Op/Ed: Heroes Come Both Great and Small

As a sideline to my role with TDN, I dabble in breeding the odd slow horse and do a fairly moderate job of being a trainer's wife.

Our stable is one of the smallest yards in the largest training centre in Britain. I love living in Newmarket. It revolves around Thoroughbreds, from the training of them on the Heath in the heart of town to the breeding of the next batch of superstars and also-rans on the stud farms in surrounding villages.

Racehorses have been trained here for almost 400 years. I've been in Newmarket for only 15 of those years but even in that time there's been a significant change, and it's one which is mirrored across the sport.

The big yards are now so much in demand that many of the horses on their books are with pre-trainers until spaces become available at the trainer's yard(s). Elsewhere, boxes stand empty as small or medium-sized stables struggle for patronage and, in some cases, go out of business. There are more horses in Newmarket than when I first came here but they are spread among fewer trainers.

Of course, owning a racehorse is firmly in the luxury goods category of life. Nobody needs to have one, but if they have enough money to be able to buy a horse or two, then they'll want the best that they can afford and to be able to send them to a fashionable trainer. To a degree—and there are certain notable exceptions, both good and bad—the level of opportunity determines the trainers' championship.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not railing against the unfairness of life. I feel privileged to be involved in racing, albeit as a bit-part player, and anyway, I save my rants for Brexit these days. Long before I left London for Newmarket I was a racing fan, and I will remain one until I die. Fans of any sport need heroes to look up to and they will invariably be the big names. I moved to this town nearly pinching myself that I could walk a furlong from my front door every morning and be on the Heath watching Henry Cecil float about on his grey hack. The great man has gone but my feelings haven't changed.

One of the most memorable mornings of this year involved a press call for Too Darn Hot (GB) ahead of the Dewhurst. I wandered out imagining we'd see him with a lead horse while the rest of John Gosden's string went elsewhere but instead the handful of unworthy scribblers and snappers gathered on Warren Hill were treated to the full pomp and circumstance march of Enable (GB), Roaring Lion, Cracksman (GB) and Stradivarius (Ire)—all repeat Group 1 winners within the fortnight.

Roaring Lion became a favourite through the year. His panache on the racecourse was always well disguised at morning exercise. He'd purr along quietly mid-string, poised, but with no bad-boy antics of a superstar. Quite the reverse could be said for another grey in the town who is a little closer to home.

Roy Rocket (Fr) is a somewhat unruly 8-year-old gelding, bred by his trainer and daily rider, John Berry, who doubles as my husband. Roy didn't trouble the judge until he was five and he has thus far achieved a career-high rating of 74, recording all nine of his wins at one of Britain's most peculiar and unfashionable tracks, Brighton. We co-own him with two longstanding friends and patrons, Iris and Larry McCarthy, who love nothing more than a good old knees-up at the races.

Rather extraordinarily, Roy has developed a burgeoning fan club. He's always been beloved by the faithful crowd at Brighton, where he gives them a good run for their money with his late charge from the back of the field. In return they roar him home as he swings wide to make his challenge, yelling “Here he comes” as if Frankel himself has suddenly made a comeback appearance on the Sussex Downs.

A combination of his silly name, snowy white coat and wayward tendencies is perhaps at the root of Roy's popularity. He is instantly recognisable, but it's also easy to see when he's running that he's a proper battler, always trying. No matter how hard he tries, he'll never be a Roaring Lion, but he has the heart of one, and has done as much to raise the profile of our small stable as any Group 1 winner would.

I've talked to people at the races who have come especially to see him, likewise the many visitors we had in the pouring rain of Newmarket's open weekend. On an otherwise fairly wretched morning a few months ago, spirits were lifted considerably by the delivery of a hand-drawn card and packet of Polos sent to Roy by two young sisters in Ireland.

We all know that many of the current problems within racing in Britain stem from a lack of prize-money and there have been calls to reduce the number of low-grade races. Admittedly, they can be unedifying spectacles, but we should be careful what we wish for. A huge proportion of the horses in training are eligible only for this level of race, providing a wide base for the streamlined top of the pyramid. Every breeder, owner and trainer dreams of having a top-class horse but more often than not we have to settle for a winner, if we're lucky, at a much more lowly level. And in their own way those horses do as much for the sport as their elite friends gracing the turf at Ascot or Cheltenham.

Last week, the middle-of-the-road handicapper Roy Rocket was recognised with the ROA Award for Special Achievement in a category which included the much more talented Accidental Agent (GB), Billesdon Brook (GB) and Take Cover (GB). It's the only time Roy will 'beat' group winners, and it's almost certainly the only time that his owners will stand on the same stage as the connections of Enable, Roaring Lion, Altior (Ire) and co. Yes, we were perhaps out of place, but we took great pride in it, not least for the enjoyment that our little horse has given so many fellow fans. That is, after all, what sport is all about.