The tragedy of these images is they have given cause to doubt racing's sincerity

The first time I saw a horse die up close will stay with me forever. It was at Kempton on a freezing winter afternoon, ice water dripping from the grandstand and great clouds of vapour shrouding horses as they came back into the winner's enclosure.

I was there to write a feature about a group of owners operating at the grassroots, a piece that was supposed to capture the thrill of ownership at any level, but instead the day ended in heartbreak when their joy slipped and fell at the first hurdle, right in front of the grandstand, and never arose.

My abiding memories of the incident are twofold: first, the bewildered sadness of the owners, distraught and disbelieving that their darling horse was not coming home. Second, the sight of the jockey holding the stricken animal on the ground as they awaited the horse ambulance, his hands gently stroking its neck.