Jocelyn de Moubray remembers the late, great Lester Piggott
Lester Piggott won the first four races that I ever saw
When I was still very small my father decided one day in early August that we as a family were going to go racing at Goodwood for no other reason other than it was taking place and was only a half an hour or so drive from where we lived. We knew nothing whatsoever about racing, my father announced that we had to be there at least three hours before the first race, and none of us were in a position to question his judgment.
So my first hours on a racecourse were spent with the rest of my family, on our own, high in the stands looking out over the course, the Downs and over to the Trundle Hill which was only just beginning to look populated, (even those in the Grandstand had access to the top tier from which you could see every part of the track and the countryside for miles).
I am exaggerating as we knew one thing about horseracing, in common more or less with the rest of the population of the country; we knew that the best jockey was Lester Piggott.
From the word go the family’s modest bets and my young eyes followed only this man, in the prime of his life but already a slightly strange figure, taller than the other jockeys with a stooped posture whose face was already beginning to be lined within the frame of his helmet.
I have tried since, without success, to find the names of the horses Lester won on that day. One was Some Hand and I think another Green God, but that may have been the following year.
In any event to me this winning sequence seemed to be a coincidence, both thrilling and somehow miraculous.
Racing was an entirely new and in many ways a chaotic experience, with previously unknown sounds, sights and smells together with the reassuring certainty that Lester was the best, and more often than not he would be riding the horse who passed the winning post in front.
Lester’s winning sequence may have seemed extraordinary to me at the time, but those old enough to have followed British racing in the 1970s will know that in many ways these things were the normal state of affairs.
Only a few years later in 1975, Lester won eight of the 24 races run at Royal Ascot and more often than not his mounts would dominate the major meetings. Those of us who followed this with excitement will all have our favourite winners.
I was very keen on Sagaro, so much so that I went on my own, by bicycle, to watch the François Boutin-trained colt win his third Ascot Gold Cup. I stood in the middle of the course at about the furlong pole to watch as he and Lester flashed past, the race already comfortably won.
I watched on my own, on a tiny television, Lester and Sea Chimes quicken down the hill into Tattenham Corner and a winning lead in the Coronation Cup. I had forgotten why this race had meant so much until many years later when clearing out my father’s house I came across a betting account statement revealing that I had had, considering both inflation and my age at the time, a ridiculously large winning bet.
Teenoso was another who left strong memories – his easy Derby win the year it rained more or less every day for two months leading up to the race, but above all it was his victory the following year in the King George VI & Queen Elizabeth Stakes at Ascot on a blazing hot day and firm ground.
Lester made the running at a furious pace and the Geoff Wragg-trained colt stayed on to defeat Sadler’s Wells, Tolomeo, Time Charter and Darshaan, some of the other champions in the race.
In the days following Lester’s death I spent time happily reliving these memories, and Lester’s triumphs through the many articles, interviews, as well as the replays posted on Twitter; most of which took place long before I followed racing, .
I was struck yet again as to just how good Lester was. His best wins are a long time ago now, but watching them again is to be reminded of his poise, balance and extraordinary tactical sense.
Nijinksy’s Derby win is a thing of great beauty and minimum apparent effort from his jockey, and then Teenoso’s win at Ascot is extraordinary as, in the straight, three or four of the champions coming from behind look sure to win, yet in the final 50yds the only one with any resources left was Teenoso, his rider having timed his run precisely to exhaust those trying to make up ground from behind.
It is also revealing that of his contemporaries who are still alive, Yves Saint-Martin and Willie Carson in particular, appear to have held the man, who was such a ruthless rival, in genuine affection.
The Minstrel never looks like winning the 1977 Derby, Carson and Hot Grove are travelling like the winners throughout the race until the final 50 yards when Piggott succeeds in forcing The Minstrel ahead. The film continues to show Piggott and Carson rather awkwardly shaking hands after the post until Carson leans back and gives Lester a friendly looking cuff on the helmet.
By the end of the 1980s I had become the editor of a weekly racing and bloodstock magazine, which went through many different names and formats.
Then there were around 15 young reporters who, under the supervision of the news editor Alan Byrne, went all over the country to report from race meetings, news conferences and, when necessary, law courts.
On the whole they received help and encouragement from racing’s professionals, occasionally they were insulted, or told to get their hair cut, but only twice do I remember being rung from a phone box by one of them in an emotional state.
The first of these calls came from close to Ipswich Crown Court in 1987 when the reporter could only just manage to tell me “They have sent Lester to jail.”
(The other call came from Goodwood the following year when the reporter, as well as many of those present, thought Steve Cauthen had been fatally injured by his terrible fall from Preziosa.)
Looking back from a time of non-doms and fiscal paradises, the decision to jail Lester Piggott for tax evasion seems unnecessarily harsh and it was surely even more unfair to rescind the honours he had so deservedly received.
Piggott was incontestably at the peak of an extremely tough and competitive profession for decades. He possessed a remarkable will to win, gave joy and winners to millions of followers, and, almost uniquely, he wanted not only to win, but whenever possible to do so with style and grace.
QUITE RECENTLY I happened to be taking a plane from Geneva to London the day before the start of Newmarket’s July Meeting. Arriving to wait at the gate I noticed that Lester was among those already there.
To my amazement he saw me too and came across to ask, “Going to Newmarket are you?”
It turned out he wanted to know what I thought of the chances of the Haggas’ stables runners the following day!
My final encounter came at the BBAG sales in Baden Baden. On a very hot day Lester was following around while his son Jamie dashed from box to box looking at yearlings. Lester clearly needed a break and so I suggested he came and sat down in Gestüt Roettgen’s hospitality box and had a cool drink.
He sat and rested and I thought he was probably on the verge of falling asleep so I waited without moving, watching the yearlings going up and down outside.
I was wrong, of course, I wasn’t the only one observing; Piggott suddenly put his head on one side to ask: “Who is that one by? He’s not bad looking is he?”