Diamond Geezer
Gone But Not Forgotten
- Joined
- May 2, 2003
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- 13,884
Having paid a second visit to Thurles last Thursday, found this item in Sunday's Irish Independent most interesting,
High in the rickety stands the punters are on their feet, their gaze focused on the track in front of them, eagerly witnessing another puzzle unfolding before their eyes. For a couple of minutes or so nothing else matters but this sense of mystery and the anticipation of an impending solution. In the betting ring, bookmakers climb on boxes for a better view. Men crowd the rails by the finishing stretch to feel closer to the action.
Yet, strangely, there isn't a horse to be seen on the track. The feature race concluded 10 minutes ago and the horses haven't entered the parade ring for the next. Instead, their eyes are drawn to the white Land Rover making its way to the middle of the course before depositing its lone passenger beside the helicopter that has been sitting there since racing began. Soon its rotor blades whirr into action and it sets off noisily in the direction of the Devil's Bit mountain.
For the hardcore patrons of Thurles racecourse, it is an interesting diversion from the solemn business of picking winners on a typically challenging card. The scene unfolds to a soundtrack of excited whispers and stifled laughs that seems a combination of relief that there is still somebody in this day and age who can afford to splash out and mirth at the incongruity of such a symbol of wealth among such spartan surroundings.
Either way, it is their cue to indulge in a game of guess-the-occupant. And because they both have runners, the field is quickly whittled down to JP McManus and Michael O'Leary. "Evens the pair," says an elderly man in a grey trenchcoat laughing, but soon the chopper is a speck on the horizon and their interest wanes. Gradually they retreat to the bar to sip hot whiskeys and continue their quest for winners.
Two hours earlier, the scene was radically different. It was just past midday as Dave Mooney set up his stall in the pitch he has held for 25 years. The first race at Leopardstown was due off in five minutes and Mooney was hungry for early business. A single bet of €10 was all that came his way. "On the winner too," he smiled, knowing he would need every ounce of humour he could muster to get through the day.
Mooney lives a mile from Leopardstown, but is far happier betting at Thurles. He likes the buzz here, the easy rhythms of rural life. Plus, he figures he will do more Leopardstown business here than if he was at the track itself. Go figure.
"There won't be a sinner at Leopardstown," he explains. "It's only for the Magniers and all those people anyway. The working men who like to have a bet come here."
He casts his eye wistfully over the Thurles ring. There are 25 bookies betting today and two sides of the ring are virtually empty. He remembers a time when the ring was a much larger place and always heaving. "They were always full when this place was going well. This game is gone now. Fellas are dropping off all the time. Ten years ago you couldn't even get in here."
Before racing began he had a word with Pierce Molony, Thurles' owner and manager, and told him of his disgust at Horse Racing Ireland for rescheduling last Sunday's abandoned Leopardstown fixture for the same day. There is a widespread feeling in racing that the HRI, responsible for promoting the sport, has always been indifferent to the plight of Thurles and the ordinary racegoer who frequents it, never showing any apparent inclination to invest and bring the facilities up to modern-day standards.
Molony shrugs when the subject of his relationship with the racing authorities is brought up. He has been running Thurles with his wife, Riona, since 1974 with occasional help from their four daughters and, even in the boom times, making ends meet was never easy. Still, the struggle has been an engaging and ultimately rewarding one. The racecourse was in his blood and he has never known any other way.
Molony's grandfather, also Pierce, took over the running of the course in 1911 and, to date, four generations of the family have been involved in its upkeep. Today Thurles is the only privately-owned racecourse in the country and, if there is pride in the statistic, there is also sober reasoning behind it -- owning and maintaining a racecourse isn't for the faint-hearted or the commercially-minded.
Riona remembers the good times, days like the Kinloch Brae Chase meeting in late January, when upwards of 4,000 punters would stream through the gates. Those days are gone now. Today there's a hardcore attendance of 500 maybe and only half of those are likely to be paying customers. Sometimes people moan about the €15 admission fee but, as a private enterprise, they simply can't afford to reduce it.
