Unbreakable

by Unbreakable- The Woman Who Defied the Nazis in the World's Most Dangerous Horse Race (retail) (epub)

  In Prague and elsewhere, Czechoslovak politicians waited anxiously. Some, including Jan Masaryk, future foreign minister and son of the late president-liberator, were hoping against hope for a sporting miracle. Others feared that a German defeat might push Hitler over the edge into war. František Machník, minister of defence, was among several prominent politicians who had come to Pardubice to watch for themselves.

  In the on-course stables, Norma was visibly affected by the tension. By the time the big-race runners were led out into the paddock, she was trembling. But she did as she was asked, according to Lata, because ‘she’s a loyal, nice horse’; and, of course, because she trusted Lata. Herold, as before, skipped the paddock parade, as did Iarbas. In each case, the horse’s nerviness was blamed. It still didn’t look particularly good.

  The clock ticked round towards 3 p.m. The riders mounted; the walk to the course began, through a sea of people. For the first time, the tension seemed to ease. ‘Once you’re on horseback,’ explained Lata, ‘you know that the battle is coming – and that’s beautiful. There is no more time or space for nervousness.’

  On the other side of the stands, thirteen of the fifteen runners paraded in front of the biggest crowd Pardubice had ever seen, then cantered over to the middle of the course and, one by one, skipped over the test jump. And then they were off to the far north-eastern corner of the course, to line up with Herold and Iarbas for the start.

  Something approaching a hush seemed to settle over the great crowd. The hour had come.

  23.

  The Battle of Pardubice

  Again, she was afraid. Her whole life had prepared her for this moment, yet now it was here, it was hard not to doubt. She had never felt older. The opposition had never been stronger. The tension between riders had never felt greater. The jumps had never looked bigger. (Some really were bigger: several ditches had been widened since Norma first raced here.) More than ever, this felt like the Devil’s Race.

  The bookmakers rated Lata’s chances at 12:1 – not a great deal better than they had been for her first attempt, a decade earlier. But she knew that the public had higher hopes: otherwise, the odds would have been longer. Perhaps for the first time, she felt the pressure of national expectation. Could she really reverse a decade of hurt – and repel the strongest raiding party the Germans had ever sent? She wanted to believe it – ‘You have to, when you want to achieve something’ – but it wasn’t easy. Yet she also knew that, if she didn’t beat the Germans today, no one else was likely to.

  She wore her medallion, as she always did, trusting in the Virgin Mary to keep her safe; St Anthony, inside her helmet, provided back-up. A horse-drawn ambulance coach, with four horses in train, waited ominously nearby. All around her were soldiers. Counting Lieutenant Henri Massiet, who rode the excitable French horse Iarbas, the line-up of fifteen jockeys included seven army officers and, by my count, five enthusiastic officers of Nazi paramilitary groups: SS-Untersturmführer Lengnik, SA-Oberführer Wiese, SA-Scharführer Lemke, SS-Scharführer Schmidt and SS-Unterscharführer Scharfetter. The civilians included Schlagbaum, who would sign up with the German army at the earliest possible opportunity. Twice that season he had beaten Lata’s Hubertus riding a horse called Tank. It seems unlikely that the symbolism was wasted on Lata.

  She was used to veiled hostility. Today there was no veil. Many of the men she was up against were real fighting men: trained for warfare and, in some cases, hardened by it. What lay ahead was a fierce and dangerous confrontation. An editorial in the official race-day programme spoke rousingly of ‘the Battle of Pardubice’, citing stirring examples from military history before boasting: ‘Against the foreign invasion we are deploying the best we have.’ That very day, in the northern town of Teplice, there were clashes between demonstrators and police at an SdP rally – prompting Konrad Heinlein to call for ‘the Sudeten German issue to be decided with the help of the German Empire’. How could any jockey’s mind not have been crossed by the thought that they and their rivals would soon be trying to kill one another?

