Ann Duffield
Website: www.annduffield.co.uk
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Duffield's Diaries
Ann Duffield
Racehorse trainer Ann Duffield is married to former top Flat jockey George Duffield MBE, and they have spent the last 10 years creating one of the most impressive private racehorse training establishments in the country at Sun Hill Farm near Leyburn, in North Yorkshire. And it’s right in the heart of the Bedale hunt country with which they both hunt with a passion.
The new yard has been a huge financial investment: a newly re-surfaced all-weather six furlong gallop with a gradient climbing 250ft; 70 horse boxes in American style barns, all with rubber mat flooring; three horse walkers; practice starting stalls; an isolation unit; daily turn-out paddocks, with a further 50 acres of post and rail summer grazing: and it’s all dedicated to one objective - the training of racehorses to be ‘first past the post’.
While Ann began as a national hunt trainer, the emphasis is now firmly on Flat horses. Her annual buying focus produces some useful racehorses in the making, and there is an impressive welcome extended to new and existing owners alike at Sun Hill Stables.
Ann and George are both self-confessed hunting junkies, particularly George who would hunt eight days a week if he could, and says: “I just love my hunting - I don’t want to come home when I’m out, and only darkness ends the hunting day.”
Ann has kindly agreed to write a diary for TMV where we will be privy to some of back-room highs and lows as the months roll by - of a successful racehorse training yard: “Where Horses Come first”.
November / December 2009
The enormity and possible repercussions of Jack Berry´s hunting fall - during which he was unconscious for 15 minutes, along with an overnight stay in James Cook hospital - didn´t seem to register with him. One week later he saddled up again for the hunt meet at West Tanfield, a gloriously sunny day with just a hint of cold in the air.
The country at West Tanfield can be trappy. Most of the land is owned by our hunt chairman providing him with a bigger than average back garden stretching out over what is probably several thousand acres. By lunchtime, and after jumping eight or ten hunt jumps, careering through dense woods at break-neck speed while trying to avoid getting your eyes knocked, or being decapitated by the branches, Jack unsurprisingly announced he wasn´t feeling too well.
My mare had pulled a front shoe off so I had to leave early anyway, and having seen Jack off safely in his trailer before I too headed for home, was somewhat surprised to find him driving around near our Sun Hill Stables in entirely the wrong direction from his home base. He said he was: "dis-orientated and a bit lost". Fate was to intervene further by stopping him making any more errors of judgment, mental or physical, when Jo - his long suffering and incredible wife, was brought down by one of their pack of nine dogs breaking her leg.
Jack, now unable to hunt due to domestic responsibilities, for the first time in his life faced having to cope with the washing, ironing, cooking, cleaning, mucking out all the animals, exercising the horses, feeding the dogs, hens, geese, turkeys, emus (yes three of them) on top of his continued charity work.
Jo is the closest thing to an angel you can get in human form. And while she doesn´t say a lot, I can see by the glint in her eye that she is really quite chuffed. Finally her hubby gets to see what she has known for years: that he is a very lucky man indeed to have her, and it´s about time he knew what she did to keep the Berry boat afloat. Since adding Jo´s daily tasks to his own, their elderly horse population has been greatly reduced - one hunter has gone into livery, the other roughed off; the hens, geese and turkeys have found their way into the Sun Hill staff´s freezer. And there have been promises of no more dogs.
On the racing front, at Catterick our horse Angelo Poliziano - previously a victim of circumstance at Newcastle when the stalls mechanism failed and opened before the field were ready with Angelo taking the blame - passed his (unnecessary) stalls test with flying colours. My husband George (Duffield) making an appearance, first in the weighing room - then on the track, brought much delight to race-goers who thought he was warming up for his comeback. Having ridden the horse through the stalls test without fuss, George then proceeded to give Angelo a good workout over seven furlongs.
George and Angelo Poliziano pass the stalls test
At the Tattersalls December Sale held we replaced the deceased Hurricane Run filly with a striking chestnut filly by Dubawi. Not content with one, she was followed by the purchase of a well-related, sharp looking Green Desert filly out of a Selkirk mare, and a cheap looking filly by the first season sire Araafa. That brought our number of yearlings to 15.
Dubawi Filly purchased at Tattersalls December Sale
I hadn´t intended to buy any more yearlings, but as any man knows a woman out shopping is a dangerous one and I think my preference for buying yearlings is far better and more exciting than buying handbags and shoes. They can cost about the same although I accept handbags and shoes don´t need feeding, caring for, or expensive visits from the vet but conversely they can never go up in value in leaps and bounds, win prize money, be gambled upon or generally give all connected such a damn good time.
