‘A PASSION FOR THE SPORT OF KINGS…’

You notice an extra pep in his step around this time of year……….. the Spring Carnival’s on, with its prestigious Group 1 classics………the big fields, dotted with International raiders , their connections pursuing the big money on offer……….every aspect of the Racing Game tantalises him….…..

It just came naturally, this passion for horses.

He can remember it as a kid. His mum would spread the ‘Sun’ Form Guide across the kitchen table of a Saturday morning, comb through the fields and scribble down a few 5 bob bets, which his Dad would dutifully plonk on.….just before the first race.

Then she’d twiddle the dials on the radio , and the dulcet tones of Joe Brown or Bert Bryant would permeate the air-waves throughout the afternoon……..

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He loved all sports, but when the opportunity presented itself to be an apprentice jockey, he was over the moon. After all, school didn’t excite him  that much and he’d already been floating around Jimmy Hoysted’s stables for a year or so.

Yes, it was tough yakka, but he was ‘Living the Dream’, he’d say……. He’d be up early, mucking out stables, riding trackwork, doing odd jobs…..and soaking up all the horse-talk on those foggy, chilly winter mornings.

Soon, Jimmy started to entrust him with a few race rides. The adrenalin rush, which came when he piloted a precious piece of horse-flesh out of a wide barrier, guided it to a handy spot on the fence and engaged in a gripping battle for the line, still gives him goose-bumps.

A few handy wins came, too, but on the horizon was the inevitable battle with rising weight, which he knew he wouldn’t surmount. It was to ultimately seal his fate as a hoop.

After three years, his career was over……IMG_3763

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His uncle had been a crafty footy legend of the thirties…. won the VFL’s goal-kicking one year, and finished with roughly 700-odd ‘snags’..…was even named full forward in his club’s Team of the Century.

So there were some handy genes there. Naturally, when the young bloke started moving through the ranks, they type-cast him as a spearhead, despite the fact that he stood just a touch over 5’6”.

He certainly possessed a good pair of hands. If he got himself in the front position he was rarely out-marked. And with a handy turn of pace, it enabled him to get on the end of some of those sizzling passes that came from mid-field.

They labelled him a ‘decoy’ in one Grand Final preview. And he played the role to perfection, as his side clinched a dramatic flag win. Someone claimed he was possibly the smallest full forward to play in an O & M flag.

Ability aside, though, his greatest attribute was his personality. They regarded him as one of those fellahs who helped mould the character of the club. You know the type…..happy-go-lucky…universally popular…..never a bad word about anyone.

His only beef – and he kept it to himself – was that the selectors wouldn’t give him a crack on a wing, or a back flank, where he believed he was more suited. He was sure he’d be better able to portray his skills there, than continually having to contend with taller, physically stronger brutes up forward.

But sport, to him, was about having fun. Train hard, yes, but don’t let it stop you from enjoying yourself. His team-mates recalled the year, he started inviting a few of them around after training of a Thursday night.IMG_3762

Newly-betrothed , and full of conviviality, he suggested bringing along two or three ‘Long Necks’ to these ‘ Unofficial Team Meetings’, which could sometimes stretch past midnight. “Great for fostering team spirit,” he’d joke….. And, by the way, park your car in a discreet spot, just in case the coach, or the selectors get wind of these gatherings…….

He’d been more than a handy player at the Club for nearly a decade, but eventually decided it was time to head out to the ‘bush’ for a kick. The youngsters, in particular, who looked up to him, were sorry to see him go, but he thought it’d help him rekindle his enthusiasm for the game.IMG_3761

Of course he relished the laid-back atmosphere out there, and became one of the stars of the comp; stretching his career by another half a dozen years……

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Footy, though, was just one string to his bow. He proved more than adept at Basketball, Tennis or Cricket – a true sporting all-rounder.

If you caught him in a weak moment, he could be coaxed into describing the proudest moment of his sporting life……

It was a cricket semi-final, and his team found itself in the precarious situation of being nine wickets down, and starting the final day still close to 120 runs in arrears. The match was expected to be decided within minutes….

