Lester: The Official Biography Page 4

  Lester, incidentally, never passed an official school examination. He failed the examination for transferring from the lower school at King Alfred's in Wantage, to the upper, and at Miss Westdrake's school he sat for no School Certificate (as it was then) or any other paper qualification. His intelligence in life terms was (and is) colossal. In the presence of such unstoppable natural gifts, a formal education was in his case irrelevant.

  Since 1950, of course, it has been made impossible for anyone to start Flat racing so young. Not only is the school leaving age at least sixteen, but the minimum age for apprenticeship to any trade is now also sixteen. Lester was lucky. Boys nowadays have no chance of developing racing skills while their bodies are pliable and light.

  Lester himself might never have been able to Flat-race at all if he hadn't been allowed to start until sixteen, because by then he was too heavy for the ultra-light weights carried in apprentice races.

  By the opening of the 1950 season, Lester was known as "a useful boy" and was put up regularly by a widening pool of trainers around the Lambourn area: Fred Templeman, Frank Hartigan, "Atty" Persse, and Frank and Ken Cundell in particular.

  Possibly because at fourteen he was developing in straightforward physical strength, the winners began coming at regular and diminishing intervals: one in April, three in May, three in June, six in July.

  By 1 August, two significant things had happened, though they had been gradual developments, not dates to put fingers on. First, the whole professional racing world had come to realise that this slightly over-publicised kid really did have genuine skill and promise, and second, and probably infinitely more importantly, a positive hunger for winning had grown in Lester himself. He was coming to understand what he could do, and from that very knowledge grew zest, enthusiasm, determination, dedication and perseverance. Genius gets nowhere much without those qualities, and with their growth during the summer of 1950 the genius dormant in Lester Piggott germinated and thrust upward into the sun.

  It wasn't the securest of plants at that stage and there were tribulations ahead, but its arrival, if not universally welcomed, was undeniable, unmistakable, and a gust of new wind through an ageing scene.

  A bunch of by then middle-aged jockeys had dominated racing since the early thirties, among them Charlie Smirke, Charlie Elliott, Ken Gethin, Eph Smith, Tommy Weston, Rae Johnstone, Michael Beary, Billy Nevett, Dick Perryman and, above all, that great gentleman Gordon Richards. They had monopolised racing throughout the war while the limited programme had been kept going in order to maintain the blood lines and the breeding industry, and they were cosily established as a more or less exclusive group. Younger brothers like Doug Smith were making progress but, on the whole, apprentices had had few opportunities for six or seven years, which meant there were few established jockeys in their twenties.

  Lester and the Mercer brothers, Manny and Joe, were the vanguard of the new teenaged generation which swept into the vacuum and rearranged the status quo. Lester remembers that none of the old guard was antagonistic but that Charlie Elliott alone positively helped him with advice.

  "They were all close," he says. "They'd all known each other a long time. They used to bet all the time [jockeys are not allowed to, according to the regulations] and they would fiddle about discussing their chances and putting their money on, and then sometimes going out and beating the horse they'd backed! Racing was run for them really. Down at the start, one particular starter would line everyone up [there were no stalls then] and ask Gordon Richards if he was ready. `Ready, Gordon?' And if Gordon nodded, the race would start. They were all on good-pals terms with the Stewards, too. I called Eph Smith a four-letter word one day after he'd tried to unbalance me in a race and he trotted straight off to the Stewards to complain. The jockeys aren't so close a group nowadays. There's not so much betting, but in those days there was a bookie's runner in and out of the changing room all the time."

  Berkshire County Council would have had a fit. The fourteen-year-old Lester, already in many respects exceedingly adult, didn't and couldn't join the established group. It is probable that they tolerated him willingly, though, because from 1 August onwards in 1950 he became a top-rank money spinner for them, winning thirty-nine races in eleven weeks and finishing as leading apprentice.