"Watching your lovely colt or filly perform to perfection at the racetrack beats anything - and is equaled only by a really good day´s hunting."
Traditionally this is the time of year when, for a short time I have a 'normal' existence and act like any other housewife, homemaker, partygoer, and hostess as well as a being a devout hunt supporter and participator.
The yard ticks over quietly as the older horses take a break from training, breaking old routines and doing things differently. We break the yearlings in - mostly at Julie Wilsons, and once home their all important initial education process gets underway without the constraints of time limits or deadlines to follow while we just mooch along and get the job done.
In November and December it really does not matter if I am not in bed early although old habits die hard, its nice to chill out a bit, until boredom sets in. By the time our yearly excursion to the sun has taken place I am desperate to get back to the frantic norm.
Of the many social engagements we are lucky enough to be invited to, the one which must take precedence over all others was the supper party at Jonny & Janie Beardsall´s up among the hills of Ellingstring. Jonny is our good friend whose shoulder had been smashed-up by our grey hunter Oscar, making his job as a journalist pretty tough. The week had been freezing and the snow lay thick on the ground, any chance of getting out of Sun Hill never mind up the steep hill to their village was out of the question without a decent four wheel drive vehicle.
Jack & Jo Berry were also invited and Jack managed to accept the invitation, help Jo get dressed, complete the housework and load the washing machine before they set off but had been unable to find a garage for fuel for several days (also Jo´s job) and was now running on fumes alone.
Dinner at the Beardsall´s was amusing, interesting and very different. They are on an economy drive of mega proportions, we ate in the kitchen in front of the old fashioned cooking range which housed our dinner. Above the table hung a gloriously old candelabrum fully lit and providing the sort of subtle lighting us 40-somethings appreciate more and more with each passing day. Elsewhere on the kitchen worktops stood several of Janie's latest fabulous bronzes in various stages of making and in the corners hung Jonny´s half made hats along with Foxes masks, tails and legs (see www.janiebeardsall.com).
The entire Beardsall family had been camping in temperatures of minus 15 the previous night as part of an article Jonny is writing for the Daily Mail newspaper. He wanted to fully experience the delights of camping in a classy environment in the freezing cold and embraced the experience in only the way Jonny can - while he lay in the sleeping bag stark naked Janie remained fully clothed next to him. I don´t think it was quite what our arctic hero wanted but it was clearly all he was going to get.
Don´t get me wrong. Janie is no wall flower and reliant on a man to do everything for her: oh no, not this girl; this is a lady who, having been knocked unconscious and lying in a coma for four weeks suddenly woke up because her dog arrived hidden under hubby´s coat and leapt all over her while she lay in a hospital bed. In fact it was she who was solely responsible for the meal we were about to enjoy, and I don´t mean just the cooking of it.
While doing the school run a few days before the road had been covered in snow she had found a deer laying prostrate on the ground. It had clearly only just passed over to the "venison capital´s pearly gates". Not one to miss an opportunity, Janie instantly recognized it as ideal ingredients for our supper. Attempts to load deer into the back of the old land rover found it wouldn´t fit. But it sat nicely in the front passenger seat, and strapping the seat belt around the beast she triumphantly made her way homeward, while Bambi spent the journey with its tongue hanging out of the side of its mouth, while staring rudely at its driver.
Back home the incapacitated Jonny gave her a crash course in butchery handing her the appropriate knives, while she followed his instructions. The resulting pate, and venison steaks served with roast potatoes and creamed artichokes, was superb.
Ann models a Jonny Beardsall fox hat
With only five runners in the whole of November it was great to see Salerosa still taking what seems to be her rightful place in the winner´s enclosure at Southwell. And the mad French horse Dr Valentine (who is no longer mad) made a sensible appearance over hurdles at Wetherby. He was pulled up in the home straight, but was well behaved - which, given what we had been through to get him there - made it a very successful day. He will improve significantly for that, and more importantly, he enjoyed the experience.
'Harry´, our eight-week-old German shepherd puppy, is a new addition to the Duffield household, and having bribed George with a stick of rock to come with me to collect him promising it wasn´t too far past Carlisle - we set off one Friday afternoon. George has been in no mood for travel since his retirement and now needs blinkers and a cattle prodder to get him in car.
