Patrick Mullins: 'I think about her, and smile. As I always will when I do'

Record-breaking amateur jockey Patrick Mullins was crowned racing writer of the year at the 58th Horserace Writers and Photographers Derby Awards in London on Monday, December 2. In a heartfelt tribute following the passing of his grandmother Maureen in February aged 94, Mullins remembers Irish racing's great matriarch.

Tick tock goes the clock.

I’m standing in the living room in Doninga. The lights are off and the fireplace is unlit but the room is full of morning. I never knew there was a clock in here but I suppose you wouldn’t hear it over conversation. I can hear it over my thoughts though. The roof is low because the house is old. The couches sag because they too are old. The far one has groaned and cracked ever since I can remember, and when we’d all gather here in Doninga every Christmas Eve, we’d wonder who it would eventually give out under. My money was always on Emmet. I suppose it won’t give out under anyone now.

It was never quiet or cold when Granny was here. Conversation was her favourite pastime. We’d sit and listen and sip our tea and hear about people and places we didn’t know, but that she did. She adored her “Daddy”, even at ninety-four, maybe even especially at ninety-four, and was in awe of everything he did, the farms he bought and the music he played. She was fiercely proud of being the first woman in Carlow to get a driver’s licence, which she drove in to collect. A few years ago, it was agreed (perhaps not entirely mutually) that she would give up driving. Not long after, William Shatner went into space aged 90, to which she exclaimed: “How is it he can go to space and I’m not allowed drive to the shop?” She had us there to be fair.

Only last year after racing in Naas one day, I brought her out to the car park to do a few doughnuts on the gravel in a red Ford Mustang. We nearly knocked down Danny but she didn’t seem to mind (I’d told him to be careful but he never listens) and when we screeched to a halt in a hail of dust, she laughed and said: “Oh, marvellous! Can’t we go again?”

She never said no. Do you want to go racing? Do you want to go watch the horses gallop on the Curragh? Do you want to go for lunch? Do you want to pull doughnuts in the car park at Naas? Yes was always the answer, and everything we did was always 'marvellous', her favourite word and pronounced with three distinct syllables. She was never tired, never grumpy, never one for doing it tomorrow. The only thing she told us not to do was to marry before we were 30. Six of us have managed it but there is grave concern among us for David. He just gets so many offers.

Maureen Mullins: died in February at the age of 94Credit: Patrick McCann (racingpost.com/photos)

I move around on the creaky floorboards and look at the photos on the wall. A big one of Granny and Grandad dashing through the crowd after Dawn Run had won in Auteuil, Grandad with his head down and eyes forward and Granny smiling and waving regally at the crowd. A black and white one of Tony on Pearlstone hailing possibly the greatest taxi ever pulled. A faded one of her wedding day in 1954. There’s a press that’s plastered top to bottom with rosettes of all different colours and sizes. I pick up a small purple one, 'Tom on the Silver Feather, 2nd. Tack Inspection'. A proud day no doubt. Especially if you know Tom. Hurry Harriet beating Allez France in the 1973 Champion Stakes. The small picture of all the family in the garden, five children and ten grandchildren and Granny and Grandad sitting at the heart of us.

She opened the new weigh room at Gowran Park only last month, graceful as always in a blue coat and red beret. Just last week she was perched on her chair reading the Racing Post and asked me who was the jockey in the picture. “Michael O’Sullivan,” I replied. “From Cork? Yes, yes. Lovely people.” Ninety-four but people and places still didn’t escape her memory. Leaving the room on Sunday morning, I told her I’d win the bumper, and she asked where it was on. When I replied Navan, she wanted to know would my horse stay well enough as Navan is a stiff track. Once I assured her he would, she said: “Be sure and have a tenner on it for me.” Someone did, and she had told them to roll it on to Charlie in the bumper in Thurles on Tuesday. She finished ahead.

She was always elegant. Never a hair out of place. She was always interested and interesting. From a different era, yet moving around entirely comfortable in this one. She had a smile, a laugh and a twinkle of mischief in her eye right to the very end. They don’t make them like her anymore, if they ever did. Born in 1929. What a woman. What a lady. I stand in the drawing room in Doninga with the lights off and an unlit fire and I think about her, and smile. As I always will when I do. Maureen Mullins. Marvellous. Matriarch. Much missed. I walk out and close the door.

Tick tock goes the clock.

Maureen Mullins:

'A wonderful woman who lived a wonderful life' - Irish racing's great matriarch Maureen Mullins dies aged 94 

Grace, charm, style and knowledge - vibrant Maureen Mullins provided the DNA for Irish racing