Part One “A Bright Beginning”

I was born at a small stud in Newmarket and I lived there until I became two years old. Those, I think, were the happiest days of my life, until now. There were other foals to frolic and jump with; we used to dream of what great racehorses we were going to be. There were four other fillies in the pasture, and they were my friends. We all had different parents but shared many grandsires, 2nd dams, uncles and cousins in our pedigrees. My parents had good race records and both sides of my family had some great racehorses to boast of. One of my relatives was Charlottown, who won The Derby and I can trace my blood line directly back to Hyperion, the founder of the greatest of all pedigrees. But neither my dam nor my sire had ever produced a horse that made much in racing - and had never got a mention on Channel Four's 'Morning Line'! They seemed to run in cheap races, they won sometimes, but never became famous. The other mares and stallions had offspring that won big races, stakes and Group A races, but my parents had not produced to their potential. At that time I was growing quicker and taller than my friends and was soon as tall as most of the fillies who were rising two years old. As a yearling I was thin and gangly, always tripping over my own feet and stumbling over things, but  I seemed to always be faster than my friends and when we played ‘Run For Your Lives' or ‘Spooks' I would always win.

When we became two-year-olds, all of my playmates were sold. They were all in training now, learning to be racehorses. I was alone in that big pasture. I was a big filly standing seventeen hands but I only weighed a few pounds more than when I was a yearling. It was too big for a two-year-old, but the owner of the stud knew that I must be brought on slowly and not raced until I had developed the muscle power and strength to match my height or my legs would not hold out as I raced. So, I no longer had anyone to play with and, for a while I became very depressed and lost my appetite. My lad knew that the owner was doing all he could to give me the right start in life, but there is always another batch of youngstock to be cared for and the work of a busy stud must go on. He also knew that I was lonely and needed company if I was to get better. “That filly still isn't eating up properly,” he told the owner one day.   “She is missing the company of the others, so if it's alright with you, I'll bring along my son Peter . He's has to stay away from school until he has finished his treatment and they might just do one another some good!”
Ben , my lad, came to see me after evening stables that day. He told me that he wanted me to look after his son who was having “chemo” for his leukaemia.   “As if it wasn't enough that he has had Polio and has to use crutches,” said Ben . “Be prepared, they ‘clink' a bit as he walks -- so don't you go being a silly filly and getting scared by them, or you'll upset him.
The next day Ben had to go to the Sales with White Gold, another of the three horses that it was his job to ‘do' (look after). Norma , my second favourite groom came along for morning stables instead. “You're not going out straight away today,” she told me. “ Peter will be coming along after breakfast, and I'd like you to get to know each other indoors first, before you go larking about in the paddock.”So began the most wonderful time I had ever known. Peter and I shared just eight magic weeks. We got to know one another, shared our sadness, grew to trust and respect each other. We became inseparable, the bond between us deepening as we laughed and played together in my box or outdoors.When we went out I would squeal and gallop off as soon as we reached the paddock, with Peter clanking and rattling behind me. He could swing his thin little body through those funny metal sticks of his and work up quite a speed when we were in the yard, but on the grass he would try to go too fast and end up in a giggling heap of waving arms, legs and crutches. Every evening we would have tea together back in my box, Peter shared his sandwiches and apples with me, but very politely said he was ‘too full to manage another thing' when I threw some short feed out of my bucket for him, just like my dam used to do for me. We would just hang out together until it was time for him to go home, dreaming dreams of becoming famous and winning the Triple Crown!n those two months we found love and healing in each other. We had both changed, grown up. Peter grew strong enough to rejoin his brother in school. I had taught him to ride and learned from him how special the relationship between humans and horses could be. I had become a young mare and looked forward to starting my racing career and making our dreams come true.

One day, an old man came to the stables; he was an old friend of the owner. The old man asked if he had any promising youngsters left that he could buy. They came to the edge of the pasture and the owner said, as he pointed at me, "How do you like this one, I have been saving her for you." After I saw the owner point at me, I let out a squeal and ran across the pasture as fast as I could to show what a fine prospect I was. The old man bought me, and took me to a training yard on the other side of Newmarket , close to the Downs . When I arrived at the yard the old man unloaded me from the trailer that had frightened me so much as it rumbled along the roads , and put me in a box that was deep with straw. He hung a bucket of fresh water for me to drink, poured some feed into a tub in my box. Just outside of the door was a net, full of hay for me to munch on. The name plate on my door said ‘Toujours Ma Reine' - my registered name. Now I felt like I was a racehorse!