  Shortly after the appointed time, the starter, Antonin Krulis, gave his long-awaited shout: ‘Gehen! Jděte!’ Never had the command to ‘go’ sounded so much like an order to advance into battle. Fifteen riders urged their horses forward. Within seconds they were charging – and in each mind for a moment there would have been that strange peace that comes when all other worries are forgotten, while the fresh anxieties created by the race have yet to come into focus.

  The first three jumps went smoothly, despite the fast pace. Radomil was the early leader, followed by Upman. The others were already manoeuvring to be well positioned for Taxis. But race plans, like battle plans, rarely last long once the action has started. By the time you have jumped the third, the Small Water Jump, it is too late to do very much about changing your position. You need to play the hand you have been dealt and focus on maintaining a straight approach at a pace that suits your horse, giving it the best possible chance of jumping the big one well.

  Schmidt, who had recently celebrated the 100th win of his career, had managed to get Edenhall to the front in time to lead the charge at the great obstacle alongside Radomil. Lengnik and Herold were out to the right, slightly behind. They may have been forced further out than they would have liked as they came out of the bend for the Small Water. Lata and Norma were near the centre but also hanging back.

  The leading pair jumped Taxis beautifully. So did Norma, avoiding two nearby fallers, Iarbas and Wieland. Herold seemed to take off well, yet something went wrong. The grey Trakehner fell heavily on landing, and Lengnik was flung from the saddle so violently that he broke his collar bone. Lata would have been too focused on her own safe landing to notice this. But she may have gradually sensed, over the next few obstacles, that Herold was not in sight.

  What she couldn’t have known, although perhaps she should have guessed, was that all three fallen riders had remounted and continued. Like several others, Iarbas and Wieland struggled at the next – the Irish Bank, which has to be climbed rather than jumped – and thereafter looked increasingly forlorn. Far behind them came Herold, slowly recovering lost ground. Lengnik’s agony hardly bears thinking about, but he was not the type to surrender, and certainly not in this battle; and Herold was too devoted to his rider to let him down.

  For Lata, the Irish Bank was pleasantly familiar: a puzzle to which she knew the solution. The key here (according to the jockey Václav Chaloupka) is to ‘instil the horse with courage’. Norma barely needed help in that respect, and she negotiated bank and ditch without difficulty.

  Heading out towards the Popkovice corner, Lata must have felt a cautious optimism. The pace was still very fast, and everyone seemed to be vying for the lead, but things couldn’t have gone much better so far. There were, however, still several miles to go.

  The route of the course behind the woods had been altered slightly to accommodate the recent expansion of the airport. None the less, the Popkovice fence and the French Jump passed without incident. Coming out from behind the woods, Norma was a comfortable fifth. Schlagbaum led on Quixie, with Edenhall (Schmidt), Elfe (Lemke) and Dagger (Aubrecht) just behind.

  The eleventh obstacle, the Big English Jump, defeated both Iarbas and Cipera with its wicked combination of post, ditch, hedge and raised landing – all to be dealt with while coming out of a bend. Their failure made little difference to the leading group but did clear the way a little for the fast-recovering Herold. For a few deceptive minutes, the race continued without drama. Jockeys had a chance to look around them as the dozen survivors wound steadily back through the middle of the course. They jumped the twelfth and thirteenth – Lata was always superstitiously relieved to get the thirteenth behind her – and continued up to the top (by the road) for what by then was called Popler’s Jump. Then they turned back down towards the stands. As they jumped the fifteenth (a drop-ditch) and the sixteenth (the stone wall) the field strung out in roughly the following order: Quixie, Edenha
ll, Upman, Norma, Romulus, Dagger, Wahne, Milonga, Elfe, Herold, Lethe and (for a while) Wieland.

