appeared from nowhere on my outside, travelling equally well, but instead of going on he took a pull on the reins and proceeded to box me in. The Irishman appeared totally unconcerned about winning the race and as tired horses kept losing ground and taking me backwards with them he just slowed his horse down on my outside. From sitting pretty and planning when to make my move, I was penned in helplessly with the leaders going further away. I'd had enough.
'Let me out, you bastard!' I shouted over at him but he took no notice. Instead he ostentatiously waved his stick backwards and forwards as if trying to keep up, but I could see that his reins were held tight. I had plenty of horse under me but nowhere to go. Fainthearted simply wasn't big enough to barge his way out and I now had to sit and suffer until we straightened up for home and a gap finally appeared. Eventually it did and by then it was me and not the horse who was sweating. I was convinced it was too late. Fainthearted might have a blistering turn of pace but not even he could make up that much ground.
With only half a mile left, he flew the first two hurdles in the straight and he was going so fast that the horses ahead appeared to be galloping backwards. With one good jump, I thought, I might just do it. I threw everything into the last and now he responded, taking off twelve feet in front of the hurdle and landing, running, just as far the other side. He even passed a couple of other horses in mid air. Now there were only three runners ahead and we had four lengths to make up.
The nearest of them began to tire and we moved in to third place, gaining distance with every stride but fighting a losing battle with the finishing post. The three of us passed the line together but there was no need for a photograph. We were beat and Ben Stevenson would collect that percentage after all. As we began pulling up I looked back for Brennan and stopped alongside him.
'What the hell did you do that for?' I demanded angrily.
'Nothing personal,' he replied, turning to gallop back to where the also-rans were unsaddled on the course in front of the parade ring. I made my own way back.
'What were you playing at out there?' screamed the lad as he caught hold of the reins and began leading Fainthearted back to the unsaddling enclosure in front of the weighing room. 'Nijinsky couldn't have won from where you left it.' I tried to explain but he made no attempt to listen. He had done his money and wasn't in the mood for excuses.
Ralph and the owners were waiting and looking just as upset.
'That was a disaster,' said a crestfallen Ralph, angrily, as I dismounted. 'How could you have left it so late?'
I could feel myself going redder and redder. I explained what had happened but Ralph insisted that I should have pushed Brennan out of the way.
'That's what you're paid for,' interrupted one of the owners.
A few of the punters had come over from the stands and were now shouting their opinion of my riding ability. Nothing speaks with more eloquence than a burnt pocket. Forlorn, I undid the surcingle and girth, pulled the saddle off and gave Fainthearted a sympathetic pat on the head. I only wished he could give evidence for me. Having apologised to the owners I muttered my regrets to Ralph and disappeared up the concrete steps into the weighing room. I just wanted to get to the changing room and beat the wall in anger but even that relief was to be denied me. As I sat on the scales to weigh in, the ominous figure of the stipendiary steward appeared out of the ground like a mushroom. Leaning over the wooden rails that divided the scales from the rest of the room, he informed me in a quiet yet authoritative voice that the stewards wanted to see me straight away. My heart sank. A premature confrontation with Sir Arthur Drewe was all I needed.
'Third, sir,' I called to the Clerk of the Scales, who looked up to check that I was within two pounds of the weight I had gone out at. He dismissed me with a sideways movement of his head and I dumped my saddle, together with my helmet and whip, in the corner by the number cloth deck and walked despondently to the stewards' room. The stipe who had spoken to me only a minute before came out just as I was about to knock on the door.
'Just wait here,' he commanded.
He left the weighing room only to return a couple of minutes later bringing Ralph in his wake. The trainer raised his eyes to the heavens, as if to say what a right mess I had landed us both in, and all I could do was to say again how sorry I was.
'Follow me, please,' said the stipe, opening the door and ushering us inside. The three stewards were seated behind an old wooden desk. In the middle, looking as complacent as ever and a veritable model of self- righteousness, was Sir Arthur, flanked on either side by two much younger men wearing almost identical tweed suits. Having introduced us by name the stipe began the proceedings:
'Mr Elgar, will you please tell the stewards what your riding instructions were?'
Ralph was standing bolt upright, as if on regimental parade, holding his worn trilby behind his back with both hands. He repeated what he had told me in the car and paddock and added that he had never had any cause to complain about my riding before.
'I think she just lost her head and overdid the waiting tactics. Everyone makes a cock-up once in a while.'
I wanted to hug him. You couldn't put a price on loyalty and he had every reason not to stand by me. I had heard plenty of stories of trainers who were not so steadfast in their support of their jockeys in front of the stewards.
Drewe wasn't impressed by such loyalty or plain speaking. He launched into the attack. 'Are you seriously saying that you are pleased with Pryde's riding performance?'
Ralph did not suffer fools gladly and was livid at being asked such a ridiculous question.
'Of course I am not pleased!' he retorted. 'A blind man could see that the horse should have won, but that's racing.'
Drewe wasn't finished yet. 'There's no need to be offensive, Mr Elgar. Can you explain why Fainthearted opened as 6-4 favourite but by the time the race began had drifted out to 7-2?'
Ralph went through the roof. 'If you're suggesting that I'd stop a horse you're mad!'
The stipe intervened.
'Mr Elgar, we're not accusing you of anything. We're just holding an enquiry to establish the facts.' He then turned to me.
'You looked to leave far too much ground for your horse to make up. Could you please tell the stewards why?'
I fixed Sir Arthur straight between the eyes and told him that once I had managed to settle Fainthearted I was perfectly happy with my position until we had approached the final bend. It was then that I had got boxed in. Sir Arthur had no intention of letting me finish.
'So you're telling us you got penned in. That's almost unheard of in a hurdles race.'
'I know, sir, but Brennan was doing it deliberately.' I felt no guilt about blaming the Irishman. He owed me and I had absolutely no intention of earning a suspension on his account.
'You should be very careful before you make allegations like that, my girl,' snapped Sir Arthur. He turned to the stipe.
'Mr Pugh, could we please see the video.'
Mr Pugh signalled to the video operator to begin and told him to start at the last hurdle on the far side. The stewards' secretary, who had been seated all the while in the corner taking notes, rose to switch off the lights and draw the curtains. As the film began Mr Pugh pinpointed with a cane both Fainthearted and Brennan's mount. Unfortunately for me, the incident was at the furthest end of the course and not particularly clear. What could be made out, however, was Brennan using his stick and me sitting as still as a nun at prayer.
As the film played on and showed the runners turning for home, the head-on camera came into use. All it showed was the gap appearing and Fainthearted bursting through. They waited for the film to end, both head and side on, before turning the lights back on and pulling the curtains.
'Have either of you anything to say?' asked Sir Arthur.
'No sir,' we replied in unison.
'All right then. Kindly wait outside.'
The stipe opened the door and we left the room accompanied by the secretary, who was not allowed to be privy to the stewards' deliberations.
'That didn't look too good,' said Ralph gloomily.
