Simon Cooper - Frankel

Foaling box number 5 looks much like the other four foaling boxes in the foaling unit at Banstead Manor, except for one thing. It bears a green plaque which reads:

FRANKEL

b.c. Galileo – Kind (Danehill)

Winner of 10 Gr. 1 races and

first unbeaten champion at 2, 3 and 4

Timeform 147

I know that reads like poetry for anyone in the racing game, but not everyone speaks racing. The term ‘b.c.’ is shorthand for bay colt, bay covering a wide spectrum of reddish-brown body hair with a black mane and tail. A colt is an entire, or uncastrated male horse, generally less than five years old. Older than five, an entire male is called a horse and will stay that way unless gelded or used for breeding; in the latter case he becomes a stallion. As you know, Galileo and Kind are Dad and Mum. Danehill is Kind’s father.

‘Gr. 1’ refers to Group 1 races. There is a hierarchy of all racing competitions and Group 1 races stand at the very pinnacle. These are the best races in which the best horses compete. They are to racing what the Grand Slams are to tennis or the Majors are to golf. To even compete in ten is extraordinary. To win ten? Well, that is remarkable.

The fourth line needs some unpicking. ‘First’ seems almost insignificant but put it in context: that is the first horse in the history of European horse racing. So we are talking centuries and millions of horses. Fortunes lost. Dreams busted. Stories of what might have been but for a little bad luck are legion. Such is the enormity of what our about-to-be-born foal will achieve, I’d be tempted to defy the Gods of Fate by adding a little graffiti to the plaque in parentheses: (and only).

‘Unbeaten’. That word is the elixir of sport. Turning great men, women and teams from just being great to being truly great. The comparators by which every performance past, present and future will be measured. Now there have been unbeaten horses in the past, but in truth not many. It is an unusual thing even at the lesser levels of horse racing. That said, some good horses have retired unbeaten, but often they have been whisked away after a handful of races to lock in their stud value rather than test them further. Because so much can go wrong. Injury. Bad luck. Come up against one better on the day. Poor tactics. Feeling a bit under the weather. Just a bad day at the office. We all have them. Horses are no different. But Frankel was and is different, because not only was he unbeaten in the three prime years of any flat racing career but he beat every rival sent out to take him on. And here we are not talking about an average crop; a simply okay generation. Many of Frankel’s contemporaries were brilliant horses in their own right that simply had the misfortune to come up against him. In any other year, in any other era, they would have been the crowned champions. To be the best, you have to beat the best. Frankel was to achieve that in spades, winning even when the cards of fate dealt him the harshest of hands.

And finally ‘Timeform 147’ – that is really a bit of racing techie speak. It’s thanks to Phil Bull, son of a Yorkshire coal miner, schoolteacher turned professional gambler who along the way to amassing a multi-million-pound fortune from betting on the horses created an internationally acknowledged and respected rating system – Timeform – by which all horses, past and present are measured. And 147 is the highest rating ever achieved.

I wish I could tell you something romantic about the moment of Frankel’s birth, maybe coinciding with a beautiful sunrise goldening the sparse countryside of a Suffolk February dawn. But, to be blunt, it was at 11.40 pm. It was dry and 4° C outside. If you like your bed, I don’t recommend working on the foaling unit of a busy stud farm. From January to the second week of May, Simon Mockridge, the then stud manager, Jim Power, the stud groom and Ed Murrell become night owls. They live on the stud farm for good reason, as 90 per cent of foals are born under the cover of darkness, with a majority of those clustered around the two hours either side of midnight. It is, of course, a throwback to the wild when the dark offered respite and protection from predators.

Number 5 foaling box is bigger than the everyday stables, with extra-wide stable doors and, unusually, a small, human-sized door set in the back wall. Around the ceiling are an array of night cameras that monitor every square inch of the stall, the live feed piped back to the office of the night team who have a wall of TV monitors as impressive as any high-security bank vault. Kind may think she is alone, but she isn’t really.

Right up to the last 30 days of the 343 of pregnancy, the team maintained Kind’s routine, out day and night except for that morning interval. Then she became what is termed a ‘heavy mare’, and was brought in at night for those last four weeks. Until the final week of pregnancy, there are not many outward signs of what is happening inside. The mammaries begin to develop six weeks out but even that is not a continuous process, the enlargement plateauing until resuming in the last week. Jim knows her time is fast approaching, as the bags get large and the teats secrete milk the consistency of translucent candle wax. Drops of milk appear, first clear, then thick and creamy. As the foal moves towards the birthing position within the womb, Kind’s belly drops. All the signs are there of an imminent birth, but this time is all about the mare; human contact is kept to an absolute minimum. Kind stands alone in the box. The night crew scan the monitors.

Soon after ten o’clock, Kind starts to become restless, moving around in her box. Dripping milk. She is hot, sweaty and steamy. The uterine contractions are starting. Think of her womb as being the shape of an avocado, with the stem end the birth passage. In the midst is the foal, almost crouched down, hind legs drawn up under his stomach, his rump and tail backed up against the bulbous end. At the front, Frankel’s head is laid on top of his two front legs, nose and hooves together, as if he is preparing to dive out of the stem end. He is ready and so is she. Kind becomes incredibly docile – laid back, as Ed describes it. As she subsides to the ground, her waters break. Jim, Simon and Ed quietly slip in through that back door. Jim is in charge of the delivery; he needs to check the foal. The clock is ticking now. For a successful live birth the foaling must be completed within half an hour. Jim slides his hand inside Kind to feel for two front hooves and a muzzle. All is well.

The second stage of labour is starting, the abdominal muscles exerting more pressure on the womb. It works. Quite suddenly, a single hoof appears. Then a second and then the muzzle. The team are there to gently assist, offering comfort and soothing words but Kind can, and should, do this on her own. There is no hauling at the emerging foal; nature and the mare must do the work. Pushing. Gradually the legs, neck, shoulders and body are out. The hind legs remain in the birth canal for a short while further as Frankel takes his first breath, moving his forelegs like a chick pecking the shell to break open the white amniotic sac, in which he has lived for nearly a year, and that Jim then gently peels away to expose him to the world. The question then hangs in the air among Simon, Jim and Ed: they have a healthy foal, but is it a colt or filly? For at this point they have absolutely no idea. Among the blood and fluid Jim seeks out the answer. Colt! Smiles break out. Knowing nods of congratulation, for, however unfair it might seem, the possibilities for a colt seem so much more than those of a filly. Twelve minutes after her waters have broken, Kind’s foal, the great Frankel, is already a notable being.

Soon she is up on her feet, nuzzling and licking at her foal. Kind is a good mother, recognising her foal by taste and smell. Frankel sits up, taking in his new world – horses see from the moment of birth. And what he sees is a small circle of faces, Jim, Simon and Ed, as he is cleaned and dried. But soon they retreat through the rear door to the office behind, dimming the lights to almost darkness as they go. It is time for mother and foal to bond.