Andrew Rule: Flemington’s longest serving clerk of course John “Patto” Patterson is a true original

Australia will lose one of its few remaining true originals when Flemington’s longest-serving clerk of the course John “Patto” Patterson passes the ultimate final post.

John ‘Patto’ Patterson helping launch the Melbourne Cup Carnival in 2015. Picture: Ian Currie

It’s 1940 and a three-year-old boy at Coleraine in country Victoria watches his father, in uniform, walk off to catch the train to a war from which he never returned.

It’s 1951 and that fatherless boy catches a train to Flemington to be apprenticed as a jockey to help support his mother. He finishes his apprenticeship, outgrows race riding and becomes a drover at Newmarket saleyards — and a horse breaker.

It’s 2010 and that kid from Coleraine is now a grandfather and Flemington’s longest-serving clerk of the course, one of the vigilant riders in red who patrol the track on race days to help riders with toey gallopers.

On a stormy day at the autumn carnival, a valuable stallion prospect has just won the Newmarket Hcp, one of the world’s greatest sprint races at one of the world’s greatest racecourses.

To the relief of jockey Luke Nolen, the horse doesn’t baulk when lightning spears over the track. But by the time Nolen steers him back to the yard, a freak hailstorm hits just ahead of a cloudburst.

Flemington’s longest-serving clerk of course John ‘Patto’ Patterson. Picture: Peter Ward

As spectators scatter, more thunder and lightning and hail spooks the horses. The Newmarket winner, a bundle of muscle and nerves, escapes his handler and bolts down the tunnel leading to the horse stalls. It’s a recipe for disaster.

Underground, the galloping horse’s hoofbeats echo, scaring him more. If he hits the blind turn at the other end at speed, he’ll smash through a fence, injuring himself — and probably people, too.

Ahead of the runaway is mounted interviewer and one-time Melbourne Cup-winning jockey John Letts. Riding next to him is the chief clerk of the course, the one-time skinny kid from Coleraine.

His proper name is John Patterson but everyone calls him Patto. He might look half asleep but never is. He twists in the saddle and grabs the runaway’s bridle as it plunges past — and manages to pull it up.

And so, in a few seconds, carnage is averted. A million-dollar horse is saved, danger to people avoided. All this by a 73-year-old man.

He didn’t say much about it later.

“You don’t know these things are going to happen until they bloody happen. You don’t have time to get frightened.”

John Patterson in action at Flemington. Picture: Ron Wells

Three years later, Patto led in his 44th and final Melbourne Cup winner, Fiorente. But he’d been “clerking” at Flemington for years before he got to lead in his first Cup winner, the great Rain Lover, in 1969. So by the time he handed race day duties to his “deputies”, his sons Shane and Peter and others, he’d been on a horse on the course for a third of the 153 Melbourne Cups run to that time.

That’s a huge chunk of world racing history all on Patto’s watch. Not that the big time and big names ever mattered much to him.

Captains of industry, stars of fashion and flocks of high flyers could come and go in the members’ stand and corporate tents, but Patto wasn’t bothered. He stuck to what he was good at — keeping an eye on the horses and riders, preventing trouble before it happened.

His real work was back in the stables and sand yard behind his house just past the roundabout, educating thousands of young horses and hundreds of young riders. It’s no coincidence his daughter Sheralee was trusted to turn the retired champion Hartnell into a show horse.

John Patterson with grandchildren Mathew and Ellen Patterson in 2021. Picture: Rob Leeson.

The man known around the Australian horse world simply by his nickname has the sort of respect that can’t be bought, only earned.

It’s respect and affection that has always brought visitors to the weathered house and stables in Crown St half a furlong from Flemington’s fancy front gates.

They walk in the back door past the sand roll and a horse-drawn cart and the dog run where Patto’s heelers lived for years, for the obligatory cuppa with him and Mrs Patto, proper name Glenys, and various friends and family.

In recent months the constant trickle of visitors has become a stream. Some come from far away.

Word spread over winter that Patto is feeling his age and every one of too many injuries.

Those who know him have made a point of dropping in one more time before his last spring.

When world-class jockey Craig Williams returned from visiting Ukraine recently, he went to see Patto, who’d helped him and so many other “kids” starting out, including future star jockeys like Nick Ryan, Blake Shinn and Ben Melham. “Willo” had to get in the queue.

Here’s Peter “Crackers” Keenan, former VFL ruckman who’d rather talk horse than football. There’s Patto’s great mate Mick Mallyon, the scallywag jock who won three Caulfield Cups.

Here’s an old bush couple who show ponies in harness. Here’s a young veterinary surgeon who likes to learn from the master. There’s an interstate visitor down for a horse show; she’s staying in the spare room, as someone usually is.

Jockey Chris Symons and Patterson. Picture: Julian Smith

There are other fine raceday clerks and horse breakers, of course. But for half a century Patto has been to his profession what Bart Cummings was to his: a master.

It was Cummings, not prone to praise, who once conceded that Patto was the best horse breaker and all-round horseman he’d seen — “and I know a few.”

Patto’s hands look as if a truck ran over them. His fingers are so crooked he could hardly hold a tea cup for years, yet horse people say he has “good hands” — the sort that are easy on a horse’s mouth, no matter what.

Patto was often blunt with people but never rough with horses. He could be firm, of course, in the way a good teacher must be to bring out the best in pupils. He would teach them properly so they wouldn’t be a danger to themselves or their handlers. That’s why so many owners wanted him to educate their precious young stock.

When Trevor Hastings wrote the story of Patto’s life in 2018 he called his book From Legacy Larrikin to Living Legend. It was a tribute to an Australian original, one of a shrinking number of authentic characters not just in racing but in every walk of life.

Truth is, Patto’s gruffness was a front. The complete horseman was polite, generous and kind right up until he entered a hospice this week to face his final furlong.

Like the best horses and dogs, he was tough — but never mean. Not a bad epitaph.

Originally published as Andrew Rule: Flemington’s longest serving clerk of course John “Patto” Patterson is a true original