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20 Jun 11
13:37
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05 Jan 10
The 'home of horse racing' has been left in shock after it emerged that eight members of the equine industry in Newmarket have been found hanged in as many years.
Tragic Daniel Daw, 49, was found hanging from railings over a canal in Newmarket, Suffolk, near where he worked as as a rider at Darley Stud Management.
An inquest into his death revealed married Mr Daw was the eighth worker within the town's horse racing industry to have died from hanging since 2003.
The 15,000 population town is widely regarded as the international home of the horse-racing industry and is the largest equine training centre in Britain.
Charity Racing Welfare, based in Newmarket, has admitted severe stress, long working hours and addiction to drink and drugs are behind many of the deaths.
Richard Negus, fundraising and communication executive, said many workers turn to alcohol and drugs to numb physical pain or forget about money and career worries
He said: ''Racing is quite macho, they be small in stature its a very tough physical sport. It's quite similar in some ways to the armed services
''It is safe to say that there are a lot of pressures and sometimes the work hard, play hard mentality can take over.
''But you cannot say it is only drugs or drink addiction that is taking these lives. The reason these individuals took their own lives is personal to them.
''Drink and drugs may be a contributing factor because you can get to a position where you take your life.
''We are not saying there isn't an issue as we have had these awful deaths but 25 per cent of this town's population work in the racing industry.
''If you look at suicide statistics in a similar sized market town I don't think it would be too different.''
An inquest at Bury St Edmunds' Coroners' Court last week heard Mr Daw was ''unhappy'' and had ''experienced difficulties'' before his death on April 13 this year.
He downed five pints at New Astley Club before his body was found hanged over a canal which runs along The Watercourse.
David Grant, 24, hanged himself at Rae Guest's stables on June 26 2009, where he lived with other workers.
An inquest heard he had received counselling for a drink problem and was found dead with double the legal drink-drive limit of alcohol in his blood.
In May 2009 Vincent Bray, 37, was found hanged at his home in Newmarket by his partner Sharon Deane.
Mr Bray, a stable lad, suffered ''personal difficulties' and left a suicide note on his mobile phone, an inquest into the death heard.
Stablelad Eric Clamp, 33, who worked for Newmarket trainer James Fanshawe and looked after 2002 Champion Hurdle winner Hors La Loi, was found hanged in April 2005.
He left a suicide note written on an envelope and tests showed he had a fatal amount of cocaine in his bloodstream.
The night before his death he had been seen drinking and dancing in a bar.
Mr Clamp's colleague Paul Matthews, 41, was found hanged in a stairway at La Grange Stables, six months later.
Jeff Brown, 40, who worked for leading Newmarket trainer David Loder, was found hanged at his home in January 2005.
An open verdict was recorded on stable hand Justin Dillon, 24, who was found hanging at Charnwood Stables where he lived and worked on May 22 2003.
The gardener had not been seen for three days and although a letter was found at his home it was not a suicide note, the inquest was told.
Groom Justin Harris, 31, who trained Godolphin Racing, was found hanged in 2003, after he had taken cocaine and an open verdict was recorded.
Racing Welfare set up a 24 hour charity helpline in Newmarket three years ago and has helped prevent at least seven attempted suicide since then.
A large proportion of those seeking help are aged between 44 and 65-years-old as their career is coming towards an end and suffering health problems.
Workers also suffer financial problems due to low wages, health issues after years of injuries in a physically demanding job and relationship problems.
Terri Griffiths, head of welfare at Racing Welfare, revealed that drink and drugs are behind many of the deaths.
Riders and stable hands can lead isolated lives which involve long working hours and unsociable hours making hard to lead a ''normal life'', she added.
She said: ''There are young, keen people coming with the ambition to be the next Frankie Dettori and very few will make it.
''It's a really tough industry and we know exactly what it is like.''
Tragic Daniel Daw, 49, was found hanging from railings over a canal in Newmarket, Suffolk, near where he worked as as a rider at Darley Stud Management.
An inquest into his death revealed married Mr Daw was the eighth worker within the town's horse racing industry to have died from hanging since 2003.
The 15,000 population town is widely regarded as the international home of the horse-racing industry and is the largest equine training centre in Britain.
Charity Racing Welfare, based in Newmarket, has admitted severe stress, long working hours and addiction to drink and drugs are behind many of the deaths.
Richard Negus, fundraising and communication executive, said many workers turn to alcohol and drugs to numb physical pain or forget about money and career worries
He said: ''Racing is quite macho, they be small in stature its a very tough physical sport. It's quite similar in some ways to the armed services
''It is safe to say that there are a lot of pressures and sometimes the work hard, play hard mentality can take over.
''But you cannot say it is only drugs or drink addiction that is taking these lives. The reason these individuals took their own lives is personal to them.
''Drink and drugs may be a contributing factor because you can get to a position where you take your life.
