Making Allowances

Chapter 7, Part 2

Ten days later, I was driving Clare in Dad’s car towards the course, near Bath, whilst  Dad travelled with the horse’s owner, yet another local farming friend.

Looking at the card, it was clear that it was going to be a long wait. Dad was riding in the Adjacent Hunts’ Race, which was the fifth of six races on the card. As the driver, I  did not have the comfort of the beer tent, and Clare wasn’t old enough.

Weighing up all the options, we decided that the best option would be to watch a couple of the early races down by the one of the fences, then hook up with Dad to see if we could do anything to help.

Walking across the turf down by the fences, I remarked to Clare that the going appeared to be on the soft side of good and that we were right to wear boots; there had been a lot of rain earlier in the week. At least there would be a bit of “give” in the ground to cushion the fallers.

This was Clare’s first experience of close-up racing. She too, heard rumbling crescendo, the crack of hoof against birch,  the swoosh of power in flight, the primal thrill of the Racing Game. Like me, she was awestruck.

On the second circuit, came the chilling reminder of why we had be drawn to this remote part of the world on a dull February afternoon. As the field flew over the fence there was a different kind of noise, a rasping crunch, a more abstract flying shape. We watched in horror as the rider, now separated from his mount, somersaulted through the damp air and, despite the soft ground, hit the deck with a sickening blow  and then slid to a halt, half buried in the turf.

The rumbling hooves faded away, as the St John’s Ambulance people hurried over to the stricken jockey. As they got to within five yards of him, up popped his muddy face. He rose to his knees, and threw his whip onto the ground in disgust. Clare and I looked at each other and chuckled. These fellows were tough.

After what seemed an eternity, it was time for Dad’s race. We caught up with him leaving the jockey’s tent. On greeting us, he handed me a handkerchief. 

“What’s this?” I joked, “My inheritance?”

“No”, he laughed, “my false teeth.” I felt the linen; they were his teeth, alright.

I gave then to Clare and offered to lead up. Mr Boyle, the farmer, was glad of the help. Mr Boyle pulled me to one side.

“I know you’re worried my boy, but she (the horse) will be as good as gold. He’s a good pilot, they’ll be fine, I promise you.”

It was too late to argue with him. It was pointless anyway. As I led the horse around the parade ring, I asked Dad how he felt.

“Great!” he enthused, “watch out for me in the shake-up”.

The ‘little boy on the big-wheel’ look was back in his eyes. I led the horse out of the parade ring and detached the leading rein. I looked up at Dad, looking more focused and stern now. I sighed a quiet, resigned sigh.

“Come back safely” Clare said quietly, fingers tightly crossed

“God bless,” he winked, and off he went.

Clare and I decided to try to see as much of the race as we could, and so we stood on the highest point we could find on a grassy bank where many other spectators had gathered. At least Dad, with his yellow colours with a white cap, would be fairly easy to spot, which was a relief, as we only had one pair of binoculars. I have an astigmatism which makes focusing the binoculars difficult, so I let Clare have them.

I had another look at the race card and the form sheet that came with it. I wasn’t trying to pick out a winner, I was more concerned about whether Dad was going to survive. I looked carefully at the row of digits beside the horse’s name Estrella : “030-420U0”

The narrative said:

“Useful sort, stays well but lacks turn off foot. Safe jumper, reasonable each way chances”. At least, I thought, she would try to jump the fences.

They seemed to mill around at the start for ages, my palms were clammy and sweating, my stomach turning somersaults, Clare was deathly pale and quiet. She caught up her arm in mine. She closed her eyes as if to make a wish.

“They’re off!” crackled the PA system.

I clenched everything, teeth, fists, buttocks, toes, the lot. I felt a surge of power, as if some supernatural guardian were giving me the strength to see this ordeal through. The pack reached the first fence. I narrowed my eyes like a child putting their arms over their heads for safety, hoping that it would make things seem less real.

For a moment, the world stood still. Then, through my dull and fuzzy vision, I watched them soar into the air and arc over the fence. The white cap remained at the same height as the others as they levelled out on the landing side. I breathed a momentary sigh of relief, but before I knew it, the field were measuring up for the next fence. This time, I kept my eyes wide open as they took off, Estrella seemed to stand a long way off but breezed over with several feet to spare. Their negotiation of the jump was a little slower than some of the leaders and they lost ground for a moment, but soon settled back into a midfield position.

The same ample clearance was afforded to the third and fourth jumps. Clare smiled and raised her eyebrows.

“Going well, isn’t he?” she remarked approvingly.

“Giving them plenty of daylight”, I mulled, a little undecidedly.

