We had held the Best Mate Open Day in 2003 and due to its success, we had decided to hold an even bigger open day in 2004 – The Hen and Terry Charity Open Day. We knew that a large number of racing enthusiasts would flock to West Lockinge Farm to see the triple Gold Cup winner and it was an ideal opportunity to raise money for our chosen charities. The 19 September was a lovely sunny day. The horses looked superb and a bumper crowd of 7,000 people flocked to the farm. Everybody wanted to pat and stroke the champion and we built a special enclosure so that he could be viewed and photographed from every angle.
After that memorable Sunday, we decided that Best Mate would have his first outing for the new season at Exeter in the Haldon Gold Cup on 19 November. He duly won this race with Timmy Murphy riding, because Jim Culloty was out of action but, whereas he had won the same race in 2001 by twenty lengths, this time he only beat Seebald by a short head. It was a nerve-racking occasion and at one moment it looked as if the favourite would get beaten.
Maybe, following Best Mate’s third Gold Cup victory in 2004, we had been too easy on him at home and given him less work than usual during his preparation. We had installed a Martin Collins gallop during the summer months and the horses had cantered easily on the new Ecotrack surface. Perhaps the effects of winning three Cheltenham Gold Cups were beginning to tell. Who knows? Terry and I asked ourselves plenty of questions. We didn’t feel that the horse was at his best at Exeter, even though he jumped superbly and there was a huge crowd present to watch him run. We had lengthy discussions afterwards with Jim Lewis and it was decided that Matey’s next race would be the Lexus Chase at Leopardstown on 28 December, where he had sparkled in 2003. The course had obviously suited him, and Jim Culloty would again be available to ride.
Unfortunately, everything seemed to turn against Best Mate on that particular Irish trip. During the journey over on the boat, he hit his head on the inside of the horsebox and cut himself above one eye. It was a nasty gash and required veterinary attention. Butterfly stitches were inserted, but he seemed quite happy and ate well when he arrived in the Emerald Isle. Terry and I hoped that he did not have a headache and that there would not be too much swelling the following morning. Fortunately, all seemed well and the course vet pronounced him fit to run. On the day of the race, it rained and rained. The going changed from good to soft to soft, heavy in places. This was exactly what we did not want, because Best Mate always preferred a sound surface. Despite the change in ground, it was decided to let him take his chance but he ran flat and was beaten into second place by Beef or Salmon. He had a hard race and didn’t show any acceleration on the rain-softened turf. Naturally, we were deflated, especially as Best Mate had started at odds on and had been expected to win. In previous races, Beef or Salmon had always finished behind him.
When Best Mate returned from Ireland, at the end of December 2004, he was a sick horse. He was running a temperature and was off his food. He looked a shadow of his usual self. It took him several weeks to pick up again. He had obviously contracted a virus and the race had also left its mark. We gave him a long holiday and plenty of special tonics. Gradually he started to regain weight and perk up. For most of January he was not ridden, but was led out to graze and when the weather was good, we turned him out into his favourite field. His coat began to shine again and his appetite returned. He looked brighter and happier. He even started to push Terry out of his way each morning to get to his breakfast. He always did this when he was feeling well.
There were two-and-a-half months between Leopardstown and Cheltenham and we just prayed we would be able to get him there for a fourth Gold Cup run. However, he had to show us that he was 100 per cent fit and well. February passed by and his work programme was increased.
At the beginning of March, we took him to West Ilsley to Mick Channon’s lovely grass gallops. Mick is an excellent friend, and this former well known international footballer would generously welcome our champion for his pipe openers. Matey had worked there in previous years as well in preparation for his three Cheltenham Gold Cup wins and the gallops had been a good place for us to assess his well-being. On that occasion in 2005, I drove up to the Downs on my own to watch him while Terry stayed at home to supervise our other horses.
