Authors: Paddy Cummins
'Oh it was great. Can we talk about that later? Would you
first take the cork out of this for me? The large bottle of French wine was to wash down a beautiful salad meal artistically arranged and ready on the table. It looked sumptuous; he was impressed. Jenny seemed to have made a special
effort - it hinted at a sense of occasion - he wondered why?
'It's not my birthday, is it?
Jenny was pleased that he had noticed and appreciated her extra efforts. She moved in on him from behind as he was filling two wine
glasses, wrapped her arms around him again, kissed him on the cheek.
'It's just for you my dear; doesn't have to be your birthday.'
'Thanks Love ... you're a star.'
As they ate and enjoyed, they talked freely and enthusiastically - his day at the Clinic - her day at the office. They both felt great to be back to normality again after a rough few weeks. He delayed telling her his important news. She saved hers too.
As the large wine bottle was emptying, the urge to tell was becoming stronger; he was the first to break.
'Remember me telling you about the man in Dublin that I was going to see?'
'Yeah, the consultant. To be honest, I hadn't thought much about it since; so many things going on.'
'Well, I saw him to-day.'
'Oh great ... what does he specialise in?'
'He's an Endocrinologist. Dr Lucas is his name. He investigates disturbances in the hormones, has his own infertility clinic, ultra modern, all the latest technology.'
'Sounds impressive; he obviously gets good results.'
'Oh, he has a great reputation, has worked in America, Canada and Australia. Laden with diplomas, degrees and awards - judging by the walls of his office.'
'How did it go? I mean, does he think he can help you? ... I
mean, us.' She felt awkward.
'Well, it's hard to say yet. There will be new tests, a full assessment, on-going treatment; it will take time. You never know Jenny ... lets keep our fingers crossed.'
'Yes Darling.' Poor Ken, she thought, he was under pressure.
It was a terrible way to be. He was doing his best. It wasn't his fault. She felt as desperate for some glimmer of hope as he did, felt guilty for putting pressure on him. She couldn't help that - she wanted a child so badly. She
really appreciated his efforts. Their eyes met with tender looks that said:
We're both in this together -
we'll succeed eventually
. They embraced and kissed warmly again.
After a pause, it was her turn.
'Did your consultant mention anything about a change in environment being helpful to you? You know, a change of scenery, climate, surroundings. I've read somewhere about that making a world of difference.'
He was surprised and a bit puzzled as to what she was hinting at - suspected she had tongue in cheek - and he attempted to join in the flippancy game.
'You mean a holiday in the sun, don't you? A sexual
adventure with a young beautiful blonde on some exotic foreign beach.'
Laughing heartily, she noticed his tension easing - she kept going.
'Well, what do you think, Ken? Do you think it might help? Would you think it would be worth trying?
Studying her expression, he wondered was she serious, or just having him on.
'Well now, it all depends on the young beautiful blonde, wouldn't it?' He was trying to keep a serious face.
'Right then. Done!'
'What do you mean, done? What's done?'
'It's a deal. You said it was up to the beautiful blonde - that's me isn't it? So!'
'So what?'
'So we'll go.'
'Go where?'
'Palm Beach, Florida ... brilliant sunshine ... sandy beaches ... golf ... sex.'
'Hold on now Jenny. This is gone far enough. How could we do
that? Firstly, it would cost a fortune ... secondly ...'
'She stopped him, placed her hands over his.
'Hold it right there, Darling. Firstly, it won't cost a penny. Secondly, it's an invitation to the two of us from very important
people, and thirdly, it's already all arranged ... now!'
Ken was speechless. He always had an ambition to visit Florida, especially Palm Beach. He saw it as a millionaire's Paradise, beautiful hot sun, clear blue waters, vast sandy beaches and golf courses,
hundreds of them, a different one for each day.
He was still bewildered. Jenny explained the mystery, then asked the vital question. The question she had been building up to, preparing
him for, making sure it would be impossible for him to say no.
'Shall we go?'
He leaned over, kissed and embraced her tenderly.
'Oh Jenny ... you're an angel ... how can I say no? How can
I repay you?'
