Harry was one of the most revered showmen of his era, at the top of the tree with both hacks and hunters.

“With my brother Roy taking over the farm, showing seemed the natural thing for me to do,” recalls David, 80. “I remember being at the old White City for the Royal International when I was about nine or 10 and watching Dad win the Moscow Cup for the best hack, which he did several times in his career. I was tearful with pride and said to myself then that I wanted to do the same.”

And this he did, taking the same cup himself six times on different horses, proving that he was a chip off the old block. Harry encouraged his son to watch another showing doyen – Harry Bonner – to learn by example.

“I remember asking Dad why, as I couldn’t see Mr Bonner doing anything when he was riding,” says David. “Dad replied that this was exactly why I should watch – the whole point of showing is that it should all look effortless.”

David also enjoyed hunting until quite recently and in his younger days, he rode showjumpers, trained Grade One racehorses and was champion point-to-point jockey five times.

“I once won the hack championship at Royal Lancashire in the morning, then drove to Chaddesley Corbett racecourse, near Kidderminster, and rode a winner in the afternoon,” he remembers.

A modest man

David tends to deflect attention from his own achievements. “Most of my best moments don’t relate to me, but rather to my daughter Loraine [Homer] and grandchildren Alice and Harry – their achievements mean far more to me than my own,” he maintains. “One year that surpassed all others, though, was 1968. I was hack and hunter champion at HOYS and also champion point-to-point jockey; the year was crowned by the birth of Loraine.

“Then in 1989, I won all three hunter weight classes at HOYS and was champion on the heavyweight Mr Meade. Loraine rode the lightweight See Lightwater to reserve and my brother Roy partnered the middleweight winner, Skibbereen, in the championship.”

Although he achieved most of his major ambitions, there are a couple of gaps in his stellar CV. “I always wanted to win the working hunters at HOYS and a race at the Cheltenham Festival but sadly, I never managed either,” he reflects.

David’s first major accolade came at the now-defunct Royal Show – once the summer Mecca for all show horses and ponies – when he lifted the coveted hunter championship on a four-year-old called Altamira, a horse bought for him by his father, who spotted it while judging in Scotland.

“The horse was to be delivered down to us by train, but somehow got lost,” David remembers. “The carriage was finally found two days later in a siding in Shrewsbury.”

Altamira had already given David, then 19, his first county hunter title – ironically at the Shropshire showground, only a couple of miles from the spot where the train carriage had finally been found – but taught him another valuable lesson, too.

“Through Altamira, I learnt that you mustn’t do too much with four-year-olds,” he says. “They aren’t ready – in mind or body – for a full season. I overdid it with this horse and it soured him for the job. I’ve tried to make sure never to do that again.”

David has always been a committed enthusiast for young horses and would bring out at least one new youngster on a yearly basis.

“It saddens me now that there are so few four-year-old classes,” he laments. “There used to be upwards of 25 per year, all over the country; now, there are no more than four or five.”

Many of his horses were sourced at Royal Dublin, but were not necessarily the winners there.

“I once saw a horse in the collecting ring, waiting for the four-year-old middleweights,” he relates. “It had bucked its rider off and was trotting round loose. I was there with Roland Appleyard, one of my owners, and we decided to try and buy it.

“There were more than 40 in the class and they were lined up in three rows. This horse was in the middle line and I spent the whole class praying the judges wouldn’t bring him forward, because we knew his price would go up. It was a heart-stopping moment when they stopped by him and deliberated, but eventually they walked on and the horse was sent out with the others – only the front line was placed then.

“We got him bought and then found he had a little string girth on. By the end of the week, it had rolled up like a piece of rope and if you touched it at all, he would buck like a bronco, which explained his behaviour.”

The horse was named Bunowen and went on to have a glittering career from the Tatlow yard, including landing two HOYS titles.

Other prolific hunters included Imperial Imp, H&H British Isles supreme champion at Royal Windsor in 2000; Royal and RIHS victor Sheer Delight; State Visit, Imperator, Otter Point and Bow River. He also had the hacks Lady Teller – who claimed the H&H HOYS title three years running in the late 1960s – and Hyde Park, champion at Richmond in 1965.

Things haven’t always gone to plan, though. “I once turned up to a show at Newbury, Berkshire, only to discover the horse – the Hall family’s Optimus – wasn’t even entered,” David recalls. “What made it worse was that his owners had driven all the way down from Newcastle just to see him compete!”

