mentioned another: English-speaking readers have little interest in stories involving Czechs.
These issues had been bothering me for months. Ever since the project first occurred to me, I’d been trying
to talk myself out of it. Where was the sense in labouring to piece together the lost story of a long-dead
horsewoman no one had heard of, in a faraway country and an impenetrable language, when most people
would take one look at my proposed subtitle – “The countess, the Nazis and the world’s most dangerous
horse race” – and decide that, on the whole, these were not themes they wished to read about?
I resolved several times to drop the idea. But the story wouldn’t drop me. Instead, it kept on demanding to
be told. Eventually, I gave in.
It’s the tale of a strange, shy woman, born into privilege in 1895, who became an icon for her nation and her
gender on the eve of the Second World War; fell foul of two different totalitarian regimes; became
unmentionable; and died, forgotten and poor, in 1981.
Lata tackles the water jump, 1927 – her
presence in the race caused a scandal that
reverberated across EuropeIts sporting context is a notorious horse race, the Grand Pardubice steeplechase, which is sometimes
described as a more reckless version of the Grand National. Its 31 life-threatening obstacles, including the
monstrous Taxis ditch, are spread out along a course of four-and-a-bit miles, much of which is ploughed. It’s
less extreme today than it was when Lata was riding. Even so, the risks to jockey and horse are obvious and
severe.
Some consider merely riding in it a sign of insanity. Others question the ethics of exposing horses to its
dangers – despite the enthusiasm with which horses generally seem to participate. I sympathise with such
sentiments. Yet somehow they don’t detract from the value of Lata Brandisova’s achievements. That’s
partly because, though she lived in an age less concerned with animal welfare than ours is, she herself was
noted for her exceptionally gentle and sympathetic approach to the creatures she rode. Conventional
wisdom held that riders must dominate their horses. Lata insisted that a horse would give of its best only if
coaxed into being a “willing helper and friend”. Horses loved and trusted her, and I am not aware of any
having come to harm in her care.
In the old world her gender had allowed her no prospect of riding competitively. Her job was to marry a
fellow aristocrat and bear his children
But even if extreme steeplechasing is not to your taste, there are other reasons for thinking that Lata’s