Not Enough Time

by Henrietta Knight

  The sweat box Terry acquired from Dave Dick had belonged to Bryan Marshall – a top National Hunt jockey in his day. It had been designed for a small flat jockey, Charlie Smirke, so was not that easy for Terry to fit into. The heat was generated by a number of bare 150-watt bulbs with special bamboo filaments. Apparently he often burnt his bottom on these bulbs and it was extremely uncomfortable to sit in. Terry would be in a deckchair wearing his customary sweatsuit and goggles, but the temperatures often became unbearable and he would stick his head out of the lid on the top of the box and take in some fresh air. He could lose almost a stone in eighty minutes. The heat must have been stifling. Terry was filmed in this sweat box and nowadays can be seen on the Internet – on YouTube (under ‘Terry Biddlecombe HOT-BOX’).

  Richard Pitman’s years as a jockey spanned from 1960–76. Fred Winter was his boss. Richard remembers that all the jockeys looked up to Terry and that they lived in awe of him. ‘He was like a god – a big, blond bombshell,’ he says. He recalls his first time in the stewards’ room with Terry. The officials called most jockeys by their surname – including Richard – but not Terry, who was addressed by his Christian name. Everybody respected the champion, and what Terry said was what mattered. On one occasion when there was a race day at Stratford, the racecourse had apparently slyly incorporated a trial plastic fence and placed it on the far side of the track without telling any of the jockeys. However, Terry had walked the course and seen this monstrosity. It had a metal frame, filled with stiff plastic birch bundles. It was a dangerous obstacle. Terry went back to the weighing room and said to his fellow jockeys, ‘We’re not riding in any chases today. The plastic fence is unsafe.’ Many of the jockeys were longing to ride as it was probably their only ride of the week, but they listened to Terry and agreed to stand by him. After this demonstration and the jockeys’ refusal to ride, the racecourse officials ordered the fence to be removed and it was taken away with a tractor and trailer. Racing continued and all the jockeys got their rides.

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  Terry considered Stan Mellor to have been in a category all of his own and always a danger. He was chuffed to have overtaken him and Stalbridge Colonist on the run-in when winning the 1967 Cheltenham Gold Cup on Woodland Venture. Like Terry, Stan won three National Hunt Jockeys’ championships. He often reflects on the good times they enjoyed together, even though they rode in opposition. It always amazed him that Terry was so hard on himself. ‘He was totally dedicated but seemed driven to ride as many winners as possible,’ Stan says. ‘He lived life in the fast lane and loved a challenge. He was the leader of the pack.’

  Stan recalls that the jockeys in his day had a completely different style. ‘They were horsemen and rode with a proper base seat. They sat deeper into their horses and had good hands. Nowadays, many jockeys ride with their reins too long and have what we called snake reins. We were always taught to ride with a straight rein and keep contact with our horses’ mouths. Present-day jockeys shoo their horses along and use too much of the whip. They don’t push or squeeze them through their legs and knees. We never rode with our toes in the irons. We rode with our feet well into the stirrups. We never looked between our legs to see horses behind us and we certainly did not watch races on the big screens, as there weren’t any. Many modern-day jockeys bump up and down in the saddle and sit too heavy on their horses’ backs to get them to go forward. Amateur riders used to do this in my time, which is why National Hunt flat races were called “bumpers”.’

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  David Nicholson was a long-time mate of Terry’s and rode with him as a jockey in the sixties and seventies. In later years he really cared for Terry through all his hardships and always rang him up on Christmas Day, even when Terry was in Australia. David was a tough, hard man on the surface with a bombastic nature, but had a soft heart and looked after his friends. Graham Thorner, another champion jockey in the seventies, was considerably younger than Terry but always had great respect for him. ‘Terry was hard to beat in a race when he was going well,’ he says, ‘and he would never give an inch to anybody. He was exceptionally tough, but had wonderful manners, having been brought up the right way in a proper farming family.’