  That season, aged fourteen, he rode in 404 races and won 52 of them. He finished with more winners than many established jockeys, such as Ken Gethin and Joe Sime, and was beaten by only ten of the great names, headed of course by Gordon Richards, who scored 201, followed by Doug Smith and Harry Carr.

  This great burgeoning summer ended, however, on a sour note. Lester was reported to the Stewards for dangerous riding in a race at Newbury, and on the following Wednesday stood before them at an enquiry in Newmarket (seepage 77). It was the day , of the Cambridgeshire; 25 October. The Stewards gave Lester a three weeks' suspension which, in effect, meant the rest of the season, but allowed the ban to start from the following day so that he should be able to ride in the Cambridgeshire as planned.

  Lester rode Zina, a three-year-old filly, on whom he had won convincingly at Newbury only seven days earlier. Trained by Frank Cundell, she again ran a great race, flashing across the line with two others, Kelling and Valdesco. The horses were spread out across Newmarket's wide Rowley Mile course, where the angle of the finish can be deceptive. Both Lester and Frank Cundell thought that Zina had won, and Lester rode confidently into the winner's enclosure. The other two jockeys, Doug Smith and Ken Gethin, accepted that this was right, and took second and third unsaddling places without question.

  The photograph of the very close finish stunned everybody. Kelling, not Zina, had passed the post first, his nose stretching out like an arrow. The official distances were a neck and a head. Lester's day, Lester's year, ended disconsolately. The pictures of him taken that afternoon show a downcast semi-child with rounded cheeks and a faint air of bewilderment at the speed and thoroughness with which his triumphant progress had gone wrong.

  Flat jockeys wore at that time no protective helmets under their silk caps, and the silk caps did nothing at all for anyone's appearance. Full grown men looked stunted in them. On Lester, in photographs, they ballooned his face unbecomingly: but that was how caps were worn then, and one had to put up with the results. There's no doubt that modern crash helmets do more for a jockey than simply shield his skull.

  Lester turned fifteen, went for a skiing holiday, rode his father's horses at exercise and waited for spring.

  The new season started off about as discouragingly as the old had ended, as within ten days of resuming Lester broke his collar-bone and was out of action until mid-April (seepage 132). He walked to keep fit and came back with confidence, riding winners steadily week by week. One of the first of these was Zucchero, considered by Lester still to be one of the best horses he ever rode.

  Zucchero (Italian for sugar) was trained at Compton in Berkshire during his threeyear-old season by Ken Cundell, who had been steadily engaging Lester from very early on. Lester consequently partnered Zucchero in a preliminary race at Hurst Park and then in the Blue Riband Derby Trial Stakes at the Epsom Spring Meeting on 26 April, winning the latter not unexpectedly at 7-1. That race, and the Great Metropolitan on the same course two days before, were the first "big" races Lester had won: not the biggest in prize money, but definitely in prestige.

  Zucchero, dark and devilish, was a difficult horse to manage and train. After an unsuccessful two-year-old season, he was acquired by bookmaker George Rolls and sent to Ken Cundell who knew his new charge had kinks about starting in races. If he would start, he could fly. Ken's solution was to go down to the start himself and hold his horse's head, pointing him in the right direction and not letting go until the tapes went up. (This was, of course, in the days before stalls.) Ken would practically throw Zucchero forwards into the contest, and most often these tactics worked. Starters were tolerant of awkward horses and allowed such manoeuvres; perhaps in later years the brilliant
Zucchero, if he couldn't have been persuaded into a stall at all, would never have won a race.

  His next run after the Blue Riband Trial was in the Derby itself. Lester at fifteen was the youngest jockey in the field but saw no reason on that account to be nervous. Ken Cundell in his morning coat met him at the start and held Zucchero's head as usual.

  Came the "off", the tapes flew up, and Zucchero took two firm paces backwards. Ken Cundell pointed to the way ahead despairingly, Lester kicked and urged frantically, and Zucchero finally and reluctantly set off on the journey that but for his pigheadedness could have put him in the starriest record books. He finished well back in the ruck, never being able to make up the ground lost.

