In the first of an occasional series, ex-apprentice John Donkin recalls his first ever ride...
(l to r) John Donkin, Bobbie Green & Philip (Sparrow) Povall
In 2013, Johnny and his wife stayed at the Wetherby hotel
that had been built exactly on the spot where (above) he had stood with his mates
'...Around this time (1949), I was looking after two horses: a filly called Hyjorama and a colt called Episil. They were both in training and were entered at various meetings which meant that, if things went according to plan, I would now be going to different meetings to lead them up, as it's called in racing circles.
This, I was looking forward to, as a day at the races made a pleasant break in the routine of training, stable duties and all the other odd jobs that went along with being employed in a racing stable.
I was now considered proficient enough to ride work alongside the older lads, and my colt, Episil, went very well for me on the home gallops.
He usually managed to hold his own in the mixed gallops, and could finish with something in reserve, still 'on the bit', as they say.
I went to several meetings in the north of England with him: he always ran well down the field - never finishing last, but always in the final three or four to pass the post.
The jockeys who rode him were usually very upset when they came back after riding Ep (as I called him). They used some really bad language at times, calling him a right dog, a useless bastard, no bloody interest and a waste of time, etc.
I remember Cyril Rowley coming back to unsaddle after riding him: he had tears in his eyes when he dismounted and said: 'Don't ever ask me to ride this bugger again, Mr Vasey. He's the biggest rogue I've ever sat on - he just doesn't want to know.'
Harry Jamieson and Ginger Dyson said the same thing when they had the ride on him.
The horse gained quite a reputation for breaking jockeys' hearts, but for me he was as ever just sweet old Ep. We got on really well together.
A few weeks after Cyril Rowley had ridden him, the Guvnor came into my box one evening and said that
he was thinking about taking out an apprentice licence for me (right) as he had noticed that Ep always went very well for me on the gallops, and the owner was getting very fed up with the expense of keeping Ep in training. He didn't think he was getting value for the money invested, I suppose.
As a last resort, they had entered him in an apprentice race at Pontefract in a month's time, and, if he still went well for me, I'd be given the ride!
Oh happy day!
At last - a chance to don colours and be the centre of attention on a racecourse!
I thought my heart would burst before the big day arrived. I spent hours telling Ep how things would be on the day. I had always looked after him well, but with the prospect of riding him on the course, he really got the VIP treatment.
The week before he was due to run I heard the Guvnor and Bandy discussing Ep's future: Bandy said: 'It sometimes helps to geld a colt like him - if we castrate him it might make him shape up!'
I was horrified at the thought, putting myself in his place, I suppose, but - to tell the truth - Ep often whiled away the summer afternoons by masturbating himself to a climax.
I had a hard time getting him cleaned up and presentable for the Guvnor's evening inspection during those hot summer days, I can tell you!
The fact that I was to have my first ride in public went round the yard like wildfire, and it wasn't long before ripples spread outside the yard. Everyone who was interested in the racing game - and there were a lot of them in Wetherby - had heard the news, and I was the centre of a good deal of leg-pulling in the village at the time.
Standing in the queue at the local cinema, The Rodney,a few evenings later, one of the local girls (I don't remember which one) came up to me and said that she thought it was a shame. When I asked her what it was that was such a shame she said that Don, one of the older lads in the yard, had told her that if the horse I was to ride the following week didn't win or at least show some promise, they were going to castrate me!
The whole queue doubled up with laughter.
'You silly cow!' said one of the lads. 'It's not the jockey they're going to castrate, it's the bloody horse!'
What had happened, of course, was that Don had said to her: 'If that thing Johnny rides next week doesn't show some promise they're going to castrate him!'
He meant the horse, of course - not the jockey.
For a long time after this the wags around the town had a great time pulling my leg about how worried all the girls in the village had been when they heard the news.
Eventually the great day dawned, and off we went to Pontefract races.
Usually I would have had to travel in the horse-box to the meeting with Episil, but as I was riding him, I wouldn't be able to lead him up to the course as well so Harold Mallorie, the travelling head-lad, took him to the meeting whilst I was allowed to ride in the Guvnor's new car.
This was a huge Humber Hawke, bronze in colour and still smelling very much of a new car. It must have been one of the first cars off the production line when they started making cars again after the war. It was all very grand, and I must admit I felt nervous in these surroundings for the first time.
Apprentice races are nearly always the first race of the day - the old hands say it's to put the kids out of their misery as quickly as possible, so they don't sit around in the weighing room all afternoon getting the shakes.