He strode purposefully to the wicket with the number 11 batsman. Slowly they began to erode the deficit and, as the afternoon wore on, the impossible turned into the improbable……..then the target began to loom on the horizon…….

With dusk beginning to shroud the oval – and after close to four and a half hours- they hit the winning runs, amidst scenes of euphoria……

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That’s just another of his trove of sporting memories, but his racing highlights could fill a book.

Someone suggested that he missed his calling………. he could have been a panellist on RSN 927….nattering away like Michael Felgate, or a couple of the experts that he grew up listening to – Jack Elliott and Rollo Roylance, on ‘Three-Way-Turf Talk.’

These days you might find him helping out one of his mates at the stables ….. or chauffeuring a jockey to a country meeting.

That’s where he’ll be in his element . He likes the look of horses; is enthralled by the atmosphere and theatre of the race-course; is addicted to the culture, romance and danger of the racing game.

Old codgers and elegant, besuited gentlemen, tap him on the shoulder and seek his learned opinion on what might be a chance in the next……..

And when the horses jump, he’ll imagine for a moment that he’s back in the days of his youth……..perched on the outsider; seeking an opening to push through the tightly-bunched field; just pondering when to make his move……..IMG_3766

‘IN SEARCH OF DARBY…….’

I spot this pencil-thin, swarthy fellah in the crowd at the footy a few weeks ago…… Heck, that looks like Philip ‘Darby’ Ketchup, I surmise…….. Haven’t seen him in years…….Didn’t know he was still around………

I decide to track him down. After a few enquiries, visits to a couple of his old haunts, and numerous missed calls, he hears I’m on his ‘hammer’. Finally, the phone rings last week-end. He’s been grocery shopping at Woollies, and is waiting out the front. Can I pick him up ?………..

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I remember Darb from his days as a jockey. It’s more than fifty years ago now, that he got his start in the racing game. That’s an interesting enough yarn in itself, but when we get talking, we go back to a little town in North-West Queensland……….

He was born on Palm Island, a tropical paradise on the Great Barrier Reef, but his parents, Snyder and Phyllis, decided to re-locate to Cloncurry with their tribe of kids.

“When you say a tribe, ‘Darb’, how many were there in the family ?” I ask.  “Well, let’s see…… There’s Pauline, Reynold , Coralie , Florence, Snyder (Jnr), myself, Laurence, Mick, Lorna, Johnny, Ashley, Brian, Marlene, and there were two others who died at birth.”

The most notable change to the family dynamic came when Coralie and her husband, Peter Hill, decided to start a new life down south, at Chiltern.

“They couldn’t get rid of me, though. When they took off in their van, they realised, as they were heading out of Cloncurry, that I was in it. So they took me back; I chased after them, bawling. After three attempts, they relented. Mum signed the papers to allow Pete and Coralie to be my guardians.”

They moved to Wangaratta a little later, and young Philip  went to Champagnat College without threatening to break any scholastic records. He used to sell Chronicles in the main street after school. One night, fate intervened.

“This bloke came out of the Council Club Hotel and bought a paper off me….. Started talking and asked me if I’d be interested in being an apprentice jockey. It was Jimmy Hoysted.”

“He said: ‘I tell you what. Come over and jump on the scales in front of the Post Office. If you weigh more than six stone, I’ll give you a job’. Luckily, I was just over. I didn’t realise it till later, that apparently Pete Hill had spoken to him, and asked Jimmy if he could put me on.”

He’d just turned 15 and knew absolutely nothing about horses. “Jimmy would be on a lead pony beside me, teaching me to stand up in the saddle.”

“He was a real good boss, Jimmy. Kept an eye on me. He said: ‘Well, Philip, I’m gonna nickname you ‘Darby’ (after the great aboriginal jockey, Darby McCarthy).’ And I’ve been Darby ever since.”IMG_3706

He lived with the Hoysted’s and would be up at 4am to feed the horses, then ride trackwork from 6 to 9am. “I loved it,” he says.

