| Of a friend I first met Tommy when I returned to England from America in 1970. I had known his sister, Hazel, and her husband Gerry for many years. I was looking for somewhere to train a few greyhounds and Hazel had mentioned that Tommy had greyhound kennels not too far from where I lived. So I gave Tommy a ring and went to see him. I remember that after shaking hands he said, ‘now what is it you want to do?’ There was never any hedging with Tommy. He called a spade a spade. I told him I wanted somewhere to train five greyhounds and he said, “bring them over”. That was the start of two years of laughter and tears and racing dogs brings with it. I don’t deny that we pulled a few strokes, but we weren’t in it to win prizes in the show ring and the plotting is half the fun of training dogs. When I say that Tommy had greyhound kennels, it is an understatement. Tommy kept a four-star dog hotel. I had never seen kennels like them before or since. He was never happier than when he was altering, building on and adding to them. He was good at bricklaying and carpentry and I honestly think that working with his hands made him happier than training the dogs, although he loved the dogs and racing them. The kennels had concealed lighting, beds you could raise or lower, piped music and water pipes right through so that every kennel could be flushed out each morning. Even when they didn’t win, ours were the happiest dogs in the race. A visitor to the kennels once said it was more like a house of ill repute than a dog kennel. Sadly, the pretty kennel maid we had at the time never took the hint! After I finished with the dogs I kept up my friendship with Tommy. He was a very talented artist. I got him to paint a picture of two mastiffs for a friend of mine in America. She has it hanging in her office. I have two of Tommy’s paintings hanging in my house, one a portrait and the other a large painting of snow tigers, both of which are always a topic of conversation. Tommy was what the Americans call ‘a good old boy’. I’m happy that I knew him well enough to call him a friend. Alan Stockwell |