Saturday, 16 February 2013

Great horseman and a dog called Jack

 
Nelson Pessoa


In '93 Ted Williams - one of the bravest horsemen I ever knew - died at 81, after a month in Leicester Infirmary.   The large attendance of friends from show jumping, horse racing and greyhound racing at his funeral at Copt Oak on that sad Thursday was proof of his popularity.   There were few weeks  over 45 years  that Ted was not a competitor in a jumping event somewhere in Britain or overseas.  He won fame at many of the world’s major showgrounds on many stylish horses like Pegasus and Sunday Morning.  I remember an occasision when his horses stood on a top deck for four wet days before competing in a major show in Toronto after one days rest.  After Ted retired he continued to break and teach young horses to jump until he was 80 years of age. I gave up horse practice to concentrate on greyhounds in 1960 but I continued to help Ted with minor equine problems.  Ted loved a night at the local independant dog tracks and had the occasional runner.  In 1975 his winning of the Television Trophy at Monmore with the black bitch Lizzie's Girl was very popular.   Many winners and riders in show rings and on National hunt tracks had been schooled at his Nanpantan stables. Some of our greatest steeple-chase jockeys got valuable tuition from Ted.  He took them for a day with the Quorn foxhounds and let them follow in his slipstream. Ted was proud of his reputation  for never refusing to mount one known to have thrown younger  men.    He bore his terminal pain with fortitude.   As his strength ebbed away he wore the peaceful smile of a man without an enemy.   He had worked hard on every day of his life.   He could do no more.  All he wanted from me was to thank the hospital staff for their care and wish all his friends in show jumping, horse racing and the greyhound world good luck.


Ted Williams


Ted and our mutual friend Jack West came to my kennels one day with none other than Nelson Pessoa wanting a greyhound to accompany his horses to competitions.      I had  seen the famous Brazilian jumping in London after he came to Europe but I never imagined meeting him over a greyhound.   Because of my friendship with Jack and Ted I could not refuse to give him his choice from two litters of saplings I had.   Nelson  spent quite a while just looking at all of them.  Then he picked three for special attention.  He handled  and stroked them in turn.   He looked into their eyes while whispering to them in Portuguese.   It was obvious that he had a way with dogs just as he had with horses.   As he moved toward the exit gate he waved his hand at one and it followed him.   He told Jack it was the one he wanted – if it was for sale.  I told him  that being untried I had no value on it yet and he was welcome to it.    As I was lifting it into Ted’s trailer  I felt a bundle of tenners being pushed into my pocket by Jack.   Jack and his good wife Elsie were generous clients of mine.  In 1965 I bought a dog for them called Piper Apache from Eric Adkins.  Eric had made his money from building houses in Northampton, Daventry and Rugby and asked me to buy this dog after it had won the Clonmel Produce Stakes.  It won several races for him before he agreed to sell it to Jack.  By that time I had bought five or six others for him.  Jack and Elsie were regulars at Coventry,  Leicester, Long Eaton and Melton Mowbray dogs where they made a popular book and  never failed to put up a price.  They had no children but were always kind to ours and they treated their greyhounds and their Alsaitian guard dog like children.  When our Warwick was ten they gave him an avery with twelve canaries with melodious voices.  We shall always remember Jack as the only greyhound client who ever remembered me in his will.  

 Nelson and Mrs Pessoa called my sapling Jack and their son Rodrigo adored him.   He went in the horse box with them wherever in the world they were competing.   He was as popular with the public as the horses they came to admire in the stables after the shows.   Mrs Pessoa told me in a letter of their sorrow when Jack died of old age.   “He was by far the best dog we ever had, he was so intelligent and he loved to play with Rodrigo when he was a little boy.    He was a real character.   But at the end of a big show in Paris he once brought embarrassment on us.  Somehow he broke out of the stable and rushed into the ring where the band was playing before the presentation of the prizes.   All the staff tried to catch him.  They offered him biscuits.   He grabbed them but never allowed any stranger to touch him.  He was so clever.  When Nelson circled the ring after collecting his prize Jack ran with them at the same speed.   I could write a book about the funny things he did.”

Rodrigo and Jack

Monday, 11 February 2013

Donegal footballers reach the Promised Land

I grew up in a happy home with brothers Tony, Ted and Owen and sisters Carmel & Eileen.  Our Dad & Mama loved us and worked hard to provide us with the essentials.  Dad's sister Maggie and her husband Jimmie Doohan lived beside us in Drumnatinney.   Although their children were ten or more years older they treated us as if we were their own.     One of their loving girls Birdie wheeled me in a pram - that Dad made - to the sea-shore.  Later she nursed my infant sister Carmel.   From the time we learned to walk there were few days when we did not visit them.   Aunt Maggie ensured that we were never hungry and if the rain came she kept us overnight.   Jimmie taught me to ride on one of his quietest horses.   He thus helped to make me able to take a horse over the mountain road to a sale or show at Letterkenny when I reached ten years of age.
My only unpleasant memory of those days was having nightmares about dying.    Dad told me that I was affected by hearing of the loss of two cousins – precious sons of Aunt Maggie.   Before I was born Patrick contracted pneumonia from sleeping in wet clothes while working for a Derry farmer.    Within three years Eddie died from peritonitis in Maynooth while the surgical staff who might have saved him were on strike.   Then in 1925 the whole community were shocked by a calamity near Creeslough on a wild stormy night.   The train on the viaduct crossing the valley of Owencarrow was blown off and two men and two women were killed. 
As a schoolboy the only time I left home was when Dad took me to Glasgow to visit his brother Pat who was my favourite uncle.   Pat managed a pub there which belonged to another brother.  I was only six but I still remember my excitement standing on the deck of the big ship in Derry looking down at the cattle being driven into the hold.    On the crowded city streets I wondered at all the noisy traffic.   At the circus in the Kelvin Hall I was fascinated by the clowns, the horses and the dogs
 performing under the coloured lights in the big marquee.


