James Woodburn
1863-1919
1863-1919
Born at York on September 20, 1863, James began life as a doctor’s errand boy but, wanting to become a jockey, he ran away from home. Covering the 13 miles on foot, he arrived at the Hambleton stables of Mr Sanderson, who took an instant liking to the runaway. Woodburn rode his first winner for the stable on Hagioscope (carrying 6 stone 3 lbs) in 1881, beating Othello in the Thirsk Handicap.
Born at York on September 20, 1863, James began life as a doctor’s errand boy but, wanting to become a jockey, he ran away from home. Covering the 13 miles on foot, he arrived at the Hambleton stables of Mr Sanderson, who took an instant liking to the runaway. Woodburn rode his first winner for the stable on Hagioscope (carrying 6 stone 3 lbs) in 1881, beating Othello in the Thirsk Handicap.
A steady stream of winners ensued, including the Lincoln Handicap (twice, on Fulmen, 1886, & Lord George, 1891) and the Ebor in 1891 on Buccaneer. In 1889, he won the Stewards' Cup on Dog Rose & the Liverpool Autumn Cup on Philomel. His classic wins came in the 1889 Oaks on L’Abesse de Jouarre and, in the same year, on Minthe in the One Thousand Guineas. He rode his final winner on Lady MacGregor at Birmingham in 1900.
A steady stream of winners ensued, including the Lincoln Handicap (twice, on Fulmen, 1886, & Lord George, 1891) and the Ebor in 1891 on Buccaneer. In 1889, he won the Stewards' Cup on Dog Rose & the Liverpool Autumn Cup on Philomel. His classic wins came in the 1889 Oaks on L’Abesse de Jouarre and, in the same year, on Minthe in the One Thousand Guineas. He rode his final winner on Lady MacGregor at Birmingham in 1900.
James, who stood at 5 ft 1 & a half inches tall, was a keen fox-hunter, and was often seen out with the York and Ainsty. He was the brother-in-law to Fred Barrett, each of the jockeys having married a daughter of James Goater, the trainer.
James, who stood at 5 ft 1 & a half inches tall, was a keen fox-hunter, and was often seen out with the York and Ainsty. He was the brother-in-law to Fred Barrett, each of the jockeys having married a daughter of James Goater, the trainer.
Having ridden work at Newmarket for many years, James suffered a heavy fall and was rushed to the Rous Memorial Hospital where he spent many months recuperating.
Having ridden work at Newmarket for many years, James suffered a heavy fall and was rushed to the Rous Memorial Hospital where he spent many months recuperating.
He was eventually discharged, but died, destitute, aged 56, from cancer of the tongue on Monday, 27 October, 1919. He was buried at Newmarket.
He was eventually discharged, but died, destitute, aged 56, from cancer of the tongue on Monday, 27 October, 1919. He was buried at Newmarket.
He left one daughter, Mrs Emery.
He left one daughter, Mrs Emery.
His brother, George, (1861-1894) was also a jockey.
His brother, George, (1861-1894) was also a jockey.
Once, speaking of his relationship with horses, he said:
Once, speaking of his relationship with horses, he said:
“A horse may be, and is generally described as ‘a poor, dumb animal.’ It’s a bit of luck, in my opinion. For some horses I have met, and keep meeting, that he is unable to voice his thoughts and distress. Most of them – and especially the racing thoroughbreds – have a lot more sense – common sense or what is termed horse sense – than half the people who look after them. The best horses are really noble animals, and they never forget a friend.
“A horse may be, and is generally described as ‘a poor, dumb animal.’ It’s a bit of luck, in my opinion. For some horses I have met, and keep meeting, that he is unable to voice his thoughts and distress. Most of them – and especially the racing thoroughbreds – have a lot more sense – common sense or what is termed horse sense – than half the people who look after them. The best horses are really noble animals, and they never forget a friend.
Quite a number of otherwise well-meaning, good-tempered racehorses are soured by bad or improper treatment. A yearling in its early days, when it leaves the side of its dam, requires firm but sympathetic handling. They’ll do almost anything for you if you handle them right. When I see performances of trained wild animals I always think what their trainers might not be capable of accomplishing with young thoroughbreds – almost make them talk, I feel sure. It is their instinct to race. You’ll see young foals racing among themselves in the paddocks. That’s what Nature intended them to do, and they know it out of their own feelings. Most of them don’t require whipping or spurring to urge them to gallop at their topmost speed, and they know when they’ve won or lost.
