The Final by Hannah Hooton The air was heavy with the scent of horses and wood shavings and excitement.

The heady smell stung putrid in his nostrils as he stood motionless beside his mount within the indoor arena. The artificial lighting overhead spread a warm glow across the exercise ring, the spotlights flashing off glossy equine hides and creating an illusion of dazzling splendour. The man stood stiffly, ignoring his horse completely except once to place a comforting palm on its muzzle when it anxiously threw its head. He was completely withdrawn from the rest of the world, focused on his nerves about what was to come. He had waited and dreamt of only one thing for many years and now he was half way there just being here. All the years’ hopes and fears had come to this and soon he would see if it all had been worth it. Though his body was still, his eyes, black as currants and fringed by long dark, sweeping lashes, darted back and forth, drinking in the activity around them and noting the quality of some of the beasts being ridden around. In the centre of the collecting ring, two show jumps had been erected and the man watched passively as riders flung them and their horses over the obstacles. He knew the standard of riding would be high but he had total confidence in himself and in his horse. This show jumping competition was the most prestigious in the world, riders from all over the globe had travelled to this venue to contest this event. The World Championships.

The man adjusted the chin strap on his riding helmet before gathering the leather reins in his left hand and preparing to mount his horse. The horse stamped a forefoot irritably and tossed his head, splaying his thick golden mane along his muscled neck then rose in a half rear as he felt the weight of his rider on his back. The man sat easily in the saddle, his legs wrapped around his mount’s sides like steel bars and his hands maintaining a gentle contact on the reins. He squeezed with his calves and the pair moved forward towards the exercise ring, the horse snatching at his bit and jogging. The red and white poles of the practice jump loomed and they bounded forward like a golden sail catching a gust of wind. The chestnut horse pricked his ears and launched over the jump, his hindquarter muscles contracting like writhing serpents beneath the skin. The man sat calmly, leaning his body over the horse’s neck and sliding his hands forward. The gelding’s folded hooves flew over the pole with inches to spare and landed among the churned sea of hoof prints in the sawdust on the other side.

Above the steady hum of numerous conversations taking place, cheers and groans could be heard from the other side of the maroon velvet curtain, which marked the entrance into the main arena, as competitors failed and succeeded during their rounds. Not very encouragingly there seemed to be more groans than cheers. The man had walked the course earlier and knew that the eighteen obstacles they had been allocated to jump were tricky and very high. The one fence he had been able to stand up straight beneath it and still not touch the top pole. The curtains parted to let the last competitor out, an Irishman who shrugged his green-coated shoulders and shook his head in disappointment. Four years of dreams and training smashed to worthlessness in under two minutes by a disastrous round of twenty four penalties. Another rider, this time from Italy, rode in looking thoroughly relaxed and unafraid. After his bay mare put in a stop at the second fence, his face turned graver and he seemed to suddenly lose his nerve. However, he completed the course but not without demolishing most of the jumps and left the arena with forty eight faults. As each rider rode in and departed disillusioned and disappointed, the man with the chestnut horse’s turn got nearer and nearer. A round by one of the better German riders unhinged those still to compete by exiting the ring with sixteen penalties. Then an American rider by the name of Frank Anderson, rode in on a leggy steel grey thoroughbred and, though he resembled a kamikaze pilot diving to his death over each fence, the couple showed everyone how it was done, only notching up eight faults. Next, the reigning world champion, Hans Gerber from Germany riding his legendary roan mare, Red Maria, entered the ring and as his name was announced a murmur went through the twenty-thousand-strong crowd in anticipation. The team cantered a slow circle, waiting for the electric bell to signal their commencement and finally turned to face the first fence. The excited hum in the audience rose as they cleared each jump and they cheered him on towards the last double combination. The noise, however, unsettled Red Maria as she approached the last obstacles and her concentration wavered, making her take off awkwardly and trail her hind legs through the jump. The crowd groaned and the German rider, Hans Gerber, shook his head as he rode out of the arena after completing the last jump, with four faults.