  Then they were behind the stands, heading out into the ploughed fields. Some armchair jockeys liked to claim that the plough was easier than it had been in the Velká Pardubicka’s earliest years, when the race was held several weeks later in the year. ‘Without the November mud,’ said one opinion piece that day, ‘the track is a billiard table.’ This was nonsense. The fields were not just ploughed but deeply ploughed, under the personal supervision of the course manager, Jiĭí Drahoš. In one photograph I have seen, you wonder that the ploughman could get his tractor through it, so deep are the furrows. The going for the course proper was reported to be heavy; and although the fields did not present the kind of near-impassable bog that had reduced the 1931 race to a crawl, the long arc through the mud still made severe demands on stamina. Upman appeared to be handling it best, and moved steadily up the field; but this may have been deceptive. As Lata warned a younger jockey many years later: ‘You pay for speed in this place.’ Instead, she took Norma on a slightly wider, less direct route than the others, where the going was less heavy, and allowed her to make her own pace. She knew that they could make up any lost time later.

  Approaching the stands again, but still behind them, they reached the nineteenth obstacle in mostly unchanged order. This was the Snake Ditch: the worst of several deceptively simple-looking water ditches, 4.5 metres wide, with a treacherous drop from take-off to landing – but no visible obstacle. When the ditch is full, as it was on this occasion, you can see the water trembling at the horses’ approach, and it is hard to persuade a horse still recovering from the plough to jump it with any enthusiasm. So it proved now: Wahne, Wieland, Dagger, Upman and Elfe all fell, although only Backenhaus on Wieland failed to remount. Quixie, Norma and Herold jumped it successfully. Shortly afterwards, Upman threw his rider. Edenhall led briefly but was defeated by the Big Water Jump (the twenty-first), bringing Schmidt’s race to an end. The watching crowds barely noticed: the real action was by now taking place some way ahead.

  On the far side of the track, in full view of the stand, the remaining serious contenders raced from right to left, back towards the Popkovice corner for the second time. Quixie led, followed by Norma, followed by . . . actually, it hardly matters. The battle of Pardubice had by now been reduced – assuming no further jumping mishaps – to a two-horse race, with Schlagbaum and Lata in the saddles.

  Quixie and Norma were the only horses that had not fallen. Despite this, Schlagbaum, in the maroon- hooped yellow colours of Stáj Quixie, had somehow lost his hard hat. Sensing the chance of victory in the biggest race of his life, he was riding like a man in the fury of battle, sometimes leaning extravagantly to maintain his balance over the bigger jumps. Lata’s style was more economical, her body closer to the horse. The red and white stripes of the Kinský colours made her instantly recognisable – as, of course, did the pale golden hide of Norma.

  Both pairings continued to jump superbly. Little Taxis (the twenty-second) often presents problems to tired horses, looking more innocuous than it is. (Pavel Liebich thinks ‘it would be easier if it was twenty centimetres higher.’) But Quixie and Norma soared over it – in that order. They also dealt deftly with the ‘in and out’ Garden fences, cleared the next two simple ditches, and disappeared behind the Popkovice woods for the last time. As they did so, Lata looked behind her and saw no pursuing Germans. A wild thought filled her heart: ‘The race is mine!’

  But there was still a fight to be won; and, according to Lata, that fight was now being fuelled by the animosity between the two jockeys. ‘He knew I was holding Norma back all the time and was afraid of the finish. Several times he tried to push us aside at an obstacle or a wall.’ The hidden stretch behind the woods would have been a good place to do so: there were no giant TV screens, as there are today, on which spectators in the stands could see the flying scraps of turf and the steam of the thundering horses. What happened in the shadows of the Popkovice conifers stayed in those shadows. But if dirty tricks were attempted they did not succeed. Both horses cleared the Popkovice fence and the French Jump, and still Quixie led.

  Two jumps to go. The horses could be seen from the stands now. The excitement could have been heard miles away. Lata felt confident: she could feel Quixie’s tiredness. And now the moment was near. Just before the second-last, she urged Norma forward. Seeming to sense the finish, the mare charged forward – but Schlagbaum cut across to block her before she could pass. Lata was forced to rein her back, allowing Quixie to jump first. For a few terrible seconds it felt as though all her momentum had gone.

  But Lata still believed in Norma. More importantly, Norma believed in her. That was Lata’s great secret, and it had never mattered more. She roused Norma, dug in again, urged her towards the jump. There was a quick tap-dance of hooves – and the mare was flying again.