In those early days he often tested the patience of the even-tempered Jimmy Hoysted, who would throw his hands in the air whenever his apprentice ‘stuffed up’ a ride. Someone recalls the conversation usually panning out like this: “…….But don’t you remember what the instructions were, Darb?”…. “No, boss.”

Darb was 16 when he rode his first winner.

“It was a handy horse called Francais, owned by Dan McCarthy’s dad Brendan. When it got up everyone treated me like I’d won a Melbourne Cup. I had to sneak a quiet drink to celebrate.”

The winners came along quite regularly in those days, and he was the NEDRA leading apprentice one year. Around 1968-69, Jimmy decided it would be a good way to round off Darb’s education if he spent some time with Mentone trainer, Andy White.

In one of his earlier city races he was on a 200-1 shot called Salience. “It was a tight finish,” he says. “Pat Hyland was on one side of me. I looked across and here was Roy Higgins’ horse looming up on the outside. That flustered me a bit….me battling it out with these champions.”

“Higgins, my hero, said to me: ‘I think you’ve won it’. But Hyland got me by a short half-head.”

Darb copped a bout of the shingles whilst he was in the city. “I was homesick for Wangaratta. It set off the first of my battles with nerves. I couldn’t wait to get home.”

He returned to Wang to finish his apprenticeship, and when he turned 21, began to freelance. It meant travelling around the North-East and Riverina race tracks. He continued to have a bit of success, but sometimes went overboard with the celebrations. “After he’d ridden a winner, he’d go missing for a few days !,” said one of his contemporaries.IMG_3705

An incident during one Corowa Cup, put a dampener on his career.

He was aboard a horse called Corobeau, trained by Martin Moriarty. “Two Wagga jockeys ganged up on me and winded my horse. It faded, to finish third. The stewards weren’t too rapt in my ride and rubbed me out for 12 months for pulling it up. I had no-one to back me up, so copped it on the chin………”

“I was in a pickle. Luckily, Peter and Tony Hill arranged a job for me up at Dartmouth, as a Scraper-Driver.”

He headed back north for a trip when the suspension was over and his license re-instated. “I’d been dreaming how great it’d be to ride a winner in front of the family. There was a meeting on at Mount Isa – about two hours from Cloncurry – and I managed to salute on a 10-1 shot. A couple of the girls got some money on. They were madly waving their tickets at me when I returned to scale. It was a bit of a thrill for ‘em, I think.”

Darb’s memories of his career keep flooding back. Of the 400-odd winners he rode, he reels off a few of the stand-outs, but he’s got a soft spot for the Hal Hoysted-trained Lumarez, which was owned by Vin Gorman, the licensee of the ‘Northo’ at the time.

“I won on him at Wang, then ten days later we won at Benalla. He went on to collect a Jerilderie Cup, too. But I’d lost trust in the NSW system. I didn’t make the trip over.”

We joke about the old phrase that a jockey’s is the only occupation where you have an ambulance trailing you around whilst you’re doing your job.IMG_3691

Darb had his share of falls, including a broken collarbone at Stony Creek, which laid him up in St. Vincent’s hospital for a while. But the worst happened in a barrier trial at Wangaratta in 1982, when his mount hit the running rail.

“I suffered a compound fracture of the leg. Broke my left tibia and fibia. Doctor Wakefield and Mr. Leitl did their best to patch me up. It took a long while to come back, and it knocked me around a fair bit.”

“I didn’t last long in the game after that…..Ended up giving it away about ‘84.”

He’s thankful for Bruce Wakefield’s help with his battles over the years, but says life’s been a roller-coaster ever since.

His son Damien followed in his footsteps as a youngster, and Darb pulls out a photo of him winning his first race at Moruya.IMG_3692
“He got too heavy to ride, but went on to become a Veterinary Chiropractor. I’ve got letters here from the Pony Club in his home town of Southbrook. He used to donate his services to them, and provide prizes for their rally days.”

