D’éirigh go hiontach le scéal an chapaill Seabiscuit, ó  pheann Laura Hillenbrand, ón lá a tháinig ar an margadh é sa bhliain 2001. Anois tá scannán suimiúil le feiscint atá bunaithe ar an leabhar sin. Scéal an íochtaráin é ar dtúis, ní h-amháin scéal an chapaill féin ach scéal a cheansaitheora, Tom Smith, agus ar ndóigh scéal a mharcaigh, Red Pollard.

Bhí cuma coitianta ar an gcapall, agus coisíocht liobarnach. Ní raibh an t-imeacht maorga air mar ba cheart do chapall rása ag an am sin agus fós. Ba shean buachaill bó é Tom Smith, agus é gan réal na mbróg aige. Sean stíl  a bhí aige le capaill nár thuig éinne ag an am san. Ba bhrónach é scéal an mharcaigh, Red Pollard. Cé go raibh óige shona aige d’éirigh a thuismitheoirí bocht tar éis a saibhreas a chailliúint sa stocmhalartán i 1929. Bhí air a bheatha féin a thuilleadh óna dhéaga óg, idir obair le capaill agus dornálaíocht.

Chonaic  fear, darbh ainm Charles Howard go raibh spiorad spéisiúil sa chapall seo, Seabiscuit.  Cheannaigh sé é cé go raibh an créatúr bocht traochta tar éis an iomarca rásaíochta agus drochúsáide. Ansin, le cabhair ó Tom Smith, chuaigh an t-úinéir ar thóir mharcaigh a bheadh oiriúnach don chapall bocht. D’éirigh leis nuair a tháinig sé ar Red Pollard, an fear óg atá luaite thuas. Bhí an fhoireann le chéile. Idir 1936 agus 1940 nuair a bhí saol crua ag an ngnáthphobal thug an ceathrar seo dóchas dóibh. ‘Sea deirtear go raibh an capall aisteach seo níos cáiliúla ná aon pholaiteoir ná réalta scannáin i Meiriceá na blianta san.

Chuir scéal Seabiscuit i gcuimhne dom capall léimrása a mhair in Éirinn i rith na seascaidí.  “Arkle” an t-ainm a bhí air. Rugadh i gContae na Mí é i 1957 agus cuireadh go stábla Tom Dreaper i gContae Chill Dara é i 1961. Deirtí go raibh cuma an-aisteach ar an gcapall óg. Bhí sé tanaí agus gan cuannacht. Bhí sé ag snámh in aghaidh an tsrutha ar dtús, toisc na rásaí a bheith ró ghearr dó. Ach sul i bhfad faoi chúram Tom Dreaper agus Pat Taaffe mar mharcach air, bhí an báire leis agus ba shoiléir gur capall thar chapall a bhí ann. Bhí an lá leis mór chuid na h-aimsire in Éirinn agus ansin cuireadh chun Cheltenham é don chéad uair I 1963. Rith sé sa “Novices Chase” agus ní raibh fadhb ar bith aige leis sin. Tháinig Arkle ar ais abhaile tar éis an rása agus b’fhíor go raibh sé ina réalta. Thugadh “Himself”mar ainm ceana air agus dá raibh éinne i lucht na gcapall ag tagairt faoi níor ghá a ainm a luaigh ar chor ar bith!

Idir 1964 agus 1965 do bhuaigh Arkle na rásaí tábhachtacha ar fad in Éirinn agus sa Bhreatain Mhór: The Leopardstown Chase; The Irish Grand National; The Hennessy Gold Cup; The Cheltenham Gold Cup agus The King George VI Chase. D’éirigh leis arís sa Cheltenham Gold Cup agus sa Leopardstown Chase i 1966.