Quite a number of otherwise well-meaning, good-tempered racehorses are soured by bad or improper treatment. A yearling in its early days, when it leaves the side of its dam, requires firm but sympathetic handling. They’ll do almost anything for you if you handle them right. When I see performances of trained wild animals I always think what their trainers might not be capable of accomplishing with young thoroughbreds – almost make them talk, I feel sure. It is their instinct to race. You’ll see young foals racing among themselves in the paddocks. That’s what Nature intended them to do, and they know it out of their own feelings. Most of them don’t require whipping or spurring to urge them to gallop at their topmost speed, and they know when they’ve won or lost.
There have been punishing jockeys, and others who were rightly esteemed for the tender manner they handled the younger horses, the two-year-olds in particular. I can say for myself that very seldom did I touch any horse with whip or spur. As long as I felt he was running generously, I liked to let him know. I appreciated what he was doing. Horses don’t require any telling whether you are satisfied with them. They know. All the right sort I have ridden, about ten thousand, have thoroughly realized what was meant by the pat on the neck I have given them or the ‘Good lad’ or ‘Good Gal’ I have said to them.
There have been punishing jockeys, and others who were rightly esteemed for the tender manner they handled the younger horses, the two-year-olds in particular. I can say for myself that very seldom did I touch any horse with whip or spur. As long as I felt he was running generously, I liked to let him know. I appreciated what he was doing. Horses don’t require any telling whether you are satisfied with them. They know. All the right sort I have ridden, about ten thousand, have thoroughly realized what was meant by the pat on the neck I have given them or the ‘Good lad’ or ‘Good Gal’ I have said to them.
And do they forget ‘a pal’, someone who has treated then fairly? Never – on my word – never! There was a sprinter I used to ride called Prince Hampton. I think he missed me as much as I missed him when he left the track for the stud. It was ten years before I saw him again. I had occasion to go to the Childwick stud and before leaving was told that my ‘old pal’ Prince Hampton was there. Would I like to see him? Would I not!
And do they forget ‘a pal’, someone who has treated then fairly? Never – on my word – never! There was a sprinter I used to ride called Prince Hampton. I think he missed me as much as I missed him when he left the track for the stud. It was ten years before I saw him again. I had occasion to go to the Childwick stud and before leaving was told that my ‘old pal’ Prince Hampton was there. Would I like to see him? Would I not!
When I got to his box the lad who attended him said, ‘Be careful, sir. He’s very vicious!’ ‘He won’t try to hurt me’ I said. And in I went. Did he know me? The old chap had heard me, my voice and my footsteps: he was waiting to welcome me with his tongue half hanging out from the side of his mouth as he always used to do as he waited to be saddled and bridled for me to get across his back in the old racing days. He knew me; he hadn’t forgotten any more than I had. We had our little chat, he in his way licking my hand, and I patting him, stroking him, and telling him – right from my heart – how glad I was to see him and be with him once again.”
When I got to his box the lad who attended him said, ‘Be careful, sir. He’s very vicious!’ ‘He won’t try to hurt me’ I said. And in I went. Did he know me? The old chap had heard me, my voice and my footsteps: he was waiting to welcome me with his tongue half hanging out from the side of his mouth as he always used to do as he waited to be saddled and bridled for me to get across his back in the old racing days. He knew me; he hadn’t forgotten any more than I had. We had our little chat, he in his way licking my hand, and I patting him, stroking him, and telling him – right from my heart – how glad I was to see him and be with him once again.”
James also once discussed the jockey Fred Archer:
James also once discussed the jockey Fred Archer:
“Fred Archer stood as high in the estimation of the sporting folk of this country as any man of any rank or calling. He was fairly worshipped. I knew him most intimately; in fact, he had often in my earlier days given me hints and the best of advice. Away from the course a nicer man you’d never meet. You’d have lunch with him and be on the very best of terms. But immediately he landed on a racecourse he was another person. He never let friendship interfere with business.
“Fred Archer stood as high in the estimation of the sporting folk of this country as any man of any rank or calling. He was fairly worshipped. I knew him most intimately; in fact, he had often in my earlier days given me hints and the best of advice. Away from the course a nicer man you’d never meet. You’d have lunch with him and be on the very best of terms. But immediately he landed on a racecourse he was another person. He never let friendship interfere with business.
