Having just, laboriously, finished a book of my own (with a subtitle remarkably similar to Ian’s), it was with a sinking heart that I opened Making the Running.
All too often in the past, the name I. Balding on the same race card, playing field, cricket pitch, or other competitive sporting arena has been, unless of course we were on the same side, an ominous sign for Oaksey, Lawrence, Marlborough, Audax, or whatever flimsy alias I happened to be using.
Apart possibly from J. Francome, Ian is the closest to a genuine ‘all-rounder’ it has ever been my pleasure to encounter. I am told that if you put a pair of skis on him in deep powder snow, the occasional weakness may appear, but equipped with any other sporting implement he becomes, immediately, before your eyes, a graceful, supremely efficient expert.
And now, blast him, it appears that a typewriter has much the same effect. Ian may plead, modestly, that his wife, Emma, corrects his prose. Having had my own grammar (and facts) corrected, repeatedly, down the years by Emma’s mother (whose wonderful horse, Taxidermist, I was once privileged to ride), I certainly would not argue with that. But the fact is that I. Balding seems to have done it again, because this is a splendid, beautifully written account of a triumphant episode in his active, exciting and eventful life.
From the shock and horror of Mill Reef’s accident, it soars back to the glory of his triumph in the Arc de Triomphe — the high point of the little horse’s wonderful racecourse career. Mill Reef, of course, never ran against Brigadier Gerard after that first spreadeagling defeat in the 2000 Guineas. But at stud Paul Mellon’s champion was so much more successful than the Brigadier that it is tempting to forget the one defeat.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in