There is one trainer who has held a licence for 36 seasons and who, in only one of them has he failed to train a winner, yet equally, has never reached double figures of wins in any of them, writes Tony Stafford. Any ideas?
In that time, he has won a Hennessy Gold Cup and a Cheltenham Gold Cup, both with horses bred from the same mare he bought unraced as a potential retirement interest for his father-in-law. Maybe you would be thinking he was a part-time wealthy “amateur” practitioner of the trade, but not a bit of it.
In just over two weeks’ time at Cheltenham, our hero will not be frightened to take on the might of Mullins, Henderson, Nicholls and the rest in the National Hunt Challenge Cup Amateur Jockeys’ Novice Chase over 3m6f.
Few horses get to the start of that race having won over the distance. Our man’s horse had run in only one chase, finishing third, before last week. Yet when he turned out for his second, over said distance, he was already rated 120, based on four runs over hurdles. I guarantee you when his new rating is revealed tomorrow morning at 7 a.m. on the BHA website, he will be quite a lot higher. In his case I would hate to be the handicapper!
Before Friday at Exeter – yes, we’re slowly revealing our evidence – the trainer had run six individual horses in a total of eight races this season (April to April) with no wins. To keep up the exemplary 36-year (minus one) record, the My Pension Expert Devon National Handicap Chase, only passed as fit for racing after a morning inspection, would hopefully change all that.
Step up Mark Bradstock and wife Sara, nee Lawrence, with the eight-year-old Mr Vango. Sara apparently told the Racing TV people beforehand – I didn’t see it – that he would win. He did, and how!
It wasn’t a massive field, but with two or three confirmed front-runners and all with far more experience than their gelding, it wasn’t guaranteed on first sight that he would get to the front. Get to the front he did, though, and listening again to Mike Cattermole’s commentary with accompanying pictures, you can tell his growing incredulity at what he, those at Exeter, and we around the country were witnessing.
Making all, and along with a couple of inevitable novicey errors, he strode through almost two full circuits of the galloping Haldon track in deep ground seemingly without much effort.
Halfway through the second time round the pack was still within reach but, coming to the end of the back straight and turning for home, the margin between Mr Vango and no doubt an equally disbelieving Ben Jones kept stretching. It was ten, then 20, then 30, and over last, according to Mike, he was 50 lengths clear.
The trio that was still going hadn’t even reached the penultimate fence when Mr Vango jumped the last. Neither had they arrived at the final obstacle as Ben was pulling him up. The finishing margin was 60 lengths. Foxboro, an old slowcoach who had toiled in rear all the way so hadn’t really been involved in the unequal task of trying to match strides with this galloping automaton, plodded on past two others to record a symbolic but still rewarding £6k runner-up spot, 14 lengths clear of the legless other pair.
I cannot resist a little dig at the Racing Post. After the win, Mark Bradstock’s prizemoney tally for the season is listed as £1,492 – the Exeter race alone was worth 13 grand to the winner. [Of course, geegeez has it correct at £16.5k in seasonal earnings – Ed.]
I think I should declare a slight personal interest. Sara Lawrence became Sara Oaksey when her father John inherited his late father’s titles as Lord Thevethin and Oaksey, the latter being the name he preferred to use. Since Mark, previously five years’ assistant to the great Fulke Walwyn and winner of 18 races as a jockey, took out his licence in 1989, she has been a constant vital cog in the small family outfit along with showjumping son Alfie and point-to-point rider/trainer Lily. As their web site shows, they still have limitless ambition along with unerring belief that they hold the key to developing jumping horses to their highest potential.
The mare Plaid Maid that Mark sourced won five races for John, one hurdle (probably to his annoyance) but then four in her main job over fences. It was after her racing career though that she made her mark on the sport, producing both Carruthers, their 2011 Hennessy winner, of which John was part-owner. He, sadly, died the following year.
Carruthers continued racing for Mark Bradstock for four more years then, aged 13, transferred to Sara to train in point-to-points. Over the next three years he ran 17 times for one win, with daughter Lily in the saddle each time, retiring as a 15-year-old.
I’m sure Sara and Mark have constantly wished they could have told him that Carruthers’ little brother Coneygree had won the Cheltenham Gold Cup. I remember there wasn’t a dry eye in the house when he beat Willie Mullins’ Djakadam and 14 others nine years ago next month.
