* * *
Hunting over the wide expanse of the famous Punchestown Racecourse was especially exhilarating for Jenny. It gave her a sense of what it must be like taking part in the big race-days there. She could follow the white railed tracks emerging from various directions - all converging at the entrance to the straight - leading up to that coveted winning post, in front of the massive stands and enclosures, now empty and silent.
She could view - and even touch - the beautifully manicured jumps: big plain fences, regulation fences, water spreads and massive double banks. She could feel the hallowed turf sponging beneath Poker's hooves. It filled her with an overwhelming sense of awe, just to be there, seeing, feeling and smelling this revered place of equine history. This was the battleground, where for hundreds of years, brave horses and fearless riders gave their all in the searing heat of fierce competition, where fortunes were won and lost, and still, year after year, they came back for more.
Hunting was a marvellous sport and Jenny was enjoying every minute of it. Being here was extra special. It was like returning to her pony days. Days when she won all before her: show-jumping, dressage, eventing, hunter trials. Then graduating to full size horses, winning The Lady's Cup at the local Point-to-Point, and she no more than a child. She could feel again the adrenaline welling up inside her, the goose-pimples beginning to form. There was something awesome about this place. It did something to her - and she liked what it did.
If she felt like this now, she reasoned, what must the feeling be like to be part of the big race days? She tried to envisage the thrill of passing that winning post in front of the field, after mastering three or four miles of this testing terrain, to the cheers and excitement of those packed stands. Stands full of the most knowledgeable and appreciative spectators to be found anywhere in the world.
It was every rider's fervent desire to experience that joyous sensation. It was burning fiercely inside her now, and mentally she pledged that someday it would happen to her. She couldn't envisage how or when, but someone or something was telling her it would - and she believed it.
The gorse in the centre of the racecourse yielded no chase, but the gorse at the five furlong marker did. The fox ran out, headed for the covert, darted left across the racecourse, passed through fields of sheep, where the scent became poor and he was soon lost.
In the next hunt covert the hounds 'found' again. This time the chase lasted longer, taking them up the hill, over the brow, then left-handed back towards the racecourse. It was smooth lush grassland, wide open country; the riders enjoying some lovely clean jumping.
Poker was enjoying himself and giving Jenny a great thrill. He seemed to be showing off to the younger brigade, giving them a little lesson on how big obstacles should really be jumped.
Joe seemed to be easy on the big mare. Jenny suspected that he was saving the best performance for later, when the mare's prospective purchaser from Kilkenny would be there watching. They had arranged to meet at the entrance to Barrettstown Castle, where Andy would also be waiting. The pack would be hunting that area last, hoping for a big final chase, before rounding up for the day.
Although scent wasn't great, the hounds were hunting well. The big lively fox seemed to be enjoying himself, darting in and out, changing directions, easily managing to stay a safe distance ahead of his baying pursuers. It all ended when he crossed the road and into a small, dense, un-rideable wood. He was free. The chase was over. The wily old rascal had triumphed again, but not before giving much excitement and pleasure to hounds, horses and riders.
******
Dicing with Death
Andy greeted Garry Wren at the big entrance gate to Barrettstown Castle. The drive from South Kilkenny in his old British registered Land-Rover took about two hours, arriving exactly on the dot of two-thirty. They walked over the road, climbed a high grassy bank, where they had a good unrestricted view of the hunt.
Andy pointed to the far distant left. Garry could just about see the colourful pack. They were hunting a big gorse which Andy said, 'always produced a fox, and he usually headed in this direction.'
He was correct on both counts. A sudden crash of music from the hounds signalled that 'Reynard' had popped up and sprinted towards Elverstown. The chase was on. Left-handed, they raced along the edge of the ravine, then right-handed up the hill. It was steep and tough going, but the riders and their horses relished the challenge and excitement. Across the top of the hill and down the other side, the chase was relentless, but the fox still managed to stay just in front.
