Tag Archive for: Prince Pippy

Monday Musings: Declines And Falls

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When you get to my advanced years, the one thing you cannot afford to do is take a fall, writes Tony Stafford. So many friends of my generation have suffered broken hips or worse, two in separate incidents in one case. Another, Maurice Manasseh, still feels the discomfort and has the bruising to show from his tumble down a difficult flight of steps during Royal Ascot, only minimised by girlfriend Clare’s alertness in interrupting the fall.

Late last week I learnt of another long-time friend’s awful situation. Prince Rajsinh of Rajpipla, son of the much-revered Maharajah of Rajpipla, owner of 1934 Derby winner Windsor Lad, slipped and fell in the foyer of his block of flats “two years ago”, he remembers. He suffered such serious injuries that he is now confined to bed and needing support from a team of four carers.

While feeling so frustratingly helpless, he says “I watch the racing 12 hours a day and still have my tiny bets”. Without the Sport of Kings and for that matter of Sons of Maharajahs, he would be totally lost.

A tall, lean, always-smartly attired man right up to the time of his accident, Pippy used to stroll every day from his apartment in Park Lane, next to the Dorchester Hotel, and up to St John’s Wood. It was almost a five-mile round trip. “Now, I cannot walk at all. It’s horrible,” he says.

In his early days in the late 1950s and early 1960s he was a youthful owner with Major Peter Cazalet, one of the premier jumps trainers of that era. He had plenty of success with Cazalet, even selling a couple of his up-and-coming horses, Three No Trumps and Oedipe II, the latter acquired from France, to Her Majesty the Queen Mother. They became good friends.

Apart from being one of the leviathans of the betting rings of the South-East in those days, he was also something of a man about town, often seen in the company of such as Joan Collins and her then husband, the singer/actor Anthony Newley.

I knew him from the track probably a decade later and then when I took over as part-time editor of The Racehorse weekly paper, inheriting Pippy as one of the correspondents. He was then living in France and used to send over his weekly offerings by post. It came in flowery handwriting and always showed how close he was to the action over there, close friends especially with the Head family, Alec and children Criquette and Freddy.

One Monday morning in May 1976, so 50 years ago, he called with a real exclusive. The day before he had been at Longchamp to see the Prix Lupin, a discontinued race for years, but in those days the best trial for the Prix du Jockey Club (French Derby).

Owner Nelson Bunker Hunt, a major American owner-breeder, long before his demise after trying unsuccessfully to corner the world silver bullion market, had two runners in the Lupin. The favourite was Youth, ridden by France’s perennial champion Yves Saint-Martin, and his other runner, Empery, would be the mount of Lester Piggott. Both were trained by Egyptian-born Maurice Zilber and they finished in the correct order, with Youth first and Empery third.

The bombshell was that Pippy overheard Lester whisper to Zilber, “I’ll ride him in the Derby”. Talk about an exclusive. Even Peter O’Sullevan, Zilber’s friend, hadn’t been privy to the conversation. Empery was 33/1 that day, but not for long; Lester duly took the ride and Empery, 10/1 by Derby Day, won as he liked with Wollow, the 2,000 Guineas winner and favourite for Henry Cecil, failing to stay. Youth won the French Derby, naturellement.

It was also at that far-off time when Michael Dickinson was still a jockey riding for his father Tony from their yard in Gisburn, Lancashire, before the later move across the Pennines to Harewood in Yorkshire. The very tall Michael used to go to a sauna every night to help keep his weight under control and would then call me most evenings at the Daily Telegraph, starting every conversation with, “Now then!”

One night he said his dad was planning to travel to New Zealand to try to buy some horses. Derek Kent had had great success at that time with New Zealand imports in his yard near Goodwood and Tony wanted to try to follow his example.

Knowing, however, that I had a nice contact in France, I suggested to Michael that maybe they should first think about a shorter trip. Pippy soon organised a visit to the stable of Malcolm Parrish, a friend of Lester’s who had around 100 horses in his stable, officially under his head lad’s name, among them some “proper horses.”

They went over and came up with two: a four-year-old called French Hollow who had a very high handicap rating and a three-year-old who had already run twice over hurdles early in the year called Flying Hugue. They bought the pair and French Hollow turned out to be a top-class hurdler in the UK before transferring to the US where he became champion steeplechaser; Flying Hugue landed a massive gamble first time at Wetherby on Boxing Day.