  The lost ground was soon made up. Schlagbaum seemed to have cut over a little too far and was no longer riding the optimum line. Quixie, meanwhile, was visibly tiring. As they approached the last, Lata – or perhaps Norma – saw her chance. They flew forward on the inside, soaring over the obstacle and landing in the lead. Lata knew they could win now. She knew they would win. Norma knew they would win. As they kicked on for the line, 40,000 spectators knew it too.

  One length, two lengths, three lengths . . . Quixie could not respond. Norma reached the line with a seven- lengths lead, going away, ears pricked up with what looked remarkably like joy. The noise and emotion were almost too volcanic for the mind to take in. For Lata, afterwards, that was almost the only memory. ‘That was my best reward,’ she explained, ‘the audience’s boundless excitement . . . In that moment, you feel that you’d be able to win all over again.’

  What followed was a blur. Herold, amazingly, finished a distant third; followed, eventually, by seven other defeated runners. Herold was loudly applauded: whatever uniform Lengnik wore, he and his horse had proved that they were warriors. Lengnik and Lata were able to exchange congratulatory words; some said that it wasn’t clear who was congratulating whom. Wiese, too, found time to shake Lata by the hand, saying simply: ‘At last, it is done.’ Soon afterwards, Lengnik collapsed. The East Prussian would spend several days in a Pardubice hospital before he could return to Germany.

  Ra quickly found his way to Norma’s side. So did Josef Soukup, the groom, who had earlier prepared a big white V-for-victory sash (actually V-for-vítězství), which he was now wearing proudly across his chest, neatly matching the enormous smile on his face. But nothing matched the radiance of Lata’s own smile as the four of them – Lata, Ra, Soukup and Norma – made their slow, proud way towards the winner’s enclosure. The silk cap had been ripped from her hard hat by then: it is not clear who by.

  Someone offered her an overcoat, but she could have kept warm from joy alone. There was so much to celebrate: an 80,000-crown prize for Ra; the third-fastest Velká Pardubická time on record (ten minutes, forty-seven seconds); the pleasure of having stood up to and vanquished a seemingly invincible enemy; and the bewildering realisation that a long-cherished dream had come true.

  Yet the greatest happiness, according to Lata, was the fact that the delight was shared. ‘I will never forget the moment when thousands and thousands of hands waved and everyone shouted “Norma!”,’ she said later. ‘And when everyone rejoiced, applauding and cheering for our victory, it seemed to me that never before were people so truly and amicably united . . .’

  For a shy woman who had spent half a lifetime sitting awkwardly on the edge of life’s dances, the intensity of the acclaim was disorienting: ‘It moved me to tears,’ she confessed. At some point she dismounted. In a photograph showing her doing so, she looks as though she is about to swoon from happiness. She was still wearing her capless hard helmet, like a soldier’s. Karel Šmejda joined them. Behind him, what felt like an ocean of friendly faces lapped against their little group. Even Norma seemed thrilled, ears still pric
ked forward, nose held high, keeping her head close to Lata’s as she surveyed the excitement.

  ‘I walked with my beloved Norma to the winner’s enclosure, and forty thousand people were mad with joy. I could see Norma leading the way, while I enjoyed the delight and the applause of the spectators.’ Lata wanted to share the victory with Norma: ‘Three-quarters of that glory belonged to the horse.’ Since Norma didn’t like treats, it was difficult to reward her. ‘But I believe she did understand the praise and flattery with which she was showered; and she understood how genuinely I shared the victory with her.’

  Then she added, with just the faintest hint of a poignant subtext: ‘Never have I known such happiness – the feeling that, far and wide, there was no one who did not like me.’

  24.

  Rejoice!

  Norma’s victory was celebrated as few Czech victories, sporting or otherwise, had ever been celebrated. Joyful crowds refused to leave the racetrack for hours. Racegoers who a decade earlier had scoffed at the thought that a woman could even enter their favourite race now shouted the praises of the woman they called ‘our Miss’, basking in the glory she had won on their behalf.