''We are not saying there isn't an issue as we have had these awful deaths but 25 per cent of this town's population work in the racing industry.
''If you look at suicide statistics in a similar sized market town I don't think it would be too different.''
An inquest at Bury St Edmunds' Coroners' Court last week heard Mr Daw was ''unhappy'' and had ''experienced difficulties'' before his death on April 13 this year.
He downed five pints at New Astley Club before his body was found hanged over a canal which runs along The Watercourse.
David Grant, 24, hanged himself at Rae Guest's stables on June 26 2009, where he lived with other workers.
An inquest heard he had received counselling for a drink problem and was found dead with double the legal drink-drive limit of alcohol in his blood.
In May 2009 Vincent Bray, 37, was found hanged at his home in Newmarket by his partner Sharon Deane.
Mr Bray, a stable lad, suffered ''personal difficulties' and left a suicide note on his mobile phone, an inquest into the death heard.
Stablelad Eric Clamp, 33, who worked for Newmarket trainer James Fanshawe and looked after 2002 Champion Hurdle winner Hors La Loi, was found hanged in April 2005.
He left a suicide note written on an envelope and tests showed he had a fatal amount of cocaine in his bloodstream.
The night before his death he had been seen drinking and dancing in a bar.
Mr Clamp's colleague Paul Matthews, 41, was found hanged in a stairway at La Grange Stables, six months later.
Jeff Brown, 40, who worked for leading Newmarket trainer David Loder, was found hanged at his home in January 2005.
An open verdict was recorded on stable hand Justin Dillon, 24, who was found hanging at Charnwood Stables where he lived and worked on May 22 2003.
The gardener had not been seen for three days and although a letter was found at his home it was not a suicide note, the inquest was told.
Groom Justin Harris, 31, who trained Godolphin Racing, was found hanged in 2003, after he had taken cocaine and an open verdict was recorded.
Racing Welfare set up a 24 hour charity helpline in Newmarket three years ago and has helped prevent at least seven attempted suicide since then.
A large proportion of those seeking help are aged between 44 and 65-years-old as their career is coming towards an end and suffering health problems.
Workers also suffer financial problems due to low wages, health issues after years of injuries in a physically demanding job and relationship problems.
Terri Griffiths, head of welfare at Racing Welfare, revealed that drink and drugs are behind many of the deaths.
Riders and stable hands can lead isolated lives which involve long working hours and unsociable hours making hard to lead a ''normal life'', she added.
She said: ''There are young, keen people coming with the ambition to be the next Frankie Dettori and very few will make it.
''It's a really tough industry and we know exactly what it is like.''
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I went there a few times in the 80s and 90s to see the guineas couldn,t see a bloody thing [>o], hannons horse won one year christ what was it me father backed it . I didn't like the place a whole town with one thing on it's mind is a disaster waiting to happen.
Think it was dont forget me and i did did a iraish fella own it ? was their orange in its colours . Thats the bugger i don't like the place its a rich mans thirsk in my view.
no delta but i know a few who have and heard a few stories...
people i TRUST...
people i TRUST...
Aplogies for above post. I seem to recall alee scott was shot
I did 45 yrs ago for 3 yrs,, i remember it was hard work, £2.11shillings a week and getting run away with 3 times a week on the gallops, i met some good people though, in them days it was the drink, there were no real druggies, all you had was the pub and you couldnt afford to drink much, it was a bloody **** place though for a youngster.Its a lot bigger now and a lot more to do, if you didnt make friends it was depressing. My sympathies to the family of the young man the thread is about. I think the racing colleges have helped the younger ones realise how hard the life is.
dont forget me was a sort of fuscia pink / black sash / fuscia pink and black striped cap.
JIM HORGAN owned it...
lame the night before the race...
poulticed it up and sound in the morning.
JIM HORGAN owned it...
lame the night before the race...
poulticed it up and sound in the morning.
Who was the trainer who took his life after the big Father hayes gamble @ Sandown wasnt he newmarket based?
Alex Scott was shot by an employee in 1993.
The trainer who allegedly shot himself was a fellow at Hambledon where Smart and Ryan currently train.
Can't think of his name but got into bad company after leaving Paul Cole to whom he was an assistant.
The trainer who allegedly shot himself was a fellow at Hambledon where Smart and Ryan currently train.
Can't think of his name but got into bad company after leaving Paul Cole to whom he was an assistant.
think its foot was stood in a bucket of ice all morning H.H
Rememeber it now had a bad foot aye did it win about 10-1 or 8-1 the good old days , trying to remember if i ever backed a winner there sure my old tickets are in a drawer somewere. Porno on the way there in a coach bog overflowing piss flowing from one end of coach to the other 12 cans each to go there 12 back its not allowed anymore elf and saifty i think.
you might be right there geoff tbh..
just remember he was lame at some point - poulticed up and came sound in time...
memory not my strong point tbh...
just remember he was lame at some point - poulticed up and came sound in time...
memory not my strong point tbh...