She smiled that familiar sensual smile that said: 'I'll accept the first repayment now ... upstairs.'
Ken remembered what Dr Lucas had said: 'Abstain for a few days ... save the semen for the test.'
He told her gently; she understood.
'We'll save it all for Florida!' They both sang in unison, and burst into hearty laughter.
**********
Garry hadn't slept well and was up an hour earlier than
usual. His mind was pre-occupied with the thought of having his first runner as a racehorse trainer. It wasn't going to be a glamorous beginning, a 'Bumper' race at Clonmel, a long way from Royal Ascot and the glory days in England.
Still, it would be a dream come true. Throughout his time in Newmarket he had cultivated his ambition. Since returning he had worked tirelessly for this day; now it was here. He felt restless, impatient, worried, almost frightened. Would it be the spark that would ignite a glorious and
lucrative career? Would it prove to the doubters that he really did know how to train racehorses? Would it prove it beyond any lingering doubt to himself? He always felt he could - now he had to show it.
Things could go wrong. He knew that only too well; had seen it all before. Young trainers who had lost everything. Ambitious young men who had it all in their heads - couldn't bring it to their hands. Others who were great trainers, great horsemen, with great ambition and motivation, but no
business sense or management skills. This game tested the best of men. Some succeeded, many failed. Several talents were required to make a go of this. He was confident he had what it took - he wasn't fooling himself.
Clonmel to-day will answer some questions. He didn't expect to win - a good run and he'd be happy. But the whole experience of having his first runner, rubbing shoulders and competing with famous, long-established
trainers, household names; would be a measure of his ability. Had he got what it took?
From now on his runners would be scrutinised, would have to know their job, would have to be good, well trained, well turned out, fit and
ready. He would be watched too, judgements would be made -
another young chancer, or a new star in the making.
Whether his stables would be full with good horses in the future would depend on these judgements. It was a deadly serious business that
could all go belly-up. He was determined it wouldn't. Although it was only the beginning, to-day at Clonmel would show if he was ready for lift-off.
The horses got an early breakfast. Garry wasn't hungry
himself. Food and regular meals were low on his list of priorities since coming to Dream Valley. He mostly lived out of tins and packets. A bowl of cereal, coffee, and a slice of toast for breakfast, beans on toast and coffee for
lunch, a trip to the chipper in the village filled him up for the night. This morning he skipped the cereal and toast. Three coffees and several cigarettes instead, kept his nerves calm. The phone rang.
'Is that you Garry?'
'Yes Mam ... what are you doin' up this hour of the morning?'
'Oh, I wanted to get you before you left ... to wish you good luck to-day.'
'Ah, Mam, you shouldn't ... thanks anyway.'
'They were all talking about you in the bar last night.'
'Are you serious, Mam?
'Yeah, they saw it in the evening paper. Your name looked great, Garry ... G W. Wren. Racehorse Trainer. ... I was very proud of you.'
'Thanks Mam. Sure it's great ... I'm looking forward to this for a long time.'
'I hope now everything goes well ... I said the Rosary for you last night.'
'You're a saint, Mam, sure I've no worries then.'
'The lads said to ask you is the horse going to win? Would he be worth a few bob each way?'
Garry was half expecting that question.
'Ah Mam, give me a chance. Sure the little horse is only
having his first run - he'll need the experience and the race will bring him to peak fitness. If he runs a nice race and comes home safe, I'll be delighted. Keep your money in your pocket 'till the next day.
'Alright then Son, I'll tell them that ... sure they wouldn't know any better.'
'You'd make a great P.R. Agent, Mam.'
'Thanks Garry. I'll let you go then ... mind yourself now ... and God send you luck.'
Emily's farting machine was in the vicinity. Garry was pleased the hear it approaching and noticed it was negotiating the narrow lane with a bit more urgency than usual. She was a bit up-tight too. It was also a
first for her. Before joining Garry she had worked with hunters and showjumpers, had no experience of racehorses or racing. To-day, she would have the task of turning out the little horse in pristine condition. Coat, mane,
tail, hooves, bridle. reins, travelling boots, paddock sheet, lead rein; she had made a list. Emily was a perfectionist, loved her job. To-day was
her
big test too - could she do it? She was confident she was up to it.
