ALAN CARTER’S BOOK PART THREE
Our Kenny had purchased a rundown old pub with some land off Taylor Lane, Bradshaw, just south of Halifax. It had been empty for many years with only an old man living on the grounds in a ramshackle old caravan, so my brother had a lot on his plate having to rebuild it more or less from scratch.
When he’d finished the renovations early in 1983 the stone-built house at Grey Horse Farm looked fantastic. He had his own workshops and also carved out a motocross track with a proper speedway starting gate, on which we’d occasionally race each other. It used to piss him off that I’d out-trap him every time, although he’d soon come flying past like a madman.
Around this time things were changing for him on a large scale. Out would go Richard Pickering, one of the best speedway mechanics in the country, along with most of his childhood mates who were there for him in his early days. Richard was older and smarter than Kenny and very meticulous. He’d been Chris Pusey’s mechanic and had been around. The friends he discarded included Graham ‘Dunny’ Dunn, who was his best mate, and Gary ‘Gaz’ Docherty, a former neighbour of ours from just up the road in Brickfield Lane.
As far as I was concerned he brought in glorified gofers, people like Phil ‘Ollie’ Hollingworth and Bryan Lamer. I’m not saying they weren’t nice people, but they weren’t capable of looking after the number one rider in England. Kenny needed a solid team around him, just like Bruce Penhall had, not a circus act. It just goes to show that Dad and Kenny were so much alike – tyrants, dictators or whatever else you want to call them.
I just couldn’t believe what he was doing but, like Mal, you could never tell him anything. At times he was just pig-headed beyond belief.
Kenny could see, and so could everyone else, riders and fans alike, that Bruce had a slick operation and there were no weak links in his chain. So what on earth was
