THE TRUTH, THE WHOLE TRUTH...

Drakensberg uKhahlamba Mountain Range
(Photo : Nicholas Goss) 

…AND NOTHING BUT MOTHER NATURE

Continuing the extracts from the Summerhill Sires Brochure for 2010/2011. Are you on the mailing list? If not then please let us have your details and we’ll gladly ensure you get a personal copy when it’s published on the 1st August.

“Time was, when we changed the way we were doing things, that people thought we were tilting at windmills. Six championships later, there are more than a few disciples these days, including some of the world’s leading stud farms.

For us though, there was no choice. You see, we’ve always been rich in energy and ideas at Summerhill, but we were never rich in the one commodity that really mattered in breeding; cash. So no matter that some might’ve thought we were talking to fairies a dozen years ago, all we were doing, was taking control of the areas of our business we knew we had the talent to control, and trying to manage those better than most.

Where Mother Nature was in charge, our upbringings told us to make her our partner. Nature has plenty of patience, and in the end she will always get her way. We quickly sensed that the crust of the earth was a vast museum, entombed with the history of all of mankind, and rich in the secrets of our being. This elusive truth was the key to our rise to the mountain top.

Understanding the land, the climate, the people, the animals and plants of the kingdom, was the first fundamental. Getting inside the heads of our horses was another.

It is heartening to see the Zulus maintaining their ancient connection with the earth. Ours is a land inherited long ago by the Zulus from the first people, the Bushmen, together with all its stories. Who better then, than the First People to explain our early beginnings, the wonders of our valleys, our great thunderstorms and the natural elixirs that conspire to make this the finest stock country on earth?

If there’s been a constant in our three decades at Summerhill, it’s been sticking to the truth of our roots. Ever since, we’ve set out to make horses happy, pandering to their herd instincts, letting them run outside wherever possible, remembering they are creatures of habit. That they have remarkable memories, that despite their intelligence, like their cousins in the wild, they display little reasoning in the face of danger. And that some traditions, like an hour’s grooming, might not be every horse’s cup of tea.

Racehorses made the Summerhill way, tell the story of their upbringings in a complex and compelling style. Every day, on the racecourses of the world, our horses capture the personality of their origins through all the associations of place, the landscape, the history, the architecture, the character of the soils and the people, and the mystical conjecture of what makes a great one. They never leave any doubt, they are creatures you can form long-standing relationships with, particularly in the regularity with which they visit the winner’s box.

So you see, it is so. Those that are true to their roots and to those around them, don’t just survive. They thrive.”

For more information please visit :
www.summerhill.co.za

FROM MODEST BEGINNINGS TO HUMBLE SALUTATIONS

“The Gosses and horses go back well into our Irish ancestry…”
(Photo : Summerhill Stud)

THE ORIGINS OF SUMMERHILL STUD

On a daily basis we’re receiving now, enquiries from around the world, prompted no doubt by the stream of pamphlets, brochures etc which fill your mailboxes with stallion propaganda at this time of year, as to when the Summerhill brochure will soon be on the street.

It seems it has become coffee table material and archive stuff for many, but as always, it will be out at the beginning of August, and those attending our Stallion Day will be the first recipients.

We will be teasing you however, with the occasional inserts, the first of which is a piece by the “boss” on the origins of the stud.

“When I think back on my upbringing, there are two features that stand out. One had to do with values. Ours was on old settler family which had survived the rigours of the remotest place in South Africa, through hard work, hand-me-downs and a sense of adventure. The story books tell you, growing up is fun. Ours was.

The other was horses. The Gosses and horses go back well into our Irish ancestry, and my grandfather founded his stud in the shadow of the Great Depression. There was no inheritance at Summerhill though. Just old relationships, and the disease that afflicts us all in the horse game.