To get to school or to the village of Falcarragh we had to walk nearly a mile.   It was a bit less if we went through the fields of the Ballyconnell Estate when the Kerry bull was not about.   I did not have a bicycle until I was ten.  Then I cycled the three miles to Gortahork.    Later I ventured further ..... to Gweedore, Dungloe or Burtonport or in the opposite direction to Dunfanaghy, Creeslough or Letterkenny.  When fifteen I went to Bundoran the popular seaside resort in the south of the county with Maurice Sweeney who I’m glad to say is still there.  Our mission was to see our county football team play Cavan who had just won the All Ireland for the second time.   Seamus Mac Loughlin joined us at Donegal town where he was working in a pub.
  My first venture out of the county was to Dublin in 1937 with Seamus and Maurice's brother John.  We were anxious to see the All Ireland football final between Cavan and Kerry.    We set out at dawn on Friday with bags to carry puncture repair-kit, buttered bread,  boiled eggs and tin-mugs for water.   About midnight we rested in a hay-barn on the Tyrone border near Aughnacloy.   Before the farmer woke up we were on the bikes again.   Near Drogheda we found another barn.   We managed the last thirty miles to Croke Park on Sunday and found room on the side-line before the kick-off.   After the match - which ended in a draw -  we went to see the lights of O'Connell Street before setting out for our "bed" at Drogheda.    It was late on Monday when we found the one at Aughnacloy again.     We did not complete the 360 miles return trip until the early hours of Wednesday.   My poor worrying mother remembered me falling into bed and staying there till Friday afternoon. 
   

Seventy five years later I was amazed when I considered that I was still following the fortunes of Donegal football.   They had progressed to becoming champions for the first time in 1992 when I had gone back to Dublin to see the match. In 2012 I heard that the final was being televised at the Irish club in Leeds.  Simon was delighted to drive Jane, Charley and myself.  The Hall was packed – mainly with Donegal supporters wearing green and Mayo people wearing red.  Mayo had not won for many years and most neutrals were cheering for them.  The game was fiercely contested right from the throw-in.  I pitied the ref.  When three or four were jumping for the same ball it was quite impossible to know whether the most aggressive was wearing red or green.  Murphy the Donegal captain seemed most ready for action.  In the third minute as a high ball landed in the square he brushed his marker aside and slammed it into the roof of the net.  Then Colm McFadden added a point and goal within the next eight minutes.  This left Mayo with a mountain to climb.  To their credit they fought back and continued to pick up points.  But the two McGees from Gweedore and all the defenders, the midfielders, as well as ChristyToye and the other reserves who came on to relieve those who had given their all and indeed every member of the squad can be proud of their tremendous efforts.  The final whistle went with the score at 2 goals and 11 points to 13 points in a sea of green flags flying in the breeze.  Great credit is due to Manager Jim McGuinness for the belief, discipline and determination he had instilled into every member of his squad.  The Mayo team and their supporters took their defeat in a sporting manner.  In the Irish club they shook our hands and wished us good luck.  It is they who deserve a change of luck because they have lost in ten finals.


Friday, 8 February 2013



Coursing Hares on the hills of Lochindorb in Scotland

The small blue hares turn white in winter.  People used to come long distances for three days sport every winter. Some came from as far away as Devon.  They were all nice sporting people.  We booked in with our dogs at the same hotels every year.  Every day we carried packed lunches and liquid refreshment, which we ate and drank during the intervals about midday.  The hotels served a big dinner in the evenings and afterwards there was music and dancing till late.  Blairs government deprived us of this popular winter break. The M.P's believed the propaganda about cruelty.  In fact the few hares who were killed by the dogs got a quick humane death.  Since the ban hares have been shot by the thousands.  In shooting at least 10% of marksmen miss.  As a result many hares at the end of the day are suffering pain from the presence of pellets in their rear ends.  This causes infection, gangrene and a lingering death over two or more days. 


Monday, 4 February 2013


LES FOWLER

This is my old friend Les Fowler proudly wearing his medals on Remembrance Day annually in Luton.  Les often paraded a greyhound for me at Bedford, Cambridge, Luton, Milton Keynes, Bury St Edmunds, Northampton, Earls Barton or Huntingdon.  These were independent tracks which the NGRC did not approve of.  They were in fact owned by decent law abiding people who loved the sport and the greyhounds.  No owner or trainer was forced to run their hound if the surface of the track was unsafe.  We could not race our dogs in their registered names.  Consequently these tracks did not attract large attendances and they gradually were closed.  There used to be over 120 of them.  Sadly there are now only six or seven in operation.  Of course over 100 of the official tracks have also been closed. 

There used to be 14 in the great city of London; now there is only Wimbledon.  Scandals such as wrong decisions and false race times have destroyed confidence in the sport.  The White City used to attract 30,000 spectators to the Derby.  Now 2,000 is regarded as a big crowd.