On most mornings Terry fed the wild ducks and ducklings up the lane, or took bowls of corn to throw out of his car window for the pheasants and partridges in the fields. When sitting in his truck, close to the gallops, and waiting for horses to appear, he watched the daily habits of the wild birds around him, marvelling at the red kites gliding in the thermals and the buzzards swooping down on their prey: field mice, baby rabbits or rotting carcasses. He continued to hate foxes because they killed our chickens and ducks in the yard. If he saw a fox ambling across the fields he would tell me exactly which way it had gone. He was fascinated by the large numbers of hares that lived on the farm. They are beautiful animals and seem to pair up for life, and it always upset Terry if he found a dead hare, because more often than not its mate would be sitting beside it. He would never shoot a hare. Yet he often shot the rabbits, which did untold damage to my schooling fences by burrowing into them and digging holes in the turf on the take-offs and landings.
Terry never missed anything during his mornings beside the gallops. He would return to the farmhouse at lunchtime and relay endless new observations. Not only would he tell me, in great detail, how the horses had gone or how the riders had ridden, but he also described the wildlife. He watched all the David Attenborough programmes on the television.
On one occasion, when we attended a special dinner in London’s Natural History Museum, courtesy of philanthropist Charles Cadogan, he was fascinated by our tour of the special exhibits in the vaults.
Terry analysed the everyday lives of animals in the same way that he studied people. He told me that, when he was racing, he enjoyed getting into the minds of the horses he rode. This was unusual, since most jockeys tend to treat their horses as numbers on a board. Terry, however, maintained that every horse is different and needs understanding. He never labelled a horse as being ungenuine, but believed that if one of the horses he rode ran an inexplicably bad race, then something was hurting it. He was seldom wrong – especially, in later life, when he watched our horses. For example, if a horse held its head high in the closing stages of a race, he suspected it was struggling for oxygen and suffering from a breathing defect. When horses repeatedly jumped badly, or hung to the right or left, he suspected back or tooth pain. Terry believed that no horse is born bad, but that human beings are often responsible for their behavioural changes in later life.
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During Terry’s first year at West Lockinge, my whole life changed. He was a tremendous help to me with the training of the racehorses. He had such a wide knowledge of how horses should look and perform, and we developed an excellent working relationship, dividing our daily duties. From the day I began training in 1989, I had always given the horses their breakfast feeds at an early hour. It is a good time to observe them; it is peaceful and there are no staff around. It is the perfect opportunity to examine horses’ legs and assess their general well-being. I always felt for any heat in the legs and feet – a sign that something was not right. I would see whether or not my charges had eaten up their feeds from the previous evening, and if there was still food in the manger I knew that something was wrong. Either the horse had been given too much to eat, or else he was off-colour. However, horses can leave their feeds purely due to the stress of travelling or racing, so I monitored the leavers carefully and took their temperatures.
Terry greatly enjoyed helping me with the early morning feeding regime. We would get up around 5.15 a.m. and be in the yard at 5.45 a.m. – sometimes earlier. He never missed a day. Once the five alarm clocks in the bedroom had rung, he made sure I got out of bed. I was always the last to get up, as I could get dressed very quickly. Terry was noticeably slower and took ages to sort out his clothes, but he was always the first to throw off the bedclothes. I hated getting up in the mornings, and still do, but I never missed a day.
The breakfast feeding was fun, informative and entertaining. At one point we had over eighty horses in training and we divided the yard into two halves. Terry fed the geese and ducks around the pond before we started pushing our trolleys. At night there was always a light shining across the yard, which meant we could see where we were going in those early mornings, yet Terry frequently got on the wrong side of Nobby, the Chinese gander, who would creep up behind him and viciously peck him on his leg or bottom. This bird was – and still is – a great character. He makes a lot of noise and quickly senses danger. He is the gander that gets all the ducks onto the pond when a fox appears and is the yard mascot. Geese can live a long time, and our last farmyard gander, Grandad, died when he was thirty-five years old.
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We had a number of disturbances during our breakfast rounds. The top barn usually housed about a dozen bantam cockerels, which roosted on the lovely old beams above the horses’ stables. When we turned on the lights, they thought it was daytime and the crowing began. At times in the mornings, neither Terry nor I could hear ourselves speak. There was plenty of swearing.