Unfortunately, Damien waged a battle with alcohol and his liver gave way about six years ago. He was just on 42 when he passed away.

Another daughter, Chantelle, died of breast cancer. His other two boys – Grant and Paul – live with their mum in Townsville. Darb doesn’t see much of them these days.

He enjoys his footy, and was watching the Magpies when I spotted him all those weeks ago. His brother Mick was an emerging talent with Wang in the seventies, and won an O & M Thirds Medal back in 1974.

Darb hasn’t lost his love of the ‘Sport of Kings’. He follows it on the telly and hands me a couple of Wang Turf Club membership brochures that are sitting on his table. “I should join up, I suppose. The races still excite me.”IMG_3694

Trouble is, I don’t feel comfortable in a crowd. I just like to stay in the background these days……….”IMG_3701

AN ADDICTION TO WINNING – THE BRIAN JOHNS STORY.

Can there be a tougher way to earn a quid than being a jockey?

It’s the only sport that has an ambulance trailing you around while you’re competing.

And at a touch under 55kg you’re taking your life in your hands when you’re trying to guide a 500kg hunk of horse flesh around a tight course in the helter-skelter of a race.

What about the constant battle to control your weight ? Or having to rise at some unearthly hour to ride trackwork on a frosty winter’s morning ? Or answering to a cranky owner or trainer after you’ve ‘butchered’ a ride ?

What motivates a young bloke to become a ‘hoop’. In search of the answer, I track down one of Wangaratta’s finest-ever, Brian Johns, who experienced most of the highs and lows that the racing game can throw up.

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Brian rode for 32 years. There was hardly a track in provincial and country Victoria, or southern New South Wales, that he didn’t know intimately. He even ventured up north and turned trips to Darwin and Queensland into working holidays when the weather would start to turn sour down here.

He looks misty-eyed as he explains the adrenalin-rush that he’d experience when he was on a good horse and it was ‘going flat-stick’.

” Your eyes become watery and you’re willing it to go faster…faster. I’d compare it to what it must be like to drive a Formula 1 racing car. You become addicted to it.”

“And you never lose that urge to win”.

On his occasional trips to the races these days, he gets itchy feet ; wondering what tactics he’d use as a race is unfolding. He recalls the atmosphere that would prevail in the Jockey’s room, pre-race, in the old days.

“If four or five fellah’s reckoned they were a genuine chance to win, it could get a bit testy ; there wasn’t much chatter. One bloke was a give-away. He’d nervously pick at his nails. We knew if he started doing that, he felt he was on a ‘good thing’.”

“After the race it might become a bit strained, too, if someone became critical of another jockey’s tactics. But when the last race was run, that’s when you’d conduct the post-mortems.”

I asked him why he didn’t head to Melbourne to further his career. “Simple. I was having too much of a good time here. I’m a country boy”.

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Brian was 12 when he caught the racing bug.

His uncle, Ron Arnold, had given his sister Debbie a horse, which was in foal. When the foal duly arrived -and grew- Brian jumped onto it and would ride it around the perimeter of Jack Stamp’s dairy.

Well-known local, ‘Lacky’ Richens who used to shoe the horses, would be often onto him, suggesting that he should become a jockey.

“So when I turned 15 and left school, I went and knocked on “Lacky’s” door. He took me down to see Jimmy Hoysted, who put me on as an apprentice”.

It wasn’t all beer and skittles. He took a long while to adjust to the 5am starts and Jimmy would often have to pull the blankets off him to crank him into action. There would be 20 horses to ride at trackwork.

“I remember that Jimmy was crook one morning. He got me to drive the float full of horses down to the track. Not a bad effort at the age of 15 !”

At 15 years 9 months, and tipping the scales at 36kg, he got his jockey’s licence and rode Arisaig to third place at Corowa . It was the first race of the 10,300 he was to negotiate throughout his career.

