The Champion Point

Six long years had passed since the Great War had come to an end, but the echoes of it was fresh in Anlon Walsh’s mind. It was the summer of 1924 and Anlon Walsh at thirty seven years of age already felt old. His sleep would often be disturbed recalling various episodes from the war of which he had been a miniscule part, to say the least. At that time he had been in London and was responsible for handling the horses of senior British officers for their travel to the various counties and villages. After all, that’s what he had been trained for since his childhood. With no suitable alternative left for him, he became a horse trainer and a stableman who took care of the daily routines at the stables on the outskirts of London. After the war, he had returned to his village in Ireland and got himself busy carrying on his horse training routines at a local stable.

When his parents named him Anlon, they had dreamt that one day their only child would become a successful individual, after all that was what the word “Anlon” meant; Champion. By the time Anlon turned twenty-one, his parents had realized that the name was a great misfire and their son was nowhere a Champion and neither did aim to become one. Taking training from his father, Anlon did become a great horse trainer and a professional stableman. Though the impact of the Great War was felt massively until five years after its conclusion, by the time 1924 arrived, Ireland had put the war behind and looked into the future.

Looking back at his life, born in the Westmeath County of Ireland, Anlon resided with his parents in a quiet little village named Castlepollard that was located to the north of the county. Since child hood, Anlon had been the curious kind.  For long, he would go asking every villager about the legend behind the name of the village, and one fine evening, he was finally enlightened by a very senior inhabitant that the name came from a castle or a fortified manor built by the English in the early seventeenth century. However, this was not the only topic that made Anlon a Curious boy.

Castlepollard had two stables since inception that were taken care by Anlon’s father. Since his childhood, Anlon would routinely accompany his father to the stable and observe the daily routines that would inspire him to take over the responsibility someday. So, when Anlon turned twenty one, and as he had hoped, the responsibility was shifted to him. By now Anlon had turned into a handsome tall boy with his blond hair falling over his broad shoulders. His brown eyes were a replica of his mother’s eyes. His handsomeness was a constant topic of discussion within the female circles of the village. Everything seemed to go as planned for Anlon. However, as destiny had planned and by the time he had turned twenty four, the Great War had begun and Anlon was assigned to London to help the British officers with their horses. He would routinely accompany the officers from one county to another during the war taking care of their horses. These experiences had turned him into a tough gentleman that was a different version from the cute boy that he had been in his early years.

By the time Anlon came back to take care of the Village stables, he was thirty. It was only during those years when Castlepollard had started to have an annual fair that took place on a very big ground located on the east side of the village. The fair was the annual extravaganza where in traders from the nearby villages would put up stalls to sell daily routine items. It was a way of increasing the flow of money in between the various counties. Apart from stalls and games, there was of course one sport that could not have been done away with. Steeplechase.

In 1919, just one year after the war had ended, the first race of Steeplechase was conducted in the village and the village was represented none other than by Anlon Walsh. Anlon had initially refused to be part of the sport as he considered himself only a horse trainer but the local men would hear nothing and had almost forced him to take part in the sport representing their village “ I am not a Jockey,” he would try to make the villagers understand but they would be adamant on their decision. So, one fine evening, Anlon gave up and agreed to their demands.

Anlon had a fair idea about what the sport of Steeplechase was. A distance horserace in which competitors are required to jump fence and ditch obstacles. The only difference in case of Ireland was that, here the obstacles were large and fixed. Finally, in 1919, Anlon represented the village of Castlepollard in the local steeplechase sport and came last and lost. The other players who represented the nearby villages were regulars at the sport that made things a bit difficult for Anlon.

This was the case for the next five years until 1924, when Anlon had promised himself that he would win the race that year at any cost. He was thirty seven, unmarried and both his parents had passed way in the period in between since the first race. That year, it was the sixth year of the Steeplechase race of the village fair and the villagers still supported Anlon for representing them, not that they had any other choice as Anlon was the only one in the village who was trained to handle a horse.

Anlon made a detailed study of all the horses that were available for him. He decided that he would go for a fresh new horse that year and his eyes fell on an alert, slender limbed and a glossy horse. Casey was her name. He had worked with Casey in his stable and the owner was happy that he chose Casey. One month prior to the race, he started to train her. He arranged for a fitting saddle to keep on top of the body of the horse for a good grip and a comfortable seat and a bridle that didn’t irritate the horse. He trained the horse with the obstacles of the same height and same size as he had seen all those years during the race. Casey looked beautiful while she trained but was she ready for the race and more importantly did she want to race? Anlon thought.

So when the race day finally arrived, Anlon was nervous and it seemed to him that even Casey was nervous too. The fair had grown in size and money over the years and that year the prize money had almost tripled. Anlon didn’t care for the money. His only motive was to win the race. That afternoon, at the first sounds of the whistle, Anlon patted Casey and they were on their way. The large crowd from various villages that had gathered around, clapped and cheered loudly. Anlon for the first time was among the first three and Casey too was very alert and fast. As the local villagers observed that Anlon was continuously among the first three out of the total of ten, they sensed that perhaps Anlon would make their village proud that day.

Within the next thirty minutes, Anlon reached the second spot. Casey was trained very well as she was very alert with all the obstacles. It was only when the last two obstacles were pending, the villagers observed that Anlon abruptly fell upon the horse and his upper body rested on the neck of the horse. To the eye it seemed Anlon was whispering something to Casey in her ears. As everyone looked on in confusion towards the finish point, Casey finally jumped the last obstacle and with that she won the race for the village of Castlepollard. There was a loud cheer from the crowd present. All the local villagers ran towards the finish point and gathered around the horse. While all of the gathered villagers were cheering aloud, one of the locals observed that Anlon still stayed on the horse and didn’t seem to move. His body remained on the top of the horse. Another one of the locals called him, “Hey Anlon, you all right?” There was no reply. Suddenly one of them shook his still leg, and the body of Anlon tumbled down as the villagers tried to get hold of it.

The local doctor was immediately called upon who had been on a stand by all through the race. After checking the routines, the doctor looked towards the villagers and nodded in negative. “He is no more. Got a heart attack, it seems. Perhaps due to anxiety and over excitement” Everyone present at the spot had gone mum.

The winning horse, Casey, still stood there looking at Anlon’s body and drops of tears rolled down her eyes. Perhaps, she had known about it in between the race itself when Anlon fell upon her. The villagers helped to get the lifeless body on to a wooden stretcher and carried it outside the race ground. Inside the ground, the annual fair authorities got into a huddle and discussed the outcome. It was indeed a never before experienced situation.  When Casey won the race, Anlon was already dead and his body was on top of her. So, technically, a dead Anlon had won the race. Casey was declared the winner and the prizemoney was then distributed among the villagers in remembrance of Anlon Walsh. Irony couldn’t have been more real as Anlon Walsh finally became a Champion.

Castlepollard never again carried out a Steeplechase competition and Casey never again ran a race in her entire lifetime. Over the years, locals often observed that one glossy horse would often come over at the place where the race used to take place in the village. Some say that it was Casey.

Few years later, the villagers built a statue of a man and a horse at the main circle of the village and named it as “The Champion Point”.