There were three Dickinson runners in that race. Two older newcomers – Brother Broncho, ridden by Michael, and Carnival Day as well as Flying Hugue. Colin Tinkler had the mount on the three-year-old as he could do a light weight. So, while everyone expected Michael to be on “the one”, as he remembers, “I only told Col he would win in the paddock. He did!”

That purchase was the forerunner to my accidentally meeting Malcolm Parrish with David O’Brien (Vincent’s son, a Derby-winning trainer himself and now a happy wine grower in France) at the Cashel Palace Hotel, close to Ballydoyle. I came away from the meeting owning ten horses! I told Malcolm I had been the instigator to the French Hollow/Flying Hugue deal. “Want any more?” he asked. “Okay,” I replied. “Fancy ten for 100k?” “Why not?”, although I doubt I had 10 grand at the time.

Still, Brunico, Santopadre and others soon sorted out that impossible situation, while Malcolm, who owned carpet mills in Europe, later bought neighbouring Lordship and Egerton studs although he would later return to France with wife “Snif” having sold the farms near the National Stud and July Course in Newmarket.

Pippy came back to London soon after and as he says, “I’ve lived in this flat for 45 years now.” Apart from being a regular racegoer at the London tracks for most of those many years, he also took time to produce a well-received booklet called The War Zone and wrote for several years for the Sun newspaper, which used his title and racing knowledge in its own inimitable style.

If all that seems a long time ago, he does have a cherished memory of his last trip to a racecourse. He recalled, “The last time I went racing, I spent the day with Jilly Cooper. How awful that that wonderful person and writer should have died after a fall at her home last year.”

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For many years, no Ascot meeting would have gone without the presence of Prince Pippy and he was always an astute paddock watcher before finalising his bets. He would have loved being there on Saturday for the latest instalment of the Shergar Cup, an event graced for only the second time, and first for 20 years, by Ryan Moore.

Granted a free day by the switch of last weekend’s Curragh fixture to Sunday, he gave great professional legitimacy to a day which is never short of enjoyment among the always healthy crowds. Ryan, winning two and placed second and third once each from his five mounts, won the individual award.  His UK and Ireland team, completed by Dylan Browne McMonagle and Saffie Osborne, took the team prize. “It’s been lovely,” said a beaming Ryan.

Meanwhile, son Toby was over at Newmarket getting home by a short-head on Man Of Vision in a handicap for his boss Charlie Appleby. With so many nice horses at home to ride, and with Ryan to keep an eye out for him, and rein in any over-confidence, it’s clear that the 7lb claimer is on the right path.

I spoke to his grandfather Gary at Goodwood the other day, saying he must be pleased with his grandson’s progression. He said, “He’s doing all right – considering he’s in a care home!” Wonder what he meant? No doubt Gary might have preferred the sort of rough and tumble with which his own four kids Ryan, Jamie and Josh, along with sister Hayley, started out. To think that Ryan’s first ever winner came in a hurdle race!

The most amazing result of the past week was by a Godolphin horse trained by Charlie Appleby.

When an Appleby three-year-old makes its debut at a place like Kempton, you would assume that all the work riders – lots of ex-jockeys among them – would have an idea of what to expect and the horse would be priced accordingly. But when Fortunadine, a gelded full brother to recently retired multiple Group 1 winner Rebel’s Romance took his first steps on a racecourse, he was only moderately fancied.

Fortunadine was allowed to start at 7-2, with James Doyle getting him fast out of the stalls in this 1m3f novice race, the pair simply stretching relentlessly further clear of their 11 rivals to the tune of 21 lengths.

It seems nobody had a clue, Charlie saying, “He shows us nothing!” He has now! Pippy was watching. “I’ve never seen anything like it!” he said.

- TS

Monday Musings: Cheltenham Memory Lane

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I rarely buy the print version of the Racing Post, preferring instead the online option (saves at least £80 a month), but on Friday I stretched a point, writes Tony Stafford. I needed to check whether I was still officially alive – so many other great cricketers having succumbed over the past week – and, yes, there I was with yet another new description.

You have to hand it to John Randall, still the man behind the Post’s birthday feature and so much else, and also my former colleague Howard Wright. They keep their aging fingers – one set older, one younger – on the pulse and have now blown my cover and described me as “Editor-in-Chief of Fromthestables.com”.