She would also have the job - the honour, as she saw it - of
leading the horse around the parade ring, then out onto the racecourse with the jockey on board, before releasing him to canter down to the start. After the race she would collect the horse, lead him in, wash him down, dry him off, and
prepare him for the homeward journey. It was all new to her, but after to-day it would be easy.
Garry led out Spinning Top to check that all was well with him, before giving him to Emily to walk for fifteen minutes. He looked great. Barely
sixteen hands high, a rich bay, well proportioned, a handsome head with a white star in his forehead and a big kind eye. His owner, Senan O'Sullivan, a farmer from the next parish, bred him. He still has the mother and a couple of
siblings to follow. Mrs Dilworth recommended Garry to him. He was a good owner, doesn't interfere with the day-to-day training, lets him get on with it, pays his bill on time.
Looking at Spinning Top from behind as Emily lead him
around, Garry was happy that he had him as ready as possible for his first run. He hadn't expected to have his first runner for another month at least, but this little horse was always more forward than the others. His last few bits of work said he was ready; why hold him back? He looked a real little racehorse,
now he had the chance to prove it.
Garry checked his watch with Emily's as they entered the horse-box park of Clonmel racecourse. They had left early and taken their time.
The Land-Rover and double horse-trailer had gone smoothly and Spinning Top had been a great traveller. They checked him a couple of times on the way. He was relaxed, cool, and enjoying the view out the little front window.
Emily led him into the stable yard - stable number twenty-four was allotted to him - while Garry carried in the trunk containing all the equipment for the day.
He was in race six, and normally wouldn't have to be there
so early, but this was a special day for Spinning Top. He had to be in his stable an hour before the first race for a visit from the racecourse vet to have his passport checked against his markings to verify his identification. He took it all in his stride, a proper little gentleman, only showing a little
irritation and resentment when the muzzle was put on him to prevent him from eating his straw bed. That would cause wind problems during the race.
Garry headed up to the weigh-room taking the colours with
him. He would have an early word with the jockey in the calm atmosphere before racing began. Len Lovett was a promising young jockey who Garry knew as an apprentice in Newmarket, before weight problems forced him to abandon the flat,
return to Ireland, and switch to jump racing. He was known in England as 'Sweat' because of all the hours he spent in the sauna. It was all to no avail - the weight kept increasing. Garry felt sorry for him at the time, but was delighted to see him doing so well now, riding plenty of winners and well on
the way to becoming champion jockey of Ireland. To-day's race was a 'Pro-am Bumper', one of only a few 'Bumper' races that professional jockeys were allowed to ride in, and Garry made sure to book his friend Len who was
delighted to have the honour of riding Garry's first runner.
They met outside the weigh-room. Garry told him all the little bits of information about the horse. He wasn't a complicated ride, straight forward, honest, with a good temperament and a genuine attitude.
'Take him easy early on. Let him find his stride in mid-division, enjoy himself. Creep up on the second circuit ... be handy turning in ... make your effort in the final two furlongs ... he'll be running
on ... he's a stayer.'
Len listened attentively, taking it all in - would follow the instructions to the letter. That's what Garry liked about Len; he did what he was told. He would look after the little horse, wouldn't abuse him, which
was the most important thing. To-day was a fun day for Spinning Top. He must enjoy the experience, come back happy, look forward to the next day. Garry hoped and believed there would be several good days to look forward to with
this little horse - he felt lucky to have him.
After a coffee and a couple of cigarettes, he watched the first three races. The 'going' was perfect, ideal for Spinning Top. Good safe ground - he wouldn't have any sore shins or tendon problems afterwards.
The first two races were won by the favourites, the third by Len - a ten-to-one shot - after a brilliant ride. He just got up at the winning post to win by a head. Garry was delighted for him. It would also boost his
confidence for the ride on Spinning Top.