On one occasion, in midwinter, when it was bitterly cold and frosty, I well remember feeding my horses at the end of the barn and letting out a scream. There was a man huddled up in the corner of the stable – presumably a tramp. He was lying in the shavings and never moved when I opened the door. I yelled to Terry to come and help me and eventually the intruder stood up, shook himself and apologised. Terry fired questions at him and gave him plenty of abuse. The swear words were red-hot. The intruder told us that he had been lost in the night and could see lights at the farm. He had climbed in through the tiny window for shelter and warmth. When I found him, my heart missed a beat. It was extremely scary and I am not one of the bravest. However, the man seemed harmless and proceeded to leave the buildings and walk back to Wantage. We informed the police, but they were not at all interested – just another waif and stray. Surprisingly, the horse in that stable was unperturbed and continued to eat his breakfast as though nothing had happened.
As well as overseeing the morning feeding, Terry proved invaluable when it came to watching horses on the gallops. He drove his truck to a suitable vantage point, observed everybody, then reported back to me – by this time he had managed to master his car phone and mine was the only number he had to dial. He could see whether the horses needed more work and whether or not certain lads, lasses or jockeys got on with the horses they rode. He was quick to correct the riders and give them advice. He would put down his truck window, lean out in his scruffy old green Husky jacket and shout to them. He rarely got out of his vehicle unless there was a loose horse to be caught and somebody to be legged back into the saddle. While sitting and waiting for horses to appear on the gallops he tuned into Radio 5 and listened to all the news and topics of interest. I was always surprised by how much information he gleaned.
Terry drove three different trucks during his years at West Lockinge Farm. The first and third were Daihatsus – they had plenty of batterings, but he didn’t seem to care when they were scratched and dented. The interiors were always dirty and untidy. Dust from the open windows covered all sorts of rubbish: buckets, head collars, ropes, farmyard tools and so on. If I ever asked our weekly car cleaner, Malcolm, to tidy up one of Terry’s trucks, there was plenty of opposition. Terry would curse and swear for days afterwards, especially if the radio programme had been changed or the numerous old copies of the Daily Sport that had been stuffed into the pockets inside the doors had been thrown away. He used to enjoy browsing through what I called this pornographic newspaper while he waited in the fields to see more horses on the gallops. ‘Surely you’ve seen enough naked human bodies to keep you going for the rest of your life!’ I’d say to him. But he said that he never got bored of seeing new models and that everybody was different. Such are men.
The second truck Terry used on the gallops was a Land Rover Freelander, but he hated it and said it had far too many knobs inside. The truth was it was too sophisticated for him. A lot of the buttons were computerised and electronic. We had bought the car because of its superior performance and I hop
ed it would serve two purposes – work at home and journeys to the races. But that was wishful thinking. Terry only kept it for three months and, on one occasion, he got it well and truly stuck in a muddy gateway. The farm tractor had to pull him out. He only liked his battered Dahaitsus. They passed their MOTs each year and were fully licensed, but nobody ever volunteered to sit in the driver’s seat. I remember one day when Timmy Murphy, one of the top steeplechase jockeys, borrowed Terry’s truck after his own car had broken down. He drove it along the main road but brought it back almost at once, saying that it was dangerous. I think it frightened him because the steering and the brakes were tuned into Terry’s way of driving. For Timmy it must have been like riding a rough, mannerless horse and he had no patience with it.
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Having been through so many hardships as a jockey, Terry was extremely helpful and patient with the many jockeys who came to West Lockinge Farm during the days of our joint training venture. Some were aspiring young riders, others were well-established jockeys. He was always ready to give advice and constructive criticism. They respected him and listened to his comments, even if they might not have agreed wholeheartedly with what he said, or were surprised by his bluntness and the constant flow of swear words.
