FOLLOW THE MORNING STAR (34 page)

‘So, how’s it going?’ he asked.

‘Great. I’m just roughing out a release form for guests to sign as Bruce suggested.’

‘Just make sure if they fall off a horse they don’t sue us.’

‘Oh, I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen. Bruce says people will always say they can ride even if they’ve never been on a horse before. But I’m really happy with the horses I’ve got. Steady, patient and calm; they’ll canter easily but not take off. And Greta has “trained” Pansy and Jeffery the Shetlands. We had to teach them not to take off when kicked in the flanks. Kids seem to curl their legs up automatically and kick them in that crease where it hurts.’

Colin nodded but he wasn’t really interested. ‘How’s that racehorse of George’s?’

‘Well, he’s here. I’ve ridden him once or twice on that flat stretch along the river. What’s happening to him?’

‘They want to race him at Grafton.’

‘What? He’s untrained and out of condition — he doesn’t stand a chance!’

Colin shrugged. ‘They just want to check him. He used to be good. But he developed a problem. They want to see if he still has it. George is looking for a good horse. Do you want to come along? It would be helpful if you could come and look after him.’

‘He’ll certainly need looking after,’ said Saskia testily. ‘If he has the will to win, being so unfit, he’ll bust a gut!’

‘So get him as fit as you can.’

Saskia glared at Colin. ‘Is this part of my job description?’

‘Suit yourself. I don’t think they’ll pay you though.’

‘I wasn’t thinking of the money, I was thinking of the horse. I’ll be there.’

Colin grinned inwardly. Saskia reminded him of Queenie: she couldn’t resist a challenge, and when it came to horses she was a soft touch.

Saskia lifted the phone to ring Tango. She wanted to sound him out on some ideas she had been mulling over. But before he answered, she hung up. No, if she was going to do this, she was going to do it her way. She must trust her own instincts and judgement. She’d always had an idea about working with horses, she just hadn’t thought about racehorses — that had been TR and Tango’s province. Then she had realised their involvement with horses had clouded her own vision. But in recent months she had done a lot of
serious thinking. If she focused purely and simply on what interested her and where she thought her skills were, what she really wanted to do was to train horses, starting right from breaking them in. Just because Tango and TR ran a stud didn’t mean she couldn’t do it too — her own way. Saskia knew she had to prove herself before she would ever consider working at Guneda. She didn’t want any favours. If the day came when TR and Tango offered her a proper job, it would be because she had proved to them she was good.

Saskia had never forgotten a chance encounter she’d had at the Longreach Show when she was a young girl. Her mother had taken her along to the rodeo and one of the clowns had come up to greet them.

‘G’day, Queenie, saw some of Tingulla’s stock in the ring. Very nice. This your youngster?’

Saskia had been introduced to Maxi the Clown, who’d offered to take her round to the back of the rodeo where the clowns and performers had their tents. There was a troop of dancing ponies and various other acts that had enthralled the large crowd earlier in the day. Queenie, knowing she’d be safe with Maxi, had agreed. For Saskia it had been one of the great afternoons of her young life.

One of the clowns had shown her how to juggle; she’d watched the clowns paint on their faces; she’d combed the tails and manes of the dancing ponies, and had been shown how the miniature dancing dogs walked on their hind legs and did cartwheels on the backs
of the ponies. But the performance she’d loved best was Jimmy Wilton and his wonder horse along with his brilliant team of seven white Alsatian wonder dogs.

‘Jimmy is Australia’s master horseman. He gets horses to do things that no other horse in the world can do,’ Maxi had told her. ‘Do you want to meet him?’

Saskia had nodded but felt shy.

Sensing her feelings, Maxi reassured her. ‘The old man can be a bit gruff, but don’t take it to heart.’

She’d been surprised then when he led her to a large old car with battered upholstery and introduced her to a wrinkled old man wrapped in a sheepskin jacket with a bush hat jammed on his head. They’d shaken hands — Saskia remembered the roughness of that handshake — and eyed each other with interest. Then the old man had smiled and shuffled over in the seat as best he could to make room for her.

‘Got a crook leg and hip,’ he muttered. ‘Don’t mind the rips in the seats, that’s the dogs. Scotchy and Silver ride with me most of the time.’

‘What are the other dogs’ names?’ asked Saskia.

‘Sunny, Snowy, Soda, Susie and Sandy. Greatest animals on earth,’ said Jimmy in his raspy voice. ‘Woe betide anyone who tries to lay a finger on me while they’re about. So, you like horses, lass?’

‘Oh, yes,’ said Saskia firmly. ‘I want to work with them when I grow up.’

‘Do you now? Well, I’ve spent a lifetime
studying the brains of the equine and how they react to the actions of man. I’ve lived for nothing else, only the study and education of the horse,’ said Jimmy with no false modesty. ‘I reckon I know the most efficient, safe and humane method of catching, breaking and re-educating horses, whether they be trotters, pacers, saddle horses, racehorses, you name it. But like everything else, a bad teacher makes a bad animal. You treat your horse as a pal. Remember that.’

Saskia had nodded. ‘I wish you could teach me,’ she said shyly.

‘I’ve taught my method to a lot of blokes over the years, and it’s never failed. I even wrote a little book on how to do it. Here, write down your particulars and I’ll send you a copy.’

Later, when Maxi fetched her to take her back to her mother, Saskia had asked, ‘Is Jimmy rich, Maxi? He’s so clever.’

‘Nah, sad to say he’s not. A lot of blokes learned from Jimmy and pass his method off as their own. Others he’s taught have made a lot of money with Jimmy’s blessing. Jimmy is a humble man and his love of horses is more important to him. But I doubt anyone will ever be able to do the tricks he does with those horses and dogs of his. Bloody amazing man.’

