2 JULY 1983, Page 30

Low life

Unforgettable

Jeffrey Bernard

Everyone seems to be falling off their perch. Just after attending the memorial service for an old friend, Peter Dunbar, I heard that Teddy Lambton had died at his home in Newmarket. He was one of the nicest men 1 ever met in racing and a very good trainer too. I first met him about 20 years ago and he was having a fairly lean time of it. He told me that whenever he had a winner then the butcher, baker and candlestick maker would be round to his

back door queuing up for their money. Although he trained some good horses it's sad that he didn't meet with a bit more suc- cess. It isn't letting the cat out of the bag now to say that he was a pretty monumental boozer and, I suppose, that is the answer to the whole story of Teddy. I once had the cheek to ask him how it had all gone wrong and he told me that his father, The Hon. George Lambton, who trained Sansavino and Hyperion to win two Derbies, used to take him out to Eton for the day when he was a lad and give him tenners to back horses and feed him on champagne. Pretty heady stuff for a schoolboy and what the hell must a £10 note have been worth in 1928? Of course, it spoilt him and he was a dedicated high-lifer all his life. But he was a real charmer and I shall always remember him sitting by a great log fire in his house at Newmarket nursing a huge brandy and with his huge St Bernard dog by his side.

Another man I miss when I go to Newmarket, and a totally different one, is poor old Tommy Weston, who rode San- savino and Hyperion when they won the Derby. He rode for Lord Derby and George Lambton and must have had thousands and thousands of pounds through his hands in the Twenties and Thirties. Lord Derby was very generous to Tommy and he pissed the lot up against the wall. I have a photograph of the two of us together at the Newmarket Sales taken by Lord Snowdon and, sur- prise, surprise, we're both clinging on to large gins and tonics. Weston had cunning but he wasn't clever, His end was pretty sad and 1 remember him being asked to leave his favourite club, the Subscription Rooms in Newmarket, because of his incontinence. It was in those rooms that he once backed me to the tune of £50 to beat a certain ex- tremely unpleasant trainer at snooker and I duly obliged. I seem to remember that £50 was a lot of bread then and Tommy and I had the odd cocktail after that.

Teddy Lambton's death seems to be bringing it all back; I remember well once going to see that great jockey Charlie Elliot for the Sunday Times. I haven't got a reference book to hand, but I seem to remember that he rode something like 16 Classic winners. Drink wasn't his downfall but betting was. When I met him he was a

'Of course you feel world-weary — we all: feel world-weary at times.'

little wizened man living all by himself in a flat off the Edgware Road. He hadn't a pot to piss in but he insisted we visit the local betting shop since he enjoyed 'soaking up the atmosphere'. He taught Manny Mercer most of what he ever knew and it's thanks to Manny Mercer that I first became hooked on the Turf. He had a double-up one day which I backed and it was my first ever decent win. I thought I could do it every day for the rest of my life. Silly boy.

But time marches on. The day Teddy Lambton died I received a video tape from Timeform of all the Group races run in Europe so far this year. It's superb stuff and a must for the serious racing nut. Un- fortunately it has meant hiring a machine to play it on and now I suppose I'll be into hir- ing videos of old movies and having yet another monthly bill to face up to. What a pity it is that one doesn't have one's own personal videos for more or less instant replay. I'd love to have a tape of Francis Bacon asking me, 'Now that you've lost your looks, what are you going to do?' I'd also like one of myself falling asleep at the craps table in the Curzon House Club hav- ing left a fiver on 7 and not seeing it come up in six consecutive throws. Also I'd like a tape of being paid out by a bookmaker after Spy Net won the Imperial Cup at San- down Park. It seemed to take an age and was quite delicious. Sadly I lost it — most of it — from my pocket that night in a taxi cruis- ing Chelsea. What I don't want is a video of last week's lunch at the Spectator. I'm told I bored dear Beryl Bainbridge to sleep, in- sulted others and shan't be asked again. But I would like to see what was on the menu. Meanwhile, goodbye Teddy Lambton and may your heaven be full of large ones. Big races too.