It was my good fortune that day that we had several runners, so the stable jockey, Harry Blackshaw, was also in the weighing-room. The Guvnor had asked Harry to keep an eye on my and show me the ropes.
The first thing was to find a valet.
Harry said to me: 'In this game, especially if you've got several rides in the course of the afternoon, there simply isn't time to dress yourself, fill the weight cloth, change your silks, find a bigger/smaller saddle, etc, etc. The races are run at half-hourly intervals and there simply isn't time to hang about, so everybody has a valet to look after him. You have to pay him for his trouble, of course, and most valets make a very good living indeed as, at the moment, they charge £1 a time. They all have their own jockeys they work for and they are responsible for the jockey's personal gear. I'll see if the lad that usually valets for me has time for you.'
Luckily, the lad in question did have time to see me too, and when he heard it was my first ride he said: 'Well, kid, when you're in the big time, don't forget who showed you the ropes on the first day, will you?'
He gave me a pair of ladies nylon stockings - with huge holes in them, might I add? - and a pair of riding breeches in white silk with numerous patches, a pair of boots which were at least a couple of sizes too large for me, a white, silk muffler and a big safety pin.
To say I was disorientated would be an understatement.
The stockings were put on to make it easier to force ones feet into the soft riding boots: usually, if they were made to measure, they were of goatskin or something similar and fitted very tightly, but - as I said - mine were someone else's cast-offs, and I had no trouble getting into them.
When the valey saw how loose they were he said 'Wait a minute, kid. I've got yesterday's Sporting Life here!' He filled out the toes with newspaper and wrapped the rest of the paper around my calves to fill out some of the surplus room there.
'You're beginning to look like the real thing, kid,' he grinned, 'and if you get thrown off, you'll have something to read when they come down to fetch you in the shooting-brake. O.K?'
He found me a saddle and a weight cloth, and we did a quick turn on the scales to see how close to the weight I was.
I weighed 6 stone 5 pounds at the time, so quite a lot of lead was required in the weight cloth to get anywhere near the 7 stone 5 pounds that Episilhad been allotted that day.
Eventually everything was in order, and theweight cloth, number cloth and saddle were collected by the Guvnor who then went off to saddle Episil.
It wasn't long before the call 'Jockeys Out' was given, and all the budding hopefuls trooped out of the weighing-room and made their way into the parade ring.
The owner of the horse wasn't present, so there was just the Guvnor and I in the ring.
'Are you nervous, John?' he asked. 'It's a big day for you. One never forgets one's first ride in public - even after all these years I can still remember mine.'
I was quite surprised as the Guvnor was a big man and must have weighed at least 13 or 14 stone at the time and I had never even seen him on a horse during the time I worked for him.
He must have seen the look on my face as he went on to say: 'I haven't always been this heavy, you know. When I was out East I rode in amateur races in Singapore when I was younger.'
His instructions regarding how the horse was to be ridden were short and to the point.
'You know the horse better than anyone, John. He always goes well for you at home - we will be very pleased if you can get him to show any interest in the proceedings at all. Good luck! We haven't had a penny on him as he's disappointed us all too often. Do what you can with him.'
A minute or two later I was on board with Harols leading me down to the course. By way of conversation I said: 'He's not trying today, Harold. They haven't backed him.'
Harold burst out laughing and said 'Oh, thanks for telling me that, Gordon. (The champion jockey in England at that time was Gordon Richards.) It's a good job you said that as I had intended drawing my life savings out of Barclays Bank and putting the lot on him to win. You're a silly little bugger, Johnny. Nobody in his right mind would back this useless sod. Mark my words, he's one of the ones that ends up as cats' meat if he's lucky.'
By this time we were on the course and, after saying this, he took the leading rein off Ep and we were cantering on our own down to the start.
Most horses on a racecourse are extremely keyed up - dancing around, and raring to go, sweating a little even before the race just with the excitement of knowing that they are in a competition.
Not so Ep: he was as cool as the proverbial cucumber. Racing didn't bother him one bit, and this was when I first began having my doubts about him. He was a different horse altogether from the horse I was riding at home.
We lined up after the starter's order - in those days there were no starting stalls in England. The barrier
was a series of tightly drawn rubber ropes with a frame at each side of the course, and when the starter pressed the pedal down on his platform, the barrier was propelled upwards and away from the line up.
The date was May 11, 1949 (right) The race was the Knottingley Apprentice Handicap for the sum of 138 pounds and, looking through an old form book, I can see that of the 15 kids took part in this free for all the only names which may ring a bell for anyone connected with racing are Joe Mercer, A Robertson and T Eyre.