'Well done, Sweat! Great ride!' Garry shouted across at him.
He acknowledged with a big broad grin and a thumbs up sign. He was steering the horse back to the unsaddling arena through a mass of
jubilant supporters. They were a syndicate of owners who were celebrating their first win and they lit up the winners enclosure clapping, shouting, hugging each other and really enjoying the thrill.
That's what it's all about, thought Garry, there's nothing like it. Those beautiful high moments make up for a lot of lows. It used to be the 'Sport of Kings' Now all these working class people can savour a great victory, sharing the cost between them, making it all possible.
Garry got the saddle from Len after he had 'weighed out'. Emily was waiting with the horse in the saddling area beside the parade ring. Spinning Top was dazzling. Beautifully groomed, mane and tail plaited
perfectly, hooves oiled, his quarters like a work of art with intricate designs of diamonds, squares and brush strokes. Garry was really impressed, felt lucky to have someone like Emily. He had seen the top stable-girls in Newmarket -
their work was good - but they wouldn't beat this - and Emily was really only a beginner. He leaned over, planted a big kiss on her cheek, startling her, causing her to blush.
'That's what I think about your work, Emily ... thanks a
million.'
Standing in the centre of the ring as the horses paraded around, Garry was joined by Senan O'Sullivan, his wife, Mary, and their young son Jim. The jockeys arrived and Garry introduced Len to the owners. Watching Spinning Top walking around, Len thought he looked very sharp for a horse
having his first run.
'This isn't a great race, Garry ... with a bit of luck we could get into the money.'
Garry agreed, and Senan began to wonder whether he should
have a little bet.
'Each-way,' advised Garry, 'he'll be a big price. The 'Bookies' won't be afraid of that name ... it will be new to everyone.'
He was pointing to the red script lettering on the corners
of Spinning Top's white quarter sheet:
G W Wren.
'Not for long,' flattered Len, 'It'll be world famous one of those days.'
He was well aware of Garry's ability with racehorses since
their time together in Newmarket. With his ambition and talent, he could easily make the big-time. He wouldn't be surprised either if this little horse was ready to win - he looked spot-on - was a credit to Garry. Yes, he thought, to-day he could be having the ride on the first runner of a future champion
trainer.
The
ding-dong
of the P.A. signalled an announcement.
"The winner of the best turned out horse in this race is number five, Spinning Top, and the groom in charge, Emily Troy receives
a cheque for fifty pounds."
A big smile beamed across Emily's face, and as she passed them, she got a well-done clap from the owner, trainer and jockey.
'We've won already,' shouted Garry, 'Well done'
There off and running.' informed the course commentator, preceding to call out the horses in their order of running. Garry was watching through binoculars in the owners and trainers section of the stand. Senan and
his family were beside him, Emily was at ground level.
Len had Spinning Top four from the rear in the twelve runner field. The little horse seemed to have settled beautifully and was enjoying
himself. Garry was happy - the jockey was carrying out his instructions perfectly.
As the runners thundered past the stands on the first circuit, the black and yellow quartered silks of Senan O'Sullivan figured
prominently. The runners were closely bunched, forming a floating tapestry of colour. Rounding the corner and out on the second circuit, there wasn't much change in the order.
'Stay where you are,'
Garry was mentally speaking to
his jockey. Len seemed to be listening, waiting until they reached the hill. As they climbed, Garry could see Len giving an inch of rein - Spinning Top was responding. His head lowered, his stride lengthened. He was now grabbing the ground, kicking it behind him in a controlled but determined effort to reach
the leaders. At the top of the hill, he was fifth. Free-wheeling down towards the entrance to the long home straight, Len gave his horse a little breather. He was now cruising smoothly within himself - Garry was delighted.
That's
what divides the good jockeys from the others, Len was one of the best.
Turning in to face three furlongs of a punishing uphill home straight, Len could see the winning post in the distance. He knew exactly how
to get there, but had he the horse under him to do it? But then it was only his first race - was he fit enough? There was no sign of him blowing up yet - Garry knew how to get the wind right - this little fellow seemed to be spot-on.