Chapter 6: The Wee English Fella

The Enniskillen Hunt track went right out into the country beyond the winning post. It was a right-handed track, with a long finishing straight which included two fences before the post and one after ahead of the first right hand bend. It reminded James of Towcester racecourse in England, which he'd visited once with his mother when she was invited to the races by a business client. He remembered standing high up in the private box in the grandstand, with binoculars given to him by the client, looking out into open country. It was beautiful up there, with the ability to see right over the whole course which was not the case when down by the rails amongst the sea of people. The only drawback of Enniskillen was that in truth it was farmers' fields and there were no grandstands or towers that could be ascended so that you could see the whole track. Some would get on top of their cars in the public car park and whip out the binocular but even then, trees covered the run from the back straight down into the home straight. It guaranteed for more excitement though as the crowd would never know who was coming in the home straight as the announcers often wouldn't get a proper update via radio from officials out on that part of the course. The start of Orla's race was viewable though and they all had a rush of nerves and exhilaration run through them when the announcer called the race start.

"I'm so worried for her ye know". Sarah was shaking as she spoke.

"She'll be fine". James tried to put her at ease verbally.

"I just want her to get over that first fence safely".

Sarah's continual worries didn't sit well with him and he requested silent authority from Erin to be released from her grasp for a moment. Erin knew what he would be doing; her fella was good like that and she nodded her approval. James then took Sarah's hand and squeezed it and she looked at him for a brief second as if he was mad before relaxing in his grasp. They were just able to see the first fence from their spot and Orla approached on the outside, sat dead last of the fifteen runners but not detached from the main field. The announcer, who'd promised to buy everyone a round of drinks if she cleared the first smiled in anticipation of the fall he expected.

"And as they rise at the first, Foyle Firefly is the early leader and…"

This was the moment of reckoning, Orla's first fence to face as an amateur jockey and 'The Wee English Fella's first competitive jump. Sarah closed her eyes and nearly snapped James's fingers off in trepidation.

"They are all over safely… and I owe everyone a pint…".

The whistles and cheers from the crowd about their free drinks drowned him out as he tried to continue the commentary coming up to the second fence, having to stop and wryly smile at his own foolishness.

"SERVES YE RIGHT YE BASTARD!"

Erin shouted at the top of her lungs, the announcer himself hearing it in his box and stopping again before opening his mouth. He was lucky that the run between the last two fences was quite a long one.

"Language young lady!" Joe sternly looked down on her, Erin going bright red and shivering at her Granda's rebuke.

Some of the other owners and trainers were staring at her, shocked by the foul outburst from the outsiders on their circuit and both Paul and Joe waved apologies at them which stopped any further comments. James, hand now removed from Sarah's tight grasp, thought it hilarious that she'd roared out the insult and quickly pulled Erin in front of him, placing a kiss on the top of her head as she melted back into him.

Orla easily cleared the second fence with the horse jumping up a place following the slow jump of the one in front before she eased him back again into last as they went by the winning post the first time. The owner's area was located just beyond it, the first fence before the turn perfectly placed so that they could view her jump it.

"GO ON ORLA!" Joe shouted.

"GO ON!" James, Erin, Clare and Sarah all shared the same shout.

"YOU'VE GOT IT ORLA!" Robert added to the encouragement.

Paul and Frankie stayed calmer and didn't shout but the two of them were happy with the progress after the first two flights and 'The Wee English Fella' gave another perfect leap at the third, Orla barely asking him to jump it. The horse knew what she was asking and didn't need the encouragement to do it. She fared better than one of the others at the fence, as the horse two spots ahead of her going into it, positioned on the inside rail, paddled through the fence to leave the jockey on the turf. They all grimaced at the sight, but he was up quickly afterwards, and the horse galloped off unharmed as well.

It was three fences down and nineteen to go for Orla. The one notable comment from many of the seasoned racegoers was that to get round the Enniskillen course, you had to have a horse that loved jumping, owing to the fact there were so many fences, mistakes were punished easily. There were ten fences in total per lap, the opening fence before the bend was followed by two fences as the track went up a small hill to the back straight. Three fences followed along the back as the course ran across the crest of the hill and then as the trees that blocked the view began, a sharp descent to the home straight started. It featured two fences, including a notoriously hard fence that was bigger than the rest of them on the course, the first that was faced on the downhill run. Once the trees stopped, it left only the two fences that were jumped at the start of the race to go before the post.