Sad tale but I fail to see how working in racing is anything like working in the armed forces, a crass comparison imo.
In the nineties I lived in Newmarket for 3 years. It is a truly dreadful place. Many inhabitants are real lowlifes. Glad to get back to London.
Our eli ooh them were the days used to go past ely on way to ipswich [:)], once saw a rat on the pavement near the post office there whilst passing on the bus was quite a size as well.
Conversations tend to revolve around racing, so there's no hope if you don't like the sport.
Anybody over 5ft 4 gets served quicker in the pubs
Triga,i would have thought London would have had a sh1tload more lowlifes than Newmarket.
Trainer who committed suicide was William Pearce a pal of mine a real nice kind guy.
Intriguing that one the father hayes one jesus ? what was that all about ?
Agreed but not per capita. In London most don't bump their aris when they step off the kerb haha
William had plenty of debt people thought that the supposed coup would end his ongoing financial difficulties
it did not, the suicide I think the action of a desperate man at the end of his tether. So so sad.
it did not, the suicide I think the action of a desperate man at the end of his tether. So so sad.
I,m searching here cant find a lot about it , remember reading about it in the papers.
The scandal-blasted Heath: The murder of racehorse trainer Alex Scott nine days ago turned public attention on the closed world of Newmarket. What makes racing's HQ run? And what passions are bubbling beneath the surface? Jamie Reid finds all is not what it seems in a 2,300-horse town built on legends
Sunday, 9 October 1994
THE Japanese couple walking up Warren Hill with their young son paused halfway to admire the view. All around them, thoroughbred racehorses were easing into their daily work across the sweet green grass. The rattle of their hooves very nearly drowned out the thunder of the Cambridge rush-hour traffic on the Bury Road. The birds were singing. The sun was just beginning to break through in the east and the sky had that clean and newly washed look of a fine day to come.
The visitors got out their cameras and lifted up their son to get a closer view of an approaching string. 'Morning,' called a stable lad cheerfully. 'Watch out, boys,' called another. 'It's yer Yutaka Take.' Some of his mates s****ed unkindly. If the Japanese family understood the allusion to their fellow countryman, the supposed villain of last Sunday's Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe, they didn't show it. They all just kept smiling excitedly, none more enraptured than the child. A third lad, older and more red-eyed than the rest, leaned forward in the saddle. 'Don't be a jockey, son,' he said ruefully. 'Don't be a jockey.'
It was only a brief episode maybe but not a bad illustration of what often happens when 'outsiders' get their first glimpse of Newmarket Heath and of when the local community get any kind of glimpse of an outsider. Enthusiasm greeted by friendliness, cynicism and fatigue in equal part.
Newmarket is at its best in the early mornings. That's when it gives most freely of the classical pictures and images beloved by professional and amateur photographers. But as with any other hothouse world - from the City to Westminster and the media - Newmarket has its other sides too. Ranging from the colourful to the dubious and the downright depressing.
The Alex Scott shooting briefly propelled racing out of the sports pages and on to the news pages, its sudden flash of violence breaking up the normal sanitised facade. Such extreme incidents are by no means the everyday pattern even in this inward-looking town. But drama of the more general soap- opera variety has always been in plentiful supply. When the BBC decided back in 1991 that it was going to make a high-gloss Sunday evening series about horse racing it should have sent the producers to Newmarket. The place cries out to be the title and subject of a soap-opera. It's got horses, yes. But it's also got sex and ambition and sex and money and avarice and greed and sex and gambling and disillusionment and sex.
The most celebrated affair of the heart in Newmarket's recent history was Henry Cecil's divorce of his first wife, the much-loved Julie, and his remarriage to his second wife Natalie, a former nurse. But at least six other of the town's richer and more distinguished racing personalities have either chosen or been compelled to restructure their domestic arrangements in the past few years. One Newmarket resident, herself an experienced racing professional, borrowed from a comment about a certain Major James Hewitt in order to describe the proclivities of one of our leading trainers. 'Of course, the trouble with old so and so,' she declared, 'is that every time he unzips his trousers his brains fall out.' Old so and so, it seems, has recently been entertaining a lady herself no stranger to fellow members of his profession. Then there was the trainer who had to sack his jockey not only because he was selling information to a bookmaker but because he was having an affair with his wife, too. As it happens, the trainer's wife was also having an affair with another employee but the trainer took longer to work that one out.
So what is it with these people? Is there some special aphrodisiac about all that early-morning rising? About the tight jodhpurs and the heaving flanks? A more likely explanation is the always potent combination of horseflesh and money and the sadder truth of so many couples having nothing much in common other than their appetites and nothing else to talk about other than racing.
