Janet Vokes - Dream Horse: The Incredible True Story of Dream Alliance – the Allotment Horse who Became a Champion

Me aged five at our 141 Commercial Street flat with my mother in the background.

Brian, aged twenty-one, while we were courting. This was one of his projects!

Our wedding day in October 1971. I borrowed my dress and veil from one of my work colleagues.

Me, aged eighteen, with my cousin and my grandad, who is holding Dennis.

Another one of Brians horses. You can see his old cart in the background.

With the very handsome Rags To Riches (Charlie) after winning best of breed.

Saying hello to one of our pigeons.

Just some of the trophies we won with the birds.

Brian and I in the 80s on one of our caravan holidays.

The Top Club in Cefn Fforest where I was working when I came up with the idea to breed a race horse.

Dreams father Bien Bien who was a Champion Turf Horse in the USA.

Dream as a foal with Rewbell and Brian.

Our allotment where Dream was raised. The stable is on the left.

Brian sharing a moment with Dream (aged eighteen months).

Recurring Dream training at Sandhill Racing Stables with Philip Hobbs.

Ianto on our allotment with Brian. We brought him up together after Rewbells death.

Tom OBrien riding Dream to victory in the Coral Welsh National in 2009.

A delighted Tom following his win Id had every faith in him!

The syndicate celebrating with Dream in the winners enclosure. We were all so proud.

Dream at the Aintree Grand National in 2010. It wasnt his race and he pulled up at the twenty-fourth fence.

Enjoying a day out at Aintree! From left to right: Brian, me, Angela and Howard.

To Dream Alliance.
More than a horse, more than a winner.

But what if he cant do it?

I couldnt hide my fear any longer. What were we doing here? What if Id got everything wrong?

Hes going to be great, love, my husband Brian reassured me. Hes our boy, remember that. Look, theres the entrance.

I looked over to where he was pointing. It may have been my first time at Newbury Race Course but I could read well enough and the sign above the door said Owners Entrance. That, funnily enough, was exactly what was printed on our tickets. I took a deep breath and we followed the rest of the crowd. Wed come this far, hadnt we?

All my life Ive struggled to get myself noticed for what and who I am. As a young girl I was always Kellys daughter. When I started school I was Trevors sister, even though I was ten times brighter than him. When I got married I became Daisys wife. Thats what the village knew me as. Just once, just once I wanted to do something that nobody could take away from me. Something that got me recognized as a person in my own right. Me. Not some relative, not some bloke. Not some tradition.

And that horse out there in the parade ring at Newbury was my best chance of doing it.

Forget my nerves, Id have fought through fire and water to see my boys first race. He looked so beautiful. Chestnut all over apart from four near-identical white socks and a striking white blaze between his eyes. Whatever happened I loved him and I was grateful. Hed already given me so much. To be honest, hed given the whole town and community a new lease of life. Wherever he placed, whatever he did, I would love him.

But dont be coming last, now, will you, boy? Dont let me down, I said. I dont want to go back to being just Kellys daughter.

Bert Kelly Davies met my mother in the Potteries during the war. Shes English, bless her, but we all have our cross to bear. Dad was pure Welsh stock, born in Aberbargoed and the eldest of four brothers. Why everyone called Dad Kelly, though, is anybodys guess. People said it was because he resembled an old family member with the same name who had been a bare-knuckle fighter in the Rhondda Valley. His father, my grandfather, was a miner who had scraped by but always put food on the table for them all.