On another occasion, at RIHS, he was again left red-faced. “I’d been pulled in top on the small hunter Crown Of Crowns and instead of dismounting normally, I nonchalantly threw my leg over his neck,” he says ruefully. “Unfortunately, the horse threw his head up, my spur caught in one of his plaits, he spooked and I fell off the back – he trotted off happily and everyone roared with laughter. Nowadays you’d be eliminated, but back then, you had to stay in and face the shame!”

Pet hates

Although David clearly loved showing – and still does, albeit now through his family’s achievements rather than his own – he does have his pet hates.

“I was in a class once where a horse made a really bad noise, but still went on to win and then was champion. My owner – who’d been with me for a long time – was so disgusted that he sold all his horses and never owned a show animal again. That was a bad day for showing and I have hated biased judging ever since.

“I do believe in giving a judge another chance, though – after all, anyone can make a mistake sometimes. But if a similar thing happens three times, you can see a pattern and I wouldn’t take my horse under them again.”

David never formally retired from the ring. “It was a gradual process for me,” he says. “It started the year my second wife Gilly died – in 2007 – when a part of me died with her. And as Loraine began to do more showing, I did less – I realised she was better than me. I also didn’t want people to think of me as “that old man” in the ring.

“During my showing career, the odd bad thing did happen, but I’d say that 95% of the times I had were good. How many people can say that about their job?”

He does still have one major regret, though – and it has nothing to do with winning prizes.

“I’ve always thought there are too many showing organisations doing similar things, and I spent years trying to bring about an amalgamation between Sport Horse Breeding (SHB) and the British Show Horse Association (BSHA),” he says. “When I was BSHA president and Ian Darcy was chairman, we nearly got it sorted – we’d booked a room for a final meeting with SHB and Ian had even bought his train ticket. Then at the last minute, the meeting was cancelled.

“When this current situation [coronavirus] is finally resolved, a lot of things will have changed. People won’t have nearly as much money to spend on showing – and may well not want to do it at all – so there won’t ever be a better time to try to get the situation reorganised. If this could happen, I really would die a happy man.”

Robert Oliver on David…

One of David’s main rivals was Robert Oliver, who usually calls him “Tat”.

“One of Tat’s advantages was his background – his father, Harry, was an amazing horseman and taught both David and his brother so much,” Robert says. “And because Tat was also a jockey, this varied experience was invaluable.

“He was also naturally flamboyant and rode every horse to the best of its ability. He’d out-gallop most of the professionals, too – some tended to gallop with the handbrake still partly on, but David would come round the corner and scatter us all. Some judges liked it, but some didn’t!

“We became great friends outside the ring, but fierce opponents in it. I was once at the Royal Show on a four-year-old called Masterful and was pulled in second. David was pulled in sixth and, of course, he didn’t like that. When he stripped his horse, he had a white numnah and slung this and the saddle on the barrier dividing the ring. My horse kept spooking with the ride-judge, so I got dropped and he moved up. I was very, very cross.”

Bill Smith on David…

Former National Hunt jockey Bill Smith has been a great friend and supportive owner for many years.

“One of the reasons David was so successful was that he left nothing to chance,” says Bill. “He also never worried about changing his way with a horse if it wasn’t working out.

“I’d ridden his racehorses a few times and one October, a jump meeting at Fakenham clashed with HOYS, so he asked me to go and ride his four runners so he could compete at Wembley. I won with three; it was his first treble as a trainer and mine as a jockey, but all he said to me was, ‘What happened to the other horse?’

“While the races were running, David was in the cinder ring with his hacks, but he kept running across the road to the betting shop so he could listen to how we were getting on. He must have been quite a sight, all togged up in breeches, boots, top hat and tailcoat.”

David Walters on David…

“As a judge, I’ve ridden lots of David’s horses, and you always knew they had been produced for a judge to ride,” David Walters says. “They went forward and carried you; they felt they were just on the boil, which I loved.

“He was always particular about limbs, too – they’d tend to have lovely flat bone and clean joints in correct alignment. I also loved the way he could just leave them to stand in line on their own, with their reins on their neck, while he went off to chat to someone.

“David was always very competitive and once, when I was judging, he pulled himself into line in top before being asked. I wasn’t having that, so I signalled to the steward to send him back out again and pulled him in about sixth. But his was by far the best horse and went very well, so it did eventually win – but he never tried that trick with me again.”

David’s favourite horses…

“My all-time favourite was a 14hh pony called Nutmeg, who came to me via Bill Smith,” says David. “She got Loraine back riding and restored her confidence after she’d had a couple of nasty falls. She was a fantastic hunting pony, too, and if it hadn’t been for her, my grandchildren probably wouldn’t be as enthusiastic as they are. Nutmeg even came to Loraine’s wedding.

