Echoes of the Hunting Horn 



work, and when one would think competitors should 

 need a spell of easy going, they swing right-handed 

 abruptly and are faced by a ditch and a towering up-bank. 



This fence is at that point of the course which is 

 furthest away from the stands, so on its negotiation 

 those of the field who are still on their legs begin their 

 return journey homewards. Two bush-fences with deep 

 ditches behind . . . one of them with a nasty drop that 

 has a flavour of Aintree about it ... lead on to a long 

 gallop on low-lying ground that can be very holding in 

 wet weather. Then the Fairyhouse River. This used 

 to cause considerable grief in its original guise, but it 

 has been made less dangerous in recent years and seldom 

 gives the horses any trouble. Still racing on low-lying 

 ground, the well- thinned field make the acquaintance of 

 a big, built-up bush fence (I think the ditch has been 

 filled-in recently). For honest height and solidity this 

 might compare favourably with some of the big Liver- 

 pool obstacles. Three more fences, and the entire 

 countryside seems to take leave of its senses. 



Here they come over the last fence. Five of them 

 locked together. Two; three more . . . cannot wait 

 to count the others. What a magnificent display of 

 courage and stamina after three-and-a-half gruelling 

 miles over twenty-one varied fences ! Crowds have 

 gone crazy. Everyone is cheering. The horse on the 

 outside is moving up. The insult of whale-bone is 

 unnecessary, he is doing his utmost, and his young 

 owner-rider knows it. They are both keyed to the 

 highest pitch; making a tremendous race ... a terrific 

 finish ! and whether he was your fancy or not, you 



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