Profile: Pat Farrell

The legacy of horse racing in Deeping - Pat Farrell

It is hard to imagine, as the traffic whistles by on the A15 to Bourne, that the fields here provided the gallops for the yard of successful small trainer Mike Vergette known to all his employees as ‘the guvnor!’. With a stable of about 40 horses, mostly National Hunt, some flat racers, the horses were trained on the fields that are now Tattershall Drive, the old Deeping Show Field on Millfield Road and on Six Score Fen Road at Langtoft. Imagine the sound of thundering hooves, the divots of mud kicked into the air and the excitement of this happening on Deeping’s doorstep!

Pat Farrell (nee Gowland) had always loved horses. She moved to this area from Yorkshire when her mother fell ill from TB and was treated at Papworth, living with her grandparents at the Three Tuns on Westwood Street, Peterborough. It was about this time that Pat managed to get her own pony, Tammy. She belonged to Sam Frear of Spalding and would not be broken in – biting and kicking and impossible to catch. Pat rented a small paddock from the vicar at Longthorpe and would tie her to a fence post while she mounted her and would ride her bare back, as she was unable to afford the conventional tack. When she had settled down Sam took her back and sold her but she would have a special place in Pat’s heart forever!

Pat quickly got a job of her dreams with Michael Stokes who had a livery yard and riding stables in Wansford. At 16, Pat joined eight others and became a ‘lad’ for Mike Vergette. Her first digs were with Tess Blessett and now Tess’s granddaughter, Louise, homes her horse with Pat! Some lived in a metal bivvy hut in Towngate East with a pot-bellied stove in the middle, some in a condemned cottage using a rope to get upstairs – eventually demolished to make way for the

18 Purple Silk beats Nicholas Silver at Doncaster May 1963

bungalow which was also used for accommodation. They were up at 6.30 whatever the weather, including Christmas Day when there would be half a day off. If one of the lads’ charges happened to be racing on Boxing Day it would have to be turned out the day before. Every three weeks there would be a day off. The Head Lad would ensure that work was carried out properly and would feed the horses before the other lads arrived in the morning. Each lad would have two or three horse charges and they would look after them from being just broken into fitness to racing, “We became very fond of them” recalls Pat, “especially if you had a winner which was a real bonus!” The Guvnor would write on a board which horses would be ridden by which jockey on any given day. Breakfast would come after the first horses had been ridden out. After the second ride of the day, stables would be set fair and the yards would be swept and the tack cleaned. Then the lads would line up with their sacking and the Guvnor would dole out the hay for each horse. He would stand at the back of the stable and the lads would walk between the horses, some of which were temperamental and would kick out: “Sometimes you would come out in one piece but not always!” winces Pat.

A string of racehorses once a familiar sight in Market Deeping

At one in the afternoon the lads were free unless there were other jobs to be done. Returning at 4.00pm, stables would be cleaned and straw bedding put down with hay in a sack for each horse. Each horse would be strapped with a piece of damp hessian and brushed with a body brush and combed with a curry comb. On completion the dust would be knocked out of the comb onto the floor in one pile so the Guvnor could be assured that the job had been done to his satisfaction. Then would be the moment of reckoning, when the trainer would come round to check on the health of each animal, paying particular attention to their legs – the lads holding the horse for this inspection. Then the water buckets would be filled and again the dreaded line up for feeding.

On one occasion coming down from the gallops Pat‘s horse bolted down the Bourne Road, the others shouting after her to get a Racing Post from Jack Blades. “The Guvnor was a fair man who didn‘t say a lot but you knew when you had done wrong – he was not a not above chucking his hat on the floor and doing a little dance. But overall I loved the life, though it was dangerous at times – there was no health and safety in those days! But it was thrilling, tough but never short of a laughs. Usually at someone else’s expense!”

Pat remembers the lads that she worked alongside. Now working for Hugo Palmer, a trainer in Newmarket is Bryn Walker who was the second foremost dedicated working lad. Nobby Clarke, a local Deeping boy, was a jockey, Barry King who is still in the area, Richard Mann, nicknamed Bomber and Patsy Flannigan. The camaraderie amongst the team was almost tangible, they would share broken ankles, ribs and fingers but they were all addicted to the lifestyle and the excitement that went with it.

Pat’s favourite was Crush who, having won a race at Kempton Park, was entered for the Champion Hurdles at Cheltenham but broke down and was never to race again. Purple Silk ‘Silky’ was fast and furious, coming second in the Grand National but also a performer at home, biting and kicking his way to stardom. “Usually the good horses exhibit a bit of temper,” comments Pat!

It was only natural that Pat would meet her future husband at the yard, a jockey from Barnsley who had worked for Rufus Beasley at Malton and Boyd Rochford Sneddon at Wetherby. When her children were small Pat worked for Market Place butcher Eric Freeman, taking his three hunters out regularly – his stables were in what has been known as the Coach House. Pat and Pete were married for 50 years and had three children all riders; daughter Julie was a show jumper. When the opportunity arose to purchase land at Stowgate Road they did so and set up a riding school and livery. Even now on Grand National Day the old faces will assemble at the yard and the local enthusiasm which was rife in the days when the locals all put their money on Purple Silk will be revived with a glass of something fizzy and gales of laughter!

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