ONE stinking hot November afternoon in 1985, a young racing writer ambled out to Moree racecourse looking for a story.

He was 24 years old, as cocky as all get-out, with grandiose plans of becoming the next Keith Robbins or Bert Lillye.

He reckoned he knew a fair bit about horse-racing. He knew how to fill out a TAB ticket and the difference between 3-1 and 7-2, but he didn’t know all that much about the people who actually put on the show – the trainers, owners and jockeys.

After peering up and down two or three rows of stables, he spotted this lean, wiry bloke mucking out a horse box.

He casually walked over and watched the bloke shovel horse manure into a barrow.

This ambitious young racing writer had a fair idea who this bloke was, but he’d never been formally introduced. He’d heard stories, though.

The bloke looked up, tipped his weather-beaten hat back past his forehead, wiped away a bead of sweat, and cautiously eyed the young fella up and down.

“You’re the bloke that writes all that shit in the paper, aren’t you,” he said gruffly.

The young fella winced, but stood his ground.

“I’d rather get paid for writing it, than shovelling it,” he replied.

Phillip Sinclair paused and leaned on the shovel. Ever so slowly, he broke into a smile.

He dropped the shovel, reached across, and shook my hand.

That hot November afternoon at Moree racecourse was the start of a friendship with not only Phil Sinclair, but the entire Sinclair family that endures to this day.

Sadly, the bloke that frightened the living daylights out of me in 1985, died at the weekend.

Phil Sinclair would’ve turned 83 tomorrow, December 18.

He died at home with family around him.

Phil Sinclair was the complete horseman, a third generation racehorse trainer who passed down his craft to son, Peter, and grandson, Nathan.

Phil’s father, George, trained hundreds of winners, and George’s father, Peter John Sinclair, first threw a saddle over a thoroughbred more than 100 years ago.

George’s father, a butcher by trade, married Fanny Gaudern in 1915, and they relocated from Barraba to Tulloona Bore, north of Moree, not long afterwards.

The family trained racehorses at Tulloona and moved to Moree in the 1950s, and so did the horses.

Phil, a shearer when not leading back winners, married Patricia Valerie Bailey at East Moree Catholic Church on February 15, 1963.

“We got married on a Friday night and spent two days at Inverell for our honeymoon – Phil had to get home to go back shearing,” Pat smiled.

Five generations of Sinclairs have trained racehorses in Moree, a familial feat equalled only – as far as I know – by a family named Cummings.

George Sinclair trained from stables on Frome Street, just past the main bridge on the southern side of town, and later, Phil set up shop at Moree racecourse. Pete and Nathan soon followed.

And the winners came.

Spetain, Tarfella, Tolanda, Sahara Bounty, Rumbarella, Modesty Blaise, Purdypeel and True To All were probably the best.

Pete remembers them all.

“Tolanda, owned by Barry Haddad, was probably at the top of the list, but Rumbarella and Spetain were up there, too,” Pete said.

“As a jockey, I won a Shorts Handicap at Inverell on Spetain when the horse went to Clive Dixon at Glen Innes. Tolanda went to Lee Freedman in Melbourne, and won black type races.”

Jockeys Blake Spriggs, Jimmy Bryans and Mick Squires learned their craft as young riders under the tutelage of Phil, who was a pretty handy hoop in his day as well.

His first winner was Scrap Paper for father George in the mid-1950s.

After retirement, Phil made cameo appearances on race-day when Pete and Nathan couldn’t be trackside, and was caretaker trainer when they underwent life-saving kidney transplant surgery in 2013.

Around this time, I had put together a syndicate of owners with a lofty aim to win a few races on the Golden Triangle picnic racing circuit.

Phil trained our first horse while Pete and Nathan recovered in hospital.

The horse, Playa, won the Goodwood Cup at Inverell on Boxing Day at its first start for the new owners.

I was told afterwards, Phil had snuck across to the Inverell betting ring and placed $100 on Playa with bookie Chris Picone at odds of around 5-1 – not a bad wager for a bloke that rarely had a punt.

“When Phillip Sinclair came over and put a hundred bucks on your horse, I knew it would win,” Chris told me afterwards.

Grand-daughter Jess Towns, a complete horsewoman, said “Pop” Sinclair was known by everyone on the pony club circuit.

“It didn’t matter where we went, everyone at pony camp called him ‘Pop’,” Jess smiled.

Phil was a life member of Moree and Gravesend Pony Clubs, where he ran the barbecue most days.

