Walsh rides the long walkway back into the
winner's enclosure, his progress marked
by the lobbing of hats into the air, the din
reaching a final pitch of ecstasy as he stands
and celebrates again – by now often gifted
an Irish tricolour to hold aloft – on reaching
the packed amphitheatre round the win-
ner's enclosure.
It is an experience that should be savoured
at least once by anyone who admires hors-
es, even by those to whom the whole busi-
ness of jump racing will ever remain impen-
etrably occult. For nobody can fail to gain
at least a frisson of the fervour that infects
the "National Hunt" fraternity in this great
crucible.
If anything, the Festival has become too
important to professionals for their own
good: every big race through the winter, no
matter how competitive or richly endowed,
is treated primarily as a stepping stone to
March. For some punters, too, the stakes
can become so perilously high that their
betting breaks out of the general, heed-
N
obody can fail to
gain at least a frisson
of the
fervour
that infects
the
"National Hunt"
f raternity in this
great crucible.
61