After a quiet warm-up canter on the all-weather surface, all seemed well, and the horses walked down to the start of the long grass gallop known as Gilbert’s. It provides an uphill climb and is a stiff gallop. I remember Major Hern, who trained three Derby winners at West Ilsley, saying to me that if a horse gets to the top of Gilbert’s and is still full of running, he is fit and well.
In the final furlong and going around the left-hand bend, Best Mate faltered and dropped back. Something was clearly not right. His two work companions both pressed on to the end. The former champion was left trailing in their wake. I rushed up to the horses to see what was wrong and was horrified to find blood streaming out of one of Best Mate’s nostrils. He had broken a blood vessel – probably due to the effects of the virus a few months earlier. We would have to pull him out of Cheltenham. There would be no more glorious festival days.
I immediately rang up Terry who, for once, answered the car phone in his truck, and I telephoned both Jim Lewis and the Press Association. Our dreams of possibly winning a fourth Gold Cup had been shattered, but at least our champion was still in one piece and did not seem even slightly distressed when he got back home.
Following on from this black day, we gave Best Mate a long holiday and another lovely summer in his field. As always, he looked superb during the months of June and July. He restarted his daily ridden exercise in early August.
At our 2005 open day in September, he was once more the centre of attention and nobody would ever have known that he had experienced training problems in March. Terry and I were smiling again, because Matey had been working brilliantly at home. We told his followers that he would race at Exeter on 1 November. It was one of his favourite tracks.
On that fateful day, when Best Mate returned to the racecourse he loved, nobody could have foreseen the tragedy that was to unfold. Thousands of fans were there and attendance numbers were exceptionally high. It was business as usual; everybody was longing to see the former wonder horse. Terry and I did the saddling up, as we always did, and we felt happy with our star. In the designated box, while we positioned his tack, his ears were pricked. He was trembling with the excitement of the occasion and he intently watched everything that was happening around him.
As he absorbed the atmosphere, Best Mate stared across to the racecourse with his usual eagerness – and when he walked around the paddock, he strode out as though he owned the place. He had never been beaten at Exeter and this was his fourth visit. He loved playing to his public and was a proper show-off. The only difference that day was that he was being led up by his new lass, Gemma Bennett. His former minder, Jackie Jenner, had left our employment at the end of April. There were some outstanding photographs of Best Mate in the preliminaries that day and Gemma had turned him out superbly. She was rightly proud of her new charge. Jim Lewis and his supporters thronged the centre of the parade ring wearing their customary Aston Villa scarves. This was Jim’s favourite football club and Best Mate’s racing colours were maroon and pale blue.
Terry legged up the jockey, Paul Carberry, who had been invited to ride Matey that day. Jim Culloty had retired from race-riding and the two other jockeys who had previously ridden and won on Best Mate were unavailable at Exeter. Timmy Murphy rode Contraband for David Johnson and A. P. McCoy rode Ground Ball for J. P. McManus.
After watching Best Mate canter down to the start on that November day, I remember thinking how magnificent he looked. There was no hint of anything amiss. He strode out majestically and his coat gleamed in the autumn sunshine; even his dapples showed up. In keeping with tradition, I then walked down the racecourse to watch the race unfold and listen to the commentary close to the last fence. I could see the action from there without being among the huge crowd of
racegoers. The grandstand was packed with people. My nerves were tingling with anticipation, but I was pleased with our horse. He had never looked better. I felt proud to be training him.
There were eleven runners in the Haldon Gold Cup in 2005 and, as they streamed over the fence in front of me, Best Mate looked happy, he was up with the pace. He jumped with his usual fluency and glided through the air. Then the runners disappeared around the corner, out of my sight and I could no longer clearly hear the commentary. I waited anxiously for them to approach the final bend and held my binoculars to my eyes with shaking hands. Would I see Best Mate close to the front? On the two occasions he had previously won the race, he had always been prominent when they had turned into the straight.
All of a sudden I spotted the runners. They were closely bunched, but there was no sign of Best Mate among them. Then I saw him: on the inside of the course, pulling wide of the fences. Instantly, I knew that something must be horribly wrong. My heart sank. He hadn’t been pulled up in any race since that very first point-to-point in Ireland. Indeed, on every other occasion, in the twenty-one races he had contested, he had finished in the first two. He had either won or been second.