Is cuimhin liom ag imirt “Arkle” le mo chairde beaga cé nach raibh baint ar bith againn nó ag ár líonta tithe i gcúrsaí rása! Chuirimis cliatha suas inár gcúlghairdíní beaga cathracha. Théimis timpeall ag screadaíl agus sinn ag “teacht abhaile”. Nuair a bhíodh rás ar an teilifís tráthnónta Sathairn bhínn ann! Mise i mo Pat Taaffe féinig ar m’Arkle, árdstól cistine, téad mar srian agam, ag ligint a cheann do mo chapall uasal agus an bheirt againn ag teacht chun na líne deiridh ….Bhíodh an chraobh linne i gcónaí.

Chuireadh ana mheáchan ar Arkle mar “handicap” de bharr an méid rásaí a bhuaigh sé. Bhí air breis agus dhá chloch dhéag a iompar, sé sin breis agus céad seasca ocht phunt; níos mó ná aon chapall eile. Ba mhinic a bhíodh 35 nó 40 punt meáchain idir é féin agus an chéad chapall eile agus fós fhéin, leis an míbhuntáiste mór sin, chuireadh sé a chroí sa ghnó agus b’annamh gur theip air. Bhí sé ina rogha na coitiantachta i gcónaí agus thagadh daoine nach raibh mórán suime acu i ngealltóireacht chuig na rásaí chun é a fheiscint. Théadh cuairteoirí, cuid acu turasóirí , chuige i gCill Dara. Tá sé ráite chomh maith gur scríobh rógaire ó Bhaile Átha Cliath “Arkle for President” ar falla éigin I bpríomhchathair na tíre. Ní dóigh liom go mbeadh Eamon de Valera toilteanach srian na tíre a ghéilleadh d’Arkle áfach!

Ar an 27ú  Mí na Nollag 1966 bhí ionadh ar chách ag féachaint ar an rás, King George VI, mar tháinig Arkle abhaile sa tarna áit. Tar éis scrúdaithe dúirt a thréidlia gur bhriseadh cnámh chois an chapaill le linn an rása, ach níor stad sé ag rith i lár an rása, lean sé. Dhein sé a dhícheall go dtí an deireadh, an créatúr bocht. Chuir an meáchan an iomarca brú air agus é ina léimchapall, ag teacht anuas ar na cosa arís is arís eile; ní nach ionadh gurb é seo toradh an scéil. An bhféadfá a rá go mbíonn cothromaíocht sna rásaí seo in aon chor?

Cuireadh ar ais abhaile é agus chaith Arkle an t-am a bhí fágtha aige i gCill Dara. Fuair sé cártaí beannachtaí ó go leor daoine in Éirinn agus fiú ón mBreatain Mhór. Tá sé ráite nach raibh ach “Arkle, Ireland” mar sheoladh ar chuid acu.

Ní raibh leigheas ar bith acu don chos, rinneadh bacach dó sa deireadh cé go raibh biseach air ar dtús. In ainneoin an aire a thugadh tháinig airtríteas air tar éis tamaill. Sa deireadh bhí deacrachtaí ag Arkle bocht fiú seasamh agus gan seanbhróg a dhéanamh den scéal cuireadh ar shlí na fírinne é ar an 31ú Bealtaine 1970.

Is spórt ársa go leor é rásaíocht capall in Éirinn. Tá a fhios againn go raibh taithí ag an gCraobh Ruadh ar chapaill. Tá cuid mhór seanscéalta, seanfhocail agus logainmneacha fréamhaithe ar an gcapall chomh maith.  Do bhíodh gnáthdhaoine na tíre tógtha le cúrsaí capall ó na cianta agus ní fada ó shin do bhíodh aontaí capall i ngach baile uair nó dhó sa bhliain agus rásaí ar na tránna…ach beidh insint an scéil sin againn lá eile.

