So many sporting Scots have established their reputation after leaving their homeland that nobody should have been surprised when the Provost of Aberdeen, George Adam, responded to the news of Sir Henry Cecil's death yesterday, by stating: "He was an iconic figure in horse racing and, while he spent the majority of his life outwith the north-east of Scotland, we have always been very proud to claim him as one of our most famous sons."
Significantly, within a few moments of the 70-year-old's death from cancer, social media networks were positively awash with tributes, which spoke to the affection in which Cecil was held by his peers, rivals, and the sport's cognoscenti. Clare Balding responded: "He was one of the true greats and a gentleman." Grand National-winning trainer, David Pipe added that: "Henry would be missed by everyone in racing."
For once, none of the eulogies sounded forced or artificial. On the contrary, the man, who as a boy had revelled in his summer holidays at the palatial setting of Crathes Castle in Aberdeenshire, was one of the most gifted, understated, decent figures in a pastime where rudeness is often mistaken for authority.
In basic, statistical terms, he enjoyed one of the most lustrous careers of anyone in his vocation. Nobody becomes a 10-time champion Flat trainer by accident; nobody amasses 75 winners at Royal Ascot – a record – without possessing rare abilities and powers of motivation.
His four Derby successes – on Slip Anchor, Reference Point, Commander in Chief and Oath – were the stuff of legend.
Then there was his pride and joy, Frankel, the peerless prince of horses who retired to stud after crowning his unbeaten career with victory in the Champion Stakes at Ascot last October, which, although Cecil couldn't have known it at the time, was the beginning of his own long goodbye to his allies and acquaintances.
In many respects, Cecil was a classic Scottish lad o' pairts. Any initial impression of him as a moneyed toff was swiftly dispelled by the affection with which he treated his staff and how they reacted in kind. He could be mercurial, curious as to why so many people made a fuss about him, drolly humorous in observing the relationship between members of the human and equine breeds, and, throughout his life, he preferred the carrot to the stick.
Perhaps that combination explained why any jockey was proud to be associated with him. The American maestro, Steve Cauthen, who enjoyed six successful years in tandem with Cecil said: "He was a genius. He was a super-intelligent guy, who really knew how to place his horses. He tried to have fun and he usually succeeded. The atmosphere during most of the time I was up at [the stables at] Warren Place was just fantastic."
One of the most compelling facets of Cecil's philosophy was his appreciation that, in his domain, trainers could only prosper by making those around them feel cherished. He wrote in his 1983 autobiography, On The Level: "Work and the care of the horses have to be taken very seriously, indeed. But I have never believed that any of us should be so solemn about it that there ceases to be any pleasure at all. I like to hear the lads laughing and chaffing each other, for I firmly believe that a happy staff makes happy horses."
This approach yielded an incessant stash of honours for the best part of 20 years, but perhaps it also explained why he fell into a slump in the mid-1990s. By that stage, a new generation of po-faced trainers with monotone demeanours and new-fangled methods had moved into centre stage. If they were not to Cecil's taste, he was too courteous to say it, but it seemed that he had shot his bolt by 2005, when he was down to only a dozen winners for the whole season. He was past 60 and nobody would have blamed him if he had shuffled off into retirement, especially once he received his initial diagnosis of cancer, which had killed his twin brother, David, in 2000.
Thankfully, though, Cecil's patrician instincts were augmented by a burning determination to bring the best out of those around him, and the scale of his recovery in a ruthless business stamped him out as one of his pursuit's genuine legends. Much of this was due to the emergence of Frankel, who is widely regarded as the best British racehorse of the modern era, but the partnership between trainer and animal was crucial in the equation. Not many people could have forged such an empathy with Frankel, who was famously highly strung, but Cecil's virtues shone through and the consequence was a dazzling period of success for both parties. Sadly, as the lights started to dim, the chemotherapy began taking its toll on his body and Cecil courted late controversy when he publicly disassociated himself from a biography about his life, which was being written by Brough Scott.
Nothing, though, should be allowed to detract from Cecil's litany of honours. Lester Pigggott said of him: "He can give the impression of being casual and often appears as a court jester but his outward appearance can be deceptive, as underneath is an ambitious man, determined to remain at the very top of his profession."
He did it almost until the end and few in the sport of kings have hit the heights with a more regal bearing than Henry Cecil.
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