Coneygree was still a novice – the first since Captain Christy in 1974 to win the Gold Cup – and did it having been unbeaten in his first three chases, at Newbury twice and Kempton. He made all the running, jumping boldly, at Cheltenham and I couldn’t help wondering last week if that might also be the recipe for success with Mr Vango if he takes his place in the field next month.
Coneygree’s path to the Gold Cup was troubled – he had almost two years off before that first chase late in 2014 because of injury. After the triumph he won one more race at Sandown in November of the following season, but that was it as far as wins go.
Plaid Maid had been bought to interest John after his retirement, as if being the leading light in the Injured Jockeys Fund for many years and an honorary member of the Jockey Club wouldn’t have been enough for most people, never mind the writing.
His father had been Chief Allied prosecutor of leading Nazi criminals at the Nuremburg War Trials and John, expected to be a lawyer – he studied law at Harvard after his initial studies at Oxford – watched the proceedings as a deeply impressionable young man.
He preferred though to become a journalist, but one that could combine writing with winning 200 races as a jumps amateur. My good luck was that, by joining the Daily Telegraph in 1972, I was able to watch at first hand the way in which he combined his art with his love of riding and horses. And I did so for the next three decades. He always greeted me with, “Hello boy!”
For many years we worked in tandem on reporting the Grand National for the Sunday Telegraph. In those days there was a limited number of telephones and we used to have the use of one room and a land line in a house called Chasandi sited dead opposite the Aintree main entrance. Brough Scott and others also had similar facilities in other rooms in the house. I think the newspapers paid for the couple’s extension!
I took my notes, attending the initial stage of the post-race press conference, then repaired to offer my version of events verbatim over the phone to readers of the Irish, Scottish, and northern editions of the paper. John’s considered, exhaustive, rounded-out and always unique version came an hour or so later and the rest of the country got his elegant turn of phrase. Mine disappeared into the ether!
One incident I’ll never forget was the time he asked me to join him while he was working for ITV at the Derby. In those days the beautiful grassy paddock (sorry Epsom, that one now isn’t a patch on it even if it lets the racegoers see the horses) was down where the racecourse stables still are now. John had a small raised cabin with a big picture window halfway down one side as he watched and spoke to the viewers.
I’m not sure I did much for him that day - it’s not as if he asked me to go get him a cup of tea and a biscuit or anything - but there’s a reason I’m fond of relating it. It was 1981, the year of Shergar, one of the greatest Derby winners but one that is remembered for what he wasn’t allowed to do rather than what he did on the racecourse or might have done at stud. Everyone before 2000 knew the name, even now you occasionally hear it in stand-up routines.
But back to Mr Vango and friends. Have a look when you get a moment at the lovely website of Mark and Sara Bradstock and you will wonder how, in these days of trainers with 300 horses to call upon, these amazing people get so few chances to show how good they are.
Coneygree gave Nico De Boinville’s career the jump start that was needed for Nicky Henderson to take notice. He was still a conditional when he won the Gold Cup. In Coneygree’s previous race he was unavailable, and Richard Johnson stepped in. Nico said: “I dreaded that he would keep the mount for the Gold Cup but when he won the Denman Chase at Newbury, Sara called to say he was my ride.”
Some family, some legacy and if Mr Vango runs and wins – he’s 25/1 with bookmakers with whom you might get on, it could encourage a few more people to support them.
Talking of support, it’s the House of Commons debate on affordability checks at Westminster Hall today. If racing is to have any chance of getting proper funding, it’s vital that the people that can wish to bet are not artificially denied the chance and the case is properly put to the proportion of MPs who are lukewarm about racing.
My sources say, even without those fatuous checks, bookmakers need shaking up, so often are even tiny bets refused. One friend tells of the Australian system or how it was when he lived there a while ago and I doubt it’s changed since.
When he was there, bookmakers were allowed on course, while off-course was their tote (called TAB) monopoly. Depending on which ring the bookie worked in at the track, he or she was compelled to lay to take out a minimum value in each respective ring.
We have the best racing in the world and the worst conversion from what’s bet on it into prize money. Getting rid of this affordability nonsense would be a first step, but much more needs to be done even when that stain on the sport is crushed, as I hope it will be. I wonder what John, or My Noble Lord, as the late John McCririck always called him, would have thought of it all!
- TS