They race for 11 days each winter and, on brisk days like these, they know what to expect: dyed-in-the-wool racing people who are not looking for frills. Today the weather is ideal: cold with a sharp wind and the odd fleck of sleet, but up above the sky is clear and there is no hint of rain. "Soup and hot whiskey weather," she smiles. "Just how we like it."
She sees the same people returning time and time again. From the nearby towns of Templemore and Nenagh and further afield too. She knows the names and, if not the names, she knows the faces. Today they have a party of 25 visiting from a racing club in Cheltenham. In the morning, they went to The Curragh to visit Sea The Stars. For an authentic Irish racing experience, someone told them, why not head south to Thurles?
It hurts them when their course is criticised and held open to ridicule, as has often happened. To the naked eye, Thurles is no thing of beauty. It has no lofty aspirations and holds no promise for the softer soul of a cossetted afternoon quaffing champagne in warm, carpet-lined corporate bars. To locate its beauty you have to look beyond the ramshackle veneer that has remained unchanged for several generations.
Not everyone can manage it. In 2006, the Racing Post journalist, David Ashforth, passed through during a tour of British and Irish racecourses and delivered a stinging verdict, finding nothing to like about the place, rating it the lowest of the 50 courses he had visited on his travels. Even now, three years on, Riona bristles at the memory.
"What really annoyed us was that he never mentioned how good the track was. How you can race here all the time. Like, there was two feet of water on the back straight at 7.0am on Sunday morning and by lunchtime it was gone. I didn't think he had any business coming to a small place like this and judging us like we were Leopardstown or The Curragh. We're not. This is our business. It's a labour of love. We're not in it for the money."
Most of the income Thurles generates goes back into the maintenance of the course. This year they had to install a new fuse box on health and safety grounds and it set them back a cool €30,000. Their midweek racing grant was cut by €45,000 and they sunk a little deeper below the surface. "Every year we invest at least €50,000 but the problem is nobody sees it," says Pierce. "We'd love to be able to put it into paint or furniture but we can't. Just keeping the place open is enough of a struggle."
They draw solace from the fact that the people who matter appreciate their efforts. It's just past half two when Dessie Hughes greets In Compliance in the winner's enclosure after taking the feature race of the day, the €26,000 Listed Thurles Chase which, like most races at the track, goes unsponsored. In the last five years, Hughes has trained more winners here than anyone else. As a rider and a trainer, he says, Thurles has always been a lucky track.
"It's just a great National Hunt track for the winter. You get the odd good horse here like our fella, but mostly it's just for the run-of-the-mill horses. I love it because you don't get many injuries here. The track is so well looked after. Pierce is always able to produce the ground even when the weather is at its worst. People talk about amenities but sure we're used to them."
Producing raceable ground in the worst of the Irish winter has been Thurles' lasting achievement. In a lifetime working at the course Molony can't recall a trainer or jockey criticising the course and their approval is the ultimate endorsement. When he helped his father as a kid, one of their jobs involved taking a load of shavings from the nearby sugar beet factory and spreading it over the track in the dry heat of August. That strengthened the soil for the harshness of the winter months.
Trainers know the ground will be kind to young, fragile horses and the steep hill up the back stretch -- which Riona walks twice a day -- is useful preparation for Cheltenham. When they raced on the flat during the summer a few years back, the big yards of Ballydoyle, Coolcullen and Rosewell House thought nothing of bringing their talented two-year-olds. Outside of racing the schooling bumpers they frequently stage are among the most subscribed in the country.
The sugar beet factory is gone 20 years now and, to many, the survival of the racecourse is a minor miracle. Their licence was once revoked after a stand was condemned, but they managed to get through it. A few years back there was grave uncertainty about the television money that was critical to their survival and they felt their resolve flagging. Ashforth's harsh assessment came around the same time and was like a dagger through their hearts.