He crossed the road below Barrettstown Castle, and that's where the chase moved up a notch to a new level of excitement and exhilaration. Along the valley, across lovely jumping country, the colourful and noisy band were in full flight. Hound's shrill voices yelled out their loud exciting music, 'Reynard' darted in and out of coverts, just staying ahead of his potential executioners.
Adrenaline was pumping and the excitement was reaching fever pitch. Down the valley, directly below Andy and Garry's viewing point, the chase was electric: 'as good as Andy had ever seen'. This was real hunting country, terrain that took no prisoners. Huge banks, massive wide ditches, high stone walls. The thrill of the frantic chase made these fierce obstacle look small and insignificant to the fired-up horses and their brave riders.
Jenny and Joe were galloping upsides, with little Poker matching stride for stride with the big bay mare. She was now getting extra assistance from Joe, in an effort to impress his potential customer.
Down the hill they came towards Andy and Garry. Thundering over a big double bank within close pursuit of the fox, the pace and momentum was frenzied. Riders totally committed to the raw heat of battle, unconcerned for their own safety, urging their adrenaline-charged horses to stretch and strain every muscle and tendon, reaching heights of endeavour never previously achieved.
A big 'tricky' bank, flanked by large dikes, loomed up ahead. It was lined with tall ash trees, and as the hounds streamed over it, the riders discovered that there was only one narrow gap between two large trees, where there was room to jump through - and only in single file.
The bog at the far side was at a lower level, and after the horses jumped on to the bank between the big trees, they then had to leap across a wide dike and down into the bog. For the riders up front this presented no problem. They took it in their stride, and landed running at the far side.
Andy was very concerned though. It was right in front of him and he could see the danger - he relayed his fears to Garry.
'All that 'traffic' over that one spot will strip the roots of the trees of earth-covering. A horse's leg could slide underneath a big horizontal root and cause trouble.'
Garry agreed. Both were now concerned. Most of the horses had galloped through, and it was Joe's turn, followed by Jenny. The big mare over-jumped, clearing the bank and landing in the dike at the other side. With a mighty plunge she hauled herself out, and was about to gallop on when the shrieks and commotion behind signalled to Joe that Jenny was in serious trouble. He pulled up and wheeled around to witness a devastating scene that caused his blood to freeze, rendering him speechless.
Andy and Garry had rushed over and were on top of the bank, breathless in shock and horror. Poker was hanging by his hind leg which had slipped underneath a thick root, anchoring him there. His head, shoulders and front legs were almost submerged in the water. Jenny was out cold, spread-eagled against the hard stony wall of the dike, having been hurtled from the saddle, losing her helmet, and her consciousness in the violent impact.
Poker began to struggle frantically, but there was no way he could pull free. Each surging heave shattering his fetlock, adding to the perilous task of rescuing Jenny from the dike.
Andy took the mare from Joe, who followed Garry into the deep water-filled dike. They waited for a lull in Poker's struggling, then gently lifted the lifeless Jenny on to the bog and across to the road that ran parallel. Both removed their jackets, placed them over her as s
he lay motionless. Garry, prompted by Andy, rang the Belmont Clinic on his mobile, having got the number from 'directory inquiries'.
Dr McKevitt was paged to pick up the nearest phone. It was something that occurred regularly. He expected a routine call. Casually, he picked up a phone in the nurse's station outside the ward where he had been on his rounds.
'Yes ... Dr McKevitt here ... how can I help you?'
'My name is Garry Wren ... I'm here at Barrettstown Castle ... Mrs McKevitt has been injured in a hunting accident ... she is unconscious and needs an ambulance quickly.'
Ken was paralysed with the shattering news.
'Are you sure? Do you mean Jenny? What happened? Where is she? Who's there?'
'I'm sorry Doctor. It is Jenny ... her horse fell at a jump ... she is lying here by the roadside ... Mr Leahy and his son are looking after her.'
'Okay. Okay. Thanks very much ... you're very kind ... now listen, this is very important.' There was a frantic urgency in his voice.