The next morning, a man came into my box and put a bridle and a saddle on me; I had been ridden at the stud, but I had never been ‘in training - I couldn't help getting excited'. Soon a young woman came into my box and the man helped her onto my back. Together we went out of the box door across the length of the yard and through a big gate. We crossed a paved street, and then we were on the gallops on the Newmarket Downs. The young woman, Rachel , let me stand and look at the gallops and at the horses thundering by, for a minute, and then I was ready to go. She had such gentle hands on the reins; I could tell she had ridden many horses before she rode me. From then on I looked forward to Rachel riding work with me. She rode me about five times before she took me to the yard's own training gallops where there was a starting gate. There she taught me how to get out quickly when the gate opened. Th enext day, as she was riding me to the gallops, she said to me, "Reiney, today we are going to run full racing speed, so we can show the people what you can do”. Now was my chance, I could prove I was a good racehorse, like my mother and father were. Later I heard the groom say, "Reiney had the fastest time of the day."

The old man entered me in a race the following week, my chance to show them what a good racehorse I am. The day of the race was here. Rachel took me over to the saddling up enclosure and held me in a box. The old man put a tiny saddle on my back, and then Rachel took me into the Parade Ring and walked me round the path that was there. A lot of jockeys suddenly appeared in the paddock; one walked over to the old man, and stood there while the old man said something to him. Then I heard someone yell, "Jockeys up!" The jockey ran to my side, and Rachel lifted him onto my back and led me out to the course. We all walked in single file in front of the grandstand and, after our return trip, we all continued down to the start at different speeds.

When all of the horses were warmed up, we were put in the starting gate. I, being number six was the sixth horse to be put in, there were twelve horses in the race, and it seemed like an eternity before the other six were put in: I was getting nervous waiting, but my jockey patted my neck and, suddenly the gate in front of me sprang open. The roar from the crowd scared me so badly that I just started to run for my life and I was the first horse out of the gate. I stayed in front around the first bend, and on the backstretch, I maintained my position and was still in front when I only had a furlong to go. It was then that I really tried my heart out and just made it past the post in front. I had won my first race but I wasn't done yet!

The jockey unsaddled me after we had our picture taken in the winner's enclosure. He didn't know that we had beaten two of my playmates from that pasture long ago and that I would show him that I had greater things to come. Rachel led me to a box, where they took a sample of my urine, they wanted to make sure I wasn't drugged. She would only let me take sips of water at first; I don't think I have ever been so thirsty. Finally she let me drink all I wanted, but my thirst was almost quenched by then, so I just took one small gulp and I didn't want any more.   When we got back home Rachel walked me to my box, there was fresh straw on the floor, piled high. She gave me a small feed, and hung the net, full of hay, outside of my door, close enough for me to reach it. I slept well that night!

Part Two “Shattered Dreams” 

The morning after winning my very first race I was still far too excited to feel really tired. Most of the other mares in my yard were pleased for me, although one or two said that it was beginner's luck and the grey in the box opposite mine wrinkled her nostrils and called me a great gangly thing - more like a colt than a filly! “Don't let her upset you”.   The Shepherdess, the bright bay horse next door, lent over and brushed my muzzle with a soft breath. “Ghillie's Girl has never even been placed in a race, let alone had a win and she is terrified of what's going to happen to her now she is a four year old. She has tried so hard, but she just doesn't have the speed. Now she dreads being entered for a race because she knows the jockeys will be hard on her, but even more, she fears being sold on and going from bad to worse. It's made her quite sour.” I had been rather deflated by Ghillie's Girl, however, the kindly Shepherdess had cheered me up again so I told her all about myself and my dream to win the Triple Crown. She turned her head to hide a smile. “My dear, that just won't be possible. Besides being held in America it's only for colts!” she told me when she turned back again. This time I was desolated, my life's dream had been shattered. Over the next few days The Shepherdess taught me about the world of racing and the big races mares could be entered for and soon my enthusiasm was rekindled.

During my career as a two-year-old, I won eight races and made Mr Westbrook (the old man) a lot of money, but that wasn't good enough, he got greedy. He would enter me in a race every time he could. I ran 28 times that year; that's too many for a two-year-old. In addition to the eight wins I was placed second twelve times, and third five. Sometimes my legs were so sore that I could hardly walk, but I had to go on, I had my sights set on winning the Oaks and the 1000 guineas the following year. Rachel had been growing concerned about the damage that could be caused to my legs by this over racing and finally got the old Westbrook to agree to let me be seen by a Vet  He said I had tendonitis but, with rest and a lighter work schedule, I would be fine for the next year.