“Another was a racehorse called Mystery Gold. He was very sound and a good eater, but the main thing was his bravery. The word ‘defeat’ just wasn’t in his dictionary. He was my special friend.

“To choose a show horse is really difficult as I’ve been privileged to have had so many lovely ones and I wouldn’t want to offend any of my owners. But Zapatek would be well up there – he was the leading middleweight of the 1970s but wasn’t easy; he was difficult to mount and dismount.

“I emptied my bank account to buy him from George Chapman; this began a friendship that lasts to this day and I eventually sold him to Di Turner. He won three times at the Royal and Great Yorkshire.”

Ref Horse & Hound; 30 April 2020

Mark Todd was already an all-time great when he retired for the first time, in 2000. But when his comeback yielded yet another Badminton winner and further Olympic tilts, he cemented his supremacy, says Catherine Austen

When the FEI awarded Mark Todd the title of Rider of the Century in 2000, it seemed a beautifully apt way to round off a lengthy, glittering career. He retired back to his native New Zealand and it seemed as though the eventing phase of his life was finished.

Not even his most ardent fans could have predicted that, 11 years later, he would pull off possibly his greatest achievement – a fourth Badminton victory 31 years after his first. That win, on NZB Land Vision, encapsulated everything that makes Sir Mark – knighted in 2013 – a truly great sportsman.

It underscored the fact that he had lost none of his courage, ability, “feel” and fitness at the age of 55 – plenty of his fellow competitors weren’t even born when he first lifted that iconic trophy. But, even more meaningfully, it demonstrated that he could adapt and raise his game to meet the demands of a sport that had changed considerably in his absence. His competitive edge was once more honed to razor-sharpness.

“It was undoubtedly one of my most special moments,” says Mark. “When Blyth Tait said he was going to make his comeback, I told him not to do it. If I had known how difficult it was going to be, I probably wouldn’t have done it. A lot of people said that eventing had changed, I wouldn’t be able to do it… that made me even more determined. That win made it all worthwhile.”

Significant turning points

To relate all Mark’s achievements would take considerably more than one article – he has, after all, published two full autobiographies. There have been scores of horses, all of whom have contributed something to the story. There are, however, a handful who stand out because they illustrate the most significant turning points in this multi-chaptered career.

His mount for that 2011 Badminton was NZB Land Vision, a 10-year-old he had bought from Oliver Townend.

“He was a very talented and genuine horse ,” says Mark, who took Blenheim’s eight- and nine-year-old CCI4*-S on him in 2010.

“I was pretty confident he would go well at Badminton. He did a very nice test, and was giving me a good ride across country. But a lot of horses finished very tired that year, and as we came away from the Lake, he didn’t feel as full of running as he should have done. Going towards the Quarry, the thought went through my mind, ‘Should I pull up?’”

Mark’s long, angular frame is unmistakable across country, and he had to use all his skill and balance to help the flagging grey through the Quarry. But the downhill run from there put some petrol back in the tank, and the pair galloped over the finish line with only a handful of time-faults.

Land Vision bounced his way through the final trot-up, and showjumped clear to win, to the delight of everyone in the sport.

Mark says: “I remember Lucinda Green, who has been a great mate for a long time, standing in the chute out of the main arena, and she caught my eye. I just took my hands off my reins and shrugged as if to say, ‘How the hell did that happen?’”

Comeback king

The NZB in Land Vision’s name stands for Sir Peter Vela and his brother Philip’s New Zealand Bloodstock. Sir Peter had backed Mark when, in the winter of 2007, a comeback to ride at the 2008 Olympics had first been suggested, and had extended that support afterwards.

“Peter didn’t come to many competitions, but he was there for Badminton,” remembers Mark. “I don’t think he realised the enormity of it. He’s had big racing winners all round the world, and he said he had more texts congratulating him than when he had won any major race.”

That comeback had started as a joke, and then turned into a personal challenge – but Mark hadn’t anticipated it mutating into a second career.

He says, wryly: “The funny thing is that I was very happy with my life in New Zealand. I hadn’t really followed eventing much during my retirement. Tinks Pottinger [on the bronze medal-winning team with Mark at the 1988 Olympics] and Erik Duvander were visiting South Island to teach and stayed with us. One night after a few drinks they mooted the idea of me trying to find a horse for the Olympics the following year.

“I said, ‘You find me the horse and I’ll think about it.’ I thought nothing more of it until I got a call around Christmas from Mary Hamilton, who had been on our 1978 World Championships team in Kentucky – she was now one of the selectors – saying she heard I was looking for a horse for the Olympics. I said no, I wasn’t, and she said, ‘I think I’ve found one.’”

