Chapter 12

Southern lights

More than a month passes before I get the chance to visit the two horses in their new surroundings, Harry at Robbie’s stables at Cranbourne and Rosie at the pre-school up the road. In that relatively short time, Harry’s fortunes have changed dramatically.

After weeks of concentrated dressage work to strengthen his neck and shoulders and a series of muscles Robbie suspects the gelding has been under-utilising, he improves steadily enough for the trainer to nominate him for his Victorian debut in a 1200-metre sprint at provincial Sale on 18 May.

And happily, he does the stable proud, powering down the centre of the track, stretching out like he has never done before under jockey Peter Mertens’ vigorous riding and just failing to catch the winner by the barest of racing margins: a nose.

Watching the race with Robbie and Deane, I am overjoyed with this performance, this apparent form reversal. It is a remarkable result, vindication of us moving the horse down to Melbourne as well as continuing to trust he possessed some galloping talent.

Thrilled, I thank Robbie, expecting at least his trademark grin after such a tight finish. Instead, he turns to me apologising.

‘I’m really sorry, Helen, you should have won that race,’ he says. ‘Peter just got a bit too far back on him, so when he made his move he had too much catching up to do. He ran home well, that’s for sure—but we really should have won that, and got his maiden win out of the way.’

As he continues to explain the nuances of the race and further reasons why Harry should have been a good length in front at the winning post, I realise I am staring at the trainer with what can only be a truly stunned expression. Doesn’t he understand what a turnaround this is for us, and probably Harry too?

‘I just wanted to get an early win on the board for you,’ Robbie says. ‘But on the strength of that, it shouldn’t be far away.’

Little does he know what lies ahead for us, and Harry, over the next couple of months.

Hard as it is to believe, and as hard as Harry tries, getting that maiden victory behind him proves a bigger undertaking than moving interstate, changing stables, even having a quarter of his blood drained from his body—and this despite the fact that he looks and probably feels stronger than he ever has before.

As Rosie eases in to her first light training preparation, the gelding settles into the third campaign of his career, and has his second Melbourne start at Kilmore—again over 1200 metres, again ridden by Peter Mertens, again flying home for … second place. A couple of weeks later, he travels to Pakenham for a 1400-metre maiden. Being a Sunday, his regular jockey is having a day off, so Dale Smith takes the ride, but the shilly-shally track seems to get the better of him and the pair run third.

Two weeks later, with Peter Mertens back in the saddle, Harry goes to Seymour for his first attempt at 1600 metres, flying down the centre of the track, and again runs … second.

It is at this point the Griffiths Racing team suspects he might be the kind of horse who doesn’t quite know what to do when he draws level to the horse leading in a race. Should he just hang there with them or actually gallop past them? So they add a set of specially modified blinkers to the gear he wears when racing; fitting over his head under his bridle, they are designed to let him see just enough of his competitors to get the job done.

On my next visit to Melbourne, Reid Balfour, one of the yard’s two foremen, takes me out into the tack room to demonstrate the difference between a normal set of blinkers that most horses wear, and the visors the stable has perfected over the years.

Nothing too fancy, mind you, just a small slit cut in the back of the blinker cup that sits next to his eyes and allows him to keep any horse who is level on either side of him in his line of sight.

‘Some horses get to the front and think their job’s done, because they literally can’t see the horse next to them,’ Reid says. ‘Happy Glen was like that and we put these on him and he won five in a row. Now, I’m not saying Harry will turn into Happy Glen …’

I laugh and finish his sentence for him. ‘But it just might help.’

Both foremen thought Harry had won his last start, the finish was so close, and on the strength of his track work had expected him to.

‘I just thought he’d go whoosh,’ says Robert Kingston.

They are also bemused that we have been expecting him to get over longer journeys than 1200, or even 1600 metres, simply because his pedigree suggests he might. After all, his two brothers weren’t exactly sprinters. Chiming Door, especially, was partial to racing over the mile, with six of his nine wins recorded at the distance. He won a Moe Cup over 1628 metres, as well as the Bairnsdale Cup over the 1600; just for good measure, he also won over 2050, 1400 and 1300 metres.

‘From what he’s doing in the mornings, you’d swear he is a sprinter, you really would,’ Robert the quiet Irishman says. ‘And every horse is different, that’s one thing we know for sure.’

Sprinter, miler or middle distance specialist—whatever Harry turns out to be, no one will mind. It’s just good to see him going so much better.

Two weeks later, he returns to Sale for another crack at the mile with Peter Mertens up in the saddle, only to be beaten by a half head in a blanket photo finish between four horses into … fourth place. By this stage, Robbie Griffiths is almost lost for words.

‘I just can’t believe the luck he’s having. He should have won two, if not three, of these races, he keeps getting beat by the barest margin and here we are again today, running fourth by a whisker. I just can’t believe it.’

Apart from luck, or the lack of it, the other factor Robbie is mindful of is that Harry has had a rather strange preparation this time round, starting with a couple of runs in New South Wales before a brief let-up after travelling south and then five solid races around provincial Victoria. As much as he wants him to get this first win under his belt and the proverbial monkey off his back, the trainer is conscious that, at some stage, the gelding might just have had enough.

