It was a beautiful August day and we were at the biggest meet of the racing calendar, the Derby Day. And this year, like last, Richard was running. I was wearing the new dress that I had made myself after being inspired to do some sewing earlier in the summer. What else is a single girl to do on long warm summer evenings? When I am a bit stressed out I either redecorate or make something. This time it was clothes.
So there I was in my dress and pretty but useless shoes ready for the first race. It was baking hot and I was starting to regret the tights. I was feeling sick as well, maybe it was from the heat or just the fact that I hadn't really had much to eat. I had drunk a few glasses of wine the night before, but it wasn't a hangover either. Just a strange pain in my chest almost. I took my camera up and took some pictures of our group as they were all gazing down towards the start where the horses were circling in wait of the starting signal.
"And they're away," the speaker said as the multicoloured field set off down the track. Richard settled in second or third on the outside and seemed to be travelling well. I lowered my binoculars and decided to watch on the big screen instead.
I have always been pretty pragmatic. In fact I think I probably appear a bit cold at times to the people that don't really know me that well. In my defence I think it is a combination of a rather dry sense of humour and not being great at talking about my feelings. Which again makes me come across slightly unsympathetic at times. But it is pretty useful in a lot of settings too. Like when I found a dead horse in the field when I went to get Bellis in a few years ago. When I met the owner of the yard the following week she laughed and said:
"I still can't believe how calm you were when you called me. It was just the way you said 'Are you aware that there is a dead horse in your field?' as if it was quite normal to have dead horses lying around."
"Well, it was pretty dead. So nothing I could do about it really," I replied with a small smile. I had seen dead horses before and as sad as it is, it is unfortunately part of equestrian life. So you deal with it.
But the thought of Richie being pretty dead was different.
I sincerely hope I will never experience anything like it again. Over the last fence a horse went down. As it hit the ground I could see Richie's blue and white silks fly through the air. He was down. He landed on his neck, rolled around, the other horses practically landed on him and my heart stopped. Donal had rolled clear of the field, but Richard was just laying there as the rest of the horses thundered towards the finish line. The camera followed them and as Richie disappeared out of the view of the camera all I could see over the crowd was the vet van with the trailer they use to drive dead horses away in drive at high speed towards the last fence. I started to run in the same direction. He hadn't got up. That's always a bad sign. That's when they have to shoot them because they've done a leg. Or even worse, broken their neck.
The crowd roared as the favorite crossed the finish line first. I turned around to see if my dad and uncle were following. They had slowed down and were waving at me to come back.
"Don't go down there. Stay here," Dad said with a look on his face confirming things were looking pretty bad.
"No, we have to go down there. I'm not staying here," I said and kept going. I knew I ran the risk of seeing them put him down, but I'd rather that than stand around and do nothing. I had to know what was going on. So I kept going, through the gate of the paddock, past the stables and onto the turf. My heels dug into the ground and made it difficult to run. I turned around again to see my dad still following and that's when we heard a sharp sound. We all stopped dead in our tracks.
"I think they just..." Dad said and I started shaking.
The trailer had been parked at an angle between where Richie had gone down and the crowd. This is usual practice so that people can't see what's going on. If something like that happens in front of the stands they have an additional screen they put up. The regular racing crowd knows that sometimes these things just happen, but for outside people it can seem fairly grotesque. Richie had fallen at the 400 metre mark so it was too far from the stands for anyone to see much anyway. If a horse breaks a leg on the course a vet will assess the situation and in most cases they will put them down on the spot. As horrible as it might sound, it is for the best. You can't just plaster horses up and ask them to stand still for however many months it takes them to heal. Their bodies are not created to stand still and their minds don't react well to confinement.
The girl who normally rides Richie out in the weekdays came running half dressed in racing clothes with tears streaming down her face. Lizzie, the trainer’s assistant, threw up. My dad's face was cut in stone and my uncle swore under his breath. My chest contracted in that horrible way and I could feel the blood leave my head. So this was it then. We had lost him. It had ended right here.
But then, like out of some flipping Follyfoot episode, Ralph suddenly appeared leading Richie out from behind the trailer. He was up. He didn't even appear to be lame. Donal came walking casually behind them along with some of the course crew. I started crying with relief and ran as fast as my shoes would allow down to meet them.
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