Ep jumped off with the rest of them well enough - I suppose he didn't want to be left behind all on his own - but whereas the rest of the field were fighting for position and making a race of it, Ep just lolled along at his own pace. He didn't want to be alone but he certainly wasn't interested in making an effort to get in front!
To say I was disappointed was an understatement: I tried everything I could think of to wake his ideas up but all to no avail. We trailed along at the back of the field just keeping in the race; he wasn't last but it wouldn't have bothered him one bit if he had been as long as he could see the other horses he was happy.
Luckily for me, quite a few of the early leaders blew up from doing too much too early and they were overtaken by the rest of the field so that in the straight - which isn't very far at Pontefract, only about two furlongs as far as I remember - they lost ground rapidly and, without even trying, Ep was able to overtake three or four of the other runners.
The Guvnor and Harold were waiting to unsaddle him when I got back to the paddock and the Guvnor was kind enough to say: 'Well, at least you weren't last, John, but I'm afraid this young fellow-my-lad is in for a rude awakening when we get home.'
He was referring of course to the threat of castration that had been hanging over Ep's head for the last few weeks and, sad to say, this is exactly what happened.
A week or so after the race, the vet came around, took him out into the back paddock and put a nosebag filled with hay and ether on him.
When he tumbled to the ground the vet proceeded to emasculate him. Poor Old Ep! He was really off his feed for a while until the wounds healed, but he soon picked up again and grew as fat as a pig.
I don't know how many times he ran after castration but the operation hadn't helped one bit on his outlook on life. He still went his own sweet way. I don't know what became of him later on - in all probability Harold's prophecy about becoming cats' meat may have come to pass.
I do remember that after the operation they brought his testicles back in a bucket and put them on to boil in the tack-room. The lads said they tasted very like pigs' hearts and that I should try eating some..'it'll do you the world of good, Johnny...it really puts lead in your pencil...'
I didn't try it and as far as I can recall the stable cats got most of it for which they seemed grateful.
I was greatly disappointed that things hadn't gone better for me on the racecourse. One thing that rankled me was the fact that after the races I wasn't invited to ride home with the Guvnor in his fine new car - I was relegated to the horse box again and went back to Wetherby with Harold and the other runners.
Harold, of course, pulled my leg unmercifully all the way home.
'You'll have made a lot of enemies today, Johnny - all the local people in Wetherby were counting on you winning. I bet they'll be round in the morning asking for their money back!'
Nobody ever did though. Harols had a great time kidding me about what he would have done in my place, but it was all in good fun and I was soon back to mu usual good humour.
Eric & Gordon, the two oldest apprentices who were getting most of the rides at the time, helped to put me in a better frame of mind when they said: 'Don't let it bother you, kid. Everybody in racing knows what a dog he is so don't let it get you down. At least you got the fee for riding him so look on the bright side. We'd ride him every day if we got five guineas a time for it.'
Until they mentioned the riding fee I hadn't even thought about money. But it was true enough.
Even though the Guvnor was entitled to half of the fee of five guineas, there was still two pounds, twelve shillings and sixpence to be credited to my account as far as I could see. I found out later this wasn't quite so as the pound fee for the valet came out of my half of the riding fee leaving me with only one pound, twelve shillings and sixpence for my trouble.
Even so - it was a great way to make a few extra bob.
Episil ran another six or seven times after the Pontefract race. Crazily, on July 29, 1949, he was made 6-4 favourite to beat a big field at Catterick. He finished down the field. There was a suggestion that the horse might be put to jumping - he was even entered in the National Hunt Chase at Cheltenham - but nothing came off it. Episil last raced in September, 1949.
Johnny's 1950 licence
Sparrow Povall & The Donk
Photo taken on the hayloft steps of Mr Vasey's stable
The same steps - fifty years later
Another shot of the now derelict yard.
Percy John Vasey, born March 8, 1890, trained at Micklethwaite House, Wetherby, Yorks.
His phone number was Wetherby 46 - life was a lot simpler then.
His biggest racing bargains included
Arch Stone (bought for 120 guineas): Seringhi (60 guineas);
Trimbush (850 guineas): Prince Merlin (35 guineas):
Bukit Maas (25 guineas): Mad Carew (160 guineas)
and Staplegrove (65 guineas)
He trained Regret to win the 1947 Manchester November Handicap
Racing colours were dark green, white sleeves & sash
He rode as an amateur in Malaya, winning 27 races
He served between 1914 - 1918
Percy Vasey died on October 26, 1982.
He was 92