That was Gandalf, a grey 10-year-old who had won at CCI4*-S level with New Zealand rider Angela Lloyd.

“That started me thinking, ‘Perhaps I could have a go,’” says Mark.

Mark had trained racehorses for Sir Peter, and he could visualise the link – the equestrian part of the Olympics was going to take place in Hong Kong where New Zealand Bloodstock had a lot of business, the event would be on the racecourse…

“I rang Peter and put the proposition to him. He said he’d arrived at the races and was about to open his first bottle of champagne… give him time to think about it. He rang me back five minutes later and said, ‘Yes, we’ll do it.’ I didn’t have an excuse after that!”

Of course, Mark had to start his qualifications to ride at the Olympics from scratch and achieve them in a very short time-frame.

“If at any stage we had missed a qualification, or the horse had got as much as a stone bruise and missed a run, the whole plan would have gone out of the window,” he explains.

However, every milestone was met and every box ticked. Mark was selected for the New Zealand team and he and Gandalf flew to Hong Kong.

“I’d been away from the sport for eight years. I’d done half a dozen events to qualify. Then the New Zealand team draws the number one spot and I was number one to go in the team,” he laughs. “I have to say, I did feel a bit daunted heading out on the cross-country.”

The New Zealand team ended up in fifth place, and Mark jumped a double clear, finishing as New Zealand’s second-highest placed rider.

“The Velas had had a great time at the Olympics, and Peter said to me, ‘If you want to do this, why don’t we buy some more horses and do it properly, and aim for London 2012?’ So it was all his fault!”

The story of Charisma

Mark’s talent for spotting potential, and of coaxing it out of unlikely sources, is perfectly illustrated by the story of Charisma, the “fat pony” who won him two individual Olympic golds.

“Charisma was the kindest, friendliest horse,” says Mark. “Yet to ride, he had a really strong will. He and I would have an argument in the school and both of us would come out of the arena with steam coming out of our ears.

“For a little horse [15.3hh] he was incredibly strong. He would put his head on his chest and run.

“He loved people. When he retired, he went on this tour of New Zealand with my head girl Helen Gilbert and he met disabled kids, old people, and was always so gentle with them. But you wouldn’t put a novice rider on him to do anything more than a walk or trot.”

Charisma, mostly full thoroughbred with a dash of Percheron, finished second at Badminton twice, won Saumur, Luhmühlen and the British Open Championships as well as those gold medals in Los Angeles and Seoul. It was the latter, aged 16, which Mark thinks was the performance of his career.

“He was an incredibly tough, sound horse,” says Mark. “He was permanently on a diet – he was nicknamed Podge for a reason, and could live on the smell of an oily rag.

“In Seoul, I had this feeling of déjà vu. Everything just felt right. He probably did the best test of his career; the H&H reporter Pegotty Henriques wrote that Charisma’s test was more technically correct than that of the winner of the grand prix dressage, Nicole Uphoff and Rembrandt, which made me feel quite good.

“The sad thing is that when you look at it now, the test was so basic. Medium trot on a 20m circle, which we used to call the ‘wall of death’, a bit of half-pass, extended trot and counter canter. God forbid you did a change!”

Mark and Charisma shared the lead after dressage with an Italian rider, who arguably benefited from some partisan judging from one of his countrymen, but by the final day they had a comfortable margin of three showjumps in hand.

“I think he had the fastest time and the quickest recovery rate across country; he was an incredible athlete with amazing heart and lung capacity – I’m sure he could have won a 3½-mile steeplechase,” says Mark.

One showjump down handed them their second individual Olympic title.

“I was the second person in history to do that on same horse,” says Mark. “The first was a Dutchman, Charles Pahud du Mortanges on Marcoix in 1928 and 1932, and I had lovely message from his widow congratulating me. I can’t say I sent Michi Jung a lovely message when he did it in 2012 and 2016 – perhaps I should have done…”

Charisma lived until the age of 30, when he sadly broke a shoulder in the field on Mark and Carolyn’s farm in New Zealand in 2003.

“Two weeks earlier I’d done a demo on him at a charity polo event for Kenny Brown, who’d lent me my first pony and who had been paralysed in an accident. I’d done some tempi changes and jumped a little jump on him,” Mark says.

“He’s buried on the farm. We got this really cool headstone, which the people who now own the property keep really nice, and they say that people still come to visit his grave.”

