I've Learned Not To Rely On The Fillies

I’m penning this New Year’s Eve epistle from the bright lights of downtown Tenterfield, ‘the Birthplace of the Nation’, where I’m overnighting on my way to Magic Millions.

It’s been a wonderful day’s driving from Sydney: not a cloud in the sky, virtually deserted roads, the roof of the car folded away, me looking like the playboy of the Western world, and the warm wind blowing through where my hair’s meant to be.

I find few things better for the soul (if we have one) than driving the Australian bush. Thanks to all the rain along the eastern seabord the country’s still looking great in midsummer. The route I take going north is off the beaten track and I always put aside two days for my journeys. It’s peaceful and the vistas are grand.

Tenterfield is just a few kilometers south of the Queensland border but tomorrow I’ll take a right turn out of town, staying in NSW, and head due east through the Range again for 100 kms to Casino, then north to Kyogle and Murwillumbah. From there is one of the best bits of all, breaching the Queensland border and into the land of cheap petrol via the tropical rainforest of the Gold Coast hinterland, coming out at Currumbin. You can stick the Pacific Highway where the sun don’t shine.

Sir Henry Parkes gave his famous Federation speech to the people of Tenterfield at the Tenterfield School Of Arts on 24 October 1889. His catch-cry was: “One people, one destiny”. It was a good idea at the time, pity it took until 2008 to take on the appearance of reality. Hank was a Pom with little formal education who in 1836 married his teacher in Birmingham – obviously, his mind was on extra-curricular activities rather than his textbooks – and emigrated to Australia under assisted passage. Eventually, in 1872, he became Premier of NSW, which says to those of today who didn’t get their HSC, don’t worry, too much education’s a dangerous thing. Parkes had three wives, not all at the same time, which helped him reach the age of 81. Perhaps with no wives he might have reached 100.

The bushranger ‘Captain Thunderbolt’ (Frederic Ward) is another celebrity of the Tenterfield district. He made his last stand at Uralla, just south of Armidale. He ended up there after escaping from Cockatoo Island Prison in Sydney Harbour, his offence: horse stealing (where is he today when I need him?). The beautiful stretch of road through the cattle country from Walcha to Uralla is known as Thunderbolt’s Way.

Major J F Thomas, a local solicitor, was noted for his defence of Harry "The Breaker" Morant.

My literary hero A B ‘Banjo’ Paterson is also a Tenterfield luminary. On 8 April 1903 he took the hand in marriage of one Alice Walker of Tenterfield Station. They were married in St Stephen’s (nice touch) Presbyterian Church. The Walkers built Concord Hospital in Sydney. Paterson married well, a bit like Henry Parkes. Malcolm Ellis wrote: “If ever there was a natural son of the old squattocracy, a fit mate for a daughter of the Walkers of Concord, it was Banjo. He always looked sartorially like a colonel of the cavalry who had just left Tattersall’s Sale Ring with a field-marshal after having bought a steeplechaser.” Reminds me of Arnold House, Sydney's most sartorial racegoer.

The other Tenterfield legend appears to be the late song-and-dance man Peter Allen, after whom the motel I’m staying at is named. You don’t see many motels named after people. There’s one on the right hand side going north through Singleton (not named after John). I can see it now, the Steve Brem Motel, on the road to nowhere somewhere. Talking about John, that More Than Ready-Sunday Joy two-year-old filly of his which Gai trialled at Randwick on Tuesday looks an absolute natural and the Encosta de Lago yearling half-sister is a MM sale topper if ever I’ve seen one. I suppose Singo’s got enough fillies out of the mare he just might let this one go, but I’m not taking any bets as to who the buyer’s name might be.

I haven’t found out yet what public New Year’s Eve celebrations are held in Tenterfield but after a short kip I’ll wander down the main street (the only street) and see what’s up. Years ago I swore never to go and see those Sydney fireworks again, or even watch them on TV. Another exercise in proving to the world that we do it “bigger and better” than anyone else. Who cares? Up until Tuesday we said that about cricket. As far as the crowds are concerned, there’s nothing attractive about being stuck amongst a million intoxicated Aussies. Everyone whoops and hollers on the stroke of 12 as the harbour bridge catches fire, conveniently forgetting it’s actually only 11 p.m. Why spoil a good story with a fact?

2009 ushers in my 61st year which causes reflection about what happened to the last decade and what to make of the next. Suddenly, these matters take on an urgency. I get the feeling this might be the last year I do this sales business. I love the horses, and most times I can pick the good ones, but it’s the people who are the problem. (By the way, my top pick from Easter '08, Wanted, is no longer with J Hawkes but with J O'Shea, and on another matter stand by for a juicy court case involving two of racing's headline-grabbers from 2008). I’m thinking I should be getting on a yacht and sailing round the world for five years, or something of that ilk. Despite 2008 being a leap year, I have still to find the woman of my dreams – actually, she’s hiding out in Melbourne and doesn’t take my calls. Ten years ago, on the occasion of my 50th, she gave me a certificate, done by her own hand, on which it proclaims that having attained the half-century I was now officially a “stayer”. Sad to say with another 10 years under my belt I’m now just an old plodder.

To wind up the year on the blog, I was going to recap the last month’s racing and pat myself on the back as usual for all my shrewd choices, observations and missed opportunities, but I decided that’s as boring as bat droppings. (Yesterday's first-up Gosford winner Zuhoor (3f Lonhro-Nesnas) was a MM stunner of '07, 'bought' by Dean Watt's Dynamic Syndications for $200k. Straight afterwards I approached him to secure a big chunk of her but was told she was all spoken for. Correct. He was buying her in for 'The Boss', Emirates' Nasser Lootah. I was also underbidder on another Gosford winner Power To Surprise at Easter '06. By the then despised Viking Ruler, splashed all over with white and with only one stakeswinner on the page, in the fourth dam, I was confident of getting him within budget. I cried 'enough' at $180k and let Nick Moraitis have him). I have a runner in the first race at Randwick on New Year’s Day. It would be very obliging of her if she could win or place because (a) it would be a nice way to start my particular decade, and (b) with the proceeds I might be able to fund that trip on the yacht. Especially as most of my meagre savings are locked up in one of those investment vehicles which currently prohibit me from accessing them “for my own good”. As someone who lived through the oil shocks, then 1987 and now this catastrophe, excuse me if I have a jaundiced view of the world financial (dis)order and all its greedy foot-soldiers.

Anyhow, the weather man says it’s going to be 34 degrees in Sydney on New Year’s day, so I’m not relying on a filly in those circumstances, she’ll be off to the paddock afterwards. I only have 286 first-book yearlings to see at MM when I get there on Friday. Less scratchings of course, but MM are never kind enough to list them on their website, unlike the other crowd.

Happy New Year to you all, my loyal readers from Vietnam to the Maldives and all points north and south. Back a winner.

Pic above: the National Trust-listed Tenterfield Saddler, immortalised in song by Peter Allen. This town and surrounding region is steeped in history and if you're interested in things other than, or in addition to, what's winning the next race, it's well worth a visit.