“We used to get $20 a race (plus a bit of a sling if you won). Now they pick up $200 a ride and 5% of the stake for a win, so they can make a reasonable living these days”, he says.

Brian got away to a flier in his first year and was the North-East’s leading apprentice.   The wins started coming. Hardened horsemen liked his style. They said he showed no fear, was determined, cool as a cucumber and seemed to have a natural affinity with the horses in his charge.

The first of his seven NEDRA jockey’s premierships came when he was still an apprentice. After four years his indentures were transferred to Jim Hoysted’s cousin Mick, with whom he served the final two.

On his first visit to the ‘big smoke’, aged 16, and unperturbed by the surrounds of Moonee Valley he landed his maiden metropolitan winner, Dark Prince.

He would make occasional forays on city meetings. But when I quizzed him about how many other winners he rode in Melbourne, he had to rack his brain.

“Let’s think. There was Beau Bundrie at Caulfield. It was trained by Denis Gray……. For Granted was another, and Right Aspect won a Byron Moore Stakes on Oaks Day. That was a big win.

And, of course, there was his association with Lad of the Manor. He rode the champ to victory in the Brent Thomson Handicap and also the Group Two Waterford Crystal Mile on Cox Plate Day, 2004.

‘The Lad’ holds special memories for Brian Johns. He remembers being aboard when it made its debut at Wangaratta.

“We missed the start by about 6 lengthFullSizeRenders. I went past a couple of horses at the 600 metre mark and their jockeys looked across, astonished. My horse was just cruising,” he recalls.

Lad of the Manor won 11 of its first 19 races and he was in the saddle for eight of them, including a win in Ballarat’s rich Gold Nugget.

He rode a brilliantly-judged race in the Turnbull Stakes, as Lad of the Manor moved away from the field in the home straight, only to be pipped by dual Melbourne Cup winner, Makybe Diva, in the shadows of the post.

At its next start, he piloted ‘The Lad’ in the fabled Cox Plate. I ask him if this was his biggest thrill in racing.

“Yeah, I suppose, apart from some of the big wins. It was enormous. Imagine, you’ve got a dozen quality horses, there’s all the tradition surrounding the race and the focus of the nation is on you.”

But Brian’s effort to be there was a story in itself. Four months earlier he had been involved in a freakish trackwork accident.

A young horse reared and went over backwards. He says : ” I survived the fall all right, but when it saw me at its feet it kicked the shit out of me”.

The result ? Broken ribs and a punctured lung. But soon after being discharged from hospital he got an infection and was re-admitted to Royal Melbourne Private. “I was that crook, I thought I was headed for the box”, he says.

Plenty of bike-riding and pool work was the way he rehabilited his aching 5 foot 3 and a half-inch, 55kg body, to come back to full fitness.

The following year he broke a leg at the Wangaratta Cup meeting. He only found out about the fracture when X-Rays were taken four days after the fall.

Then, in July 2007, he was on a horse called Migaloo, at Darwin’s Fannie Bay course when three horses fell at the half-way mark of a race. Both wrists were fractured, he incurred severe bruising to his body and had a broken shoulder.

Much as he would have liked to keep going, the injuries were so severe that Brian knew it was time to give the game away.

He had ridden 1020 winners, which had amassed something like $10 million in stake money.

Included in his CV were Cups at Wangaratta, Corowa (2), Tatura (2) and Towong. He had once ridden 5 winners out of 6 at a Wodonga meeting and on three occasions came home with four winners. He saluted four times in Benalla’s coveted Town Plate.

In moments of nostalgia he could recall the terrific country horses he had ridden, like Romantic Sea (a fine mare on which he won 10 races), Hunka Magic, Caesar’s Right, Well Satisfied, Beau Time, Right Aspect, Pride Rock and many others.

And the trainers from the North-East, and beyond, who had given him their support .

It was one hell of a ride.

 

Footnote: Brian once did a TAFE course in electronics and reckons that’s the path he would have trod if he hadn’t become a jockey. He now works at Brown Bros.

 

 

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