Saskia had never told anyone details of her meeting with the great old horseman. It was a special and personal event she kept to herself. But, good to his word, several weeks later she’d received a slim book in the mail.
The Horse and His Education
by JD Wilton. It had pictures of Tim the Wonder Horse and the seven white
Alsatians and, written as he spoke in a no-nonsense style, was his fourteen-day step-by-step method of breaking in a horse, along with a lot of other valuable information on care and education of horses.

Saskia knew she could learn much from old men like Jimmy, who’d spent their lives around horses in the bush and in the racing game, but she also trusted her own observations and instinct. She felt she had a gift which she knew would have to be perfected by trial and error, but she was now determined to strive to become one of the top horse trainers in the country. Who knows, maybe she’d be the first woman to be a member of one of the elite all-male committees that oversaw horse racing in Australia.

Saskia didn’t consider being female altered her dreams or ambitions in any way. Queenie had seen to that. Her mother was her role model and she had shown Saskia that anything was possible. She didn’t know about glass ceilings, or barriers that held women back in their careers. To Saskia, if you wanted to do something, you did it as best you could. And if the opportunities weren’t there, or obstacles were placed in your path, then they were to be overcome — that was part of the challenge.

And now, for Saskia, this racehorse was her challenge.

Colin joined Alfredo Camboni and George Bannerman at Gallops disco where neon lights flashed over the dance floor, the bar was called
the Winning Post and the toilets were labelled Jockeys and Jockettes. Whips were tacked to the walls along with posters of buxom girls spilling out of jockeys’ silks. A mechanical bucking bronco was in constant use by squealing girls and macho city cowboys.

Colin slid into a leather booth, commenting to Alfredo, ‘This doesn’t seem like your sort of place’.

Alfredo winced at the level and quality of the music. ‘It is not. But we are meeting someone here. Our jockey.’

‘There he is,’ said George, indicating a flashily dressed, slight figure threading his way through the crowd towards them. ‘This is Donny Spukis. Known as the Spook,’ said George.

Colin noted that the jockey was not as young as he’d seemed across the room. The jockey nodded to each and shook hands before sitting down.

‘The Spook’s been riding up in the East,’ explained George.

‘Grafton’s a bit of a comedown from Hong Kong, isn’t it?’ said Colin bluntly.

The jockey shrugged. ‘This is just a dry run. I go where I’m paid.’

Alfredo cut in, changing the subject. ‘There’ll be a bigger race at the Gold Coast later on. We’ll find you rides never fear, Mr Spook. In fact, we’d like to see you ride the favourite in the Gold Coast Cup.’

George grinned at Colin. ‘Ever been to the East, Colin? Can get very hot.’ He winked at him in case he hadn’t got the reference to the Spook’s rapid departure from Asia.

With the din of laughter, chatter and music swirling about them, the four men talked in complete privacy, leaning across the table in deep conversation. The Spook listened more than he talked, nodding every so often, occasionally twisting the heavy gold ring set with a diamond on his little finger, a chunky gold watch hanging loosely on his wrist like a bracelet.

Saskia had agreed to deliver the horse to the track at Grafton. He had been registered as Duke’s Lad but she called him Toff, short for Toffee because of his colour, and because he looked so aristocratic. She had only been able to do some light work and exercise with him, but she knew his near perfect conformation matched a powerful heart and stride. She wanted to see him race with other horses to discover exactly what his bad habit was.

Saskia stood down at the railing to watch Toff’s race. Colin and George Bannerman watched from the members’ stand. Saskia had borrowed binoculars and she watched Toff carefully. He was well placed and moved up, but as soon as he was closed in by other horses she saw him flinch and pull up, despite the frantic whipping from the Spook. They moved to the outside clear of the pack and made up a lot of ground but as they came to the bend, Toff eased back again.

‘So that’s it,’ Saskia said to herself.

In the straight Toff took off again but he found it impossible to make up ground and placed fifth. Saskia was thoughtful as she
went back to the stalls behind the track. Toff had a phobia about crowding and taking a bend.

She saw Colin and Bannerman approaching the stalls leading Toff while the Spook was in the jockey’s room.

Colin caught her attention. ‘Hi, Saskia. Here, put this bloke away. This is George Bannerman.’

‘Hello, Mr Bannerman.’

‘Call me Georgy Porgy,’ he chuckled.

‘The horse can do better, Colin, I know what his problem is —’ began Saskia, but George Bannerman leaned over and pinched her cheek, a little too hard for comfort.

‘I’m the horsie expert here, sweetheart. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about Duke’s Lad. He’s doing his best.’

‘He can do better, Mr Bannerman.’

Colin frowned at her. ‘Leave it, Sas. Just take care of him and get back on the road. We’re not going to race him again.’

The two men headed back to the bar. Saskia shook her head and turned her attention back to Toff who was looking calm and rather pleased with himself now the race was over.

Saskia rubbed her hand over his eyes. ‘You enjoyed that, didn’t you? . . You just don’t like the bends and being crowded by those other guys. Well, tell you what, Toff, I’m going to fix that.’

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ruthie heaved the old forked wooden stick used as a clothes prop under the sagging line of heavy wet washing and picked up the empty clothes basket. On a sudden whim she put the big old wicker basket on her head and stretched out her arms for balance and attempted to walk with it on her head. She swayed and rocked her body, tottering for a few steps as the basket wobbled.

‘What the heck’re you doin’, Ruthie?’

‘Ooer! Ernie, I din’ know you was there. Now you made me drop it,’ said Ruthie, giggling as she picked up the basket.