"I remember saying to Pierce why the hell are we doing this?" says Riona. "It was just so negative. The thing about it is the land here is so valuable we could have sold up any time we wanted. But we always kept going. The slump came then and we probably had no choice. But in four or five years' time who knows? Somebody else might bid for the place. Everything changes."
The clearest hint of change came last week when local businessman Richard Quirke presented mind-boggling plans to build a resort four miles to the east, near the town of Two-Mile Borris. The project, dependent on a casino licence being approved, includes the construction of three tracks to cater for Flat, jumping and all-weather racing. As well as a welter of high-profile figures, Molony has given his blessing. If the project proceeds, he says, Thurles racecourse will close.
He says he would be sad to see Thurles go, but it is difficult to stand against progress. Although Quirke's gleaming €460m proposal was met with widespread scepticism, Molony was impressed. As well as running the racecourse, Molony's father was a local GP and brought Quirke into the world. And in a previous life Molony used to deliver milk to the Quirke household. Those who mock his plans, Molony thinks, fail to appreciate Quirke's capacity for getting things done as well as his deep affection for his local area.
Still, you survey the faces of the hardcore racing people at Thurles and wonder how many of them would be drawn to the lavish frills on offer at the new venue. You wonder too at the history that would be lost and a way of life that has stood the test of time. Thurles, after all, is where a gaunt 18-year-old by the name of Anthony McCoy rode his first winner. It is where Willie Mullins had his first success as a trainer as well as the place of repose -- somewhere under the betting ring, it is believed -- of the great Buck House.
Not everyone is convinced it will go. "I suppose the HRI should be helping out here but they're not," says Dessie Hughes. "But as long as Pierce Molony is alive I think there will always be racing here. I just couldn't see him closing it. Hopefully it won't happen."
A week ago, Mouse Morris, Buck House's trainer, was asked about Thurles and offered the perfect response. "A great track that takes unbelievable punishment," he said, "but somehow manages to bounce back." It was perfect because Morris captured not just the essence of the racecourse but of the durable horsemen who have entered its gates and, however many times they got knocked down, always bounced back for more.
In those few words Thurles received its most fitting epitaph.
John O,Brien
Sunday Independent
High in the rickety stands the punters are on their feet, their gaze focused on the track in front of them, eagerly witnessing another puzzle unfolding before their eyes. For a couple of minutes or so nothing else matters but this sense of mystery and the anticipation of an impending solution. In the betting ring, bookmakers climb on boxes for a better view. Men crowd the rails by the finishing stretch to feel closer to the action.
Yet, strangely, there isn't a horse to be seen on the track. The feature race concluded 10 minutes ago and the horses haven't entered the parade ring for the next. Instead, their eyes are drawn to the white Land Rover making its way to the middle of the course before depositing its lone passenger beside the helicopter that has been sitting there since racing began. Soon its rotor blades whirr into action and it sets off noisily in the direction of the Devil's Bit mountain.
For the hardcore patrons of Thurles racecourse, it is an interesting diversion from the solemn business of picking winners on a typically challenging card. The scene unfolds to a soundtrack of excited whispers and stifled laughs that seems a combination of relief that there is still somebody in this day and age who can afford to splash out and mirth at the incongruity of such a symbol of wealth among such spartan surroundings.
Either way, it is their cue to indulge in a game of guess-the-occupant. And because they both have runners, the field is quickly whittled down to JP McManus and Michael O'Leary. "Evens the pair," says an elderly man in a grey trenchcoat laughing, but soon the chopper is a speck on the horizon and their interest wanes. Gradually they retreat to the bar to sip hot whiskeys and continue their quest for winners.
Two hours earlier, the scene was radically different. It was just past midday as Dave Mooney set up his stall in the pitch he has held for 25 years. The first race at Leopardstown was due off in five minutes and Mooney was hungry for early business. A single bet of €10 was all that came his way. "On the winner too," he smiled, knowing he would need every ounce of humour he could muster to get through the day.
