BEST MATE

A call to arms, upon us fast,

that week in March now looms

When thousands gather for the craic,

when spring smites winter’s gloom

When stories get wheeled out again,

 those great Gold Cups of old

It’s minus two without the gale,

yet no-one feels the cold


And so this year we’ll celebrate,

a recent hero’s past

A horse whose place in Cheltenham lore

not just in bronze we’ve cast

A horse who proudly holds his own

with legends of this track

A kindly horse with looks and style

and quality to match
 

Now factor in his entourage,

a most unlikely team

Led by a former school mistress

and harnessed by her dream

A dream she shared with Biddlecombe,

More fondly known as Terry

A dream they lived to realize,

once they’d put aside the sherry
 

The Owner, good Jim Lewis,

vintage Brummie through & through

His songs the only downside,

his silks Claret & Blue

The colours worn by Villa

when they last brought home The Cup

Engrained in racing folklore now,

with Jim Culloty up
 

They played an almost comic role,

when camera’s stopped to call

But mark me now and mark me well,

for him they gave their all

They taught Best Mate that what he had

was handed to the few

They honed his power, they understood,

they showed him what to do
 

And when unleashed in combat,

though she couldn’t bear to look

Preferring racecourse car parks,

where with head in hands she shook

He always brought her running

from behind the heaving stands

To welcome him, victorious,

clinging tight to Terry’s hand

 
Step forward Henrietta,

Racing’s first reluctant Knight

And take a bow with Terry now

 for getting it so right

For giving us the memories

 of a truly noble horse

Whose early death remains

 the only reason for remorse
 

A death that robbed a nation,

but upon it we won’t dwell

Let’s celebrate the life of one

 who served his sport so well

Best Mate, you never let us down,

you lived up to your name

You ran your rivals ragged,

showed ’em how to play this game
 

He won with ease and nonchalance;

he won with craft and style

He won the hearts of England

and the mighty Emerald Isle

He gave us what we’d waited for,

a Gold Cup crown retained

An undisputed Champion,

a King who proudly reigned
 

Don’t judge him upsides Arkle,

if you don’t judge man by God

But see him as a Winter King,

who never spared the Rod

Who poured it on at Prestbury Park,

with smiling Jim aboard

And left this world with three Gold Cups,

Best Mate by all adored

©Henry Birtles
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