In a flash, I was under the railings and making my way further down the track. Best Mate was approaching me in a trot and his stride appeared normal, but as he got closer he faltered and his gait changed. He veered across the course towards the outer railings, close to the last fence. There was a lack of co-ordination in his hind limbs and his eyes were glazed. As he wobbled further, Paul jumped off in the nick of time, just before his mount gently keeled over on his right side onto the beautifully manicured green grass. I was with him instantly, but I knew immediately that his life was ebbing away. Some years before, I had been riding my treasured three-day event horse when he had suffered a heart attack and his behaviour had been exactly the same. The end was quick. Best Mate would have felt no pain. It was as though he was in a coma. He took his last breath and lay motionless. There was no struggle. His death was extremely peaceful.
A sudden numbness came over me. Was this for real, or a bad dream? In no time at all, I was surrounded by scores of spectators and members of the press. A new stand had been erected that day, beside the final fence. It was crammed with racegoers – most of them Best Mate fans. He had died in front of their eyes and they had seen everything first-hand. The shock was indescribable. There was an eerie silence as people gathered around the fallen star, and then the dreaded green screens were put up so that the racegoers could no longer see him.
I took a grip of myself and remembered what my darling Mum had always instilled into us as children: don’t cry in public. I tried to blank out the full horror of the occasion. At least the horse hadn’t suffered – it would have been far worse if he had broken a leg. But his supporters in the racing world had lost their idol. He had acquired a massive fan club and he could not possibly have lost his life more publicly. The race had been televised and millions of people had watched his dying moments. I needed to pull myself together and face up to the truth.
Terry came down the course as fast as he could to find me. He had watched the race unfold on the big screen beside the paddock. He put his arms around me and his eyes were full of tears, but we had a job to do and it was not the right time to mourn. People wandered about on the track in disbelief. Jim Lewis and his wife Valerie were totally shattered. There were wet eyes and handkerchiefs everywhere.
For my part, I went straight to Paul Carberry and kept the crowds away from him. I walked back beside him to the weighing room and he carried Best Mate’s saddle. It was a solemn walk but I needed to return to the buildings, as we had another runner, Racing Demon, in the following race. It was his first chase and there was no reason for him not to run. Racing had to continue. The gallant victor of the Haldon Gold Cup – Monkerhostin – was being greeted by his own supporters in the unsaddling enclosure, but the crowds were noticeably subdued.
I was approached by many people – they came up to me from all angles – but I managed to stay calm and talk sensibly. I even did a television interview on a racing channel. It wasn’t easy, but I stressed how lucky we were to have trained such a wonderful horse and I explained that he was born and bred to race. He had died doing the job that he enjoyed and thankfully he had not suffered. I remembered the words of Byron, ‘Those whom the gods love, die young.’ I remember saying to the press that all horses have to die sometime – we all have to go – but it’s doubly tragic when it happens so unexpectedly.
Racing Demon, with Timmy Murphy, duly won the novice chase. This, too, was an extremely moving occasion. As I walked to greet the horse, Timmy put out his gloved hand and gave my own hand a tight squeeze. When he walked into the winner’s enclosure, the crowd gave Demon a huge reception. There were massive cheers and I remember saying to Timmy, ‘This is unbelievable.’ He said, ‘They do have hearts, you know.’ I will never forget that demonstration of affection. It touched me immensely.
*
It was a strange, sombre journey back to West Lockinge Farm. Neither Terry nor I spoke much, yet my mobile telephone never stopped ringing. I ignored many of the calls and I dreaded getting back to the yard to see Best Mate’s empty stable. Fortunately, a couple of my staff had decided to put Red Blazer into his box so that it would be less of a shock for Terry and me to walk across the concrete the next morning and not see our champion’s head over the door. When my travelling staff got home, they put Best Mate’s rugs into the washroom and his special head-collar, with his brass nameplate, in the house. No horse has ever worn it since, and I will treasure it for ever. It still hangs up by the back door.
