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I always liked to get the best jockey that I could when a horse was fancied. Occasionally, if I had a runner that looked to have a good chance and no jockey had been declared then jockeys would call the yard and ask for the ride. It was the 20th September 1967 and I strongly fancied a colt by the name of Valairon, owned by Mr Lockwood, in the Tadcaster Three-Year-Old Selling Stakes at Pontefract the following day. On paper he looked a good thing and I couldn't see anything in the formbook that might trouble him. I knew he liked Pontefract having finished runner up in a handicap in April where he'd been beaten half a length under Cliff Parkes and he'd been placed five times already that season. I purposely hasn’t declared a jockey for Valairon as I wanted to see who would call the yard and try and get on. It wasn’t long before the telephone in the office rang. “Can you put me up tomorrow?” came a distinctive mumble. It was Lester Piggott. “I’ve got a ride in every race at Pontefract but the 3 o’ clock. Can I ride your horse?” I paused as I didn’t want to seem too keen. Just a week before Lester had ridden Ribocco to win the St Leger and here he was asking me if he could ride my horse in a seller worth £277 to the winner. But that was Lester all over. “I’ll put you up on one condition,” I replied. “No present if he wins. I’m not getting you a present.” Lester was happy with the arrangement and the next afternoon we met before the 3 o’clock race in the parade ring at Pontefract Park. Lester had been unplaced in the first race on the card and he wasn’t in the best of moods as we discussed tactics for the race, after which Lester mounted the horse and the pair headed for the start for the one-mile contest. Punters had latched onto the fact that Lester was riding and Valairon had been backed down to 5/2 and was now the favourite. The race was a procession, Valairon won by six lengths going away from Ernie Davey’s horse Esca. Valairon was led into the winners’ enclosure and Lester jumped off and walked towards me. “How did he go?” I asked. “He’s a bit doggy”, he grunted at me. “Where’s my present?” I looked as Lester in disbelief. “I told you, no present”, I replied, in keeping with our agreement the day before. Lester wasn’t happy, and he came back at me. “Come on, I want a present.” “I’m a poor little farmer”, I told Lester. “I have no money, I can’t afford a present.” “Can’t you spare me a bag of spuds?” asked Lester. He clearly wasn’t giving up on this one. “Come on, a bag of spuds.” “Alright, I’ll get you a bag of spuds”, I agreed reluctantly. Lester turned to the weighing room, saddle under his arm, and stalked off. I still owe Lester Piggott a bag of spuds and half a century later he still hasn't forgotten. I must be the only person to ever owe anything to Lester Piggott. |
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