'Don't move her ... don't let her move ... cover her with coats or whatever ... keep her warm ... I'll have the ambulance there in less than half an hour ... and thanks again ... you're very good.'
The journey from the Belmont Clinic would not encounter much traffic congestion in mid-afternoon, and with the siren at full blast, the fully equipped ambulance, complete with a nurse, and a devastated Dr McKevitt sped out of the Clinic yard.
* * *
Leaving Andy and Joe with Jenny, Garry turned his attention to the stricken horse still hanging in the dike. Having phoned Stan O'Keefe, the vet, on the mobile number that Andy gave him, the message receiver answered. He recorded the urgent request: Horse badly injured at hunt ... now beside Barrettstown Castle ... in serious distress ... suspected fractured fetlock ... will require euthanasia.
Garry had done veterinary courses while in Newmarket and was experienced in these matters. He then ran up the road to his Land-Rover and found an old 'bushman's saw' underneath all the other junk in the back. It was for fencing at home, but was the perfect tool for the distressing task he now had to perform.
Arriving back at the scene, he found the four riders that had been following behind Jenny before her fall. They had used a roundabout way to enter the bog, opening gates and passing through some fields. They were now just curious onlookers. Poker was still struggling but not as violently. He was beginning to accept the hopelessness of his situation. Garry sprang into action.
'Don't just stand there, he shouted angrily, 'two of you hold his head down ... the other two can hold the horses.'
He slid down into the dike, untied the girth, removed the saddle. Relieved of the pressure, Poker's belly expanded with a huge deep breath. The water in the dike was now red with the stream of blood gushing from his injured leg, his body was a lather of sweat with the pain and the trauma.
As Garry climbed the bank to the horizontal root on which Poker's leg hung like a butcher's hook, the shattered bone, now stripped of flesh, confirmed his worst fears. He gazed down, and although his head was being held firmly, Poker's big kind eye was tracking every move that Garry made above him. He lay still, sensing that Garry was a friend that had come to help him. He didn't look frightened anymore - just resigned to his awful fate.
That inherent love of horses that he was born with, that equine affinity that was ingrained in his being, caused Garry's eyes to well up. Moving slowly above the horse, he was talking to him, gently re-assuring and consoling him, connecting with him as only real horse-lovers could.
'Steady now little boy, steady ... everything is going to be alright ... you're pain will soon be gone ... no more hunting ... no more jumping ... no more excitement ... no more suffering ... you'll soon be on your way ... to where all good little horses go ...'
There was real sadness in his soothing voice. But there was also hope in his heart. He thought of Jenny. Perhaps this little horses's demise was the price to be paid for the full recovery of his rider - he fervently hoped so. One thing he was certain of: that kind, sad eye, now staring at him, would not object to such a deal. If that little horse - with his limited brain - could understand that his passing would, in some way, ensure the recovery of his young rider, then, like a true faithful servant, he would gladly offer that sacrifice.
The offending root was cut at both sides of the horse's leg, and now free, Poker slipped down into the dike. They held him there as comfortable as possible until the vet came. Soon it was all over.
* * *
As the ambulance skidded to a halt, Ken jumped out and dropped to his knees beside Jenny. Her pale ash colour, with the angry red swelling just below her hairline startled him. He stroked her hair, smoothing back fine wisps from her temples.
'Jenny ... Jenny darling ... it's Ken .. you're going to be okay .. do you hear me?'
He had hoped for a twitch of her familiar smile, but she couldn't oblige. Having gently checked her arms, legs, and rib-cage for breaks, he was glad he found none. As they prepared her for the journey to the Clinic, he was more concerned about her inner parts, places that he couldn't see or feel - especially her head.
Sitting unsteadily beside her in the ambulance, with one hand gripping the chrome holding bar, the other clasping her limp hand, the journey seemed an eternity. Nurse Wall travelled in the front with the driver. She had sensed that the doctor preferred to be alone with Jenny on that sensitive and emotional journey.