Bíonn ainm an chapaill chróga Arkle fós le chloisint i Cheltenham, mar tugtar “The Arkle Challenge Trophy” ar cheann de na rásaí sa chruinniú rása sin gach bliain. “D’Arkle” atá mar ainm air go neamhoifigiúil in Éirinn. Tá cnámharlach uasal ár laochra chapaill ina sheasamh i dtaispeántas in Iarsmalann Graí Náisiúnta na hÉireann i gCill Dara, ach, le bheith macánta, is fearr liomsa Arkle a choimeád beo i mo smaointí gan féachaint ar aon cnámha.  Arkle, capall an chroí mhóir, ag déanamh chun na líne deiridh, cosa in airde aige, gan stró ar bith agus na tosaithe eile i bhfad thaobh thiar de.

-Lasairchoille

Macallaí
The Irish Echo. NY. October 2003

Seabiscuit, Laura Hillenbrand’s 2001 nonfiction account of the famous American racehorse was a runaway success from the moment it appeared on bookshelves in 2001. A movie was subsequently made based on her story and it too was very successful. The book is the interwoven stories of a collection of underdogs, not only that of the horse but the story of his trainer, Tom Smith and his jockey, Red Pollard and perhaps the poorer people of America at that time. The horse himself had a very ordinary appearance and apparently a somewhat clumsy gait. He really did not have the majestic, dignified and elegant carraige that one would expect of a superstar race horse of his time and now. Tom Smith was a penniless ex cowboy, who nonetheless understood horses. Red Pollard’s life was a sorry tale; Though he had a comfortable childhood, his family lost their wealth in the stock market crash of 1929. Pollard had to support himself from his early teenage years as a stable hand, subsidized by amateur boxing. Charles Howard saw something in this strange young horse and bought him when the colt was at a low ebb, after years of mis handling and abuse. Howard put together the team of horse, trainer and jockey and to the surprise of all in the racing world this team of four succeeded, over the period 1936 to 1940, to inject a fever of joy in not only the racing public but in the hearts of the ordinary working class American, when in reality their world was bereft of much hope. It was said at the time that this peculiar horse was more famous than any movie star or politician of the period.

The story of Seabiscuit reminded me of an Irish National Hunt or steeplechase racehorse of the sixties, called Arkle. Arkle was born in county Meath in 1957 and sent to the Tom Dreaper stables in 1961. It was reported that he had a very odd appearance as a young horse. He was very thin and lacked grace. He never did very well in his races until Tom Dreaper and jockey Pat Taaffe began to experiment with the distances he ran. Before long it was clear that he had greater stamina than previously thought, he needed to run farther to reach his peak speed, soon he was entered in longer races. He began to win. He began to win alot of his races. In 1963 he was sent to Cheltenham for the first time, the mecca of racing world in Ireland and Britain, he ran and won The Novices Chase. Returning home after his first visit to Cheltenham it was clear that Arkle had become a star.  From then on he was called “Himself”, a pet name. It wasn’t necessary to mention his name any more, everyone in Ireland with any involvement in racing knew who was being referred to if the word “Himself” was used.[1]

Between 1964 and 1965 Arkle won all of the important races in both Ireland and England; The Leopardstown Chase, The Irish Grand National, The Hennessy Gold Cup, The Cheltenham Gold Cup, The King George VI Chase. In 1966 he succeeded again at Cheltenham, taking the Gold Cup and he also won the Leopardstown Chase in Dublin that year.[2]

I clearly remember playing “Arkle” with my friends, although none of us, nor our families, had any ties to the racing world.  We used to set up jumps in our little city backyards and we would chase around our racecourses screeching as we “came home” down the “final stretch”. Saturday afternoon racing was a highpoint, watching our hero on television. I used to be Pat Taaffe on my Arkle, a high kitchen stool with string as reins, a cushion saddle, letting my noble steed have his head over the final furlongs as both of us approached the finish. Arkle and his five year old jockey, the championship was always ours.