She made it over the next two fences perfectly well, though the field thinned out further as the horse that was running just in behind the three leaders stumbled on landing at the second of those fences, leaving the rider no chance to stay aboard. Others scrambled to avoid it but already being out wide, Orla barely had to move at all as she cleared the fence. Reaching the top of the hill, 'The Wee English Fella' still bowled along nicely in last place for her and Paul, watching on through the binoculars tracked her every move.

"How's it lookin' Paul?" Frankie enquired with his regular jockey.

"What price did ye say we were Robert?" Paul questioned the trainer's brother.

"Two hundred and fifty to one outsiders".

"Well…". Paul began. "She's looking more like a thirty-three to one shot at the moment".

That was music to the ears of the two owners. Joe and James weren't surprised to hear of the price when Robert returned from putting their own bet on, having scraped together a handsome fifty pounds to make it. The horse was a lot better than the price suggested but the odds were based on Orla being a girl and a girl who'd never ridden a race before. They were written off as the worst in the race the moment she was chosen as the designated jockey for it and the on-course bookmaker who Robert spoke to said that only one other person had placed a bet on her, the other bookmakers laughing when they heard another fool was trying his luck on the horse. A girl couldn't win here… they knew that.

"Fifty quid at that price…". James wondered out loud. "That's about… twelve and a half grand when she wins".

"Don't jinx it son". Joe huffed.

Orla made it over the three fences along the crest in perfect order, Paul smiling beneath the binoculars at one of the leaps. After being bitter towards Orla initially, he couldn't deny she held a talent that he didn't believe he had in him. She was a natural horsewoman, with the ability to feel the horse like none he'd seen before. It was as if horse and rider were one when Orla mounted up and even on some of their other racehorses, nothing changed. He was proud of her.

"They'll be in the trees in a minute and she's travelling smoothly. The front three have gone off far too hard I reckon, along the back next time round they'll be paddlin'".

The first three held around just under ten lengths advantage on the rest of the field as they entered the trees. Orla sat safely at the back of that field, riding her own race, unconcerned with what was going on in front. Just focusing on her mount.

Into the trees they went…


Eight fences in and Orla was having the time of her life aboard 'The Wee English Fella'. She'd stuck to her plan and was yet to deviate from it, counting the number of strides between each fence and finding them to be as she planned. The next section was the most critical in her mind, more so on the following circuit mind but this time around was her chance to study the notoriously difficult downhill fence. When she'd read up about the course and gone over in detail with Paul, he'd told her about the fence and how to approach it on the downhill run. The trick at this particular fence was to not carry too much speed into it and ease the horse rather than ask it to perform a mighty leap. Many had tried it in the past and came to a skidding end on the other side and those thoughts ran through her mind as they rounded the bend.

There was a long run down to the seventh fence of the lap, it being right where the slope eased off to a more suitable gradient, giving her the time to concentrate on the strides. Not factored into their plans was what the other jockeys would do as her motto when it came to the race was focus on her horse and not theirs. But the small fella who abused her so rampantly in the weighing room, riding the favourite Lost in Rico, had his own plans for her race. He eased his mount back through a couple of horses, being tenth of the thirteen left as they rounded the bend, so that he raced alongside Orla at the back. She didn't give him any attention, her eyes laser-like in focus at the upcoming fence but she should have done. A second later and all the carefully made pre-race plans went out of the window.

Leaving the reins in his right hand, the jockey leant down and yanked her leg out of the right stirrup. The sudden loss of control of the horse made her overbalance and her right leg went into the air, pivoting her over to the left, the reins slipping from her grasp. The horse, instead of bolting off began to slow, but he was slowing far too soon to be able to take the fence as intended and without the control from Orla, he could do anything. The cheating jockey, feeling proud of himself, cajoled his horse back forward, sniggering to himself as he considered his good deed for the day done. The city girl's fun was over, a shuddering fall at the hardest fence on the course would ensure she'd never return to their circle again. The trees covered his actions from the crowd and being certain of victory and with money and influence of his own, paying off the officials who no doubt saw his manoeuvre would be simple.

