Davy Russell extract from Autobiography

They used to say that, in the Grand National, you hunt around for the first circuit, survival the objective, and you ride a race on the second circuit, but that’s not the case anymore, not in my mind. The race is on from flagfall, and survival is the objective for the whole race. So as we go under the starting gate, one circuit down, one circuit to go, I’m happy with how we’re going, I’m happy that we’re still in the race, but I’m not thinking about winning. I’m still concentrating on getting Tiger Roll around. I’ve learned before, in the Grand National, as soon as you start thinking about winning, as soon as you start getting a little bit confident, disaster strikes and it all ends in tears. He gets low over the second fence on the second circuit, and he gets even lower over the third, the big ditch. That’s not a fence at which you want to be too low. He’s so low over it that the birch hits my boot and knocks it out of the stirrup. Again, it could have all ended there, but thankfully I get it back quickly enough without losing too much momentum.
He’s higher over the fourth and, before we jump the fifth, The One Before Becher’s, I can see up ahead that we are going to be by-passing Becher’s. There’s obviously a horse or a rider being attended to on the landing side, so we’re going to be waved around the fence. I notice that earlier than most, so I’m able to angle towards the outside of The One Before Becher’s so we can be in a good position to by-pass Becher’s without losing our rhythm. It gets a little tight when fences are by-passed in the Grand National. It used to be the case that you couldn’t by-pass fences, the fences would stretch all the way across the course from rail to rail, so there was no option for the field to by-pass a fence, and there was no place for loose horses to escape. There is now, which is good, but, in order to by-pass a fence, the field has to funnel into a fairly small gap. Space is at a premium. Harry Cobden is on my inside as we move towards the gap and he shouts over at me, asks for room. I could have cut him off, but that wouldn’t have been right. You look out for each other. “Davy, I’m still here!” he shouts over at me. “Yeah you’re perfect,” I say. “I have you covered.” So I don’t go tight to the wing of the fence as we by-pass it, I leave enough room for Harry to pass it on my inside. He’s a good chap, Harry. A very good rider. Unfortunately though, his horse, The Dutchman, makes a bad mistake at the next fence, Foinavon, and unseats him. That leaves me on the inside on the run to the Canal Turn. I was thinking I wanted to be on the inside anyway, I was travelling better than Harry was, and I was thinking I wanted to get in front of him at the Canal Turn. But his departure leaves it far easier for me. I’m on the inside without having to work for it.
Tiger Roll pings the fence and cuts the corner. We pass three or four horses in that manoeuvre and suddenly, with minimal effort, we’re fifth on the run towards Valentine’s.
He’s low at Valentine’s. God he’s low! He just dives through the top of it and lands running. He’d put the fear of God into you. Over the next and over the next, and I can see Daryl Jacob on one of Gordon Elliott’s other horses, Ucello Conti, crashing out to my left. Jack Kennedy is still there though on Gordon’s other horse, Bless The Wings, the horse I had ridden in the Cross-Country Chase at Cheltenham the previous month, just behind me on my inside. Johnny Burke is there up on my outside in the Rich Ricci colours on Childrens List. Brian Hughes is in front of me on Seeyouatmidnight, David Mullins to his left on Pleasant Company, Keith Donoghue just beside me on Valseur Lido.
I see a stride at the third last fence, I ask Tiger Roll up and he jumps it well and lands running. Suddenly we’re second, only David Mullins and Pleasant Company ahead of us, but I want to wait. I don’t want to go too early.
It’s a long run from the third last fence across the Anchor Bridge crossing and onto the main racecourse again before you get to the second last fence, so I need to be patient.
We’re upsides Pleasant Company at the second last fence, we’re not meeting the fence on a good stride, we get in tight and hit it. Pleasant Company hits it too. Neither of us jump the fence well. But I know that Tiger Roll has plenty of energy left, so I’m sitting and sitting and waiting and waiting and trying to fill him up. Suddenly he falls asleep on me, so I need to wake him up again. We move to the lead on the run to the final fence, I need to make sure he doesn’t go to sleep on me again, and we get to the last and jump it in front.
In front over the final fence in the Grand National!
Tiger Roll was ‘like a car running out of petrol’ before rallying
Tiger Roll was ‘like a car running out of petrol’ before rallying
TIMES PHOTOGRAPHER BRADLEY ORMESHER
I’m not thinking that, though. I’m just concentrating on my horse. No more fences to jump, but still I don’t want to ask him for maximum effort. It may be the Grand National, but it’s just another horse race in many ways. You ride to maximise your chances of winning. You don’t go for home too early. I know how long it is from the final fence to the winning line in the Grand National.
Many a race has changed in that time. I’m thinking, don’t go for him until you get to the Elbow.
So I’m just cajoling him along now, I know he has plenty of energy left, making sure he keeps going forward. Eventually we get to the Elbow, the kink in the rail that takes you past The Chair and the Water Jump that you jumped on the first circuit and up to the winning line, so I drive him forward, ask him for all he has left to give, just green grass between us and the winning line in the Grand National.
Suddenly I feel him stopping underneath me. It’s a horrible feeling, you’re driving him forward and he’s stopping underneath you. Like a car that’s running out of petrol, running out of energy. But he’s not running out of energy, I know he has plenty left. He’s having a look around him, thinking the job is done. He’s looking over at the Water Jump and wondering why we’re not jumping it. It’s obvious to him that the race is over.
I’m helpless on his back. All I can do is keep driving forward, keep kicking and pushing and hope he gets to the winning line. It feels like an eternity. I can hear a horse coming up behind us on our right, I can hear hooves on turf, I can hear the crowd roaring. I can see the winning line, miles away.
