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Eclipse

Newmarket and the afternoon before the most important race of my career. I should have been in my flat behind the Jockey Club watching racing videos, relaxing and trying to get myself into the correct frame of mind but instead I found myself playing tourist in the Horseracing Museum.

When she had heard that I was to have my first classic race my sister had at once phoned up to say that she would come and "give moral support." She had duly arrived with my young niece and nephew in tow, both proud to be seen with their jockey uncle, Farquhar MacDonald.

I had felt that I was obliged to make some effort to entertain them and had suggested a visit to the Racing Museum. There was one exhibit which caught the imagination of both the children. The skeleton of Eclipse. They gazed at it in complete silence for a few minutes and then Meg said,

"It looks rather small for a racehorse."

"Remember it's just bones," said David. "No hoofs. No horseshoes."

That was the start of it. Questions. Questions. Questions. Who was Eclipse? What had he done? What did he look like?

I did my best. Patiently I explained that Eclipse had been a great eighteenth century racehorse. He had won all his races by a distance giving rise to the famous phrase "Eclipse first, the rest nowhere." I was even able to tell Meg what he looked like because he had been painted by George Stubbs. He was a chestnut with a white face and one white leg. The right hind leg.

It was not until the next day that I discovered that the remarkable story of Eclipse is still far from over.

A few years ago I had come to Newmarket, to the Racing School. Afterwards I was lucky to get an apprenticeship with a Newmarket trainer, Mr Geoffrey Murray. I had some things going for me. I was small - just over five feet - and I had no problems with my weight. Also I did have a fair amount of talent. But on the debit side I had no racing pedigree and no connections. So it was a case of work hard and hope for a lucky break.

And it seemed that such a lucky break had come at last.

Fillies are notorious for being quirky and tempermental and I had been looking after one of the quirkiest imaginable, Silver Dollar. She had a tremendous turn of speed but she was a very difficult filly to ride. She would strive with all her heart to reach the front but as soon as she got there she felt she had achieved her ambition and would slacken off. So in a race her jockey had to have perfect timing. To make things worse she had to be ridden with hands and heels as she would sulk if touched with the whip. I used to ride her out.

She was entered for the 1,000 Guineas. A week before the race her regular jockey was badly injured in a car accident. The problem of finding, at short notice, another jockey. Lengthy discussions among her connections and rumours in the stableyard. Finally I was offered the ride. My big chance had come.

Newmarket. The Rowley course.

From the very moment that Mr Murray hoisted me into the saddle I felt that things were going to go well. Silver gave me that inexplicable good "feel." I was first off going down to the start and I took her down at a steady canter. She was sweating slightly - but only slightly. A good sign. She behaved beautifully and, when the time came, allowed herself to be led into her stall.
I took a firm grip on the reins. Now for it. Somehow I had to make sure she did not run away with me. The starter's cry of "Jockeys" and the gates flew open with their usual crash. Then a minor miracle. Silver missed the break and I was able to tuck her in behind the rest.

At first this was ideal for me. I did not need to hold her back. There was no way she could get through the horses in front. My plan was to take her to the outside later where she would have a clear run. That would be easiest for me. A more experienced jockey could have kept her in the middle of the pack and threaded his way through the spaces as they appeared but I was not going to risk getting boxed in.

We flew down the track. The sixth furlong marker. The fifth. At the fourth I decided it was time. I carefully eased her over to the outside. The moment she saw clear ground in front of her I felt her stride lengthen. I let her get on with the job herself. I concentrated on keeping still and tried not to do anything to disturb her natural rhythm. By the third furlong she was just behind the leaders. By the second she was neck and neck with the leader. Then she was in front. I was in despair. I had lost the race. She would not keep her lead for two whole furlongs. Already I felt her slacken off. I shook up the reins and kicked desperately.

Suddenly I glimpsed the figure of a horse in front of me. At first it was a rather shadowy, insubstantial figure. Then something happened and I could clearly see a chestnut galloping ahead of me. It seemed to have no saddle. No rider. Where had it come from?
I had no time to wonder because beneath me I felt Silver come alive again. She was frantically trying to catch the strange horse. She galloped as she had never galloped before but she could not catch it. It did not matter. She left the rest of the field standing and that was what counted . The unknown horse was not an official Wetherby's declared runner.

We passed the winning post and galloped onto the Heath. The strange horse slowed down and I eased Silver into a canter and then into a trot and finally a walk.

I sat down firmly in the saddle and looked carefully at the mystery horse. Chestnut with one white sock. I had seen him before. In a print of a painting by Stubbs. It was Eclipse.
Eclipse stopped. He turned and looked at us. He shook his head, then turned and galloped across the Heath. All at once he was swallowed up in the heat haze.

Even then the true significance of what had happened did not strike me. My horse was still my first consideration. I rode Silver carefully through the crowds to the winners' enclosure. Mr Murray looked at me as if he could not believe his eyes but he did manage to say weakly, "Well done, lad."

It was not until I had my saddle in my hands and was on my way to weigh in that I had time to ponder over the uncanny events of the last few minutes. The ghost of Eclipse had appeared and had helped me to win my first big race.

That was the real beginning of my career. News came that Silver's regular jockey was to be out of action for the rest of the season and it was decided that I should keep the ride on her. Her next race was at Epsom. The Oaks. No help from Eclipse at Epsom but we did manage to win by a short head. "Back to her old tricks again," Mr Murray growled in the winner's enclosure. The royal meeting at Ascot. Glorious Goodwood. Then she was given a rest until the autumn.

Newmarket again and a very important race for both of us. The Dubai Champion Stakes.

Usually before a race I am very tense. This is bad because a rider's tension can travel down the reins to the horse. But that afternoon I felt extremely calm. I just knew that everything was going to go well. From the opening of the gates everything went perfectly. I kept her tucked in at the back and then I took her over to the outside where she could have a clear run. This time I was not worried about hitting the front too early. We took the lead just after we had passed the famous bushes. Then I saw what I had been waiting for. The clear shape of Eclipse emerging in front of me. Silver strove with all her heart to catch him but of course she could not.

We finished ten lengths ahead of the next horse. The Dubai win opened up a sucessful career for both of us. If Silver had been a colt she would probably been retired to stud at once but being a filly she was allowed to train on and race as an older horse. She was soon classed as a "Newmarket specialist". She won all her Newmarket races by a distance, but on any other course, if she took the lead too soon she would lose interest and the race.
She raced for another five years and then took up residence on the other side of Newmarket Heath among the mares at the National Stud.

As for me, I was offered more and more rides and I was champion jockey six times. But I always remembered to whom I owed my success. I read everything I could about Eclipse. One day I wrote a short article about him. I sent it off to a horse magazine. It was accepted and one thing led to another and when I finally hung up my boots last year I signed a contract with the BBC. I also write articles about racing history for a magazine. So Eclipse has also helped me to a second career.

Whenever I can sneak time away from my duties I like to walk through the club car park at Newmarket and stand at the rails just beyond the finish. There, on late summer afternoons, I have often seen my old friend Eclipse. He will come to a halt, paw the ground, snort and then toss his proud head before turning and galloping across the Heath towards the mysterious Devil's Dyke.

But there is one question I cannot answer.

Am I the only person to have seen the ghost of Eclipse or have other people seen him too?

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