So no longer Raymond Tooth’s racing manager and possibly other plausible titles involving the Daily Telegraph – left in 2002, really? – but it was nice of them to give the site the publicity it deserves. That’s just my totally objective opinion, of course.

Friday’s Post informed me and the rest of the rapidly diminishing number of the immediate post-World War 2 baby boom generation that I had indeed entered the final quarter of my personal century.

The values instilled in me by my racing loving, Arsenal supporting and cricket adoring father have stayed with me for at least 70 years since I first went to Highbury, Newmarket and Kempton Park. People might have expected me to grow up, but what would be the point? Become a Formula One fan, hardly!

The early days at the races were always by charabanc – coach to you – with stops at the halfway houses between East London and those two named tracks courtesy of the Fallowfield and Britten firm that picked up at Clapton Pond.

One day standing in the toilet on the way to the 1954 2,000 Guineas won by Darius – Harry Wragg, Manny Mercer - I felt a warm, moist intrusion on my left leg. Further enquiries revealed the culprit as Prince Monolulu, the famed racecourse tipster who sold his selections to a willing public. For many years he had the persona, if not the bladder control, to entice an audience.

In those innocent days this alleged chief of the Falasha tribe of Abyssinia (now Ethiopia) had actually been born in the Virgin Islands and his name was the far from glamorous Peter Carl Mackay. At the time of my anointment as a future tipster he was already 72 years old and survived the 1961 legalising of betting shops, four years before his death aged 83.

When my dad got a car, a favourite was the spring meeting at Epsom where we would park on the Hill and watch from opposite the winning post, but later he asked if I’d like to go to Cheltenham.

He took me and a couple of friends for the opening day of the 1968 meeting and it happened to be the year when L’Escargot had the first of his big wins, in the second division of the Gloucestershire Hurdle, historically usually the race targeted by Vincent O’Brien before he left jumping to his inferiors having won multiple Gold Cups, Champion Hurdles and Grand Nationals in the early post-war years.

Dan Moore was the trainer and Tommy Carberry the rider of the horse owned by Raymond Guest, the former US Ambassador to Ireland. Guest also owned Sir Ivor, the outstanding Derby winner, trained by O’Brien to Classic success only three months after that Cheltenham trip.

We all piled on him with a few quid each and the atmosphere was very good on the way home. If L’Escargot made an impact that day, it was not until a year or so later that he was to become my favourite jumper of all time.

I had joined the racing desk at the Press Association and one particular week we were concentrating on the Wills Premier Chase meeting at Haydock early in the year. Two Irish horses dominated the betting on the Final, L’Escargot and a horse that had beaten him in the Irish qualifier a few weeks earlier. He was East Bound, trained by Arkle’s celebrated handler, Tom Dreaper.

It seemed to me that the betting was all wrong as winners of a qualifier had to carry a 5lb penalty. Research – in those days information was something to be chiselled out rather than at the touch of a keypad – told me that L’Escargot had followed his early hurdling days in Ireland by racing in his owner’s homeland, to such good effect that he was voted Champion US chaser of 1969, having won the Meadow Brook Chase at Belmont Park.

Before Haydock I thought I was very clever taking 14-1 about the Gold Cup. He duly won at Haydock, not by far, but as the weeks went by he drifted by the day. I travelled to that Cheltenham by train with a chap from Raceform called Peter Boyer (I think!) telling him all the way that 33-1 was a joke.

So it proved and he won at that price and followed up the next year in bottomless ground as favourite or thereabouts.

By the following year he started a four-time challenge for the Grand National, right in the middle of the Red Rum era. In 1972 he was a third fence faller carrying 12st top-weight. Under the same burden in 1973 he was a remote third to Red Rum, who was making his debut in the race and who received 23lb from L’Escargot and the Australian horse and joint-top weight Crisp, who famously just failed to make all in that epic race.

L’Escargot got nearer to Red Rum in second the next year and, as a 12-year-old in 1975, gained deserved recompense with a 15-length defeat of Red Rum, who by now was conceding him weight. That was where L’Escargot’s racing story ends as only the second horse (and still only the second almost half a century later) after Golden Miller to win both the Gold Cup and Grand National.

