desert orchid: I was there when the legend was born.

​My memory these days is a bit of a spent force. In the living room I can decide on which I subject I want to write about, and even pen in my mind the opening sentence, only for my memory to be completely blank once I reach my study. On occasions I can retrieve the gist of the subject from the dark, shadowy depths of the grey matter that masquerades as memory and occasionally a subject long-lost will reappear at the forefront of my mind. But only occasionally. Other people of my age fare much worse, so my complaints have to be tempered with ‘it could be a lot worse’’, but I do yearn for the days when my memory was not so impaired.
This sport, to a greater degree than any other, I contend, or at least for those of us who follow horse racing with any degree of passion, is an intertwining of the present day and the past. To appreciate the winner of today’s King George Chase, once the replays and analysis are completed, past races must be considered, previous winners, which requires a trawl through the memory banks. As it is, my memory must be constantly jogged and proven inadequate, as when Paul Nicholls recalled Clan Des Obeaux winning the two King George Chases before Frodon last season. If asked, I would have said he had only won the King George once.
So, to recall the day when Desert Orchid won his first King George – don’t ask me the year as answering questions which begin ‘who won such and such in (insert any year)’ and I am floundering in a fog of forgetfulness – I need the aid of one of the many books written about the great horse. My book of choice is John Dorman’s ‘Racing Champion’, though I also could refer to ‘Nine out of Ten’ written by Simon Sherwood.
I was there at Kempton on Boxing Day – (insert year)
Already my head is a buzz of confusion. I had thought once Colin Brown had deserted Dessie for Combs Ditch that Simon Sherwood then rode Dessie continuously until he retired, the jockey not the horse. A little research has shown this to be incorrect.
Standing at the top of the straight within easy reach of the racecourse stables – we had a runner in a later race (finished lame, another story) – and I regaled a stranger alongside me who was getting over-exited by the lead Desert Orchid had built up with my experienced opinion that the grey would fade back to the pursuers once they had past the 2-mile pole. As with everyone that day, excluding David Elsworth who was on record as saying he thought Dessie would win if he got the trip, I remained adamant, right up to the final furlong, that Dessie didn’t truly stay 2-mile 4, let alone 3-miles.
I stated my opinion to the stranger at 6-furlongs from the finish, 4-furlongs from the finish and 2-furlongs from the finish. I then had no option but to refrain from expressing my ‘expert’ opinion. At the finishing post I slunk away. Dessie was 15-lengths in front. He didn’t only get the King George distance, he seemed vastly improved for the step up in trip. Indeed, he looked a possible Cheltenham Gold Cup winner and I doubt if even David Elsworth had considered that possibility before the race. I suspect he did afterwards, though.
Normally I would have followed the throng of spectators down to the winners enclosure as I always believe it is valuable information to see how much a horse is blowing after a race and just to witness its general disposition as it is a clue as to whether the horse has enjoyed the experience, but I had a horse to attend to and the walk to the racecourse stables allowed me to process what I had witnessed. As I entered the stable-yard, I was asked by someone what had won and when I told him he looked stunned. ‘Forgive n’ Forget’? he asked. ‘Fourth,’ I replied. ‘Faded. Couldn’t get near Desert Orchid’. I left him swearing, no doubt ripping up his betting slip as he did so.
I may not be the expert I formally believed myself to be but I am not, or was not at the time, stupid. In my heart and mind, I knew I had witnessed something spectacular, historic, in a racing or sporting sense, if you like. What came after that day in Dessie’s life-story, the King George of 1986 makes perfect sense; for what came after, the form was in the form book. On the day, though, it took logic and racing expertise and thrown them to the wind. Here was a horse, although popular because of his zest for life, the manner in which he attacked his fences, who was all-over a 2-mile chaser who on occasions had looked devoid of the stamina to win over 2-mile 4, and certainly not at the highest grade, and yet around Kempton he had put to the sword the very best staying chasers in the country. It makes perfect logic now but then, believe me, it was a shock to the system.
It was no great revelation to his trainer, of course. But that is why David Elsworth is a legend of the sport. No one thought Dessie would win the Cheltenham Gold Cup on a left-handed course, on ground he hated, in weather that was vile. His connections wanted him withdrawn until Elsworth made his pronouncement ‘He’s the best-balanced horse in the race. He’s a certainty!’ And few thought he would have the stamina to win an Irish Grand National. His trainer did, of course. It is why David Elsworth will be as greatly missed as his greatest horse.
But at least I can claim to have been present when an equine God revealed himself to the horse racing public. And made fools of those of us who believed ourselves to be ‘experts’.