Any soap that sought truthfully to capture the atmosphere and feel of this one-trade town would have to reflect that narrowness. It would also have to depict some of the obsessive eccentricities of a cut-off world. Newmarket is a place that you don't really go through . . . A place of history and tradition but only intermittent beauty. A place of some trees but too few hedges. A place on the margin of the East Anglian arable plain. Where the winter wind sometimes seems to blow in directly from the Urals. A place that baffles and repels as much as it excites.
This is the town where Lester Piggott claimed that his only bank account was with the NatWest branch on the High Street. This is the town where the number one racecourse involves trying to get excited about watching indistinct bunches of horses galloping towards you up a flat, wide straight that's a mile and a quarter long.
Even the gallops are not without drawbacks. Newmarket may offer its owners and trainers acres of the lushest and best-tended grass in Britain. But with few distinguishing characteristics to speak of, those same training grounds can often seem repetitive and monotonous. And in a town of up to 60 stables and roughly 2,300 racehorses your priceless little darling must often take its place in the queue. Breathing in stinking carbon monoxide fumes as it waits by the traffic lights that are especially designed to usher bloodstock backwards and forwards across the busier thoroughfares.
Henry Cecil can look down on the traffic from the peace of his first father-in-law's house up on Warren Hill. But most of his main rivals are located down below on the bustling Bury Road. The hungry Michael Stoute, the amiable John Gosden. And the wily, Italian-born Luca Cumani. Behind each of these men there are a bunch of confident young assistant trainers and junior Arab racing managers all called Marcus and Justin. Their mission is to ensure that there is some corner of an English racecourse that will be forever Eton.
The architectural style of the big stables and houses ranges from barracks and boarding-school Gothic to the red-brick Edwardian lavatory look favoured around Wentworth and Sunningdale. Even the names chip in with those themes. Stanley House. Sefton Lodge. Fairway. The Gables.
Men like Gosden and the new Newmarket chairman Peter Player are thoughtful and progressive individuals who think seriously about racing's wider image in the world. 'Racing has traditionally been a conservative and introspective sport,' Gosden says. 'That's partly because of the long hours worked and the sheer time- consuming nature of it all. But the more of an entertainment industry we become then the more we must widen our outlook. The public will expect that from us as a condition of their continuing support.'
Some of Gosden's colleagues are still not so enlightened. Not least when it comes to looking after their workforce. One trainer, who expects to make six figures a year from the game, was complaining last week that if he had to pay his staff more than the basic pounds 120 a week it would seriously affect his own position. And there's a gentleman who watches his lads leave work on bicycles each morning while he drives off to the races in a Mercedes. And who has installed a massive satellite dish on his front lawn so that he can receive the full SIS service that is relayed to the betting shops.
Employers like these conjure up memories of the old days when lads were subjected to a disciplinary regime that made Tom Brown's Schooldays look like Barbara Cartland. Even in the Seventies many of them were still expected to get their hair cut and stand to attention when their trainer told them to. In 1975, simmering resentment over these primitive conditions resulted in the infamous stable lads' strike. The high or low point of that dispute was a sit- down on the Rowley Mile on 2,000 Guineas day, which was broken up by posses of Hooray Henrys charging down the course from the Members' Enclosure and using their binoculars as weapons.
The best of today's Newmarket stable lads enjoy the exhilarating thrill of riding out two superbly bred horses each morning, which to an ambitious 17-year-old apprentice is like test-driving a
Williams-Renault. If the talent is there they may go all the way and become another box-office star like Frankie Dettori. If not, they may end up with an extended career building up the muck-heap in the stable front yard.
It's perhaps not surprising that two of the most popular classes at the Newmarket sports centre are kick-boxing and karate. Or that Newmarket stable staff traditionally excel at that annual festival of battery and mayhem called the Stable Lads' Boxing Finals. There are times when these pugilistic skills spill over into the public arena, notably when the stable lads and the 'town lads' get into 'a spot of grief' outside the town's Chat Noir and Pacino's nightclubs. (Not the least puzzling thing about the Alex Scott affair is that the accused man, Clem O'Brien, is not some wild chancer but an otherwise mild and inoffensive 58-year- old groom.)
You won't see many of the Bury Road trainers in Pacino's. Their social lives are largely dictated by the pattern of visits from their major owners, especially during the sales and the big race meetings like this week's Cesarewitch fixture. That's when Jennifer's Diary moves up to Suffolk for the weekend and the red-brick Edwardian houses overflow with hard, smart traders and their hard, smart wives. Those famous Flat racing women. The burnished blondes with cut-glass smiles and hides as tough as their brown leather boots. When Flat racing on the turf finishes for the winter the social scene switches to Barbados, notoriously rechristened Newmarket- on-Sea.
