CHAPTER FIVE
Winston Blake was a family man, his father and mother had left the stately home to their only son a small farm in Flax Bourton six miles south west of Bristol. His father endured massive debt left over from the great depression but with dawn to dusk effort by Winston and his Father they paid off the debt and during the later years of his parents life spent all the time he could with them. He spent time away in Oxford in university paid for by countless sacks of potatoes from his modest father's farm and fresh milk from a few cows and eggs via free range chickens that migrated from other farms but never left.
Winston returned home from work one day to find his father dead in a rocking chair on the house veranda. His father died with a smile on his face something that bolstered Winston's grief. Stories of the Second World War and a stiff upper lip had eventually led to a fortunate life and fulfilment in old age. Not long after laying his father to rest his mother died of a broken heart, she had not taken her own life but her life was taken elsewhere by things outside Winston's understanding. In the entrance hall of the family home Winston hung a poem given to him by his father called 'do not stand at my grave and weep'. It was not known if he wrote it or found it long ago and gave it to his mother but it was a message to live as well as one could with the grief of family loss. It reminded him that although there had been much sacrifice it was for a reason one being he could lead a better life.
Winston married and had a daughter Rose, she was adventurous and without fear. At a young age she left her father and mother to travel the world spending much time in Australia. Winston's wife Jacqueline died of cancer one of the local beauties Winston had loved no other and his heart was again saved by his father's poem. His entire world revolved around Rose residing in Australia. His leave time from work was spent flying to Australia and spending time with his daughter who had found a place she loved so much a place of sun sand wide open spaces and adventure. Rose talked endlessly of her adventures and Winston listened always smiling it was a perfect match of personalities.
Rose took her father to the Melbourne Cup at Flemington racecourse Melbourne Victoria. Winston was amazed as the entire nation stopped to watch a few magnificent horses run just over three kilometres and was most excited rising to his feet cheering with the rest of the country as a jockey threw his hand in the air crossing the line well before other competitors. The excitement continued well past the end of the race in the streets and bars, offices and remote communities of the land. Winston had experienced nothing like it and it was the happiest day he had ever had with his daughter by far remaining etched in his mind as a highlight of life. He would forever remember her smiling face the day after the race as he walked to his plane to return home as it was the last time he ever saw her.
She spoke of a trip to Sydney hitch hiking as she had never experienced the accepted pastime. His last contact from her had been from the New South Wales south highland town of Bowral she had then just vanished. It was the time of the infamous backpacker murders and Winston's spare time was spent scouring the area especially the Belanglo State Forest. He was at one stage interviewed by the police as a suspect the police later apologising for their mistake but giving little hope of finding his daughter as extensive investigations were carried out.
Rose loved rock bands one thing her father disapproved off. They appeared to be people with little respect for anything except money drugs and women hardly a mixture of things that had built his life or anyone around him. Investigations had verified that Rose attended a performance of a band called Crimson Rose at the Royal Hotel Bowral on the same Saturday night as the last phone call from her. Patrons and management confirm she was there leaving with a group of people suspected to be members of the band. Exhaustive investigation to locate the band members had been fruitless as it appeared the band disappeared the same time as Rose. People within the rock industry spoke with Winston only after they found he was a powerful merchant banker from England looking for a band but quickly became to busy to see him once they found he was looking for his daughter and not a band to invest buckets of money in.
Winston had not and would never give up till he found his daughter no matter what the outcome. Somewhere in Australia someone knew what had happened to his daughter. His plight had little press wherever he went with plenty of questions but no answers. He derived a plan to appear on the front page of every newspaper in Australia, on the first Wednesday of November he would be the owner of a horse that won the Melbourne Cup. For some reason he became fanatically driven towards the insurmountable task but providence from years of task and people analyses gave him gut feeling it could happen. The biggest calculated risk he would ever undertake. He had spoken to an Australian couple that lost their son from the side of the road, in just a few moments he was never heard of again. They established a foundation relentlessly pursuing the perpetrators of the deed and educating other children about what can happen in the case of stranger danger. Winston studied the disappearance of many children, teenagers and adults but used the example of this particular couple to come up with the plan. He was sure the key to finding his daughter was to win the Melbourne Cup, just to get that one person hidden in the woodwork to come forward.
Winston drew from his wide experience to plan Flaxmead's success. He had not hesitated when he first meet the foal the gut feeling of a champion. He had done this many times. Financing a computer company in Malaysia no one else wanted to touch with Hornswaddle and Fothrington funds was one example that stood out. After looking into the venture himself by going to Malaysia and meeting the local people over a few days without them knowing who he was gave him the gut feeling. He returned to Wilson and Bartholomew stating against all other advice that they should finance the operation, he was the only one in support on the globe. As usual the brothers followed Winston's advice and financed what is now one of the most successful computer manufacturing businesses on the planet.