  At the time I (Dick Francis) was also riding regularly for Ken Cundell but on his jumpers, and I saw a good deal of Zucchero, saddling him up and giving Lester a leg up in the parade ring once or twice while Ken went down to the distant starts.

  After the Derby, the wayward animal won two not very important races six days apart, at Windsor and Sandown Park, and only eight days later lined up for the King George VI and Queen Elizabeth Festival of Britain Stakes at Ascot, towards the end of July. Lester thought these three races were too close together and that the stamina needed for the "King George" might have been squandered at Sandown: but Zucchero wouldn't work well at home and Ken couldn't get him to gallop properly except in races. Zucchero went to the start at Ascot and again stuck his toes in. Even then, starting well last, he flew through the field to finish a scant three-quarters of a length behind the winner, Supreme Court, and a further six lengths in front of the third horse, Tantiemme, who was a dual winner of the Prix de 1'Arc de Triomphe.

  This disappointment was slightly mitigated by the fact that a few days earlier, at Sandown, Lester had won the Eclipse Stakes, by then his biggest win by far in either prize money or prestige; and he had done it on a chance ride, the French horse Mystery IX, proving conclusively that his talent was international and of serious proportions.

  The 1951 season, which had brought fifteenyear-old Lester his first ride in the Derby, his first big-race wins and his first star-quality mounts, ended dramatically and prematurely for him in August at Lingfield, where he broke his leg (see page 134).

  Despite this rotten disaster, he maintained his position as leading apprentice, with a total of 51 victories from 432 rides.

  The fall terminated not only his riding but also his earning capacity for the year.

  The payment of apprentices' racing fees is distinctive in that half goes to the apprentice and half to his master. This arrangement, set up in the mists of time, is based on the premise that the master is teaching the apprentice his job, and deserves a reward. Some trainers make a much better job of training their apprentices than others, notably in the past Stanley Wootton, Frenchie Nicholson and Sam Armstrong.

  Those like Frenchie, who among others taught Paul Cook and Pat Eddery, really worked hard at making successful careers for their boys, and in cases like those the apprenticeship system worked at its best. In later years, Reg Hollinshead has kept up the tradition, producing jockeys such as Walter Swinburn and Paul Eddery.

  Keith Piggott was demonstrably a good schoolmaster to his own son, but he also produced the Forte twins, Dominic and John, nephews of Charles Forte, the hotelier tycoon. Keith was a good teacher of apprentices, down to earth, practical and hardworking. Although entitled by the system to take half of Lester's earnings for himself, he didn't. He banked it all for his son, and also gave him, at twelve, thirteen and fourteen, pocket money of five shillings a week (approximately £3 now). This wasn't any act of principle. Lester simply didn't want more. He seldom spent the whole of it, and saved the rest. Apart from that, he left his finances to his father during his apprenticeship and concentrated on winning.

  It was the intensity of his concentration allied to his relative inexperience which caused recurring accusations of rough riding. He'd been taught, for instance, that to go round on the inside rail was the shortest way, and that the shortest way was best.

  There, accordingly, was where he tried to race. Then, with a horse full of running, he would find himself boxed in. He would know, often enough, that he was expected to win, and he knew he had to quicken: and he would take any opening, however small, however non-existent, to force his way through.

  He was scolded, fined and suspended for aggression but, as he says in later years, "It was anxiety, really. I thought if I went back and said I couldn't win the race because I couldn't get out, no one would like it. As you get older, you don't get in those positions where you've got to push your way out. Of course, you've got to make mistakes sometimes, but as you get older you can see what's going to happen from the time the gates open, and you get into a place where you're not going to be shut in or tied up. But all this takes time. That's what it really boils down to. At the beginning, when you're young, you just don't think about what you're going to do until you're doing it."