He knew she wasn't in pain, but he dreaded the next few hours - they would be the most critical. He gazed lovingly at her serene face, prayed fervently that the shining glow of her bright warm smile would again return, those now closed eyes would light up to illuminate, as they always did, the darkest shadows of everyday life.
The drops of cold sweat formed on his forehead like rain on a glass roof. He could feel his whole body become moist and sticky with the pressure of tension and emotion. He knew he was rapidly losing the battle to stay calm, while desperately trying to remember that he was a doctor and doctors must be strong. He had been in this situation many times before, accompanying critically ill patients to hospital. Most survived - some didn't make it. He always acted professionally, in accordance with his years of study and training.
"But, damn it! This is different. This is my wife - my love above everything else in the world. If she doesn't make it - what am I going to do?"
He quickly banished the thought - the doctor in him said she would. He couldn't wait to get her to the Clinic, to diagnose her injuries, to treat her, get her quickly recovered.
The thought of surgery frightened him - it shouldn't. God knows, he had assisted at enough operations without any hint of weakness. Mr Bailey was a world renowned surgeon. If it had to be done, there was none better. But could he bring himself to assist? Yes, but it would be tough. He dreaded the thought of witnessing the invasion by a surgeon's scalpel of the beautiful body of his darling wife. He would feel every cutting stroke, every heart murmur, every pulse, as if it were his own. But he would be there - there when she needed him, sharing the pain.
He felt the ache in his heart become sharper and more intense as he blamed himself for all of this. If it wasn't for his abject failure, things would have been different. If he had been able to give her the child she so desperately wanted, she would not have been forced back to this treacherous sport of horse-riding, and this would never have happened.
He cursed himself in his thoughts, felt no consolation for having been proved right about what could happen. It didn't lessen the pain either to think that when fully recovered, Jenny might abandon this dangerous hobby; give it up forever. The only positive thought he could muster was that somehow, somewhere, there might be a miracle treatment or procedure that would correct the malfunction in his manhood, and change both their lives forever.
* * *
Andy's heart was heavy, laden down with sadness and worry. He was terrified at the thought of Jenny being seriously injured. Opening the ramp at the rear of the double horse trailer
as Joe led in the big mare, he couldn't speak. The hurt he felt was intensified even further when he took the saddle and bridle from Garry, and placed them in the trailer where the little horse would have stood. Joe could see his father's grief, tried to console him, while managing to bravely retain his own composure.
'It's just one of those things that happen, Dad. As long as Jenny is all right ...' he hesitated. He wasn't sure - no one was sure, he tried again.
'If Jenny is okay ... sure that's the main thing, isn't it? The horse can be replaced.'
Andy just nodded. It helped a little. He was grateful to Joe for his valiant efforts, but his eyes were full and his heart was still aching.
* * *
Waiting for the lights to change at the junction that led on to the N25, Garry leaned over the steering wheel of his old jeep. Ahead of him lay seventy miles of lonely road. Weary and frustrated, he dearly wished he was home. It had been a long and eventful day. He would 'hit the hay' early and sleep it off. He wondered about the young woman. Had she woken up yet? Would she ever wake up? It looked bad. She was so unlucky. A freak accident - no one's fault. Just one of those things. A real good-looking lady too. I wonder will she make it?
"Be positive, Garry," Her husband is a doctor at that new hospital. Of course she'll make it - she'll be fine."
When she does wake up, would she ever know about him. T'would be nice if someone told her. A chat with her sometime would be nice too - even on the phone - to talk about horses. She seemed a real horse-woman - and what a rider. How she presented that little horse to those big brutal jumps. She definitely was no ordinary rider - there was real talent there. Courage and 'bottle' too - tons of it. She'll be back - that's for sure.
Pity about the little horse. He won't be back. He was brave too - a bit too brave for his own good. He needed another inch or two in height for those massive banks. What he lacked in size, he made up for with courage and a big honest heart.
Dream Valley Page 3