The one sobering thought for this training elite is that the lifestyle to which they have become accustomed is overly dependent on the patronage of their Arab owners. And the power of the Arabs is now more conspicuous than ever. Cast an eye back up towards the top of Warren Hill and just before Henry Cecil's yard you'll see a vast, modern, red-brick structure complete with high walls and colonnades and security cameras at the gate. It calls itself Warren Towers and resembles the headquarters of some secretive religious cult. It actually belongs to the world's leading racehorse owner, Sheikh Mohammed of Dubai, and the locals have nicknamed it the Maktoumery. It's said to sleep 81 and to have a penthouse swimming pool with a retracting roof.
From this hilltop eyrie the Sheikh can enjoy a commanding view not only of the gallops down below but also of his employees' stables on the Bury Road. He can probably even see into their bedroom
Sunday, 9 October 1994
THE Japanese couple walking up Warren Hill with their young son paused halfway to admire the view. All around them, thoroughbred racehorses were easing into their daily work across the sweet green grass. The rattle of their hooves very nearly drowned out the thunder of the Cambridge rush-hour traffic on the Bury Road. The birds were singing. The sun was just beginning to break through in the east and the sky had that clean and newly washed look of a fine day to come.
The visitors got out their cameras and lifted up their son to get a closer view of an approaching string. 'Morning,' called a stable lad cheerfully. 'Watch out, boys,' called another. 'It's yer Yutaka Take.' Some of his mates s****ed unkindly. If the Japanese family understood the allusion to their fellow countryman, the supposed villain of last Sunday's Prix de l'Arc de Triomphe, they didn't show it. They all just kept smiling excitedly, none more enraptured than the child. A third lad, older and more red-eyed than the rest, leaned forward in the saddle. 'Don't be a jockey, son,' he said ruefully. 'Don't be a jockey.'
It was only a brief episode maybe but not a bad illustration of what often happens when 'outsiders' get their first glimpse of Newmarket Heath and of when the local community get any kind of glimpse of an outsider. Enthusiasm greeted by friendliness, cynicism and fatigue in equal part.
Newmarket is at its best in the early mornings. That's when it gives most freely of the classical pictures and images beloved by professional and amateur photographers. But as with any other hothouse world - from the City to Westminster and the media - Newmarket has its other sides too. Ranging from the colourful to the dubious and the downright depressing.
The Alex Scott shooting briefly propelled racing out of the sports pages and on to the news pages, its sudden flash of violence breaking up the normal sanitised facade. Such extreme incidents are by no means the everyday pattern even in this inward-looking town. But drama of the more general soap- opera variety has always been in plentiful supply. When the BBC decided back in 1991 that it was going to make a high-gloss Sunday evening series about horse racing it should have sent the producers to Newmarket. The place cries out to be the title and subject of a soap-opera. It's got horses, yes. But it's also got sex and ambition and sex and money and avarice and greed and sex and gambling and disillusionment and sex.
The most celebrated affair of the heart in Newmarket's recent history was Henry Cecil's divorce of his first wife, the much-loved Julie, and his remarriage to his second wife Natalie, a former nurse. But at least six other of the town's richer and more distinguished racing personalities have either chosen or been compelled to restructure their domestic arrangements in the past few years. One Newmarket resident, herself an experienced racing professional, borrowed from a comment about a certain Major James Hewitt in order to describe the proclivities of one of our leading trainers. 'Of course, the trouble with old so and so,' she declared, 'is that every time he unzips his trousers his brains fall out.' Old so and so, it seems, has recently been entertaining a lady herself no stranger to fellow members of his profession. Then there was the trainer who had to sack his jockey not only because he was selling information to a bookmaker but because he was having an affair with his wife, too. As it happens, the trainer's wife was also having an affair with another employee but the trainer took longer to work that one out.
So what is it with these people? Is there some special aphrodisiac about all that early-morning rising? About the tight jodhpurs and the heaving flanks? A more likely explanation is the always potent combination of horseflesh and money and the sadder truth of so many couples having nothing much in common other than their appetites and nothing else to talk about other than racing.
Any soap that sought truthfully to capture the atmosphere and feel of this one-trade town would have to reflect that narrowness. It would also have to depict some of the obsessive eccentricities of a cut-off world. Newmarket is a place that you don't really go through . . . A place of history and tradition but only intermittent beauty. A place of some trees but too few hedges. A place on the margin of the East Anglian arable plain. Where the winter wind sometimes seems to blow in directly from the Urals. A place that baffles and repels as much as it excites.
This is the town where Lester Piggott claimed that his only bank account was with the NatWest branch on the High Street. This is the town where the number one racecourse involves trying to get excited about watching indistinct bunches of horses galloping towards you up a flat, wide straight that's a mile and a quarter long.
Even the gallops are not without drawbacks. Newmarket may offer its owners and trainers acres of the lushest and best-tended grass in Britain. But with few distinguishing characteristics to speak of, those same training grounds can often seem repetitive and monotonous. And in a town of up to 60 stables and roughly 2,300 racehorses your priceless little darling must often take its place in the queue. Breathing in stinking carbon monoxide fumes as it waits by the traffic lights that are especially designed to usher bloodstock backwards and forwards across the busier thoroughfares.