Brilliance as a rider

Mark won Burghley five times – on Wilton Fair in 1987, Face The Music in 1990, Welton Greylag in 1991, Broadcast News in 1997 and Diamond Hall Red in 1999 – and Badminton four times, starting with Southern Comfort in 1980 and concluding with NZB Land Vision’s 2011 triumph.

In between came the two Badmintons that perhaps sum up both his brilliance as a rider and the extraordinary nature of eventing as a sport.

In 1994 he took the catch ride on Horton Point, whom he had never ridden before the week of Badminton, and whose fairytale victory, aged 16, meant so much, emotionally and financially, to his owners Ros and Lynne Bevan.

And in 1996 he took it again, this time on the former Nicky Henderson-trained racehorse and chronic head-shaker Bertie Blunt.

“That was justice all round, certainly for the horse, who was exceptional,” says Mark.

The pair had had “a lot of near-misses”, first at Burghley in 1994 when, having jumped clear inside time across country, they were belatedly eliminated for missing a flag on the roads and tracks.

“Allegedly – if I had, it maybe saved me all of 10yd,” insists Mark. “I was furious. I know the rules are the rules, but I never should have been allowed to start the cross-country.”

Then, the following spring, Mark’s stirrup leather famously snapped at Badminton, just before the Vicarage Vee. They continued, Mark hitching his leg up almost on to the pommel between fences, and finished clear inside the time to go into second.

Mark relates: “That evening he was lame behind. Everyone thought it was his back, that I’d been thumping around and he’d pulled a muscle. A week later this huge abscess burst out of his foot. If they’d found it in time, we could have got it drained and treated and he might have won Badminton that year.

“There I was, with this amazing horse who could have possibly won two major three-day events and I hadn’t finished either one.”

Mark was desperate to right that at Badminton in 1996 – and did so. “No horse deserved it more – he was so genuine,” says Mark.

A new venture

Just a handful of riders have competed in more than one discipline at the Olympics, and even fewer in more than one at the same Games. Mark showjumped as well as evented at both the 1988 Seoul Olympics – on Bago and Charisma – and that whetted his appetite for another go four years later in Barcelona.

“Double Take was a station-bred horse from New Zealand and half trotter,” says Mark. “I had incredible fun with him, and won a lot on the county show circuit. I’d time it to rock up for the grand prix, he’d go and win it and I’d take off again. The showjumpers used to get really pissed off with me!”

Double Take won Mark a World Cup qualifier in Helsinki, finished second in the British grand prix at Hickstead to Milton and jumped in the massive grand prix at Spruce Meadows. Even Mark admits that Olympic showjumping tracks are “huge”, and Double Take’s form had dropped a little at just the wrong time before Barcelona.

“Bago had made the final in Seoul, but Double Take didn’t unfortunately, and after that I decided I couldn’t really concentrate on both disciplines,” he says.

In 2019 Mark retired from eventing for the second and, he says, final time. He and his wife Carolyn have set up a new venture training Flat horses from their yard near Marlborough.

He admits: “The thing with me is that I actually love riding and I love competing. That’s where I get the real buzz. It’s great training a winner of a good race, but you do all the hard work and then you stick some one else on [for the race] and they get all the fun! But I’m ready to get over that now…”

It may be on two feet, rather than in the saddle, that Mark’s equestrian career continues, but it’s certainly a story that isn’t finished yet.

Blyth Tait on Mark…

“What was impressive to his fellow competitors was that he had a lot of success with horses that didn’t match his own talent,” says Blyth, who was on numerous New Zealand teams with Mark, including those which won gold at the 1990 and 1998 World Equestrian Games. “He made whatever he had successful; often we’d say we weren’t fans of a particular horse, and that would make him more determined to get the best out of it.

“Success never went to his head. He is comfortable with people from all walks of life – he was always just one of the gang, and stayed exactly the person he was before he was successful.”

Ginny Elliot on Mark…

“He’s always been a very positive person,” says Ginny. “I don’t think he looks ahead and thinks, ‘Oh, what if…’; he thinks, ‘It will be fine,’ and it always is!

“I was with him when Charisma arrived. I thought, ‘He’s jolly sweet, but you’re going to need rollerskates to ride him.’ But, typically, Mark thought, ‘Why not?’, and there you go, he became a double Olympic champion.

“He’s very modest, but confident with it, without ever being arrogant. He’s a strong character, but is also very kind and thoughtful.

“His wife Carolyn is a wonderful supporter and team player. She also has that attitude of ‘it’ll be all right on the night’, and they are a great combination.”

A Classic winner

During his first “retirement” from eventing, Mark trained in New Zealand and, in just his second season, achieved the Holy Grail – a Classic winner.