  Graham says that, even when narrowly beaten in the jockeys championship, as in 1970–71, or in a race like the 1972 Grand National, Terry was always the first to congratulate the winner with a shake of the hand. Terry often told me that when Graham pulled up after winning that Grand National on Well To Do, beating Terry on Gay Trip, he had tears in his eyes. So Terry said to him, ‘I can’t think what you are crying about. It should be me that’s crying as you’ve just beaten me!’

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  There were some good younger jockeys riding in Terry’s era and these included Michael Dickinson. He later became a top trainer both under National Hunt rules and on the flat in the USA, and saddled the first five horses home in the 1983 Cheltenham Gold Cup. ‘When I started riding, Terry Biddlecombe was champion jockey and of course we rookies all held him in great awe. However, I remember one occasion when, in a chase against him at Wolverhampton, my excitement got the better of me. Terry was riding an 11-year-old with top weight and well past its best, but I was on a good horse with bottom weight and just starting on its upward trend. I came upsides with Terry at the third last and I was cruising! As I flew past him, in my excitement, I yelled “I’ve got you! See you later!” – not the way to speak to your idol. After the finish Terry came into the weighing room and told his boss, Fred Rimell, “That Michael Dickinson’s a cheeky bugger.” Despite my remarks, Terry remained as good-humoured as ever. He was a big help to all us young ones, giving us good advice and knocking us into shape. He rode much shorter than anyone else. He was extremely brave. Any steeplechase jockey who falls in a race always says, “I’m all right. I want to ride in the next race and again tomorrow.” On one occasion, Terry and I were both laid up in Walton General Hospital, having fallen at Aintree. Terry was in a lot of pain, but he was tough. I much enjoyed watching the great champion guilefully persuading the doctor that he was fine and perfectly fit to ride the next day. He should have gone into movies.’

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  Terry always gave advice to jockeys even in the days when he was riding. James Delahooke – one of the best judges of horseflesh that I have ever met – remembers riding against Terry in his amateur days. ‘We all worshipped him,’ he recalls. ‘I was lucky enough to spend time with those boys in the sixties – on the trains, in the bars and in the weighing rooms. In spite of being a celebrity, Terry was always helpful, friendly and encouraging to a very moderate seven-pound claimer. We all loved him for it.’

  Towards the end of his career, Terry rode for Fulke Walwyn. Ron Barry – ‘Big Ron’ – was a top jockey but mostly rode in the north. He was very strong. In 1973 Terry had been booked to ride Charlie Potheen in the Cheltenham Gold Cup, but Fulke was looking for someone to ride his other runner, The Dikler, in the race, so he asked Terry for advice. Terry told him about Ron Barry, who he reckoned would be well suited to the horse. Fulke contacted him and arranged for him to school The Dikler a few days before the Festival.

  In the meantime, there had been a jockeys’ showjumping competition at Stoneleigh in Warwickshire, which was rather unfortunately televised. Fulke settled down to watch his prospective jockey, but a bet had been laid between the riders to see who could get round the course in the quickest time, irrespective of how many fences were knocked down. Ron duly won the bet, but demolished most of the obstacles. Fulke was horrified at the prospect of this man riding his horse at Cheltenham. History does not relate exactly what he said to Terry about it – it was most probably unprintable. However, Ron had the last laugh when he won the Gold Cup on The Dikler and Terry only finished third on Charlie Potheen.

  Way back in the last century, fences and hurdles would never be omitted from a race because of the brightness of the sun. Indeed, it was unheard of to take out any of the obstacles. Bob Champion, who rode with Terry in his later years and partne
red Aldaniti to win the Grand National in 1981, told me that all the jockeys would have at least a dozen different pairs of goggles with varying colours of Perspex lenses. They wore orange ones if it was a dull day and dark-green ones to block out the glare of the sun. He never saw any horse fall due to the position of the sun and nobody ever complained. He says that the fences were always discernible in the last few strides, whatever the weather, and the horses coped perfectly well.

  Nowadays, because of strict Health and Safety rules, the powers that be think differently. Races are ruined when the jumping element in National Hunt racing is reduced. Many chases are more like glorified flat races. Fences are not omitted on eventing cross-country courses due to the sun’s rays, nor are show-jumps taken out of a competition in bright sunshine. Showjumpers compete in all weathers and during all hours of the day. Times have changed and probably not for the better.