Orla tried not to panic but she couldn't deny being gripped with fear as her uncontrolled mount approached the biggest fence on the course. She fought desperately to pull herself back up into the saddle and not fall to the turf, grasping back onto the reins when she found them again. But time wasn't on her side and the fence loomed large.

The rest of the field began to stream over the fence, a couple of the horses smashing into it but no one falling. Lost in Rico's delighted jockey soared over it and moved up, soon announcing his victory when it came to Orla.

"THE BITCH IS DEALT WITH BOYS! LET'S RACE!"

Cheers of joy and silent relief were heard from most of the jockeys and not one of them looked round to see whatever he'd done to Orla. The confidence that he exhibited gave them the false dawn that they should never have believed in. For if any of them had looked back at that precise moment, they would have found his assertion that she was done for to be wrong.

'The Wee English Fella' made it over the fence and so did Orla.

The horse and rider's bond were the only thing that prevented disaster. That much was clear to her. He seemed to understand the peril that they were in and without any prompting from his rider, the horse took the perfect jump, landing with momentum on the other side. That momentum allowed Orla to swing back over so that she was back straight in the saddle and immediately got to work in getting her right foot back in the stirrup. A couple of seconds later and it was back in but as she looked up, the rest of the field were already over and away from the eighth fence on that lap, the tenth in the race in total.

Not that it bothered her. This was a determined Orla McCool and she set off after them with a fire in her belly. It didn't matter if she didn't win but she would finish that course even if it took her all day.


It was an anxious wait for them whilst Orla went through the trees. Paul was ready and waiting with the binoculars pointed at the exit of the covered section, praying to the Lord that she'd made it through unscathed. Sarah too was nervous and instead of James, it was this time Clare who held her hand as she awaited her daughter's re-appearance. Joe moved himself round to stand to her left, with Frankie, Robert and Paul stood to his left and James and Erin to Clare's right where Joe had been standing. The announcer began to speak again as the first three emerged from the trees and Paul focused.

The three leaders were still going too hard…

There was a group of five packed tightly a few lengths behind them, some of the secondary favourites within it…

Then three more came a couple of lengths behind them…

Then Lost in Rico a length further back…

And then… nothing…

SHIT!

"She's not there".

He delivered the news glumly and all of their faces dropped. Sarah began to buckle, requiring Joe's firm hand on her back to keep his daughter from collapsing to the floor. Their worst fears were realised; somewhere within the concealed section, 'The Wee English Fella' didn't jump with his usual verve and she was on the floor, probably in agony. Erin let out an anxious breath and James held her tightly, aware of the distress that any harm that came to Orla would cause her.

"Wait!" Paul suddenly called to them.

"What is it Paul?" Robert, equally concerned for the safety of his student, enquired.

"She… She's still going!".

They all looked as far down the track as they could and beyond the rest of the field who were between the final two fences on that lap, the distinguishable red silks that Orla wore stood out. She was well behind the rest but the important thing for them was that she was safe and still held every chance of completing the race.

"He must have clouted the big 'un and stopped running for her". Paul concluded what he believed the most likely scenario to be. "If she can coax him round the rest of the race then that would be grand".

There was relief but disappointment in his voice. The horse was going so well when it entered the trees, it was such a shame that something went amiss whilst they couldn't see her. Joe shared the disappointment, giving a look that said the same to James who could only sigh and return the same look. Orla being safe was more important to them and they were all at least happy with that knowledge. But it was an opportunity missed. Joe knew how the jockeys operated as well, they'd tell a tale to the stewards that she was reckless and shouldn't be allowed to ride again. The stewards being the corrupt, spineless bastards that they were would take their side and Orla's riding career would be over after one run. They would ban her and advise her never to try to apply for a riding license again. If she was a male it would be different, it would be a hard luck story but other than some teasing, the lad would be welcomed to try again. But for a girl it was different.

From her position a fence or so back from the others as they went through the line with a circuit to go, Orla would need a miracle to even get anywhere near to the back of the field, let alone try and win the race. But the Good Lord, perhaps smiling kindly because of what had happened down the back straight, worked one of his miracles for her to give her a whiff.