The tragedy on Exeter Racecourse was broadcast that night on the national news. The next day, all the newspapers were full of Best Mate’s death, with some unpleasant and distressing photographs recording his last minutes on the front pages of several of the tabloids. When he won his third Cheltenham Gold Cup, he was on the front page of The Times. When he died, he hit the headlines and took centre stage again. Best Mate had captured the imagination of the public. He was often called ‘The People’s Horse’ because it seemed that so many of his fans thought that they owned him. His intelligence, beauty and courage were exceptional. Certainly, I knew when he died that we would never train another horse like him. He had huge ability and was such a proud individual.
Terry was hit hard by Best Mate’s death. He used to feed him every morning and he treated him like a close friend. In all the years I lived with him, I never saw Terry in such a bad state as he was on the evening of that disaster. He drank several glasses of whisky to drown his sorrows, but since he had barely touched alcohol for over twenty years, those drinks noticeably affected him. He cried and cried. It was utterly tragic. I remember finding it extremely difficult to get him upstairs to bed. He was shattered and very much the worse for wear.
Fortunately, by the next morning he had come back to his senses and was able, as usual, to help me feed the horses in the yard. However, he was noticeably subdued. He knew that he shouldn’t have had a drink, but his emotions and the bottle had got the better of him. From then on he was brilliant and gave me huge support. We had a lot of attention from the press and there were numerous interviews. I needed him to be fully compos mentis and he did not for one moment let me down.
After Exeter, Jim Lewis was naturally devastated but he did not want a post-mortem examination. Looking back, it seems clear that Best Mate had either had a heart attack or ruptured an artery. There were no outward signs of blood and both his nostrils were clear. Jim wanted his star to be buried at the racecourse and the officials were happy for this to happen, but his wish wasn’t granted, thanks to certain crazy regulations brought in by the European Parliament. His burial plans became entangled in red tape and in the end, civil servants at the Trading Standards Office of Devon County Council refused Exeter’s request. The Environment Agency and DEFRA had passed the buck, so that the final decision rested with this office. It hinged
upon whether, as a racehorse, Best Mate was classified as a pet or a commercial animal.
The definition of the former seems to be an animal nurtured by humans but not normally eaten, but of course, horses are eaten on the Continent. Therefore, Europeans regarded racehorses as commercial animals. The head of Trading Standards declared, ‘Since foot-and-mouth disease and BSE, it is illegal to bury fallen stock. They have to be disposed of in approved ways.’ When those in charge were asked what possible harm there could be in burying a racehorse many feet underground and miles from anywhere, they merely replied, ‘We are here to enforce the law and not to bend it.’
When questioned on the matter, poor Jim replied, ‘I understand that they had to close various gaps in the law after foot-and-mouth, but horses are not cloven-footed. They do not get the disease nor do they carry it. It’s political correctness gone mad.’
Instead of being buried, Best Mate was cremated and at a later date his ashes were placed by the winning post on Cheltenham Racecourse. There was a moving ceremony at Prestbury Park, courtesy of the racecourse officials, who later further recognised the achievements of this outstanding horse, by renaming an area on the far side of the track opposite the grandstand as the Best Mate Enclosure. Some months afterwards, a bronze statue of Best Mate, which had been cast from the original by Philip Blacker, was positioned close to the Cheltenham paddock. It is life-size and identical to the one that stands on the village green in Lockinge.
It was my uncle, Christopher ‘Larch’ Loyd, who commissioned the first statue, because he wanted Best Mate’s greatness to be recognised close to where he was trained. The measurements for the bronze are exact and were taken when the horse was still alive. Philip came to West Lockinge Farm on many occasions, not just with his tape measure, but also with his camera. At that time, he had his studio close by in Faringdon, in Oxfordshire, and both Terry and I watched the sculpture unfold. We often drove over to look at it and make comments. It was a work of art.
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