Mooney lives a mile from Leopardstown, but is far happier betting at Thurles. He likes the buzz here, the easy rhythms of rural life. Plus, he figures he will do more Leopardstown business here than if he was at the track itself. Go figure.
"There won't be a sinner at Leopardstown," he explains. "It's only for the Magniers and all those people anyway. The working men who like to have a bet come here."
He casts his eye wistfully over the Thurles ring. There are 25 bookies betting today and two sides of the ring are virtually empty. He remembers a time when the ring was a much larger place and always heaving. "They were always full when this place was going well. This game is gone now. Fellas are dropping off all the time. Ten years ago you couldn't even get in here."
Before racing began he had a word with Pierce Molony, Thurles' owner and manager, and told him of his disgust at Horse Racing Ireland for rescheduling last Sunday's abandoned Leopardstown fixture for the same day. There is a widespread feeling in racing that the HRI, responsible for promoting the sport, has always been indifferent to the plight of Thurles and the ordinary racegoer who frequents it, never showing any apparent inclination to invest and bring the facilities up to modern-day standards.
Molony shrugs when the subject of his relationship with the racing authorities is brought up. He has been running Thurles with his wife, Riona, since 1974 with occasional help from their four daughters and, even in the boom times, making ends meet was never easy. Still, the struggle has been an engaging and ultimately rewarding one. The racecourse was in his blood and he has never known any other way.
Molony's grandfather, also Pierce, took over the running of the course in 1911 and, to date, four generations of the family have been involved in its upkeep. Today Thurles is the only privately-owned racecourse in the country and, if there is pride in the statistic, there is also sober reasoning behind it -- owning and maintaining a racecourse isn't for the faint-hearted or the commercially-minded.
Riona remembers the good times, days like the Kinloch Brae Chase meeting in late January, when upwards of 4,000 punters would stream through the gates. Those days are gone now. Today there's a hardcore attendance of 500 maybe and only half of those are likely to be paying customers. Sometimes people moan about the €15 admission fee but, as a private enterprise, they simply can't afford to reduce it.
They race for 11 days each winter and, on brisk days like these, they know what to expect: dyed-in-the-wool racing people who are not looking for frills. Today the weather is ideal: cold with a sharp wind and the odd fleck of sleet, but up above the sky is clear and there is no hint of rain. "Soup and hot whiskey weather," she smiles. "Just how we like it."
She sees the same people returning time and time again. From the nearby towns of Templemore and Nenagh and further afield too. She knows the names and, if not the names, she knows the faces. Today they have a party of 25 visiting from a racing club in Cheltenham. In the morning, they went to The Curragh to visit Sea The Stars. For an authentic Irish racing experience, someone told them, why not head south to Thurles?
It hurts them when their course is criticised and held open to ridicule, as has often happened. To the naked eye, Thurles is no thing of beauty. It has no lofty aspirations and holds no promise for the softer soul of a cossetted afternoon quaffing champagne in warm, carpet-lined corporate bars. To locate its beauty you have to look beyond the ramshackle veneer that has remained unchanged for several generations.
Not everyone can manage it. In 2006, the Racing Post journalist, David Ashforth, passed through during a tour of British and Irish racecourses and delivered a stinging verdict, finding nothing to like about the place, rating it the lowest of the 50 courses he had visited on his travels. Even now, three years on, Riona bristles at the memory.
"What really annoyed us was that he never mentioned how good the track was. How you can race here all the time. Like, there was two feet of water on the back straight at 7.0am on Sunday morning and by lunchtime it was gone. I didn't think he had any business coming to a small place like this and judging us like we were Leopardstown or The Curragh. We're not. This is our business. It's a labour of love. We're not in it for the money."
Most of the income Thurles generates goes back into the maintenance of the course. This year they had to install a new fuse box on health and safety grounds and it set them back a cool €30,000. Their midweek racing grant was cut by €45,000 and they sunk a little deeper below the surface. "Every year we invest at least €50,000 but the problem is nobody sees it," says Pierce. "We'd love to be able to put it into paint or furniture but we can't. Just keeping the place open is enough of a struggle."
