Pearly

The ivory net curtain swirled gently in the spring breeze. Sir John gazed out of the bay window to where the horses roamed freely.

Today 'Grey Pearl' limped awkwardly. Sir John attempted to pull himself up from his wicker rocking chair to get a closer look. A sharp pain shot through his left knee. He fell back and dozed off.

'Grey Pearl' whinnied as the crowd roared. Her long ears twitched as she tossed her plaited mane.

John knew every blade of grass on the Norton track. He steered 'Grey Pearl' with the accuracy of a ship's captain. 'Grey Pearl' responded fulsomely, charging ahead, hooves barely touching the turf.

'Grey Pearl', John knew only too well, was a once-in-a-lifetime ride.

Her begrudgers lurked ever near. John's relative youth, as a nineteen-year-old, wunderkind jockey, meant the equine vultures could close in at any time.

John's buddy, Matt, warned him, 'Pearl' will be snatched from under your nose if you're not careful.' 

John was cock-a-hoop. As far as he was concerned 'Pearl' was his and nobody was going to snatch her.

Matt left Queen's County shortly thereafter and headed east.

John and 'Pearl' continued to make a great racing team.

 One Saturday morning in March, John whistled happily as he made his way to saddle up 'Grey Pearl' for the start of the Spring fixtures. The stable door was ajar. 'Pearl's' favourite Saturday morning treat of carrot and apple lay untouched. 'Grey Pearl' was missing.

Distraught, John flung the saddle onto the cement floor and jumping into the jeep, he roared off into the countryside.

But 'Pearl' had disappeared from the face of the earth. Or so it seemed.

Moping around for months after the kidnapping, John never rode another race. Years went by. Police investigations drew a blank.

John tried his luck as a car mechanic.

'Grey Pearl' haunted his waking hours. Sometimes, in the small hours, he imagined he heard again her familiar whinny. As day dawned and he donned his mechanic's overalls, he knew 'Pearl' was nowhere in sight.

At twenty-five, he swopped his mechanic's oil and grease for the familiar smell of horse manure.

Burly trainer, Bill Haines spotted his talent with horseflesh and offered him time training the young foals.

'Take Bluebell in hand for a couple o'months and see how she goes,' Haines suggested.

Though Bluebell was never going to be 'Pearl,' Bluebell was soon laden with rosettes of every hue and cups from the winners' enclosure.

He longed to feel 'Pearl' nuzzle the sleeve of his jockey's jacket before the two made their way to the stalls.

Bluebell had a very unpredictable temperament. Haines was pleased with her progress.

Gazing at a copy of the 'Evening Echo', late one summer's evening in nineteen- sixty-two, as he sipped a can of cool beer, John noticed an advert for a horse sanctuary, thirty kilometres away.

His eye fell on a photo of some new arrivals, among them a dappled grey. Above her beefy nostrils, a pearl-shaped white patch shone out among the grey. John eyes widened as he felt a frisson of excitement.

Jumping into his old green jeep, he sped off in the direction of the sanctuary.

 Next morning as the sun rose, he arrived at the sanctuary. All was still quiet as he parked his jeep close to where the animals were being led into the paddock.

'There she is my 'Pearl', he shouted out. The young stable hand heard the utterance and looked around. He had become quite used to people looking over the fence at the horses and passing comments.

John waited till the morning canter was finished. Then he sauntered up to the paddock and spoke with the stable boy.

'Nice horse you have there, eh?'

'Yes, this one, the grey is a pet really,' Pearly'. Dunno' why she is in here. Got lots of life in her yet.'

John was intrigued. 'Where you get your horses from?'

'Mostly old guys and girls goin' out to grass, but this one is different. Should still be racing.'

'Where'd you get her from?' John asked.

'Not sure where the boss, Arnie, sources them. Though heard him say something about the grey, that she belonged to a Mr Smith afore she ended up here.'

'Smith,' John repeated, 'would it be Matt Smith?'

'Can't be sure if it were or not, 'the young stable lad continued, ' what boss said was that Smith had some sort of accident and had to quit training. Seems he didn't know much 'bout horses. Just hung in for the loot, so they say. Who knows?'

'Is your boss, Arnold around today,' John enquired.

'Nah, Arnie goes off for weeks at a time. Will be back next week, though, for the local Spring Fete. Never misses that.'

John reached into the paddock and patted 'Pearly' on her white patch just above her nose.

'You gel with horses sir, you do?' the stable hand remarked.'

'Pearly' is a bit under the weather sometimes, but she's cheered up catching sight of you.'

The stable boy smiled nervously.

John could feel his anger rising. 'Pearl's' racing career had been so cruelly cut short., he thought. Still, it was a miracle to be reunited with her again.

Ten days later, 'Pearly' whinnied happily in the trailer attached to John's jeep as they drove into Bill Haines's stables.

'Where'd you get this bright spark from ?' Haines asked.

'You sure know how to pick 'em eh, Johnny?'

'Can we stable her here for a while?' John asked 'maybe set up some riding classes for kids in the holidays.

'Pearly's' temperament was always sweet,' Johnny added.

Haines decided not to ask too many questions. Trainers like John were hard to find.

Johnny's connection to horse flesh was unmistakable, Haines thought.

John's training career was legendary after that, ensuring Haines and himself were financially comfortable. A knighthood was bestowed on him in recognition of his services to the industry.

Though those momentous events happened in the past, John still had the pleasure, fifty years later, on this spring afternoon of feasting his eyes on his beloved 'Pearly.' 

Age had taken its toll and 'Pearly's' hock was increasingly a cause for concern.

But the old girl never failed to whinny with delight when she spotted John by the bay window.

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