He bought Bramble Rose as a yearling at Karaka Sale in 2001. “There was something about her – she marched up and down with her ears pricked,” says Mark.

She won on her second start at three, and earned her place in the New Zealand Oaks.

“The jockey who had been riding her all along smashed his foot against the stalls in an earlier race, so I had to find a last-minute replacement and we ended up with Opie Bosson, a very good jockey who had been out for a while and had just started riding again,” he says. “He gave her a beautiful ride and we won. It was very cool.”

Mark took her to Australia, where she finished second in another Group One, and she was one of the favourites for the Australian Oaks. A shoeing issue upset her foot balance and although she finished third, she broke down.

“But she won half a million in stakes, having cost about $32,000, and we sold her very well as a broodmare. She was a very good buy.”

Sir Peter Vela on Mark

“My lasting memory of when NZB Land Vision won Badminton is, when sitting round the lorry chatting afterwards, the number of other competitors who came up and who were genuinely delighted for Mark – I’ve never seen that in any other sport, and I thought it was remarkable,” says Sir Peter.

“He has a skill and affinity with and understanding of the horse that I’ve never seen in anybody else. He’s gifted. I have no doubt that he will be outstanding at training racehorses again. He’s a genius – what more can I say?”

Mark’s career in numbers

4 Badminton wins

5 Burghley wins

2 individual Olympic golds

2 team world golds

6 Olympic medals overall

7 Olympic appearances

28 years: the gap between first and last Olympic medals

Ref Horse & Hound; 23 April 2020

From his early days on a dairy farm to the giddy heights of the Olympics, David Broome is one of Britain’s finest ever showjumpers. Penny Richardson charts his career

It’s almost impossible to imagine it now, but in the 1960s and ’70s families sat down in front of their TVs in their millions to watch a young Welsh showjumper and his counterpart from Yorkshire take on and beat the rest of the world.

In those heady days of prime-time showjumping on the BBC, everyone had heard of David Broome and Harvey Smith. They were national heroes whose exploits in and out of the ring made the sort of headlines now reserved for other sports.

The public adored David Broome. In 1960, he was only 20 when he was voted Sportsview Sports Personality of the Year. In 2007, he received a “National Treasure” award from Alan Titchmarsh’s ITV show and only seven years ago, ITV Wales broadcast a documentary on David’s life.

So what made this unassuming man such a legend? In the 1950s, showjumping was often confined to people from privileged backgrounds. Then along came David and Harvey. They are of a similar age – David turned 80 last month, while Harvey is just over a year older – and neither was from a “typical” equestrian family.

David McPherson Broome CBE was born in Cardiff, the son of Fred Broome and his Scottish wife, Millie. Although Fred was a greengrocer, his father had worked with horses.

“My grandfather was coachman to a vet in Pembroke and was in a cavalry regiment during World War I. Father inherited his love of horses and there was always a horse or two around,” remembers David. “My parents were real grafters. Father had a greengrocer’s shop in Cardiff and, in World War II, he also worked for the fire service at Cardiff docks. He used to go to the wholesalers every morning, buy the goods, then go to his other job while Mother ran the shop.”

Fred always dreamt of being a farmer and the family moved to a dairy farm next to Chepstow racecourse.

“Father had a dairy herd, but milking both ends of the day got the better of him. He turned to buying and selling horses and ponies and that business grew. He supplied the cobs for the London milk float trade, but it was mostly ponies he was known for,” says David. “Anne Hammond [a top breeder and judge] from Newmarket was one of his biggest customers. She kept records and she ended up buying 465 ponies from Dad.”

Before going to their new homes, every pony was tried over fences, which was David’s job. Then in 1947, the family moved to the Mount Ballan Manor estate in the Monmouthshire village of Crick, which is still their home. David and his younger siblings Liz, Mary and Frederick then had strings of ponies to compete.

“I rode the ponies first and then they were passed down. That’s how we learnt our trade,” says David. “Liz was 10 times more motivated than me and if I didn’t try hard enough, she pinched my rides. She was the one who kicked my bum into gear!”

David’s role model was his father: “We called Mother our ‘picnic packer’ because she looked after everything at home while we travelled to shows. We probably got her onto a horse twice, but riding wasn’t for her. Father travelled with me for 15 years and was a wonderful horseman. He understood horses and I don’t know what I would have done without him. Every time I rode, I got a lesson from Father. I’ve never ridden for pleasure. It’s always been a job and, because we needed the money, Father taught me how to win.”

The dealing business also helped the young David to become an adaptable rider.