Red Rum still had to return for another runner-up place behind Rag Trade and then a final triumphant curtain call in 1975, when he made it three Grand National wins and two second places, also as a 12-year-old.

Once at the Daily Telegraph, Cheltenham visits were more regular but not to the degree that the outside staff could guarantee. But the year after I’d made a most impulsive “purchase” – £100k for ten horses from French-based carpet tycoon and private stable owner Malcolm Parrish in 1984 – I just had to be there.

Parrish owned all of the 100-plus horses in his stable and was pretty much the trainer although M de Tarragon held the licence officially. A few years earlier Michael Dickinson had bought through me but more significantly from Prince Rajsinh of Rajpipla – Prince Pippy to his readers in the Sun years later – who is the son of Windsor Lad’s (1935 Derby) owner, the Maharajah of that Indian state, two horses from Parrish.

One, French Hollow, proved a wonderful buy so it was fortuitous when going over to meet David O’Brien at Ballydoyle soon after his Derby win with Secreto, after that horse beat his father’s El Gran Senor the previous month, when he asked me to redirect to the Cashel Palace Hotel as he was with an owner.

That owner was Malcolm, later to own both the Lordship and Egerton Studs in Newmarket. I told him of the French Hollow connection and he said. “Do you want any more?” We agreed on ten and they were all to go to Rod Simpson. You might ask where did I have £100k to spend? Luckily Malcolm wasn’t much bothered and he got his money in the end. Rod didn’t like the look of one, Hogmanay, priced at £5k and when later he kept winning chases around Ascot and the like for Richard Casey it was hard to take.

There were problems with others too. A horse called Seram behaved like a lunatic from day one and Rod suggested I’d give him and another horse away. I moved them both to Wilf Storey who already had Fiefdom for me, and while Seram did have to be put down after almost killing Chris Grant on the gallops, Santopadre was an outstanding jumper.

In short time Wilf won successively a selling hurdle, a claimer and a novice with a double penalty, each time with noted punter Terry Ramsden filling his boots, the latter race by 15 lengths at Wetherby. It was around that time I got a call from the Jockey Club security people to meet me at Ascot. There they said they believed Rod Simpson was still training horses that were running under Storey’s name. I told them in my opinion Rod was nothing like as good a trainer as the mild-mannered Co. Durham sheep farmer.

Another of the ten was Brunico, a grey who later in his career won 23 point-to-point races for Peter Bowen. At this stage he’d just won at Windsor first time over hurdles as a partnership horse with Terry Ramsden, but he bought me out before his win at Sandown, where even Dermot Browne’s best efforts couldn’t stop him winning.

He was second in that year’s Triumph where Santopadre was fifth, both in Terry’s colours. He then won an amateurs’ Flat race on Doncaster’s opening meeting under Tim Thomson Jones before providing a big shock when winning the Ormonde Stakes (Group 3) at Chester at 33-1.

A third runner  in that Triumph, carrying my then but now David Armstrong’s red silks, was second-favourite Tangognat but he hated the ground and finished tailed off.

The Cashel Palace Hotel was closed for many years but it has been greatly restored and a friend who stayed there last week – it re-opened on March 1 – says it is spectacular. As he was visiting Ballydoyle, Coolmore and the two younger O’Briens’ stables in preparation for the new season, he got his timing right – as ever. Lucky boy, that Harry!

One horse that will not be at Cheltenham is the Doreen Tabor-owned Walking On Air who was so impressive at Newbury recently. Apparently Nicky Henderson will not be able to prepare him for the race in time for next week.

His dam Refinement’s near miss is engraved on my memory, as I turned away when she apparently had the Mares’ Hurdle won, exactly at the moment her head hit the line going up rather than down.

The one Cheltenham I regret having missed of course was Punjabi’s Champion Hurdle victory in 2009 for Ray Tooth. I was sitting on my sofa at home recovering from a detached retina operation and dared not risk getting knocked over should he win. Instead I watched alone, barely cheering, just enjoying the unbelievable result. That day I fancied horses in every race and linked them all in a full cover each-way bet.

I had the 33/1 winner and laid out a nice few quid. Not one of the others managed a place! Never mind we beat Binocular! I love Cheltenham and regret I can’t get there in 2022. Hopefully there will be a few more chances, but you never know!

 - TS