‘That’s the thing, I still don’t really know him, he’s only just got here so he’s still a bit of a mystery. I do know he hasn’t run a bad race for me yet and he’s a consistent bugger in pretty much everything he does.

‘His track work’s consistent, his blood count (taken the day beforehe races) is consistent, and his form’s consistent. But I don’t want to push him too far this time in, I don’t want him to go over the top. I’d like to stop before that happens, but I also want to get that bloody win on the board. I want you guys to have that (winning) photo on the wall!’

And so, as winter sets in and the tracks get heavy with the rain, Robbie decides to give Harry one more run before tipping him out to the paddock for a proper spell. He settles on a 1600-metre maiden at Stony Creek on 4 July, America’s Independence Day. Could it be a good omen? One niggling concern that suggests it might not be is that Peter Mertens is having a week off. So the stable asks Nick Hall, one of Australia’s best young jockeys, to take the ride, which means we head into the race with some confidence. We know the horse can run the distance, we know his young rider is a gifted horseman. The only real query is: will Harry handle the heavy track?

As soon as they jump, it’s clear that he certainly does, and as the small field swings into the straight for the dash home, Nick guides him over to the outside running rail to take advantage of the better ground, the part of the track fewer horses have been galloping on, and for most of the stretch they have it all to themselves.

It is a radical tactic, the kind of unexpected move one hopes for from an inspired jockey and it looks like it will pay off. Finally, I think, we will get home first, as the pair kick a couple of lengths clear, and only one other horse—The Phoenician—is running on at all. Surely he can’t catch him; surely today’s Harry’s day.

Then that horse suddenly veers to the outside of the track too, heading straight for Harry and his jockey; he actually careers into them, and Nick is forced to stop riding Harry for a stride or two to get him balanced again. By that time, The Phoenician has put his head in front, they reach the post and, again, our boy has to settle for second.

The race caller can’t believe what’s just happened, the small crowd in the pub watching the race with me are yelling ‘Protest! Protest!’ at the television monitor, one of my co-owners is on the phone with much the same message and Robbie calls to say he has officially lodged a protest with stewards.

‘I’m happy for that jockey to follow us over to the outside,’ he says. ‘But there was no need to cannon into us like that, it was unbelievable.’

He says he will make this point vehemently when the hearing gets underway, as will Nick Hall, who believes Harry lost what was his winning momentum when he was bumped. Only Deane Lester, one of Australia’s best race readers, sounds a cautionary note.

‘I don’t think you’ll get this, Helen. I know it looked bad, but I actually don’t think it’s affected Harry’s stride all that much and I don’t think the stewards will change the result.’

I watch the replay of the finish a couple of times and for once, I really can’t see it Deane’s way. The other horse bloody well careers into us, that’s all there is to it! Yet, sure enough, Deane’s right. Within 10 minutes, the protest is dismissed and the placings stand.

‘Bloody hell,’ Robbie says, ‘I don’t know what poor old Harry has to do to win a race!’

Deane is more circumspect. ‘Don’t worry, you didn’t want to win that one anyway,’ he says.

‘Are you crazy?’ I manage not to yell. ‘Of course we wanted to win it!’

‘No, that (winning) photo wouldn’t look any good anyway because Harry’s head wouldn’t have been in front on the line. And he doesn’t want to win his first race on protest, he wants to win it fair and square. He wants to look good doing it.’

Again, Deane is right. But it takes days for me to stop thinking about that horse veering over to the outside of the track, literally running right at Harry and … winning. And if it feels this bad to lose in a stoush like this at Stony Creek, imagine what it must be like to go down in similar fashion at Flemington!

Still, Harry was game in defeat as usual; now, and all up this winter preparation, he hasn’t really run a bad race. He has had six starts for four seconds, a third and a fourth, more than doubling his prize money earnings along the way, and actually paid his way for the first time in his career, covering his training fees at least for this campaign.

Maybe the anti-clockwise way of racing in Victoria is more to his liking, maybe the class of race is more suitable, maybe the different stable routine is helping, maybe he just needed a change of scenery, maybe Robbie ‘gets’ him more than his original trainer.

Whatever the reason for Harry’s rejuvenation, the move seems to have been a positive one.

Rosie is thriving in her new surroundings too.

As Harry starts his Victorian campaign, the filly is just about through being broken in and is working on the dirt track at Victory Park most mornings.

Visiting her early in June, I walk around to the breezeway between Barns A and B and there’s Pete Hardacre, the main breaker, saddling up a pretty horse with very big eyes. As I greet him, her ears flash forward and I look properly at her face.

‘Hi, Rosie,’ I say, standing back to take in the filly who’s almost doubled in size since I last saw her several weeks ago.

‘Yes, this is your trusty steed!’ Pete says. ‘Isn’t she looking good?’

‘It’s amazing,’ I reply. ‘She looks like another horse.’