“I had three ponies who all went completely differently, but were little clear-round machines,” he says. “In those days, there was none of this against-the-clock lark. Instead, the classes were all three rounds and everyone who jumped three clears shared first place. At most shows, I ended up jumping nine rounds, which was very hard work. We had two saddles, so the only rest I got was when we changed them over.”

A big break

When David moved on to horses, he got his big break through a gelding bought for £60 from the King’s Troop. Wildfire was supremely talented, but had lived up to his name with a number of different riders. With David, he went on to become Britain’s leading money winner in 1959.

“He was a naughty boy when we first got him, but he was also a wonderful horse and, by God, I’ve only just realised how lucky I was to have him,” says David. “He’d been trained for eventing, so his flatwork was superb and he was so balanced and careful. The clock had just been introduced and because Wildfire was so well schooled, we pulled off turns no one else could attempt.”

Fred’s help again proved invaluable when David moved on to the horse scene.

“He often worked my horses and when I got on them, they were already riding well and mouthed up,” says David. “Father was also in charge of the feeding. Every horse got nuts, bran and oats. If they were too sharp, they got less oats and if they were stuffy they got more. That was it.”

In 1960, David and Wildfire were shortlisted for the Rome Olympics, but around six weeks before the Games he acquired a new mount.

Sunsalve was a three-quarter thoroughbred by the HIS Premium sire Skoiter. He was owned by his breeder, Oliver Anderson, and had been ridden successfully by Oliver’s daughter, Elizabeth, with whom he won the Queen Elizabeth II Cup as a seven-year-old. Elizabeth retired from the saddle after her marriage, but Sunsalve hadn’t gelled with any new rider.

“I first saw him with Pat Smythe in the Olympic trial at Ninian Park, Cardiff. They won, but Father said Sunsalve would never jump for Pat again. He was right. They were eliminated at their next two shows and what Father meant was that instead of Pat controlling Sunsalve, he had control of her,” remembers David. “We delivered a batch of ponies to Anne Hammond and Father asked her if she knew the Anderson family from Norfolk, as he was wondering if they needed a rider for Sunsalve. Anne phoned Oliver, we went to see him, Father and he got on famously and I got the ride.”

Within a fortnight, the new pair had won the King George V Cup at the Royal International. They were then selected for the Olympics, where they brought home bronze, Britain’s first ever individual showjumping Olympic medal. Famously, they were among only two pairs to clear an almost unjumpable treble combination with a one-and-a-half-stride distance between the final two elements.

“Sunsalve was an unbelievable horse and I was incredibly lucky to get him at exactly the right time in my career. He had to be ridden with the flair of youth. By that, I mean you had to let him think he was in charge. He had to do it his way and had I been older and more experienced, I might have tried to change that, which would never have worked,” says David.

‘He thought he was the king’

A second Olympic medal came David’s way in 1968, when he travelled to Mexico with the Massarella family’s Mr Softee, already the winner of two European Championship titles.

“Mr Softee had a big opinion of himself. He thought he was the king and he was right,” says David.

After David took individual bronze in the opening competition and teammate Marion Mould (née Coakes) won silver with her fabulous pony Stroller, the three-man British squad had a huge lead going into round two of the team competition. Mr Softee jumped two great rounds, as did Harvey Smith’s Madison Time. Then disaster. Suffering from a tooth infection, Stroller was eliminated and Britain went out.

“We were heartbroken. We finished up with nothing after the gold medal was so nearly in our hands,” says David, ruefully.

Four years later, David was flagbearer for the British team at the Munich Olympics, but he had to endure a 16-year break before another Olympic appearance.

Unlike many other nations, Britain had followed the spirit of the law and our top riders were ruled ineligible for the Games as they were jumping for prize-money and classed as professional. The rule was eventually changed, and in 1988 David went to his final Olympics, in Seoul. He came close to two more medals, riding Countryman into equal fourth place individually and just missing out on team bronze.

By this time, David’s name was linked with Lord Harris, now owner of Scott Brash’s horses and with whom David has enjoyed a 51-year-and-counting friendship. It was David who suggested Hello Sanctos as a perfect ride for Scott.

“I first met Phil Harris in Barcelona in 1969. I was on the [Nations Cup] team with George Hobbs, who then rode for him, and Phil said he’d like to buy me a horse,” says David. “It took a year to find one and that didn’t turn out very good. He then persuaded me to sell him Sportsman, who became one of my best ever horses.”

Lord Harris also owned Philco, another of David’s superstar rides.