He was also highly sought as an equine lameness and behavioural specialist.

He rubbed shoulders with all types at racecourses and showgrounds around the country.

When the $100K trucks and the gleaming three-berth horse floats being towed by the latest model four-wheel drives with the high-end badges pulled up, Phil would smile and go about his business.

“It’s not the vehicle you pull up in that matters. What you lead out the back of the float, that’s what matters,” he often said.

Under Phil’s guidance, Jess soared through the pony club ranks.

In 2017, she competed at the Pony Club Nationals at Toowoomba, when selected as part of a four-person showjumping team to represent Australia against France.

Jess was also named overall champion at the NSW State Pony Club Championships at Tamworth the same year.

“Pop taught me everything about horses, and my success is because of him. We had an incredible relationship and understood each other so well,” Jess said.

“I would be at a competition and glance over at Pop. He would give me a look, and I knew exactly what he was telling me to do.

“Pop was my biggest supporter, and always believed in me. He was a true gentleman and an exceptional horseman.

“He loved to tell me ‘not enough sweat on the saddlecloth’ when my horse would buck and ‘you only get out what you put in’, meaning if I wanted to succeed, I needed to work for it.

“This is what we did, we worked together, and I will cherish those memories forever.

“Pop was a man of very few words, yet those few words always made an impact,” Jess said.

“He was humble, truthful, caring and, above all else, selfless . . . a true gentleman.

“He always reminded me, if you have talent, you don’t need flash things to be the best. Pop had a chaff bag for a saddlecloth and would sit on his hands to keep warm as he led the horses to the track. “He was the most amazing horseman, and my absolute best friend.”

Former gun jockey Henry Cameron, now retired at Tamworth, endured a stormy working relationship with Phil for many years.

“When I had a serious fall at Gunnedah and was lying on the track with a broken leg, Phil jumped the fence and was the first person there. He grabbed me and said, ‘don’t move, Henry’, and I said, ‘I ain’t going anywhere’,” Cameron said.

“We fought like cats and dogs, but when the chips were down, Phil Sinclair was the first one there.

“He sacked me 13 times, but reinstated me 14 times,” he laughed.

“A true legend of racing has gone to sleep.”

Pete Sinclair, who now trains privately near Murwillumbah, said his father is one of the last bush philosophers.

“The fondest memory I have of Phil is being his son. He taught me a lot about life and gave hard love, and what Phil didn’t know about horses wasn’t worth knowing.” Pete said.

He remembers with clarity the day he went to Coonamble to ride for his father.

“I was 15 years old and rode in an 800m race, which was pretty much a straight course,” Pete recalled.

“We drew barrier 15 out of 16. The instructions from Phil was to go straight to the front. Anyway, the gates opened and the horse in barrier 16 knocked me down.”

Pete’s mount recovered, found his legs, and scraped home to win the race by the skin of a boarding house pudding.

“The horse picked himself up and just got home,” Pete said.

“When I came back to scale I said to Phil, ‘Jeez, we were lucky to win that. The horse on the outside knocked me down and cut me off.

“Phil looked me straight in the eye and said: ‘you should’ve been in front of it’.”

Phil’s inner circle was made up of horsemen and racing types.

Blokes like Kevin Hartin and Billy Scott – both Gwydirfield neighbours – and fellow trainers the ilk of Clive Dixon, Johnny Hitchins, Hooky Turner, Arthur Squires, Steve Noon and Joe Armstrong were friends and confidants.

“Dad and Kevin Hartin were inseparable as young fellas, and blokes like Rodney Schoupp, Bernie Jones, Eddie Cory and Darcy Wilkinson and their families were all close,” Pete said.

Pete said Phil’s brother, Jimmy, was arguably his best mate.

“Jimmy would come out home for Christmas every year; they really enjoyed that time together,” Pete said.

Phillip George “Pop” Sinclair was the loving husband of Patricia, and loving father and father-in-law to Carol and Michael, Peter and Jenny, and Jacque and Dean.

He was a cherished grandfather and great-grandfather and loved uncle and friend to many.

Relatives and friends are respectfully invited to attend a Graveside Funeral Service to celebrate Phil’s life at Moree Lawn Cemetery, Greenbah Road, Moree, on Thursday, December 19, commencing at 2pm.

Afterwards, memories and stories will be shared at Moree racecourse.

Rest in Peace, Phil, and get a wriggle on.

It’s Christmas, and your brother, Jimmy, and a few of your mates are waiting.

Words and Images: Bill Poulos