Low life
The harder they fall
Jeffrey Bernard
It is all so horribly sad. Yes, I know he was guilty, but that is neither here nor there as far as my feelings are concerned. The ruin of a national hero is not to be gloated over and if you say that Lester Piggott got what he deserved then you are missing my point. You might also be a little self-righteous, although you would be right to be appalled at greed on such a mam- moth scale. What I don't like is the fact that until Lester was arrested his legendary avarice and much exaggerated meanness were one of racing's favourite jokes and a source of endless funny anecdotes. But now he is a man who 'got what he deserved'. Last Saturday morning I woke up and realised that he was slopping out and then being given a mug of tea and a slice of bread and margarine. What a very depressing picture and how very odd that at this moment of writing my brother Oliver is hell bent on joining him in HM Prison Norwich for his CND activities.
Apart from being so greedy Lester has been remarkably silly. He has always been too secretive to ask anyone with know- ledge of things beyond racing for advice. Newmarket may not be a one-horse town but it is a one-solicitor town, so to speak. He should have made friends with people like Lord Goodman as soon as he passed the post on Never Say Die in 1954. He should have seen it coming or somebody should have told him.
The last time I spoke to Lester was outside the weighing room at Epsom on Derby Day. He treated me to a couple of his rare smiles but you could see that he had faced up to the fact that he was going to go down. The time before that was at Chantilly where we had a rather strange encounter in the jockey's changing room. I had gone over there for Tatler who had lumbered me with a rather daft female paparazzo. Lester had just had a shower and we were chatting away, he stark naked, and the girl standing in the doorway at the other end of the room didn't even have the wit to take a picture. But to go back to people's strange reactions to the verdict last week. BBC's Newsnight brought a crew to the Coach and Horses to interview me about the matter. I waffled to them for a while in the upstairs room and they then went down to the bar to get a comment or two from the customers in the bar plus Norman who thinks the Derby is run at Wembley. With a smug smile on his face and with his well-considered wisdom he said, 'In view of the seriousness of the offence, I think he got what he deserved.' They moved on to a man, slightly the worse for wear, who said, `They should have given him a knight- hood.' But then they questioned a ghastly scrubber who snarled, 'He should have got ten years.' What amazing vindictiveness coming from a girl who should have been serving ten years herself for the hat she was wearing.
Now I am wondering how they will treat Lester in the nick. In about four weeks' time he will most likely be moved to an open prison and I suppose he will be an object of great curiosity for a while, as he has been to me since that Derby in 1954. I can't imagine what work they will put him to. Keeper of the prison governor's cigars might suit, but I can't see him working in the library unless they have a subscription to Timeform. Oh hell, I shall really miss him. Can you imagine London without Nelson's column? Boiled eggs without salt? Lester Piggott was always essential and many of us feel bereaved.
By now it is midday and brother Oliver may be on his way to Norwich prison. What an extraordinary encounter that might be. It would be like locking up Keats with Jack Dempsey. What would they talk about? The food most likely.
Previous page