Behind the maroon curtain, the man waited impatiently for his number to be called. His black eyes didn’t waver from the velvet folds in front of him and a muscle leapt spasmodically along his strong hard jaw-bone. Beneath him, the chestnut gelding stood just as impatient but poised motionless. Occasionally, a shiver of excitement would run down his strong sloping shoulder or a white-socked forefoot would strike the soft ground sending up a small cloud of dust. His small pointed ears flicked back and forth, anxious not to miss a sound from his master and his jaw worked on the silver bit in his mouth, clinking the metal against his teeth and causing white froth to fall from his velvet-like lips. Finally, like the Dead Sea parting before Moses, the curtains opened to allow the horse and rider through and as they walked forward, a shaft of light from the spotlights in the foreground illuminating the chestnut’s gold coat. The audience were struck silent as they beheld the horse’s great beauty. Though he was heavily built, unlike a thoroughbred, his head with its wide white blaze was chiselled like a craftsman’s work of art. His face had a slight curve to it like an Arab and his nostrils were wide and distended like trumpet mouths. His eyes were large and dark and observed everything around him with a calm but eager glitter in them. His legs were clean and strong and four white socks rose to just below his knees and hocks. As the bell rang and the man moved his mount into canter, the gelding’s tail fanned out behind him, marginally cocked like a banner in the wind and his mane whipped back like tongues of flame licking the air. The first jump loomed and with his ears pricked sharply forward, the chestnut bounded forward and flew over it with inches to spare. The man shifted his weight in the saddle as they landed and the pair veered left towards the next jump. Again they cleared it, the horse kicking up his heels disdainfully at the challenge. He guided his horse in a half circle then down the long side of the arena and pushed him into a gallop, racing closer to the water jump. The man could see their distorted reflection in the drink out of the corner of his eye as they leapt over the vast expanse. As they landed, the man sat back sharply in the saddle, fighting to bring his mount back to a collected pace before they reached Number Four, the five-barred gate. Just in time, they managed to slow down but cleared the fence clumsily, rapping the top bar hard and making the crowd hold its breath as the gate swayed on its hinges. They let out a collective sigh as the gate stayed upright and urged the beautiful horse with its handsome rider onto victory. Over the next three jumps the couple went faultlessly and in fine style. The man’s look of indifference and the effortless way his lithe body moved in the saddle, his hips gyrating with the rhythm of his horse, endeared him to the crowd. He moulded his body against his horse’s as they flew over each obstacle, his jaw thrust forward in a determined fashion and his black coat tails sailing behind him in the wind. The triple bar, painted blue, red and white, stood forbiddingly in the centre of the arena but the gallant chestnut gelding approached it without fear. As they launched into the air, cameramen kneeling down beside the wings clicked frantically on their cameras, desperate to catch the horse at the peak of his leap. The cheering crescendo rose to a climax as horse and rider cleared the third last fence and advanced on the last double combination. Like Red Maria, the chestnut gave fright as the noise rose to screaming pitch and shot forward. But with enviable horsemanship, the man brought him back to hand, sitting deep in the saddle and drawing back firmly on the reins. Not quite straight, the horse took off. Flicking his whip along the gelding’s golden and lathered flank, the man threw himself forward, knowing the odds were against them when it came to clearing this jump. Feeling the sting of the whip the chestnut’s ears swept back in annoyance but it still made him pick up his legs as he jumped. His hind hooves touched the far pole as they were landing and the crowd watched with bated breath as the pole rocked in its cups. The man listened for the muffled thud of the pole hitting the soft tan but none came and he straightened out his horse for the last jump, only two strides away. Gathering himself, the beautiful chestnut horse lifted his head, giving a snort of pleasure and propelled himself into the musty air. The few seconds as they soared over the jump seemed like an eternity to the rider and as they landed without knocking down a single fence, for the first time a small smile tugged at the sides of the man’s mouth, revealing a dimple in one hollow, tanned cheek. A clear round! As the last competitor and the only one to complete a faultless round the World Championships was his!

The crowd stood silent and respectful as the winning horses lined up before the judges’ box and man’s home country’s national anthem was played. The lights were suddenly dimmed and a single silver beam illuminated the man and his horse standing proud, the chestnut’s neck curved like a drawn bow and his chest thrust forward. A celebrity stepped elegantly into the pool of shimmering light holding a silk red, white and blue sash which would signify the new world champion. The man leant forward and lowered his head for the sash to be put over his shoulders then looped one arm through the fine silk. His horse was also given a sash, which lay perfectly around his supple neck. The man patted his horse, congratulating and thanking him as he watched the graceful lady attach a red, white and blue rosette to his brow band like a rose in full bloom. The cup was then brought forward, tall with handles which fanned out like wings. As he held the cup to his chest and blinked while flash bulbs exploded nearby, a grin spread unconsciously over his face and he realised that all these years of hopes and dreams and most of all, hard work, had paid off and that all the times he had felt despair and failure had been worth the triumphant feeling he could feel coursing through his veins now. - Hannah Hooton

About Hannah Hooton
I was brought up in Zimbabwe and started riding when I was seven.  I seemed to spend most of my time riding other people's "problem ponies" because I couldn't afford to pay for rides, and sorting out ponies' bad habits was the only cheap way I could ride!  I was, however, given a pony mare when I was ten. Two years later, about the same time as the money problems started, she escaped into the stallion's paddock and thirteen months later had a lovely bay colt! With the help of the problem ponies, my riding skills increased until some people began sponsoring me to ride for them in show jumping events. My one aim was to be the best, but then I saw how so many horses were ruined early in life, so when I was nineteen, I saved up and bought myself an ex-racehorse and taught him the basic rules of schooling and jumping and sold him ten months later. It mightn't have been a lot but I feel I made a difference to atleast one horse's career which might otherwise have been ruined