“Safe though,” she said.

“When will he start racing?” I wondered, but kept it to myself. I could have hated myself, previously, for having such a thought, but now he was riding, the goalposts had, through some strange force, been moved.

On they drove, as the rain began to fall steadily. The pace-maker fell at the last fence on the first circuit, badly interfering with the favourite, then running second, causing him to stop dead. The field, which had begun to string out, was now bunched back together. By now, a few of the no-hopers had become tailed off, continuing to hack round, but over a fence behind. Dad, however, was sitting tight on Estrella, fifth of nine, detached from the leading quartet by just a yard or two.

Still jumping rather big, Estrella kept in touch out into the country and around the top bend. Moving into the home turn, they were still fifth. Up front, the leading group started to kick for home, and it was clear that Estrella didn’t have the extra gear. Hitting the fourth from home quite hard, our hearts leapt into our mouths as the white star on Estrella’s forehead vanished from view and we saw Dad’s arms shoot forwards as she pecked on landing.

Hearts returned into bodies, though, then resumed beating as Dad gathered up Estrella’s head and they ran on.

“He’s had it now”, I sighed disappointedly. This was the same guy who would have married the devil’s daughter before the race started, just to see Dad home safely. All of a sudden, I was kicking the ground at the prospect of a missed place finish.

Up front, the heat was on; the favourite began to edge ahead, but made a calamitous blunder at the last, ploughing through the top, with sufficient force to disturb the jockey’s balance, exiting via the front door on landing. Two of the remaining three resumed combat over the run-in, whilst the third began to labour in their wake.  

Taken in by the battle between the leading two, neck and neck over the line, I had, for a brief moment, completely forgotten that this was my Dad’s comeback race. Looking back down the straight, I saw Estrella, with renewed life, charging up the track, swallowing the distance between her and the wandering third horse. Clare began to shriek, but the line came in the nick of time for Estrella’s would-be victim.

“Wow!” yelled Clare, “Wasn’t he great!”

I laughed loudly, partly from relief, partly in reflection at the last few hours, having ridden the roller coaster of emotions once again, after so many years away from the ride.

“Yeah”, I agreed. “What about that!”

I ran down to the foot of the hill to “catch” them and lead Estrella in. Dad sat aboard, looking exhausted, leaning his hands on his thighs, slightly hunched, trying to breathe in some much needed air, but we was smiling that gaping grin, from a speckled muddy face.

“Alright?” I asked.

“Yeah, great” he replied breathlessly.

“Well done, great stuff, what a comeback!”

“Ohhh, I’m knackered”, he said. “very rusty!”

“You were bloody great,” I enthused.

“She was game”, he insisted, rubbing the mare’s ears. “We could’ve done ‘em all.”

As we unsaddled Estrella, Dad kept repeating that he felt they could have run the leaders a lot closer. Mr Boyle was happy enough though, and constantly tried to dispel Dad’s concerns.

“I don’t know,” said Boyle, “she doesn’t really have an overdrive”.

“Well maybe not”, Dad considered, as he removed the saddle and gently slapped the horse on the quarters “but I think, if we had gone sooner, we’d have had enough in the tank to run the finish out of them.”

“Oh well I think you did a great job”, said Boyle kindly, as he gathered up the lead rein to take Estrella back to her box.  Dad reclaimed his teeth and we wandered back towards the jockey’s tent.

“Join me for a drink in the tent?” Boyle called after us.

Dad had several!

On the way home, Dad joined us. Whilst he was delighted to have completed, it was clear that he was disappointed that he had not come away with a place.

“It was down to me, really,” he explained, “Had I been stronger, I’d have driven her on a bit sooner, but she took a very strong hold and it took a lot out of me, had to use a lot of muscles which I’d forgotten about. Was hanging on a bit at the end. Just a bit rusty, and didn’t make the right decision.”

“You’re being a bit hard on yourself, Dad. Long time out” Clare concluded.

But Dad was having none of it.

“This is racing, sweetheart,” he replied firmly.

I had to agree with Clare.

“But Dad, you have won. To do it at all was the biggest victory anyone could have, that’s been what you’ve been through.”

“I needed to prove to myself that I could still do it, that’s true”, he said. Then came the first, unexpected twist.

“I thought that would be enough. I thought I’d be able to come here, ride in a race, go home, put all my stuff in the bottom drawer, and get on with the rest of my life. But, the thing is, now that I’ve done it, it isn’t enough. Not yet.”

I looked at Clare in the driver’s mirror, she was looking blankly out into the darkness. I think, in a way, we both were.

Chapter 8, Part 1

Synopsis

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