Anyone at the course who was an avid racing fan would know of the 1967 English Grand National and the Foinavon incident. They might not have had the giant green monster fences of the Merseyside venue but at the first fence on the final circuit, a pile up of those proportions ensued. The first three horses jumped the fence and two of them made it safely over but 'Buncrana Steel' came down at the fence after a sloppy jump and the horse lay there for a few seconds. As the group of five behind came to take it, Buncrana Steel got to its feet and the two already jumping horses stood no chance of avoiding it. They crashed right into the horse, throwing their riders to floor next to the already stricken jockey. The three behind them in the group all tried to avoid the mess sharply but in doing so one got in too close and went down anyway. The other two both stopped short of the fence but launched both the riders over it and to the hard turf on the other side. It was complete pandemonium right in front of the owner's area, the crowds gasping from beyond. The two loose horses on the take-off side then turned around and galloped right into the path of the next wave of three and the favourite Lost in Rico just behind them. The cheating jockey steered his mount clear, as did the rider of 'Crystal Pistol' alongside him but the two other jockeys were forced to pull their mounts up, their hopes lost. Lost in Rico and Crystal Pistol jumped safely and set off in pursuit of the leaders and all eyes then fell on Orla.

"Keep wide… keep wide". Paul whispered instructions under his breath.

Meeting the fence at almost complete perfection, 'The Wee English Fella' landed running on the other side to the delight of them all.

"GO ON LOVE!" Joe roared on his granddaughter.

Paul soon left them, avoiding the rush of the other stable hands and helpers who were trying to reel in all of those loose horses after the pile up. He was making his way over to just around the bend, ready to lead Orla back in once she'd finished. There would only be a maximum of four others waiting with him as there were just the five left in the race from the fifteen who started.

"She's going to win". James was so confident, he dared to say it again.

"What did I say before?!" Joe cautioned him.

"I agree with James". Clare defiantly stated her opinion.

"Aye me too!". Erin added.

Joe wished he could share the wains belief, but the race wasn't over yet, there were still nine fences left to jump. Robert took over the duty with the binoculars and it wasn't long until Joe was hassling him for updates on how Orla was doing.

"She's slowly catching up Joe". Robert confirmed, watching her between the two fences as they climbed up the hill.

Paul's earlier assessment of the leading few horses going off too quickly was proving to be accurate as 'Foyle Firefly' and the amusingly named (to them) 'Mister Mallon' were beginning to tire and Lost in Rico and Crystal Pistol were only three lengths in arrears. There were another twenty-five lengths back to Orla, who'd reduced the deficit but was still in need of something special to even place in the first three from there. But the regular jockey gave Orla one final piece of advice which she hadn't shared with anyone, keeping it in her head.

If things go wrong, keep calm and stick to the plan. Everyone else can have bad luck too.

At the first flight along the back straight, the bad luck for others part of his advice came true. Drawing alongside the long-time leaders on the outside, Crystal Pistol's jockey asked him for a long stride, but the horse did not wish to produce one and left his back legs in the fence, crumpling down to the turf and taking the jockey with him. Lost in Rico, who still had a couple of lengths to find on the leaders, was able to dodge around them and the jockey who'd tried to put Orla out the race was now looking the most likely winner.

"One's gone!" Robert announced. "Not Orla though".

"How's she lookin' Robbie?" His brother Frankie asked.

"If she keeps going, I reckon she's got half a chance of second ye know Frankie. But that favourite's going to run away with it, so he is".

Second!... Second!

It wasn't the win they were hoping for but considering how far back Orla was at the bottom of the home straight under a circuit's time before, it would be brilliant. All of them cheered her on with joy, finding less angered faces amongst the other owners and trainers in the area. One or two even cheered along with them. An incredible story of perseverance was being written at the Enniskillen course that morning and its beautiful sting was biting into the hearts of the people.

Entering the trees section for a second time, Lost in Rico was already twelve lengths ahead of the tiring Foyle Firefly and there was another length back to Mister Mallon. Another three lengths behind them, Orla was closing rapidly and the dream of second place looked all the more real.