They draw solace from the fact that the people who matter appreciate their efforts. It's just past half two when Dessie Hughes greets In Compliance in the winner's enclosure after taking the feature race of the day, the €26,000 Listed Thurles Chase which, like most races at the track, goes unsponsored. In the last five years, Hughes has trained more winners here than anyone else. As a rider and a trainer, he says, Thurles has always been a lucky track.
"It's just a great National Hunt track for the winter. You get the odd good horse here like our fella, but mostly it's just for the run-of-the-mill horses. I love it because you don't get many injuries here. The track is so well looked after. Pierce is always able to produce the ground even when the weather is at its worst. People talk about amenities but sure we're used to them."
Producing raceable ground in the worst of the Irish winter has been Thurles' lasting achievement. In a lifetime working at the course Molony can't recall a trainer or jockey criticising the course and their approval is the ultimate endorsement. When he helped his father as a kid, one of their jobs involved taking a load of shavings from the nearby sugar beet factory and spreading it over the track in the dry heat of August. That strengthened the soil for the harshness of the winter months.
Trainers know the ground will be kind to young, fragile horses and the steep hill up the back stretch -- which Riona walks twice a day -- is useful preparation for Cheltenham. When they raced on the flat during the summer a few years back, the big yards of Ballydoyle, Coolcullen and Rosewell House thought nothing of bringing their talented two-year-olds. Outside of racing the schooling bumpers they frequently stage are among the most subscribed in the country.
The sugar beet factory is gone 20 years now and, to many, the survival of the racecourse is a minor miracle. Their licence was once revoked after a stand was condemned, but they managed to get through it. A few years back there was grave uncertainty about the television money that was critical to their survival and they felt their resolve flagging. Ashforth's harsh assessment came around the same time and was like a dagger through their hearts.
"I remember saying to Pierce why the hell are we doing this?" says Riona. "It was just so negative. The thing about it is the land here is so valuable we could have sold up any time we wanted. But we always kept going. The slump came then and we probably had no choice. But in four or five years' time who knows? Somebody else might bid for the place. Everything changes."
The clearest hint of change came last week when local businessman Richard Quirke presented mind-boggling plans to build a resort four miles to the east, near the town of Two-Mile Borris. The project, dependent on a casino licence being approved, includes the construction of three tracks to cater for Flat, jumping and all-weather racing. As well as a welter of high-profile figures, Molony has given his blessing. If the project proceeds, he says, Thurles racecourse will close.
He says he would be sad to see Thurles go, but it is difficult to stand against progress. Although Quirke's gleaming €460m proposal was met with widespread scepticism, Molony was impressed. As well as running the racecourse, Molony's father was a local GP and brought Quirke into the world. And in a previous life Molony used to deliver milk to the Quirke household. Those who mock his plans, Molony thinks, fail to appreciate Quirke's capacity for getting things done as well as his deep affection for his local area.
Still, you survey the faces of the hardcore racing people at Thurles and wonder how many of them would be drawn to the lavish frills on offer at the new venue. You wonder too at the history that would be lost and a way of life that has stood the test of time. Thurles, after all, is where a gaunt 18-year-old by the name of Anthony McCoy rode his first winner. It is where Willie Mullins had his first success as a trainer as well as the place of repose -- somewhere under the betting ring, it is believed -- of the great Buck House.
Not everyone is convinced it will go. "I suppose the HRI should be helping out here but they're not," says Dessie Hughes. "But as long as Pierce Molony is alive I think there will always be racing here. I just couldn't see him closing it. Hopefully it won't happen."
A week ago, Mouse Morris, Buck House's trainer, was asked about Thurles and offered the perfect response. "A great track that takes unbelievable punishment," he said, "but somehow manages to bounce back." It was perfect because Morris captured not just the essence of the racecourse but of the durable horsemen who have entered its gates and, however many times they got knocked down, always bounced back for more.
In those few words Thurles received its most fitting epitaph.
John O,Brien
Sunday Independent