ARKLE'S BATTLEFIELD
Stand fast, breathe deep and feel this hallowed place
That one more time has drawn them in with open arms
And brought you here to celebrate its madness and its charms
Where spirits rise and four March days wipe out the daily strain
Those Cheltenham gates are creaking loud for all of us again
And if you get to stand and steal that moment...think
Beyond the friends, the cash, the tips, the bookies and the drink
Think past the horses, hustlers, Jockeys, trainers of this day
The bustling crowds, the youthful proud, the graceful old,
That ‘know it all’, who always seems to have the final say
And feel the soul of One who rules this sport,
Whose deeds we only get to see in grainy black and white
Who never really stooped to know the meaning of a fight
Who changed the rules with godlike speed and grace and seismic force
Against whom now we measure every horse
Whatever you might call this place, it’s owned by him and leased to us
For all who ran against him spat his dust
And all who run against him still can only yield
Know where you are; you stand on Arkle’s battlefield.
©Henry Birtles