Henry Cecil can look down on the traffic from the peace of his first father-in-law's house up on Warren Hill. But most of his main rivals are located down below on the bustling Bury Road. The hungry Michael Stoute, the amiable John Gosden. And the wily, Italian-born Luca Cumani. Behind each of these men there are a bunch of confident young assistant trainers and junior Arab racing managers all called Marcus and Justin. Their mission is to ensure that there is some corner of an English racecourse that will be forever Eton.
The architectural style of the big stables and houses ranges from barracks and boarding-school Gothic to the red-brick Edwardian lavatory look favoured around Wentworth and Sunningdale. Even the names chip in with those themes. Stanley House. Sefton Lodge. Fairway. The Gables.
Men like Gosden and the new Newmarket chairman Peter Player are thoughtful and progressive individuals who think seriously about racing's wider image in the world. 'Racing has traditionally been a conservative and introspective sport,' Gosden says. 'That's partly because of the long hours worked and the sheer time- consuming nature of it all. But the more of an entertainment industry we become then the more we must widen our outlook. The public will expect that from us as a condition of their continuing support.'
Some of Gosden's colleagues are still not so enlightened. Not least when it comes to looking after their workforce. One trainer, who expects to make six figures a year from the game, was complaining last week that if he had to pay his staff more than the basic pounds 120 a week it would seriously affect his own position. And there's a gentleman who watches his lads leave work on bicycles each morning while he drives off to the races in a Mercedes. And who has installed a massive satellite dish on his front lawn so that he can receive the full SIS service that is relayed to the betting shops.
Employers like these conjure up memories of the old days when lads were subjected to a disciplinary regime that made Tom Brown's Schooldays look like Barbara Cartland. Even in the Seventies many of them were still expected to get their hair cut and stand to attention when their trainer told them to. In 1975, simmering resentment over these primitive conditions resulted in the infamous stable lads' strike. The high or low point of that dispute was a sit- down on the Rowley Mile on 2,000 Guineas day, which was broken up by posses of Hooray Henrys charging down the course from the Members' Enclosure and using their binoculars as weapons.
The best of today's Newmarket stable lads enjoy the exhilarating thrill of riding out two superbly bred horses each morning, which to an ambitious 17-year-old apprentice is like test-driving a
Williams-Renault. If the talent is there they may go all the way and become another box-office star like Frankie Dettori. If not, they may end up with an extended career building up the muck-heap in the stable front yard.
It's perhaps not surprising that two of the most popular classes at the Newmarket sports centre are kick-boxing and karate. Or that Newmarket stable staff traditionally excel at that annual festival of battery and mayhem called the Stable Lads' Boxing Finals. There are times when these pugilistic skills spill over into the public arena, notably when the stable lads and the 'town lads' get into 'a spot of grief' outside the town's Chat Noir and Pacino's nightclubs. (Not the least puzzling thing about the Alex Scott affair is that the accused man, Clem O'Brien, is not some wild chancer but an otherwise mild and inoffensive 58-year- old groom.)
You won't see many of the Bury Road trainers in Pacino's. Their social lives are largely dictated by the pattern of visits from their major owners, especially during the sales and the big race meetings like this week's Cesarewitch fixture. That's when Jennifer's Diary moves up to Suffolk for the weekend and the red-brick Edwardian houses overflow with hard, smart traders and their hard, smart wives. Those famous Flat racing women. The burnished blondes with cut-glass smiles and hides as tough as their brown leather boots. When Flat racing on the turf finishes for the winter the social scene switches to Barbados, notoriously rechristened Newmarket- on-Sea.
The one sobering thought for this training elite is that the lifestyle to which they have become accustomed is overly dependent on the patronage of their Arab owners. And the power of the Arabs is now more conspicuous than ever. Cast an eye back up towards the top of Warren Hill and just before Henry Cecil's yard you'll see a vast, modern, red-brick structure complete with high walls and colonnades and security cameras at the gate. It calls itself Warren Towers and resembles the headquarters of some secretive religious cult. It actually belongs to the world's leading racehorse owner, Sheikh Mohammed of Dubai, and the locals have nicknamed it the Maktoumery. It's said to sleep 81 and to have a penthouse swimming pool with a retracting roof.
From this hilltop eyrie the Sheikh can enjoy a commanding view not only of the gallops down below but also of his employees' stables on the Bury Road. He can probably even see into their bedroom
Wee eck,
Was it definitely a suicide, because he had a lovely family?
I think he was found on the gallops, wasn;t he?
From what you knew of him was he the type?
I 'm not generally a conspiracy theory type but there were aspects of William Pearce's death that troubled me.
Was it definitely a suicide, because he had a lovely family?
I think he was found on the gallops, wasn;t he?