I think I can see him now – his long, lanky figure, the light blue eyes, protruding teeth and fair skin. How he got into nine stone was a bit of a mystery as he stood fully 5ft. 9ins. In his socks. He used to waste conscientiously, but too much inside a Turkish bath to my way of thinking. For my own part, I believe that wasting to weaken oneself in the autumn is a mistake. It’s bad enough to do in the warmth of summer, when you can get it off more easily. Anyway, Archer reduced himself to ride at 8st 7lbs.
I think I can see him now – his long, lanky figure, the light blue eyes, protruding teeth and fair skin. How he got into nine stone was a bit of a mystery as he stood fully 5ft. 9ins. In his socks. He used to waste conscientiously, but too much inside a Turkish bath to my way of thinking. For my own part, I believe that wasting to weaken oneself in the autumn is a mistake. It’s bad enough to do in the warmth of summer, when you can get it off more easily. Anyway, Archer reduced himself to ride at 8st 7lbs.
I rode the favourite Cariton, who was third, in the Cambridgeshire of 1886. But the finish was practically left to The Sailor Prince, ridden by White, and St. Mirin – a three-year-old giving a six-year-old a stone in heavy going. St. Mirin failed by a short head to accomplish this task. The race was run on October 26th 1886 and nine days later Archer rode in his last race. He made no show on Tommy Tittlemouse, the last horse he rode. I rode the winner, India Star. He was ill and unable to ride at anything like his best. His face was white and drawn and he looked ill. I said to him ‘You look bad.’ And he answered ‘Yes, I feel very queer.’
I rode the favourite Cariton, who was third, in the Cambridgeshire of 1886. But the finish was practically left to The Sailor Prince, ridden by White, and St. Mirin – a three-year-old giving a six-year-old a stone in heavy going. St. Mirin failed by a short head to accomplish this task. The race was run on October 26th 1886 and nine days later Archer rode in his last race. He made no show on Tommy Tittlemouse, the last horse he rode. I rode the winner, India Star. He was ill and unable to ride at anything like his best. His face was white and drawn and he looked ill. I said to him ‘You look bad.’ And he answered ‘Yes, I feel very queer.’
He left the course and that was the last I saw of him. I was dressing to go to the Liverpool meeting when my landlady called out to me ‘What do you think? Fred Archer has shot himself.’ The news came as a severe shock to me. On Thursday night, instead of waiting for the last day of the programme, I left for Newmarket with a number of Archer’s most intimate friends including Arthur Cooper, Johnny O’Neil, Joe Davis and other professional racegoers. That was the finish of poor old Archer.’
He left the course and that was the last I saw of him. I was dressing to go to the Liverpool meeting when my landlady called out to me ‘What do you think? Fred Archer has shot himself.’ The news came as a severe shock to me. On Thursday night, instead of waiting for the last day of the programme, I left for Newmarket with a number of Archer’s most intimate friends including Arthur Cooper, Johnny O’Neil, Joe Davis and other professional racegoers. That was the finish of poor old Archer.’
James Woodburn’s classic wins:
James Woodburn’s classic wins:
One Thousand Guineas: Minthe (1889)
One Thousand Guineas: Minthe (1889)
The Oaks: L’Abbesse de Jouarre (1889)
The Oaks: L’Abbesse de Jouarre (1889)
Other big wins included -
Other big wins included -
Royal Hunt Cup (1882) Sweetbread
Royal Hunt Cup (1882) Sweetbread
Portland Handicap (1886) Modwena
Portland Handicap (1886) Modwena
Ascot Stakes (1886) Belinda)
Ascot Stakes (1886) Belinda)
City & Suburban (1888) Fullerton
City & Suburban (1888) Fullerton
Great Metropolitan (1896) Fatherless
Great Metropolitan (1896) Fatherless
Hardwicke Stakes (1892) St Damien
Hardwicke Stakes (1892) St Damien
Middle Park (1890) Gouverneur
Middle Park (1890) Gouverneur
Gimcrack Stakes (1888) Cheroot
Gimcrack Stakes (1888) Cheroot
Manchester Cup (1892) Balmoral & (1894) Shancrotha
Manchester Cup (1892) Balmoral & (1894) Shancrotha