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  Bob Champion has fond memories of Terry or the ‘Blond Bombshell’, as he was often known. Terry always walked into the weighing room carrying a bottle. ‘Everybody looked up to him and when he rode around the paddock, his many fans lined the rails to watch him – such was their adoration for him,’ Bob says. ‘He was like the Elvis Presley of that era.’

  The first time they rode against each other was in a novice chase at Ascot in 1968. Bob was an amateur then – Mr Bob Champion – and he rode a horse called Glide Scope. Terry rode a big horse called Domacorn, which was prone to making mistakes, but was extremely talented and jumped soundly on this occasion. Bob followed Terry into the last fence and was amazed by his strength – with his whip held high he gave Domacorn one whack on his hindquarters on the take-off, one smack in mid-air and one as he landed, but then he never touched the horse again and it flew right up to the line. Terry always maintained that if a horse did not go forward from three cracks of the whip, it would not improve with any more. He deplored the way that jockeys are so whip-happy today. Bob says Terry’s strength came from his legs and the squeezing up that he did with his knees: ‘Not like most of the present-day jockeys, who ride with their toes in their irons and have no balance. They are forced to sit too far back and bump the saddle on their unfortunate horses’ loins.’

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  The top Irish jockeys in Terry’s era included Pat Taafe, who rode Arkle; Willie Robinson, who partnered Mill House; Tommy Carberry, who won the Grand National and Cheltenham Gold Cup on L’Escargot; Dessie Hughes, the father of Richard; and Eddie Harty, who won the Grand National in 1969 on Highland Wedding. After his retirement and looking back on his riding days, Eddie reflected that he rated Terry as the best jockey he had ever seen. Timmy Hyde, who rode Kinloch Brae for the Duchess of Westminster, was another Irish jockey with whom Terry rode. He was a good friend. They were a great bunch of skilled professionals and, like their English counterparts, thoroughly enjoyed life.

  In his race-riding days, Terry shared some of the best times with Bill Smith. Despite being ousted by Bill as stable jockey to Fred Rimell in 1972, they remained friends. Bill gave a humorous speech at Terry’s memorial service and Terry would have chuckled at the stories he told. This – which did not appear in his speech – is one of the best.

  ‘In 1973 we were both riding in the Irish Sweeps hurdle at Leopardstown on the day after Boxing Day. For some reason we had both been to Wolverhampton on Boxing Day that year – not to Kempton. We flew to Dublin out of Birmingham Airport. As was the norm in those days, we then got stuck into miniature bottles of spirits, which were the only drinks we could get on the plane.

  ‘Once in the hotel, we carried on with the minibar in the room – something of a novelty back then – and to Terry’s way of thinking only put in for him! The phone rings and it is Fred Rimell, who demands to know where I am, as I am riding Comedy of Errors for him the next day. I was told, in no uncertain terms, to get over to his hotel. Terry started trying to sober me up – holding my wrists under the cold tap and making me drink water – not that he was going to drink the stuff himself!

  ‘After a rather tricky dinner with Fred, Mercy and several owners who had runners the next day, I was ordered by Fred to stay in bed on the morning of the race and not ride out anywhere. Later, I left for my hotel with some of the other diners. One of my companions was the daughter of an owner in the big race. The rest is a little hazy, but I can only assume that Terry, who was in the bar on our return and suggested a nightcap, may have got a little distracted on the way back to his room. In the morning, I do remember that there was the owner’s daughter in our bed and next to her, TWB!’

  Despite this rather wild evening and night, Comedy of Errors won the big race the next day.

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  Apparently on another occasion, when Fred Rimell won The Midlands Sports Personality of the Year, both Terry and Bill were invited to a big lunch with Fred by the owners of Comedy of Errors. ‘I stayed the night before with Terry at Corse Lawn and we drove to Birmingham for the lunch in my car – an Alfa Romeo sports car that had been lent to me. The lunch was very boozy and when we left to drive home all I wanted to do was sleep. Terry took the wheel and I remember waking up to see that we were doing 70 mph-plus on the motorway and were passing traffic on our right-hand side, with none on our left. Terry had taken to the hard shoulder and was speeding along, remarking that there was no traffic on it and the other three lanes were blocked!’