Terry spotted the talents of Jim Culloty when watching racing on the television at the kitchen table. He saw him ride one day at Fontwell in the early nineties and said at once, ‘That jockey has got what it takes to go further.’ At that time, Jim was only an amateur but he joined our yard in 1995. Personally, I had my doubts when Jim first arrived. He could barely tack up his horses correctly and often rode down the road with his girths so loose that the saddles slipped backwards dramatically and he had to bring his mount back to the yard to re-saddle it. I was always correcting Jim and, on many occasions, I was on the verge of losing my temper with him. He had endless bollockings, yet never seemed to improve.
Thankfully, however, he listened to Terry on the riding front. Not only was he given a huge amount of help on the gallops and on the schooling ground, where jumping is of prime importance, but he was well tutored by his mentor at the races. Jim won 227 races for us from West Lockinge Farm, including three Cheltenham Gold Cups on Best Mate, but he could never have achieved this without Terry’s help and belief in him. He must have taken in some of our advice, because he is now a successful trainer himself and has already saddled a Cheltenham Gold Cup winner.
In my early training days, Jason Titley rode over sixty-five winners for West Lockinge Farm. He and Terry got on well, but they had plenty of arguments. Jason was amazingly good-natured and used to take Terry’s abuse with a smile. He remembers many of the days when he worked horses for us on David Gandolfo’s neighbouring gallop. Terry habitually stood close to the end of the gallop and often shouted out to Jason afterwards, ‘You went too fast, you big Irish cunt! What are you doing? Trying to get feelers?’ In other words, he was trying to feel how fast the horses could go.
On another occasion, when Jason came to ride out on a Monday morning with Roger Marley, he was in poor shape. They had both been to the jockeys’ celebrations – The Lesters – the previous night and were noticeably the worse for wear. In fact, they had found it imperative to stop en route for one of them to be sick in a ditch before they got to the farm.
Terry came into the farmhouse and said to me, ‘You’d better change the list, Hen. Those fuckers are not fit to ride out.’ Then he went up to the two boys and said, ‘You’re in such a bad way, you’d better come into the kitchen and have a brandy.’
Another of my employees, Clare Allen, was always a good rider and Terry was, from day one, impressed by her style and her way with horses. Although she tended to be extremely vague and laid-back, she was allowed to school several horses at West Lockinge Farm, which she did well. When Clare left Lockinge, she spent a summer in France with well-known French trainer Guillaume Macaire, then went on to be point-to-point Ladies’ Champion in 2007.
Claire Hart was another of Terry’s pupils, and his tuition is still bearing fruit, because she rides plenty of Hunter Chase winners. She is a great person and she adored Terry. Finally, in our early training days, Paddy Young came over to us from Northern Ireland. He proved to be an exceptional horseman and educated many of our younger horses. He later moved to America, where he was Champion U.S. Jump Jockey on three occasions.
It was much later on that Aidan Coleman became one of Terry’s protégés. He did not join the yard until 2006, having been a leading rider on the pony-racing circuit in Ireland. He always looked good on a horse and was very stylish, but had done little jumping and hadn’t even ridden in point-to-points. It was my job to teach him and I gave him plenty of horses to ride in the loose jumping school. Fortunately, he picked up the techniques quickly and is now riding numerous winners. Terry watched him closely when he joined trainer Venetia Williams’ yard and was proud of him. They kept in touch with each other, and to this day Aidan maintains that Terry was a great help to him when he started in England.
‘I always rode short because I was tall, and Terry constantly told me to put down my leathers,’ he says. ‘On one occasion I was riding upsides two professional jockeys and I decided to put my stirrups up two holes. Yet, sharp as a razor, Terry noticed and gave me a piece of his mind. I always consider that Terry was a real jockeys’ man and he understood everything from a jockey’s point of view. He was sympathetic because he knew it all. The stories he used to tell me got me ready for the real world and his tips about what to say to owners and the general public added up. He told me always to dress smartly and to walk tall on a racecourse – never drag your toes. The first impressions are extremely important to owners and they need to have confidence in the jockeys who are riding their horses.’
Matty Batchelor was one of Terry’s favourites because of his brilliant attitude to life and wonderful sense of humour. He always called Terry, ‘Mr B’ and was one of the ushers at his funeral. The first thing Matty did after riding out was to put on a cookery apron. He would then fry up a huge breakfast for everybody – bacon, sausages, eggs, mushrooms, the lot. He was excellent in the kitchen and a few years later won a Channel 4 celebrity chef cookery contest, Come Dine With Me. Many of the jockeys enjoyed breakfast time at West Lockinge Farm.