From what you knew of him was he the type?
I 'm not generally a conspiracy theory type but there were aspects of William Pearce's death that troubled me.
Saturday, 29 July 1995
Stud groom William "Clem" O'Brien was yesterday sentenced to life imprisonment for the murder of his boss, racehorse trainer Alex Scott.
O'Brien, 58, was cleared of a further charge of threatening to kill Scott's gardener, Christopher Forster.
The jury of five women and seven men at Norwich Crown Court took nearly five hours to reach the 10-2 majority verdict following the eight-day trial.
The defence claimed O'Brien was guilty of manslaughter rather than murder, on the grounds of provocation.
But in sentencing him to life imprisonment, Mr Justice Blofeld said: "It is a terrible thing you did. For reasons difficult to fathom you totally lost your temper and in a moment of passion you picked up that gun and you shot Mr Scott." O'Brien had brought tragedy on everyone concerned, he added.
As the verdict was announced Scott's widow Julia, 38, who was flanked by members of her husband's family, let out a huge cheer.
Reading from a statement afterwards, Mrs Scott, who is left with three young children, said she was relieved the trial was over and that justice had been done. But she added: "Nothing will bring back my husband, senselessly killed in the prime of his life. He had so much to live for and look forward to both with his family and in his training career." She added: "He was the most wonderful husband and father and a very dear friend to all who knew him."
His brother Charles added that O'Brien had ended a "sparkling life".
Scott was shot in the back by a single barrel shotgun in a barn at Scott's Glebe Stud Farm in Cheveley, Newmarket, on 30 September last year.
During the trial the court heard how O'Brien had developed a "deep resentment" over Scott's working methods after the trainer took over the stud in 1992.
Matters came to a head three days before the murder when O'Brien apparently told a bloodstock agent that it was not convenient for buyers to view a horse. Scott took exception and in an argument, O'Brien told Scott he could "stuff his job".
The following day Scott sent O'Brien a letter asking for confirmation of his resignation.
According to Mr Forster, O'Brien apparently began planning a confrontation, and told him: "When he comes out I am going to have it out in the barn."
On the day of the murder, Scott visited the barn to remove O'Brien's belongings. After everything had been cleared out, O'Brien insisted Scott had a look in the barn "to make sure everything was all right".
The court heard that moments later Mr Forster, who was outside, saw O'Brien standing over Scott, aiming the shotgun at him and firing, saying: "This is for you, you bastard."
After threatening to shoot Mr Forster, O'Brien was interrupted by the appearance of his wife, Helen, and Mr Forster ran off to warn Mrs Scott.
O'Brien disappeared, apparently with the intention of killing himself, but was found by police the following morning.
In a police interview O'Brien said: "I don't know what happened, I just went. I have had so much with that man since 1992 it's unbelievable. He has driven us around the bend with his language, his abuse, his shouting."
He said he had not intended to shoot Scott: "I just took the gun up and fired it at him."
Stud groom William "Clem" O'Brien was yesterday sentenced to life imprisonment for the murder of his boss, racehorse trainer Alex Scott.
O'Brien, 58, was cleared of a further charge of threatening to kill Scott's gardener, Christopher Forster.
The jury of five women and seven men at Norwich Crown Court took nearly five hours to reach the 10-2 majority verdict following the eight-day trial.
The defence claimed O'Brien was guilty of manslaughter rather than murder, on the grounds of provocation.
But in sentencing him to life imprisonment, Mr Justice Blofeld said: "It is a terrible thing you did. For reasons difficult to fathom you totally lost your temper and in a moment of passion you picked up that gun and you shot Mr Scott." O'Brien had brought tragedy on everyone concerned, he added.
As the verdict was announced Scott's widow Julia, 38, who was flanked by members of her husband's family, let out a huge cheer.
Reading from a statement afterwards, Mrs Scott, who is left with three young children, said she was relieved the trial was over and that justice had been done. But she added: "Nothing will bring back my husband, senselessly killed in the prime of his life. He had so much to live for and look forward to both with his family and in his training career." She added: "He was the most wonderful husband and father and a very dear friend to all who knew him."
His brother Charles added that O'Brien had ended a "sparkling life".
Scott was shot in the back by a single barrel shotgun in a barn at Scott's Glebe Stud Farm in Cheveley, Newmarket, on 30 September last year.
During the trial the court heard how O'Brien had developed a "deep resentment" over Scott's working methods after the trainer took over the stud in 1992.
Matters came to a head three days before the murder when O'Brien apparently told a bloodstock agent that it was not convenient for buyers to view a horse. Scott took exception and in an argument, O'Brien told Scott he could "stuff his job".
The following day Scott sent O'Brien a letter asking for confirmation of his resignation.
According to Mr Forster, O'Brien apparently began planning a confrontation, and told him: "When he comes out I am going to have it out in the barn."