  When they returned home, Terry decided that Bill must help him break in a pony. He wanted it done then and there. ‘This was before Monty Roberts and Join Up. After it had buried me for the fifteenth time, it finally gave in and by the end of the day Terry had us jumping over a pole on top of a couple of barrels.’

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  Way back in 1969, John Francome rode in a number of races with Terry, and afterwards they always remained close friends. In the late seventies and early eighties they played tennis together, when Terry lived at Corse Lawn, near Gloucester, and John was a fantastic back-up to me when Terry’s health drastically declined in 2013. He constantly visited his old friend at West Lockinge Farm and supported me. Apart from using the same valet – Jo Ballinger – when they were jockeys, John also used to change next to Terry in the weighing room where, apparently, the jokes and the laughter brought renewed inspiration to fellow riders. John still vividly remembers watching Terry’s shocking fall at Stratford in 1961. On that day, Terry was riding Hydra Dor and his foot got stuck in the stirrup iron when the horse hit the ground. As it got to its feet and set off in pursuit of the other runners, Terry went with it. From that day onwards, Terry always had a horror of people being dragged by loose horses and always deplored children riding ponies with stirrups that were too narrow for their boots or shoes. He used to tell me that for years he suffered nightmares about that fall at Stratford and on the day, he had visions of his leg being wrenched from its socket if the horse had jumped the next fence while he was underneath its tummy.

  His head had already been bumping the racecourse turf for 200 yards and he’d been deafened by the noise of Hydra Dor’s hooves hammering his crash helmet. He approached the obstacle upside down and with no control whatsoever, but miraculously the saddle suddenly slipped right round as the horse gathered speed. Somehow, Terry was able to extricate his foot before the fence.

  John could never believe that after this horrifying incident, Terry stood up, vaulted over the rails and returned to the weighing room, as if nothing had happened. Alarmingly, he was allowed to ride in the next two races, despite suffering from delayed concussion. The whole incident showed just how tough the jockeys were in the last century. Despite the pain that day, Terry never moaned or complained. This attitude typified him right up until he died. When he fell from Hydra Dor, he was not even wearing a back protector.

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  Of the amateur jockeys who were successful when Terry was riding, I have singled out three. They became special friends. John Oaksey – then Lawrence – who won the Hennessy Gold Cup on Taxidermist in 1958 and was second in the Grand National in 1
963 on Carrickbeg, was one of them. He later became a founder trustee of the Injured Jockeys Fund. Chris Collins was another. He was Champion Amateur rider in 1965–6 and again in 1966–7. He also won the Pardubice Chase in Czechoslovakia on Stephen’s Society in 1972.

  Chris owned the Goya Perfumery business and one of his products, Cedarwood, was said to, ‘Give a man character.’ Terry and Chris posed together in their crash helmets and racing colours for a photograph to promote Cedarwood. It was shown in all of London’s Underground stations. Chris remembers that the advertising agency came up with the idea that this poster should feature a footballer, but he vetoed it because racing was his sport. They produced a weedy male model who looked like a fish out of water when dressed in jockeys’ colours, but Terry was more than happy to pose with Chris.

  ‘After a good lunch at Wheeler’s, Terry and Josh’s favourite restaurant, we went along to the studio and spent some time being photographed,’ Chris explains. ‘Terry did it as a friend and the only fee was lunch. Rather different from today!’ I never saw Terry look so serious in any other picture, but it became a famous photograph. Goya cologne sold for 8/6 and the aftershave for 7 shillings. A print from the poster hangs on my kitchen wall.

  Chris recalls that it was always the greatest pleasure to see Terry in action. ‘He had a most attractive seat on a horse,’ he says. ‘In those days I used to watch nearly every race from the last. Terry steaming into it was magnificent. During all the time I spent with Terry and Josh – weighing rooms, Turkish baths, lunches on days off, etc. – money was never once mentioned. They rode to win and for the sport of it.’