Flaxmead became a product of combined efforts. Winston had watched his neighbours daughter ride horses around there property since she could walk. Her father was life long horse trainer of no prominence other than Winston noticing he had a kind of magic with the animals. Every night and weekend he could see his neighbour walking running and working with horses surrounded by dogs, he had never seen him take a whip to one. They intermittently spent weekends away towing a horse float involved in show jumping and equestrian events. Winston had lived with the stigma of being a merchant banker and his neighbour had seldom returned greetings although he was known to be a polite person and well respected in the community. Winston had a clear vision of why he would be looked upon as such. Since Wilson and Bartholomew's father had passed away they had gradually turned the local community against them as they treated them like pawns on a chess board. Winston had a far different opinion of pawns, they were the people who had stood in front of far taller people with limited manoeuvrability but were the front line of communities. Doing hard things was a daily chore for them and they did it well.
Flaxmead arrived at his new home and what a home Winston had prepared. A practice track and starting gate built to industry precision, stable and facilities to match the best in the land. He now needed a horse trainer and he had seen one with his own eyes. He had spoken with the most successful trainers in the land who refused to waste time as they put it with the stubborn lanky Irish foal with dubious parents. Winston's gradual efforts had caught his neighbour's attention and Winston noticed his vehicle slow as he went past the sprawling development whilst going to and from his home. Winston thought this was a good time to approach his neighbour for assistance and walked the two miles to his fence line where his neighbour watched his daughter jumping a horse over a series of obstacles.
He gestured at a distance with his hand and shouted out. "Mr Palmer, Mr Roger Palmer." Palmer was fifty yards away and looked puzzled to see Winston at the fence. He nodded and waved for Winston to enter his property, Winston climbed through the wooden railing and as he walked toward Pa
lmer the wind carried the smell akin to a race meeting past his nose. Flemington in Australia on the day of the Melbourne Cup had a distinct line of aromas and Winston had just experienced one. Palmer wiped his hand on his riding pants before presenting it to Winston and they shook hands with a smile. Winston noted the firm grip and smile.
"Mr Blake what a surprise, I hear you are a man of leisure these days retired." Palmer was a small man but just too big to be a jockey ending up a strapper in London race stables, his strong cockney accent reflected his Essex schooling. His dislike for the treatment of horses in the racing industry saw him leave after a short stint moving to Flax Bourton chasing a girls now his wife a family that had there for many generations. He established a riding school and his family had won many equestrian and show jumping titles, he had trained horses for the Royal Family. "Quite a set up you have built over the last few years, I didn't know you were a horse man."
Winston hesitated looked at the ground then back up then smiled. "I know you would not have a great deal of respect for me not many do for Hornswaddle and Fothrington but I am not they. I don't know who you are but one thing is for sure you are damn good with horses. I don't pass comment on that from other advice I pass it on my own observations. I ask you listen to what I have to say have a look round then make your own decisions under the same method."
Palmer tipped his head to one side dropping the sides of his mouth then nodded. "Fair cop, geezer who's straight down the line. Don't worry I got ears. You helped a mate of mine out few years back and I know you kept it quiet."
Winston looked wide eyed. "Families are very important things Mr Palmer."
"Roger."
"Thank you. Roger. I think I know what you refer to and what I did was completely outside Hornswaddle and Fothrington operating procedures so I did it myself although it would appear to be done within the constraints of requirements."
Roger slapped Winston on the back and put his arm around him leading him towards the house. "I know that, come and have a cup of tea, my kitchens yours."
Palmer showed Winston past his stables and his horses, they waded through the throng of dogs around the house, stroked the cat on the porch and sat in the modest kitchen. Palmer made an excellent cup of tea and they sat talking of locals and events and a pattern of similar views emerged and Blake found he was not perceived by the local populous as he had imagined. Winston noticed Palmers animals were as well cared for as his family and the quote of Mohandas Gandhi came to mind, a nation can be judged on how it treats its animals.
Winston felt this was as good a time as any to ask Palmer to train Flaxmead. "I would like you to come and meet a horse, foal actually. I would like you to train him."
"Jumper is he?" enquired Palmer.
"No, I think he's what you refer to as a hot blood race horse. A thoroughbred."
"I've never trained a race horse, I saw what they did with some of them and didn't approve."