“In 1972, [dealer] Frank Kernan, Phil and I travelled to America to try another horse,” says David. “That one wasn’t suitable, so Frank suggested we look for a young horse to avoid wasting our journey. Philco was the talk of the show. Rodney Jenkins had managed to buy him only the day before, but Phil persuaded Rodney to part with him.

“My life certainly changed for the better on the day I met Phil.”

Philco was previously a racehorse in America. He retired with a stellar showjumping record and lived with David until he was 32. “I love a thoroughbred. They’re quick thinking and active and, if they have the right mind, there’s not a better horse,” says David.

‘That’s it’

Typically, this modest man didn’t finish his own career with a great flourish.

“My final class was a fun pair relay at Gatcombe Horse Trials. I partnered my son, Matthew, and I can’t even remember the name of the horse I rode. I didn’t go there expecting it to be the last time, but when we got home that evening I said: ‘That’s it’ – and it was,” he says.

It was Fred Broome’s ambition to build a top showjumping venue in Wales and his showground, now the David Broome Event Centre, opened in 1968.

It is still a family concern, with David, his wife Liz, and their three sons all involved.

“I’m exceptionally proud of them all,” says David, whose riding days are now over. “Horses are dangerous,” he jokes.

David is amazed to hear that racing journalist Marcus Armytage once called him “the David Beckham of the 1960s,” in a feature for the Daily Telegraph.

“That’s very kind of him and I’m extremely flattered, but I wish I’d earned the same sort of money!” he laughs.

However, it’s true to say that the original David’s life has also been shaped by extraordinary sporting talent. There truly is only one David Broome.

Malcolm Pyrah on David…

“I was on winning World and European Championship teams with David and he was the ultimate professional. He never panicked and had nerves of steel, which is such a great asset. I used to get much more nervous than him. People might have thought him lazy, but I didn’t. He was just laid-back and a great team man.

“Some riders called David ‘Basil’ after a story he loved to relate. He arrived at the Royal Show one year and tried to park his car where he shouldn’t. ‘I’m David Broome,’ he told the security man.

Quick as anything, the man replied: ‘I don’t care if you’re Basil Brush. You’re still not parking here!’”

David on Harvey Smith…

“I saw Harvey first on TV before I met him at British Timken show in 1958. From the moment we met, we became best mates. Harvey taught me a lot because he was so determined. It was war between us in the ring and afterwards, win or lose, we were friends again. Harvey was a much better loser than me and a much worse winner because he could get impossibly cocky. I think we were good for each other and I hope we both played a part in supporting our sport in a small way.

“We had a lot of time on our hands when we competed and Harvey and I sometimes tried to play golf. We had absolutely no talent. We were the golfing equivalent of someone riding a donkey on the beach!”

‘My heroine’

“Pat Smythe lived in Gloucestershire and used to come to the shows in Wales. She was my heroine and was way ahead of her time, she made the job look so easy. I saw her first riding a short-legged stocky little cob and I thought if she could get that horse round, she’d always be worth watching. She did and after that I tried to copy her.”

“I still watch showjumping and although horses are now trained better, the fences are still the same or even smaller than in my day – we jumped 1.70m fences at Rome in 1960.

“The courses are more technical and the material is lighter, but when you look at other sports the record is always being broken. I wonder where course-builders can go to move showjumping forward?”

“Sunsalve was a flashy horse and probably the early equivalent of Milton as far as the public was concerned. I tried incredibly hard to buy Milton, but looking back it was probably a good thing that I failed.

“Milton had to be ridden in a certain way that suited John Whitaker perfectly. It was lucky for them both that they found each other, as I wouldn’t have been able to adapt.”

David’s favourite horse…

“I was very lucky and rode many superstars, but my favourite by far was Sportsman. I was at Frank Kernan’s place in Northern Ireland when I looked out of the kitchen window and saw a five-year-old jumping a little fence. It was one of those moments when lights flash and bells ring and I had to have him. Sportsman was such a lovely character. He was a friend to me and so intelligent. He always gave his best.”

Firsts and records

• First British equestrian to become Sports Personality
  of the Year
• First British showjumper to win an individual Olympic medal
• First British showjumper to be individual world champion
• First British showjumper to be individual European champion
• One of only two riders to win three individual European Championships
• Winner of British Showjumping lifetime achievement award
• Appointed president of British Showjumping in 2013

David’s career in numbers

1 Hickstead Derby

2 Olympic medlas

5 Olympic appearances

5 World Championship medals

6 King George V Gold Cups

6 British National Championships

7 European Championships medals

9 World Cup qualifier wins

15 major international grand prix wins

Ref Horse & Hound; 16 April 2020

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