The journey was one of colourful expletives - the likes of which you are only likely to hear inside the weighing room - and the stick of rock didn´t do much, and failed to have the desired effect of gluing his jaws together. However, once he got over my poor geography (the puppy´s breeder actually lived close to Hamilton) and set eyes on Harry, all was quickly forgiven. Harry has settled in very quickly and is supremely intelligent so George and I should not have to worry too much any more, Harry will take over all important decisions.
Harry - The New Recruit!
Wednesdays and Saturdays continued to be hunting days with The Wyvill Arms meet taking place at the end of the month. Traditionally a good meet, and this time I had my old school chums Sally and Fiona with their hubby´s who had been to stay with us, and were there to see us off. We used to admit how long we had known each other, but now it has been so long we deny it, (in truth it is slightly more than forty years).
I rode Captain Jack, while George rode the mare Matilda, not usually a wise move as he hates her, and today was to be no different - but having lent good old Stripey, his war horse to fellow jockey Philip Makin for the day, it was Matilda or nothing.
The stream at the back on Constable Burton Hall is about eight to ten feet wide with steepish banks and is quite unpleasant because it is awkward for horses to cross. They have to tip-toe on the very edge of the bank, and then at some stage, hurl themselves across to the other side. You never know quite when they are going to produce this maneuver and invariably you get whiplash. The unlucky ones come off backwards.
I kept an eye on George trying to find the easiest way across, and held my breath as Matilda stopped, had a good look at the stream, and then leapt about twenty feet into the air before coming down steeply on the bank at the other side. George meanwhile was airborne for what seemed an eternity: luckily the mare was in the right place when he came back down. I stayed in front of George & Matilda knowing I was safer leading than in behind in this instance, and besides Jack is an utterly reliable lead horse to follow and the mare loves him.
After a couple of hedges the double set of five-bar gates jumped well for those of us up front, although in behind there was carnage and the field was suddenly, temporarily reduced to a third of its original size.
Next came some straightforward timber jumps before the small field of about eight edged left heading towards a large looking hedge with a larger looking set of post and rails in front of it. The fieldmaster Paul Hodgeson jumped it but there was no sign of him landing. He came back into view after 30 yards into the field which told us all we needed to know: there was a very big drop indeed on the landing side.
With a usually brave lady directly in front of me deciding to give it a miss - she cut across me carrying me wide, so putting George and Matilda in front of me heading into the fence. Not a good idea I thought: Matilda and George, big hedge and big drop. Bad combination. Matilda is a brilliant jumper but there is no doubt that she goes better for a lady rider.
I watched closely as I followed them, and for a moment it looked like she was totally committed to it, as Jack and I got closer and closer to Matilda we were in exactly the right place providing she jumped it clean, if not we might be in trouble. The very last stride as she took off - she changed her mind sending me flying out of the side door. Great, not only does my own horse "do" me but she was ridden by my beloved! Luckily Paul Murphy, trainer and son of Ferdy Murphy, was there on foot and helped me to get back on board.
Ann works her hunters
With even less runners than in November [two] it was fantastic to see Salerosa winning yet again, her seventh race, again at Southwell. But this time she showed all the signs that she has had enough of racing for the time being. Not wanting to leave the saddling box was quite out of character for her and enough to tell me it´s time to call it a day. At Sedgefield Dr Valentine, the ex French convict and reprobate, came second over hurdles confirming his liking for jumping and a newly acquired affability.
The yearlings continue to make progress but disaster strikes when the lovely Green Desert filly, which I was very happy to have secured for a song at £9.500, broke her hind leg in the lunging ring and was put down. The entire yard was gutted. We have never before lost two yearlings in quick succession, and the old saying 'where there is livestock there must also be dead stock´ didn´t make it feel any easier. The other yearlings have all done their initial groundwork and have been doing good canters upsides and in groups, as well as walking through the stalls without hesitation. It´s time to ease off and let them relax for a while.
George has x-rays following a lot of neck and shoulder pain, discovering he has damage to three vertebrae and a trapped nerve. The snow is falling heavily and we find ourselves isolated. Christmas week sees the gallop frozen and the three horses left in training can´t get out. The walkers are our saving grace.
Ann & George with their hunters
The year has been kind to us on the whole: we are all happy and healthy and the 28 winners we eventually managed was not too bad for a yard with only 30 horses in training. 'Team Duffield´ go into 2010 full of hope - as always.
Ann Duffield
Racehorse Trainer
Sun Hill Farm, Constable Burton, nr Leyburn, North Yorkshire DL8 5RL
Tel: 01677 450303 | Mobile: 07802 496332
E-mail: ann@annduffield.co.uk | Web: annduffield.co.uk