  The authorities and some of the Press might censure those early misjudgments, but the romantic British public took Lester to their hearts, liking his fierce determination and certain he would bring their bets home if he could.

  He started his last season of apprenticeship as a national mini-hero, and he let no one down.

  By March 1952 his leg had solidly mended, he was sixteen, and he had grown. He was no longer a lightweight jockey. He could ride at only a little under eight stone, and people were predicting that he'd never fulfil his promise, that he would never be champion jockey because he would be too big.

  Lester shrugged all that off and got on with the job.

  During the winter, he had been engaged to ride as first jockey for the flour magnate, J. V. Rank, for the coming season, an enormous promotion in professional standing, but J. V. Rank died suddenly early in the year, before any of his horses ran. Mrs.

  Rank kept them on for a while but gradually sold them. Lester thus only temporarily came into the full enjoyment of his first top appointment, but the kudos of having been engaged for it, while still an apprentice, clung to him like gold dust.

  One of the Rank horses, Gay Time, provided some of the peaks of a busy year.

  Trained by Noel Cannon at Druid's Lodge near Stonehenge, Gay Time won for the first time that season at nearby Salisbury, and next time out ran in the Derby.

  The big race that year was won by Tulyar, ridden by Charlie Smirke. Lester's account of the event is as follows: "There were a lot of runners that year, as many as there had ever been, and I couldn't lay up to begin with. They went very fast and Gay Time wasn't a very fast horse. I got into a lot of trouble and I was a long way behind coming into the straight. I switched to the outside then and got a good run, and it looked like I would win. Charlie Smirke was in front. He had had to go to the front a bit soon on Tulyar, and by the end the horse was tired and beginning to pull himself up, and he came off the rails towards me, hanging to the right. He impeded me. I finished second. If it had been now, I'd have got the race on an objection, but there were no head-on cameras in those days. At the time, I was sure I would have won if it hadn't been for being hampered, but as it happens, Tulyar always beat Gay Time afterwards, like when they met in the King George."

  Lester didn't lodge an objection to Tulyar, not because he wasn't convinced of the justice of his case, but because Gay Time fell over when he was pulling up. He lost his footing on the road the horses had to cross at that point, and pitched Lester off.

  Gay Time, then loose, gave himself a gay old time eluding capture, ending a good distance away in some woods. Lester couldn't even weigh in until his saddle was brought back to the weighing room, and by then it was understood that it was too late for him to object.

  After Gay Time had lost again to Tulyar in the King George VI and Queen Elizabeth Stakes, Mrs. Rank sold him to the Queen, in whose colours he won at Goodwood and finished fifth in the St. Leger, ridden by Gordon Richards.

  Lester himself could do little wrong. The winners cam
e fluently, his score steadily mounting. In the end-of-year statistics, he was taken off the apprentices' table and given full jockey status for his 79 wins from a huge pool of 620 rides.

  1953 was depressingly different.

  Lester's apprenticeship officially ended in February of that year, and he could reasonably have looked forward to a smooth continuation of his starry career. Life however turns on its favourites sometimes and Lester went oddly off form.

  "It happens to a lot of boys," he says. "They're good while they're young. Then they go off. They grow. That's what it was like with me. It had all been too easy. I hadn't worried much, it had all just come."

  He thought his instinctive touch had left him, that his best days were gone. His wins-to-rides ratio had fallen to fewer than one in ten. He felt heavy. He was seventeen and a good deal taller. The differences he felt in himself, the ending of a comparatively carefree era of unforced success, and the anxieties which took its place, most probably were all the result of the natural physical, mental and psychological developments of his body. The mid-teens, the upheaval years of hormone change from boy to man, are enough to cope with on their own. Because of his ecstatically acclaimed career, of which perhaps at that time too much was euphorically expected, puberty and the onset of manhood had to be quietly managed in public. A good many infant prodigies fade entirely under that sort of strain.