Dawn no more than a sliver of grey light on the distant horizon. Darkness not going down without a fight. Shadows flickering hither and thither across the stable yard. Feeding done. Water buckets to fill. Ice on the ground. Puddles picked out in the barn lights. Horses blowing ‘dragon’s breath’ against the cold air. Stable doors clanking. Hooves scraping. Rakes raking. Shovels shovelling. Muffled greetings. Human to equine. “All right mate… Move over … Come on, manners please.” Human to human. “Did you see the footy?”… You did what?…  With who?… Mine moved like a dream yesterday… He will win tonight… Dirty stop out!… Nice coat… Who do you think you are, Frankie Vettori?”.

Dawn fighting the good fight. The half light of a winter morning. Grey. Numbingly cold. Tractor starting. Grit scattered like bird seed. Saddles under the arm. Bridles. The board to check. “Where is the Dream Ahead colt?… Who nicked my girth… I love that filly… I hate that colt – get his balls off… He ran well last night… He ran awful last night.”

Grey gloom has given way to hanging damp. Rain. Wet rain. Rain that gnaws away at you. Gets you. “Come on, pull out guys.” Hooves picked out. Tails flicked clean. “Riders up.” Clinking and clunking stirrups. “Leg up please.” Hooves on stable floor. Hooves on wet. A buck and a squeal. A slither. A muffled cry. The slitherer finds a leg. All is well. “Follow her… That’s a colt, get behind him… Your saddle all right?… Will this rain ever stop? … Jeez, it’s miserable, let’s all go and get a proper job.” Grit crunching icy puddles.

“Steady away guys… You two join second time up… Are you happy with him?… Love that straw in his tail… Jeez, will it ever stop raining?”.

Trot. Hack. Canter. Woodchip flicks the air. Puffs of dust. The sound. The sound of hooves. Of breath in frozen air. Of saddles. Clicking tongues. “Come on son, wake up.” Riders hunched against the raw morning.

Home. Safe. Wash down. Steam rising. Hoses playing. Hay under one arm, a horse held in the other. The sheen of wet waterproof. Still half dark. Light shimmering on pervasive damp. “Who brought the cake… Jeez, will it ever stop raining?”.

And so it goes. The bleak days of midwinter. Trying. Taxing. Tough. Rain. Ice. Snow. Cold that tears at the fingers and toes. Darkness. Watery sun that carries no warmth. Pheasants picking. Deer scurrying. Crows hanging like vultures. Pigeons skittering. Rabbits streaking. “Stay warm guys… Coffee anybody ?… Where’s the boss’ whisky?… Jeez, will it ever stop raining?”.

So tough. But then the change that we know will come. Lighter. That wind no longer flecked with icy dagger. A daffodil. And then his friends and family. A hint of warmth in the spring sun. The dreaded days of deep and damp midwinter are suddenly gone. Not forgotten. But gone. The Flat season upon us. Cut grass. The sun tanned returned from their winter idylls. The peacocks of the turf beginning to strut their stuff. Bluebells and primroses. The promise of brighter days ahead. The promise.

There will be racing across the land today. Many runners. Some will win. Most will not. All will be somebody’s pride and joy. Somebody’s mate. A long, wet and desperate winter shared by man and beast. The better days are here. But when you see that horse and groom in the paddock today, think for half a moment of what they have been through together. Think of the brutal winter mornings, and the long, long hours. Stable staff are the life blood of this sport that we all adore. Tell them how wonderful their horse looks. It will mean a lot.