Author of racy novel hides credentials to spare family blushes
One imagines, after everyone has been locked up for 18 months, that there will be an abundance of first-time-out authors in the book shops, as they finally got around to the novel they always meant to write.
One such offering, Cliffside, by Gavin Alexander, fits into the novella category; not unlike its sex scenes, it is over pretty quickly.
I was slightly mystified why he uses the nom de plume Gavin Alexander when, inside the back cover, the big reveal is that it is actually the pseudonym for Gavin Pritchard-gordon, the former Newmarket trainer.
It turns out this is family politics; the rest of the Pritchard gordon clan were keen that he did not tarnish the family name and, having acquiesced to their wishes, this is his little retaliation.
Having had one published – 3,000 copies printed, 77 went at the book launch – Pritchard gordon, 75, really has the bit between his teeth with this writing lark, and is now part way through his racing memoirs (long hand).
Having been part of racing’s furniture for over 50 years (25 as a trainer, 13 years as chief executive of the Thoroughbred Breeders Association, two years as executive director of British Bloodstock Marketing and never too far from the front line, even in retirement) there should be plenty to go at.
He started training in 1972, taking over from Harvey Leader, who was one of that rare breed who trained a Classic winner (Caligula, 1920 St Leger) and Grand National winner (Jack Horner, 1926).
Pritchard-gordon’s best horses were Noalcoholic, who won the 1983 Sussex Stakes, 1975 Prince of Wales’s Stakes winner Record Run and Ardoon, who landed the 1975 Hunt Cup a year before winning the Queen Anne.
One of his most memorable trips to the races was when he flew in a light aircraft to Redcar the day small-time but popular Newmarket trainer Arthur “Fiddler” Goodwill – when he arrived from Yorkshire as an apprentice he brought with him his fiddle – won the Zetland Gold Cup.
Goodwill always drove his own horsebox but his fellow Newmarket trainers took him off to celebrate in the racecourse bar and it was soon clear that someone else would have to drive Pee Mai, the well-named winner as it turned out, home. There was a spare seat on the hour-long flight back and it was given to the victorious trainer.
After half an hour in the air Goodwill asked: “Is there a toilet on t’ plane? I need a pee.”
“No” replied his fellow passengers in unison.
About 25 minutes later, in dire need, he again pointed out his conundrum but this time added the word “desperate”. Although the flatlands of Newmarket were almost in sight, he was not going to see out the trip, as it were.
A fellow passenger had a brain wave and started handing him the only receptacles on the plane, the plastic champagne flutes stacked behind the back seat in anticipation of a celebration albeit not quite like this one. Dutifully he passed these to Goodwill, who proceeded to fill them one by one.
“Let’s ’ope,” said the trainer with much relief as he topped up the last one, “t’pilot makes a smooth landing.”
Last week’s Carlisle-newton Abbot bike ride, in aid of Racing Welfare, passed off without serious accident, although 20 miles out of Carlisle there was a Foinavon-style pile-up, with eight of the 10 riders in the lead group going down when one of them clipped the verge and fell, bringing down seven others.
It was a fine effort from trainer Ben Pauling, whose only bike training had been to watch the Tour de France in his office, though technically he did not ride the whole trip – he walked up some hills.