THIS week has been one of great circumspection, and perhaps a degree of cautious optimism as racing in Ireland continues under a strict code of practice.

In Britain, the news has been more stark with a cessation of racing which will make the next weeks and months a testing time for many employed by the industry.

We’ve been inundated with warnings of what the future might hold, and the temptation is to lurch towards self-pity given onslaught of bad news.

One story in the past few days was rather lost in that avalanche, but it plucks rather more gently at the heart-strings. Simon McNeill, known to his inner circle as Smack, is taking his second retirement from the sport.

After 22 years as a jockey, during which time he rode Katabatic to success in the Queen Mother Champion Chase, he took a job as a Jockey Club Starter, and did that job for a similar period.

Despite what some might perceive as the poacher-turned-gamekeeper transformation in representing the sport’s ruling body, McNeill never lost the admiration and affection of the weighing room, and that speaks volumes for his sense of loyalty and comradeship.

In a way, Simon’s career only really took off when most would have contemplated retirement, and he was 37 when enjoying his best season numerically the year after Katabatic won the Champion Chase in 1991. The pair were second the following year and third in 1993.

Prior to that, McNeill made few newspaper headlines, but he had established himself as a fixture in the weighing room having ridden his first winner on the David Ringer-trained Florida Son in a Panama Cigar Hurdle Qualifier at Wolverhampton in February 1977.

When Ringer retired at the end of 1988, McNeill was still riding for him, although a move away from Newmarket saw him form successful partnerships with the likes of Kim Bailey, Jim Old and Katabatic’s trainer Andy Turnell.

Never wanting to become a trainer, McNeill applied for a job as a starter, at that pre-BHA era time something looked after by the Jockey Club. Having taken advice from old friend and Jockeys’ Association chief Michael Caulfield, Simon felt confident in his chances, so Caulfield was surprised to receive a call from a familiar number not long before the interview was due to take place.

“I’m in trouble, secretary (a reference to Caulfield’s original title at the Jockeys’ Association),” said a panicked McNeill.

“Nonsense,” said his friend and mentor, “we’ve been through this; you know what to say and you’re a perfect fit for the job.”

“That’s not it though. I’ve left my suit in Lambourn!”

With time on his hands, the advice was to simply buy or borrow a suit in Newmarket, and it’s no surprise that it was to his old guv’nor Simon turned. Wearing one of David Ringer’s old suits, he turned up for the interview and nailed it, as he explained in another phone call to an amused Caulfield.

“It went well, I think, but there’s one thing I should mention. The only suit I could find at David’s that would fit was a dark blue crushed velvet one with a sparkly collar.”

“Simon – did you go to a job interview dressed as Elvis?”

“Yes, secretary.”

The fame of winning one of the great Cheltenham races late in his riding career didn’t sit easily with Simon, but he didn’t have long to get big-headed before being brought down to earth.

All the jockeys at Cheltenham came out to the weighing-room steps to greet him after he’d steered Katabatic back to the winners’ enclosure, and the cheers rained down from all for the veteran rider in his moment of glory.

Bursting with pride as he bounced up the steps, and with the instruction “don’t forget to weigh in” ringing in his ears, his gaze met that of the custodian of the weighing room, a man he’d seen countless times before, and who was to utter a phrase Simon will never forget until his dying day:

“Well done Seamus.”

In what might have been a bad-tempered enquiry into the start of the 2014 Grand National, in which McNeill was knocked down by horses rushing forward in a chaotic false-start, it was the starter himself who attempted to disperse the tension.

Shown a replay of the event by a panel of stewards’ intent on handing out swingeing punishment, a clearly discomfited Mc Neill grinned sheepishly, and said: “I’m afraid I’ve gone down faster that Luis Suarez there!”

Joking aside, the fact that the entire weighing room poured out to congratulate him for his Queen Mother win, and again that he was the recipient of a special recognition reward at the Lesters in 1999 is proof that Simon McNeill is worthy of the affection of more than one generation of jockeys, and his willingness to put himself out to help an old colleague is well known; the universally liked jockey is a cliché, but Simon was just that, and managed to maintain that status through his second career. Here’s wishing him a happy retirement.

*My thanks to Michael Caulfield for his reminiscences.