Winston drew on all his bolstering talents. "Perhaps you can show them another way will work, succeed where others have failed."
"They wouldn't listen to me, stuffy bleeding bunch they are. Me, train a race horse they would laugh at you."
"I know what you mean, in the course of setting up and buying Flaxmead nearly everyone has laughed at me."
Palmer suddenly stopped pouring their second cup of tea. "Flaxmead, don't tell me Flax Bourton and Broadmead."
Winston laughed. "You have it."
Palmer looked super inquisitive. "There's more in this than meets the eye. The perfect track and starting stools, the state of the art buildings. I thought you were showing off but I don't think that's the case. You're not that kind of geezer."
Winston stood up, "Come with me and I will show you a horse that will win the Melbourne Cup in Australia."
"The Melbourne Cup blimey, you really believe that?"
"Yes I do, otherwise I wouldn't be doing it."
Palmer rubbed his nose momentarily smoothing the wrinkles of experience on his face. "Can I have this cup of tea and a bit of a think? The wife will be home in a couple of hours and probably have to talk to her as well." Winston sat down in silence while Palmer slowly finished his cup of tea. He suddenly stood up with speed. "Bugger em, show me this horse."
Palmer called his daughter in from the field, she took the saddle and bridle from her pony and slapped him on his rump, the horse bolted into the field kicking and frolicking. Kalika Palmer was sixteen and under the guidance of her father was current junior show jumping champion for the UK. She was unaware of what was to transpire as she visited Winston Blake's property. Winston showed the facilities to a wide eyed Roger and Kalika Palmer explaining why things had been done as they had whilst they walked towards the barn in the centre of the white fenced training track, one thousand meters of perfectly kept turf. Next to the mobile six stand starting gate tethered to a farm tractor was a series of holding yards, that's where Kalika first saw Flaxmead. They both stopped when on eye contact and Flaxmead reared up screaming then ran to the fence to greet her. She walked to the railing mesmerized by the little stallion looked directly in his eyes and put on the widest smile. Flaxmead grunted and shock his head so she climbed the fence and held him around the neck holding her head to his.
"Blimey, its love at first sight," said Palmer.
"Amazing, horses have a mind of their own. They know what they want to do and who they want to do it with," replied Blake.
Palmer climbed the fence and Flaxmead reared up standing between him and Kalika stomping his front hooves, waving his head up and down and grunting in disapproval. Palmer smiled at the horse offered his hand for a few seconds. The foal smelt his scent, Palmer then slowly lowered his hand and climbed back beside Blake maintaining eye contact with the foal. He leaned on the lower rail watching as Flaxmead returned to muzzle Kalika. "Well you're right; every inch of this horse is a champion. He's gonna be a very big horse, makes for a few problems but with an attitude like that if he has good coordination and can run stand clear. If I was a breeder and trainer Id say he wasn't worth it."
"That's why he's here, he just needs some people to believe in him."
"Look at his markings perfect, when he grows up he'll look like a duck in a chicken run you won't miss him. He'll be a thundering menace, now I've meet the little bugger I think you're right." Roger offered his hand to Winston. "I'll do it; you got yourself a trainer Winston."
Winston shock Rogers hand firmly with a wide smile. "Done."
Roger called to his daughter. "Come on Kalika, we have to talk to your mother she will be home shortly."
She reluctantly climbed the fence and tossed her long fair locks behind her back revealing her thin long nose and bright blue eyes. "Sir what's that horse's name."
"My names Winston and the horse is Flaxmead."
Kalika and Flaxmead looked at each other through the railings. "He's different, He's a champion. I think I love him."
"Come on you we have to get home, you can't marry a horse," said her father.
"I don't mean like that dad, he's pure he doesn't hide himself and knows exactly what he wants. If I could find a boy like Flaxmead I would consider him if he asked."
"Don't hold your breath love could be waiting a while."
"Kalika tossed her hair around her back and walked past her father towards home." I won't," she replied.
"Phew, confident," said Blake.
"Yeah, confident fearless adventurous, a worry at times," commented Palmer.
"Kalika!" shouted Blake, she turned still walking backwards. "Come and see Flaxmead whenever you wish"
"Try and stop me," she turned and kept walking.
"A word of advice Roger, I had a daughter like Kalika."
"Yeah I know all about it I'm sorry."
"That's Okay Ill find her."
Palmer began to walk away, "See you in the morning Winston."
"How much."
"How much what?"
"For you to train Flaxmead
?"
"Not a brass razoo me old mate."
"Surely you need some kind of restitution for your services."
"This is something I wanna do, not have to do, big difference."