As for myself, I always knew that one day I’d own a broodmare, though how, on the meagre stipend of a junior partner in a law firm, I didn’t know. Everything I owned was on hire purchase, including my wife and kids. I’ve always had a Land Rover though, and in the context of this story, in 1977 it was a clapped out old 3 series van, dating to the 50’s.

In the car park, after Bold Tropic’s S.A. Guineas, I heard of the sale of a tough old mare whose career I’d followed as a racehorse. Saturday mornings for me were sacrosanct. They were my “farming” days, and on this particular one, I set out in my favourite old khaki shorts, veldskoens and the “Landie”, for the home of the agent, a fine specimen of a man by name Tony Furness.

Clad only in a towel and addressing me from the sanctuary of his apartment balcony, Mr Furness opened the negotiations for Cosy Rosy. I stood in the street below. We quickly established my willingness to buy, so we were only haggling about price. He insisted she was worth R10,000, and I was only offering five, though how I was going to settle even that modest sum, I wasn’t sure. I suggested we spin for it, a proposal with the potential to double my liability if it went against me.

For once, fortune smiled on the “farmer”, and after leaving behind five post-dated cheques, courtesy of my brother’s generosity, I drove away in the old banger, the proud owner of Cosy Rosy. And so the stud that would one day house horses for Arab potentates and English, Australian, Japanese and American millionaires, was born.

A nice image this, some would say, but the point of it all, is that it’s proof if ever it was needed, that in our sport, anything is possible. To many in racing, Summerhill now resembles a totem of money and prestige. The reality is different. There is no farm known to us which is home to more than 500 staff and their families every night. No farm runs four educational facilities, four football teams, four choirs and a world class dance troupe. Our dividends are not measured in money. We see them in the growth of our people.

There are those that will tell you that some guys win races, but often they  seem to be throwing a dice and praying a lot. They will tell you that Summerhill on the other hand, seems to be working on some guaranteed quota. To those who are generous, thank you. Those given to envy, should remember that we came to the game with nothing but dreams.

Everything that’s come our way has been achieved through sacrifice, the force of our work and a gift for breeding horses that run. And the fact that our people chose to write their own history.

There was no running start here. Just a clapped out Land Rover, some tired khakis and old Cosy Rosy”.

HERE COMES THE “BULLDUST!!”

(Photo : Chris Greene/Summerhill)

Those who’ve known us for a long time, and those who’ve tried to get hold of him in recent weeks, will know where the boss is.

Not being a natural propagandist (!), he tucks himself away and spews out the next version of the farm’s brochure. We then share excerpts from it in the weeks leading up to publication, and we thought the most appropriate, given next Saturday‘s event, would be this one.

THE WINTER GAME

Though why it’s called a “game” is beyond us. True, its time for the hats and the pearls to come out, but its also time for the gloves to come off. Because its time for the toughest sport of the lot.

Racing is a game in which horses are the religion, and the fans are there to be entertained. Our people are “Saturday” people, especially in winter when the biggest of the big race days find their way to the Garden Province. Those marquee days you long for. Like the First Saturday in July.

Yes, Saturday afternoon in the city: the Summerhill horses will be there. How do we know? Well, they’ve been there before, you know. And there are places they still want to go.

On the way, there’s something they will encounter which is every bit as contagious as the equine flu. They call it “July” fever, for which there is no known vaccine. On big race days our fellows know what it takes. Some never do.

The parade for the Vodacom July is the telling moment in racing. Its history is as old as the game itself, and we cherish its traditions. That’s why we’ve chosen to polish it, rather than overhaul it.

Among the cheering crowd, it’s safe to say, there’ll be several people who’ve made significant investments in the horses passing by. It’s at times like these, when the money’s down, that you want to know that yours has the foundations. The place, the pedigree and the upbringing. Most times, that’s as good as money in the bank.

Later on when the sticks are out, and they’re calling for the reserves, the penny just drops.

IF YOU WANT TO BE A CHAMPION, JOIN THE CHAMPIONS