Steeplechase, or National Hunt racing is far from fair. Handicaps are used in the form of weights to create what is really an unequal competition, where the best is penalized for his greatness and where chance is allowed a bigger part than it should have as the bookmakers coffers grow. Due to his phenomenal success, Arkle carried over 12 stone, 168 lbs in weight,  often greater than 40 pounds more than his nearest rival in a race, and even with such a disadvantage the horse put his heart into the business and it was seldom he lost. He, like SeaBiscuit many years before and in a different continent, became the hero of the “common folk.” Many started attending race meetings and placing bets who had never before been interested, it is said that people attended meetings not even to bet on a race but just to see Arkle. He often received guests in Kildare where he lived, Arkle became a tourist attraction! It was also reported that a Dublin rogue wrote “Arkle For President!” on a wall in the capital city during the election year. Though I doubt if Éamonn de Valera would have been willing to surrender the reins of the country to Arkle even if the horse were more popular at that time.

On the 27th of December, 1966 everyone watching the King George VI was surprised. Arkle came home in second place. But after an examination a Veterinarian announced that Arkle had broken a bone during the race. Even so the horse did his best to the end. The extra weight he had to bear created too much pressure on the bones of his front legs, especially stressful for a horse which has to jump over and over again. It was reported that his front leg struck a barrier which could have led to the fracture. But this outcome can hardly have been a surprise. Is it correct to say that these handicapped races are in any way fair?

Arkle was sent home and he spent the time he had left in Kildare. He received get well cards and gifts from all over Ireland and England. It was documented that some of those coming from England were addressed simply “Arkle, Ireland.” There was no cure for his injured leg, he was permanently lame. After some years arthritis set in, there were even rumors of brucellosis but this was never confirmed, and when Arkle could no longer stand it was decided to send him on the “way of truth,” and he was given a lethal injection on 31st of May 1970.

The horse has had an interesting, and far-reaching role in Irish history and horseracing in Ireland is truly an ancient sport. Horses were very important to the Red Branch, the elite warriors of the Ulster Cycle who fought using horse drawn chariots and also on horseback. Their stories are recorded as early as the 5th Century. Horses were considered to be close to the otherworld, in that they could see ghosts, a skill unknown to most humans.[3]  Many Irish proverbs and placenames feature horses eg. Armagh, or Ard Mhacha, named after Macha, the goddess of war and horses. Aughinis, (an anglicised version of Each Inis,) Horse Island is in county Limerick, in the Shannon Estuary near Faing Inish, aka Foynes. The word Limerick itself, Luimneach may come from Léim an Each, Flight of the Horse. “Is maith an capall nach ndéanann barrthuisle riamh: It’s a good horse that never stumbles.” 

During the dark days of the penal laws Catholics could not own a horse valued at more than 5 pounds. More recently still, in the latter part of the 20th the horse was still used to pull a trap in country areas out of necessity, rather than as some quaint hobby. The ordinary people of Ireland have always been fond of the horse and until relatively recently there used to be horse fairs in country towns, usually once or twice each year. Impromptu pony race meets on beaches were not an unusual sight in my youth and many young middle and upper middle class children from the cities would at some stage take riding lessons. In working class districts horses would be, and still are, kept as rather large pets, status symbols, often tethered in city gardens or on the long acre, the grassy side of a country road, just outside city boundaries.

The name of my noble hero, Arkle, can still be seen and heard in Cheltenham. “The Arkle Challenge Trophy” was so named in his memory, however this race is unofficially  known as “The Arkle”  or sometimes “Darkle” in Dublin. Arkle’s skeleton was preserved and is on permanent display at the Museum of the National Stud in Kildare, but to be honest, instead of viewing his bones I much rather keep him alive in my memory. Arkle, that great-hearted horse, flying to the finish, and the rest of the field far, far behind.

[1] National Stud Equine Museum. Kildare Ireland

[2] A Tribute to Arkle: The Sporting Chronicle. http://www.geocities.com/jdgxxxx/index.html

[3] Dr, D. Ó hÓgáin, Myth Legend and Romance (Prentice Hall Press1991)