With what had happened on the previous circuit, even though they didn't know it was malice and not a jumping error as Paul assumed, the nerves glistened from all of them. Even Frankie, a seasoned trainer, would have to admit to being more nervous than normal for this race. He'd pulled every string in the book to get Orla an amateur license and the free-spirited youngster was a treasure he was glad he'd been allowed to find. He wanted the best for her, like all of them, and some good results from her first few rides would be paramount. He just wanted her to get round safely and take the second place. He didn't care about the piss poor prize money or anything else, he just wanted her to achieve an impressive debut.

What he got was something else entirely.

"Oh my god". Robert said the three words a moment later when the lead horse re-appeared on the other side of the trees.

The announcer said the same three words into the tannoy but unlike Robert, he found more words to describe what he was seeing.

Oh my god… I can't… coming out from the back straight it's... THE WEE ENGLISH FELLA! The TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY TO ONE OUTSIDER! AND NOW I'M… I'M HEARING THAT LOST IN RICO CAME DOWN AT FOUR OUT!

The crowd 'oooohhddd' when hearing of the news of the favourites demise. If they'd have seen what the jockey of the horse had done on the first circuit at the same fence, then they'd have all said it was karma had they equally seen what happened the second time around. Starting the trees section, the jockey's belief that victory was his reigned supreme in his mind. There were only two other horses still going to his knowledge and he'd just got round both of them as they began to tire. Neither would find a second wind having ran their hearts out from the word go and he looked around to smirk at the retreating rivals. What he saw next not only surprised him but terrified him. He even completed a double take to be sure, but those red silks stood out.

Orla didn't fall as he thought. She was still riding, and she was coming upsides the two horses he'd shot past along the crest of the hill. He was the only one in front and the target was now firmly on his back. For the first time in a long time, he questioned his own mount and whether he had enough in the tank to fight off a challenge from Orla. The momentary lapse in concentration ended his hopes of even contesting the battle. When he turned back from watching her unrelenting progression, the fence stood right in front of him and he had no time to give the horse any direction. He could only prepare for the bruises that his body would sustain when he hit the ground as the horse clattered into the fence. He was down and hurting but it was a few moments later that the real pain came and that was the damage to his pride. Looking up, he saw Orla and 'The Wee English Fella' launching themselves over the big fence and calmly heading off to the next.

They were all cheering as the announcer revealed who was leading and the crowd were vociferously willing Orla home too, with the shocked announcer calling her in.

This is REMARKABLE! There isn't another horse in sight and the outsider… FLIES OVER TWO OUT! Foyle Firefly is just emerging from the trees but is at least thirty lengths behind with Mister Mallon another six lengths down and those are the only others going!

She's not even had to ask The Wee English Fella for effort, HE'S CANTERING DOWN TO THE LAST! There is just one fence separating them from a historic win and he's still so full of running! Measuring it up and… WHAT A LEAP! EXTRAORDINARY! I'VE NEVER SEEN ONE LIKE IT IN FORTY YEARS OF RACING! THIS IS TRULY SPECIAL! COMING TO THE LINE, WHAT A STORY WE HAVE HERE… SIXTEEN YEAR OLD ORLA MCCOOL AND THE TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY TO ONE SHOT, THE WEE ENGLISH FELLA, CRUISE TO THE WIN IN THE OPENER!

The announcer, who'd so cruelly spoken of her when he'd read out the runners and riders before the start, now found himself off his seat in his box, screaming the finish down the tannoy.

Joe, James, Erin, Clare, Sarah, Robert and Frankie were all jumping for joy and bellowing horse and jockey home, tears of joy running down Sarah's face. Paul was doing the same from his position around the bend and even he would have to admit to being choked up at the red silks approaching the winning post.

Standing up in her stirrups and looking towards her family and friends, her unused whip in her right hand, Orla punched the air in ecstasy.

"YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS"

Her victorious shout wrestled a tear from many an eye amongst the racegoers, the race officials and even some of the other owners and trainers.

Orla McCool had won her first race.

One on-course bookmaker found himself wiped out after the group collected their winnings having already paid out to the other man that placed a bet earlier. He'd only placed seven pounds on but that was still north of fifteen hundred pounds for him to pay out. He'd remember the warm but smug smile the punter, with a distinctive scar on his face, gave him when he collected the winnings.