On the day of the murder, Scott visited the barn to remove O'Brien's belongings. After everything had been cleared out, O'Brien insisted Scott had a look in the barn "to make sure everything was all right".
The court heard that moments later Mr Forster, who was outside, saw O'Brien standing over Scott, aiming the shotgun at him and firing, saying: "This is for you, you bastard."
After threatening to shoot Mr Forster, O'Brien was interrupted by the appearance of his wife, Helen, and Mr Forster ran off to warn Mrs Scott.
O'Brien disappeared, apparently with the intention of killing himself, but was found by police the following morning.
In a police interview O'Brien said: "I don't know what happened, I just went. I have had so much with that man since 1992 it's unbelievable. He has driven us around the bend with his language, his abuse, his shouting."
He said he had not intended to shoot Scott: "I just took the gun up and fired it at him."
jocked off, the verdict was suicide, let us leave it at that.
anaglogs do you spend your entire time reading newspapers ?
Herbert Jones who was the jock who rode the horse that killed emily pankhurst committed suicide as of course did fred archer
Nothing new about racing and suicide unfortunately
Nothing new about racing and suicide unfortunately
Only one of them left a written suicide note? Has anyone got any stats? Surely that is well below average? mmmmm......
I understand that a fair ammount of wife swapping and even more of brown hatting takes place
mostly on the heath in specially erected tents supplied by the corporation.
mostly on the heath in specially erected tents supplied by the corporation.
No i don't spend all day reading papers, It gets in the way of me playing Solitaire on the p.c.
bit surprised to read this comment from the newspaper piece:
''If you look at suicide statistics in a similar sized market town I don't think it would be too different.''
8 suicides in 8 years in similar sized towns (?)
''If you look at suicide statistics in a similar sized market town I don't think it would be too different.''
8 suicides in 8 years in similar sized towns (?)
Bridgend in Wales something like over 30 suicides since 2007
wee eck.
I thought you were serious for a while. Now you are talking about tents and camping out.
Tres strange.
I thought you were serious for a while. Now you are talking about tents and camping out.
Tres strange.
thedikler 20 Jun 11 14:12
Rememeber it now had a bad foot aye did it win about 10-1 or 8-1 the good old days , trying to remember if i ever backed a winner there sure my old tickets are in a drawer somewere. Porno on the way there in a coach bog overflowing piss flowing from one end of coach to the other 12 cans each to go there 12 back its not allowed anymore elf and saifty i think.
Did you go and see TWIN CHEEKS ??
Rememeber it now had a bad foot aye did it win about 10-1 or 8-1 the good old days , trying to remember if i ever backed a winner there sure my old tickets are in a drawer somewere. Porno on the way there in a coach bog overflowing piss flowing from one end of coach to the other 12 cans each to go there 12 back its not allowed anymore elf and saifty i think.
Did you go and see TWIN CHEEKS ??
jocked off, I was deadly serious about the Pearce incident. Regarding the wife swapping, brown hatting ant tents
perhaps the tents should read ex W.D. surplus groundsheets,I tried to posh it up a bit, sorry.[;)]
perhaps the tents should read ex W.D. surplus groundsheets,I tried to posh it up a bit, sorry.[;)]
Thousands of suicides in the UK each year. This thread, sadly, is much ado about nothing imo.
8TH SUICIDE IN 8 YEARS ....ANY BETTING FOR NEXT YEAR
what was the name of the will pearce horse that won at sandown the day b4 he shot himself,began with I
for the past 50 years the pantomime has been snow white,dont know why
what about poor Mick Quinlan the other week? was he no longer in Newmarket?
What a load of fcuking cr-p spouted on here per usual, newmarket is great place
to live, I know I lived there for nearly 10 years. I knew two of these lads well, Eric Clamp
he done Hors la loi, when it was with Fanshawe and little Jeff, worked at loders, good riders
and good lads. Newmarket isn't the problem, drugs are the problem, and the scum bags that sell em.
Most of the good lads finish after second lot 10.30ish, and don't do evening stables. They have
a lot of time on their hands, and get sucked into drink and drugs. Sad really sad.
to live, I know I lived there for nearly 10 years. I knew two of these lads well, Eric Clamp
he done Hors la loi, when it was with Fanshawe and little Jeff, worked at loders, good riders
and good lads. Newmarket isn't the problem, drugs are the problem, and the scum bags that sell em.
Most of the good lads finish after second lot 10.30ish, and don't do evening stables. They have
a lot of time on their hands, and get sucked into drink and drugs. Sad really sad.
Sorry but that made me 
durose13 29 May 13 20:40
what was the name of the will pearce horse that won at sandown the day b4 he shot himself,began with I
par 29 May 13 20:54
father hayes
durose13 29 May 13 20:40
what was the name of the will pearce horse that won at sandown the day b4 he shot himself,began with I
par 29 May 13 20:54
father hayes
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