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As a rule, I was in charge of the schooling, which comprised jumping the racehorses in a special field over practice hurdles and steeplechase fences. Terry sometimes found time to watch the horses on his way back from the gallops, but he usually opted out of the main sessions in the schooling field because he tended to get annoyed by the way in which some of the jockeys rode their horses. They often went too fast. He maintained that horses learn a lot more when they are jumped quietly and slowly, as it gives them time to think and work out their techniques.
Terry loved the loose school. Fred Rimell, for whom he had ridden in the sixties and seventies, had one at Kinnersley in Worcestershire, and Terry agreed that these enclosed jumping arenas are invaluable when teaching horses to jump. They learn to measure the obstacles and put themselves right on the take-offs without the impediment of riders on their backs. If they misjudge it, they pay the penalty by hitting the solid poles.
Jim Old, who later became a successful trainer, was with Fred Rimell from 1967–9. During that time he worked as a stable lad and Terry was riding at his peak. Jim got to know him well and remembers many of their times together. ‘It was never plain sailing,’ he says, ‘and there were plenty of disagreements between Terry and his boss.’
This I quite believe – nobody could ever tell Terry what to do. He always had to have the last word and was, in his own mind, never wrong. I often said to him, ‘Thank God I was never your teacher at school; you would have been impossible to teach!’
On one occasion Jim accompanied Terry to the schooling ground at Kinnersley. Terry was riding a horse that had lost its nerve in a race and Jim was riding the schoolmaster. Fred Rimell followed them to the field, then got out of
his truck brandishing a big whip, known to horsemen as a long tom. He said to Terry that his mount needed a good sorting out because it was too cautious at the obstacles. Terry totally disagreed and said that all he wanted to do was regain its confidence under quiet, sympathetic handling. They jumped a line of small steeplechase fences and all went well. Then they pulled up and began to walk back to the beginning in order to repeat the exercise but the boss man was standing beside the track brandishing his whip and ready to pounce.
Terry said to Jim, ‘When we get level with the guv’nor, trot past him as fast as you can so that he can’t hit my horse.’ As they went past Fred, he lurched forward to have a crack with the whip and fell flat on his face onto a sea of mud. He fell so awkwardly that he was unable to get back onto his feet quickly. Terry and Jim had rejumped the fences and were on their way home by the time he had recovered. Fred was furious and realised that Terry had tricked him. Terry never did like using a stick on horses unless it was really necessary – and in this case, it certainly was not.
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Terry hardly ever rode a horse in the days when I knew him, although he often longed to sort one out himself or to jump it over the steeplechase fences. However, he did volunteer to ride out once with one of my owners: Sir Anthony Scott. I trained a rather scatty, home-bred mare for him called Too Sharp, who won a number of races but was exceptionally lively and easily wound up. Nevertheless, Sir Anthony loved riding her and came over to the yard at weekends to hack her out. On one particular morning Terry decided to go with him on a horse of Chris Brasher’s called Storm North, which was a very sensible and relaxed individual.
They set off up to the Downs, but the mare was alarmed by the sight of some pigs in a field on the other side of the main road to Wantage. She immediately started playing up: whipping round and snorting. Sir Anthony was apparently dumped on the grass beside the point-to-point course and Too Sharp broke lose. Terry became the outrider on Storm North, captured her, and led her back. However, in his attempts to leg-up the fallen jockey, he managed to let go of his own horse. Both horses then took off at the gallop and set their sights for home. Miraculously, they were caught close to the Lockinge Estate grain dryer by an extremely helpful farmhand, but they had stepped on their reins and both bridles were broken. Sheepishly, Terry and Sir Anthony were forced to lead them home with bits of leather tied up with baler twine. Apparently I was seething with anger when they came back into the yard – probably more through shock than genuine outrage. Both horses could have been badly hurt and fallen over on the road, but fortunately they were unscathed and Too Sharp won another race three weeks later.
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