Actually, she looks like an elongated version of the Rosie I knew so well at home, taller by at least an inch or three and developing a broader chest to match her round, compact rump. As he puts the bridle on, without her even looking sideways for a second, I realise she is already saddled, ready to go. I slip her a sweetie before Pete walks her out of the stall and into the sand roll. She is still a young horse, with lots of growing to do, but the yearling I left here a month ago is stretching into the shape of a young racehorse, her little foal face gone forever.

In the safety of the circle of sand, surrounded by head-high rubber walls, Pete lunges her in short circles for a couple of minutes to get her focused.

‘You want them thinking about you before you get on,’ he explains. ‘This is all part of the routine to make them think about what we’re doing.’

And then, without any fuss at all, he swings into the saddle. Rosie is ready to go! And go she does, out onto the 800-metre dirt track that circles the stable complex. At this point, her morning exercise routine consists of five laps of this circuit—two on the trot, three at a canter. As she heads into her final lap, she stumbles slightly and kicks out in irritation, as her rider steadies her. He laughs as they pass me again, ‘See what she’s like?’

By the time the pair complete this workout, Rosie is a lather of sweat, her nose streaming, but very pleased with herself. A young handler takes her from Pete to be unsaddled and hosed down. To my eye she has come a long way in quite a short space of time. To these professionals, she is just developing as she should be.

‘She was backward when she arrived, Robbie was right to tell you that,’ Pete says.

‘But she has almost caught up now. Temperament-wise, she’s probably one of the most confident of the young ones we have here. Nothing seems to worry her at all. We try to introduce them to as many different things as possible, so they learn to cope with lots of different scenarios before they head out into the world.

‘The other day, just to give you an example, we took your filly and a couple of the others into the middle of that paddock there, just for a walk around those old containers and logs and things. And it really worried one or two of them. They had never seen anything quite like that before and they weren’t happy. But she just wandered round like it was no big deal at all, like an old hand. And that attitude’s helping her.’

As Rosie is led away, having devoured one last sweetie, I ask how the other yearlings from the Class of 2009 are doing and get taken on a tour through the stable rows by Mandy Allen, Victory Park’s manager, to see the only other one here at this stage, the God’s Own/Startle filly.

‘Let’s just say she lived up to her mother’s name a week or so ago,’ Mandy says, gesturing for me to look inside the yearling’s stall. What is hidden behind the door isn’t pretty.

The filly’s nearside (left) front leg looks like one long wound from just above the knee down to the fetlock.

‘She saw a bunny and tried to scale the fence. At least that’s what we think is what happened,’ Mandy sighs. ‘Talk about startled!’

Had I not seen Rosie’s wound a few months ago, I would have been more taken aback by this messy sight. But I know from experience that this filly’s leg will heal quickly, given the attention she is receiving, and within a couple of months few will even remember the incident.

I ring Robbie and compliment him on how well Rosie looks.

‘I thought you’d be pleased,’ he says. ‘She really is coming along well. At this stage, we’ll just keep poking along with her like this for the next couple of weeks, until she tells us she’s had enough and then we’ll give her a spell in a nice paddock.

‘But as long as she’s enjoying herself, we’ll just keep going as long as we can, because the longer she stays in eating hard feed twice a day under cover, the more she’ll keep growing and she’s a bit warmer in the depths of winter.

‘If she can make it through to the end of July, she’ll be going out to a paddock when winter’s easing up and the good spring grass is coming through. And then she’ll have another growth spurt. But she’ll tell us how she’s going, believe me … and we won’t keep her in work after that, there’s just no point.’

This, then, is how a young racehorse grows, the positive ‘stressing and stretching’ the good horsemen recommend. It will be fascinating to see how long the filly can stay in this, her first preparation, and I realise she has surprised them a bit, still being ‘up’ now.

‘Well, we really had no way of knowing what she would do once she was broken in, because she had only been given basic handling before that; no yearling prep, nothing really outside her paddock at home,’ Robbie explains.

‘So it was hard to predict how she would do after her first couple of weeks at school here. But everything’s going well at this stage, so we’ll just press on.’

Again, patience and time seem to be the key ingredients in Rosie’s education and physical progress, which makes commonsense as well as horse sense. Pushing a young thoroughbred, whose critical bone structure is still developing—and will continue to do so, for the next three or four years—seems pointless. Working them beyond a certain point can bring on shin soreness, essentially hairline fractures of their ankles, and much worse.

If they associate exercise with pain, for instance, that could turn them off the training process and clearly defeats the whole project’s purpose; as well, if a youngster is injured at this stage of life, the damage can set them back months in terms of their racetrack debut, not to mention incur expensive medical bills, an extra financial burden no owner wants. And in worst-case scenarios, injuries this early in life can be career ending.

Pushing Rosie beyond her natural endurance in the hope of tackling the early, rich sprints for babies doesn’t make any sense at all. Her pedigree, like her physique, suggests she will do better a little later in life—probably six months down the track, at least. And let’s face it, a longer career as a racehorse will be more fun, both for her and for the new owners I hope to rustle up in the next month or so, now I know Rosie is a genuine goer.