By the beginning of my three year old season I was fully recovered and raring to go. Rachel said that I would probably be entered into a few races to prepare me for having a crack at ‘the big double' - the Oaks and the Guineas . For the first couple of races everything was fine. I came third in my first race and stormed home to win in the next.
Rachel told me that she thought I wouldn't be raced again until the Guineas but she couldn't have been more wrong. The old man kept on entering me for every race he could; he was still running me too often, but I kept going despite the pain in my legs as the tendonitis threatened to come back. Eventually I was rested and given pain killers so I would be fit to run in the big race. I can hardly bear to talk about that day. The 1000 Guineas , my big moment had come. Everything had been worth it to be here on this day. I was so proud as the travelling Head Lad led me round the parade ring. I jumped out of the starting gate with squeal of joy and lost a bit of ground because I was too excited to concentrate but I quickly settled and got about my work until I hit the front with just over two furlongs to go. By now my legs were very sore, my strides were shortening and I was digging deep for every ounce of strength I had. I was still just about in front at the last furlong marker but coming under some very hard riding when I stumbled and fell. All the others thundered past me as I struggled, sweating and trembling, to my feet. My jockey was so angry that he threw his whip to the ground and gave me a couple of sharp jabs in the mouth as he led me back to the unsaddling enclosure. By the time we got there I was terribly lame and Rachel , who was waiting there for me, burst into tears when she saw the whip marks on my shoulders and loins.

All my friends in the yard fell silent as they watched me hobble back into my stable and saw how I had been beaten. The Shepherdess nickered softly to to me, her eyes wide with concern, and I couldn't help remembering Ghillie's Girl whose troubles had come to an end a little while ago when she collapsed after a race and was put down. Not long after we got back there was a terrible row, right outside my box, between Rachel and Westbrook which ended with the old man telling her that if she didn't like it she could leave. Later that evening I awoke from an exhausted sleep and thought, for a moment, that my old friend Peter was standing at my stable door with Rachel . Of course, it wasn't him, it was Rachel 's husband, Keith , who had come with her to say goodbye. “I'm sorry to leave you here, but I can't bear to stay and not be able to change Westbrook's ways.” She gave me one last kiss on my muzzle and then left the yard for good. Although I couldn't run in the Oaks I won nine races that year, was placed second three times and third five times. Westbrook was getting rich, but I was starting to slow down and each race took longer to recover from than the last.

In January of the following year I became four years old and I was really beginning to go downhill; all those races when I was too young   were catching up on me. I desperately wanted to stop but Westbrook entered me in fourteen races that year, I only won three, I came second twice and third twice. I was glad when the season finished. Then came the year that I was five, the old man ran me a few times - poor races, in poor company but I could just not run anymore, I would always finish last. Of course, I would lead the race at first, but my legs would start to hurt so badly that I had to practically stop. One day, the officials did me a favour; they would not let Westbrook race me again and told him that I was too tired, and sore to run.

Now I was no longer racing, he had no use for me anymore but, as luck would have it, the young man I had mistaken for Peter came to the yard. He told Westbrook that he was looking for a brood mare for his recently established stud farm. The old man was happy to get rid of me so that he wouldn't have to feed me and care for me anymore and so he sold me on the spot. I couldn't believe it, this was Rachel 's husband Keith so perhaps I'd be going to live with them - I hardly dared to hope! But it was true, Keith and Rachel drove a rather old horse box into the yard the next day and had me loaded up in next to no time.
My great friend, The Shepherdess, had been as anxious as me ever since Keith had left the yard the previous day. Now she ran back and forth in her box, snorting with excitement as I made my way up the ramp intothe lorry. We whinnied long goodbyes as I was driven away until we couldn't hear each other any more.

Rachel and Keith 's stud was a small, family business, but it was excellently run - and what our stables may have lacked in the way of mod cons was more than made up for by the kindness and care we received. There were two stallions and three other mares who I joined to form the foundation of the stud, Visiting mares would come and go throughout the season and many returned year after year. But let me return for a moment to that first summer in my new home.

I was grazing with my first foal in the paddock that runs alongside the drive. Life was good and I hadn't been as happy since I was a young filly in my first home. The hubbub of morning stables was dying down and quiet was returning to the farm. At least, it was until I was disturbed by a sharp metallic clicking that seemed to be coming from the direction of the house. As a precaution I placed myself between my little foal and the road and tried to get on with grazing, but I couldn't settle as the sound continued to get louder.Something stirred in my memory, - I lifted my head and scented the air, then whinnied for all I was worth and galloped off to the gate. Somehow, I didn't know how, Peter , my old friend and playmate was here! When he heard me call out, the ‘click click' of his crutches gathered pace until I saw him swinging his, now nearly grown up, body between them. Suddenly he threw the crutches down and started running towards me.   I squealed and galloped off round and around the field, floating as if in a dream. “I don't need them anymore” Peter told me when I had calmed down, “but I thought I'd use them today in case they might help you to remember me” I put my head on his shoulder and breathed a long sighing breath into his neck. Hadn't anyone told him that horses never, ever, forget?   Later I discovered that Keith and Peter were brothers and when he left school, Peter came to join the family business.
The young family who rescued me are not so young any longer; we have all grown older and greyer together. They still have the little stud, and me, but they have retired me from breeding and Peter is now the manager. I have had ten foals - none of them has won the Triple Crown, but all of them have inherited my speed and won good races. One of my colts came second in the Derby and got mentioned on the Morning Line television racing programme! I am now the Grand Dam of the stud, handing on advice and racing stories to our visiting mares and foals -- what else could a mare wish for?