I keep driving and squeezing. I’m screaming now! I feel a horse beside us, I see the yellow sleeve on a jockey’s arm and then, a few strides later, we’re past the winning post. I stand up in the irons, and I’m thinking, f— it, I saw a lot of yellow there as we hit the line. I saw more yellow on David Mullins’s sleeve than I should have seen if we were in front. He was right upsides me. I could have just lost the Grand National.
I pull up and slow to a walk and am still thinking I could have just lost the Grand National. People are telling me I’ve won but I’m not really listening to anyone. I’m waiting for the result to be called, and I’m worried. I keep Tiger Roll moving, keep him walking. Just keep him on the move.
I’m still waiting. Will I be able to hear the announcement above all the noise? They’ll call the number first, I’m thinking, and then I think, what’s my number? I don’t even know my number! I look down at the saddlecloth, number 13. I’m number 13.
It’s taking ages. Why is it taking so long? There are people around me, at the horse’s head, at the horse’s sides, but I don’t want to engage with anyone, not until I know the result. Gordon isn’t there. He’s obviously staying away from me on purpose until the result is called. I’m just shaking the reins at Tiger Roll, keeping him walking, keeping moving forward, reins in my left hand, whip in my right hand. I could have just won the Grand National. I could have just lost the Grand National.
Russell had to wait for the result of a photo finish before celebrating victory
Russell had to wait for the result of a photo finish before celebrating victory
DONALL FARMER/PA
Why is it taking so long?
And then I hear the voice over the Tannoy.
“Here is the result of the photo finish for first place.”
I have a little look to my right, and then I just look straight ahead of me, and I think, 13, 13, 13.
“First number 13 . . .”
I can’t describe that feeling. I feel weak with relief. And ecstasy.
I feel like bursting, I feel like crying, I feel elated, I feel deflated, I feel exhilarated, I feel exhausted, all at the same time. And suddenly Gordon is there on my left, grabbing my leg, shouting at me, smiling, laughing. Brian Hughes smacks my hand. Keith Donoghue smacks my hand, gives me a hug. Somebody gives me a bucket of water and I pour it over Tiger Roll’s head.
It’s all a haze, though. Dreamland. It’s unbelievable. Really. The Grand National. I’ve just won the Grand National.

My Autobiography, by Davy Russell (with Donn McClean) is published by Eriu on Wednesday.
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Sunday October 27 2024, 12.01am BST, The Sunday Times
Russell was laid off as Michael O’Leary’s main Gigginstown jockey
I was fasting and I was wasting and I was trying to be as light as I could be. No Gigginstown job, no set job at all, I wanted to be in the position to ride whatever was available, within reason. I didn’t want to rule myself out of the chance of riding a horse who had a good chance in a handicap just because I couldn’t do 10st 6lb or 10st 7lb.
The downside of that though was that I wasn’t in great form. I was constantly hungry and I was continually cranky. I wouldn’t have been great company. Little things would annoy me easily. Like in a mares’ hurdle at Kilbeggan in June 2014, I was riding a mare for Peter Fahey, Queen Alphabet. She was a decent mare, I had ridden her to finish fifth in the listed mares’ bumper at the Aintree Grand National meeting two years earlier, and I had ridden her to win her maiden hurdle on her previous run at Kilbeggan. We thought she would win.
That was before I encountered Danny Mullins in the race. He was riding a horse for his mother Mags, a mare called Princess Leya, and he was just messing around in front of me. Patrick Mullins led on a mare for his dad Willie, Pink Hat, and I sat in second place behind him, just towards the outside, with Danny on my inside.
Patrick’s mare was jumping to her left in front of me, so I just kept my mare straight and moved up on the inside. But when I did, Danny rode his mare forward so that she was up alongside me. So I let him go on in front of me, and I moved up again on the inside but, when I did, Danny rode forward and kept me in. I was like, go on or sit back, make up your f—ing mind, but don’t be just riding your race to annoy my horse. Eventually Danny’s mare tired and I was left to challenge Patrick, but Queen Alphabet couldn’t get to Patrick’s mare. She had used up so much energy messing around with Danny’s mare, she had nothing left for the finish.
I was livid. I shouldn’t have been, but it was a combination of everything. No Gigginstown job, worried, wasting, weakened, hungry. We pulled up after crossing the winning line, and we made our way towards the chute that takes you from the racecourse at Kilbeggan back to the parade ring. I waited for Danny.
“What the f— was that?”
“What the f— was what?” he asked.
“That!” I said, getting more annoyed. “What were you at out there?”
“I was just riding my race,” Danny said.
Then I boxed him. Smack! Before I knew what I was doing, I had closed my fist and hit him, square on the side of the face. It was wrong, I knew it was wrong as soon as I did it, but it had all got on top of me. When you’re wasting, little things annoy you more than they should, and big things look like mountains. Smack. Then he started bleeding. I don’t know where all the blood came from. I didn’t know that one nose could hold so much blood. It streamed out of him, continually, a steady flow and no stopping it.
I’ve done it now, I thought. They’ll take the licence off me now. You can’t go around boxing people in the face when things don’t go your way. They called a stewards’ enquiry, and they had me and Danny in.
“What went on there then?”
I said I was just making my way back down the chute and, the next thing I know, there’s blood pouring out of Danny’s nose.
“Danny?”
“Ah my horse’s head came up sir and smacked me in the face. Then my nose started bleeding.”
Fair play to Danny. He could have hung me out to dry, and he would have been well within his rights to do so. I was absolutely, completely, 100 per cent in the wrong. Danny could have stuck the knife in and twisted it. Fair play to him. I always appreciated that.