Arkle, Mill House, Red Rum, L'Escargot, Dawn Run and Desert Orchid - all household names that will live forever. Some legends never die and the members of this remarkable list were all more than great race horses, they were the courageous kings and - in the case of Dawn Run, the tragic queen - of National Hunt racing. Mere mention of Arkle, the Lord of Cheltenham or Red Rum, three times winner of the Grand National, brings tears to the eye, causes heads to shake and people to pronounce, "we'll never see their likes again". It's probably true. Even among great horses, of which there have been many, only a privileged few possess that quality known as genius.
Some of the sport's heroes rely on history to record their feats. Few people today can claim to have witnessed the racing exploits of Golden Miller, winner of five consecutive Cheltenham Gold Cups in the 1930s. He lived to be 30, dying in retirement in 1958. Had there never been an Arkle, Golden Miller, bred in Ireland and also the winner of the 1934 Grand National, might still be considered the greatest steeplechaser of them all. But then, mythic are the claims of the beautiful Red Rum, who died in 1995, also aged 30, and who is buried, fittingly, at the finishing line at Aintree. Everyone has their own favourite and I still have my photograph of this particular god.
Simplistically considered the less glamorous kin of flat racing, National Hunt, with its winter venues and admittedly smaller purses, makes far greater demands of the horses and the jockeys who compete in it. Just as the horses are usually bigger and heavier than their thoroughbred counterparts, combining speed, stamina and jumping skills, the riders must be complete horsemen. It's more dangerous, tougher and, as Anne Holland, author of Steeplechasing - A Celebration of 250 years - who herself is a former amateur rider and one of the first women to ride under National Hunt rules - claims, "far more sporting".
There is also the fact that, for people who love horses but are ambivalent about the idea of racing them, National Hunt - huge risks and all - still has some advantages. It retains a sense of family and of the individual. Although there are many highly professional National Hunt yards dedicated to producing champions - the Queen Mother has owned more than 450 winners - small trainers still have a say. Norton's Coin, owned and trained by Welsh farmer Sirrell Griffiths, testifies to this. Griffiths, like many farmers and like his father before him, has always kept a couple of horses. Norton's Coin was not one of those animals with "majestic" written all over him from birth. In fact he was the definitive no- hoper, judged too poor as a three-year-old to even send to the sales.
Instead, he was sent on loan to a riding school on Barry Island off the Welsh coast for a year - hardly the ideal preparation for a future champion.
Sirrell, having first turned down a few offers to buy Norton's Coin, finally did so, but not before the horse was loaned to another riding stable, this time as a hunter.
It proved crucial. After some mediocre point-to-point performances, life seemed to improve for the horse no one really wanted when his stamina began to show.
Norton's Coin was seven by the time Sirrell bought him. Three years later, in a field that included the great grey, Desert Orchid, Norton's Coin won the 1990 Cheltenham Gold Cup. His is a great story. National Hunt horses just seem to have bigger personalities. This is thanks to their often having longer careers than thoroughbred flat racers who, if they are lucky enough to earn big money for their owners over a season or two, are quickly despatched at the peak of their value to stud. While good National Hunt mares also end up there, the males are invariably geldings who enjoy active retirement hunting and point-to-pointing. Others such as Red Rum and Desert Orchid - who stops just short of signing autographs - become international personalities. Arkle's fan mail tended to be addressed simply to "Arkle, Ireland" - it's difficult to become more famous than that.
It has long been said that the Irish own Cheltenham and Arkle certainly made this a reality. It's a tradition brilliantly reiterated by the more recent exploits of Istabraq, winner of three Champion Hurdles and the first equine National Hunt millionaire. Yet Irish ownership of the sport is more complete than even the collective feats of superb horses over the years.
National Hunt, born of the hunting field, was invented here by two fiercely competitive and obviously sporting Irishmen in Co Cork in 1752. Edmund Blake is reported to have announced to his friend Cornelius O'Callaghan that his hunter was better and that it could outrun Callaghan's and to prove it, he wanted them to race from the place they were standing to a church steeple in the distance. The challenge was accepted. The starting line was St John's Church in Buttevant and the finish, another church, St Mary's in Doneraile. In between lay a natural hunting course consisting of all manner of obstacles including the steep slope down to the banks of the River Awbeg which joins the Blackwater at Fermoy.
News of the race drew many onlookers who were well used to the notion of flat racing - ancient even by then - but hadn't yet witnessed a contest with jumps included. The two hunters took off and, as Anne Holland describes it in her book, only a person who has hunted could appreciate the speed as well as the sheer variety of jumps, each with its own set difficulties and changing surfaces, encountered. She evokes the sound of crashing through the undergrowth and of splashing through the various loops of the river. It is possible to imagine random branches swinging back, the less robust snapping.
On the pair galloped, swearing at everything and panting; their horses dark with sweat and flecked with foam. What was at stake? Only a cask of wine, as suggested by O'Callaghan when he accepted Blake's challenge. Finally, after some four and a half miles, St Mary's Church at Doneraile, which today bears a commemorative plaque recalling the event, stood before them and no doubt inspired a final surge. It's all very exciting, from church to church, steeple to steeple - hence steeplechasing.
One small catch remains - the winner is not recorded. Perhaps it is better this way, both horsemen are remembered sharing equal status - and it does underline an element that runs through the history of steeplechasing.
However competitive it is, and it is, there has always been a camaraderie among riders. Even now, with all the races and big money, it is still a sport rooted in the local and particularly in hunting. Somehow it is not quite the big business that flat racing is.
There are the photographs and the memories, the images caught forever of fantastic finishes, of shock defeats and fallers. The sight of brave Desert Orchid galloping home, riderless, after falling in his final race, the 1991 King George at Cheltenham.
Even in defeat, his aura was intact, you couldn't but love this flamboyant character, who was somehow as impressive in that accident-prone farewell as in his many victories. Also memorable is the horrible silence that followed the fatal fall of Dawn Run, the only horse to have won both the Champion Hurdle and the Cheltenham Gold Cup. She is also the only horse to have won the English, Irish and French Champion Hurdles in the same season. A big, rangy mare, she was built for 'chasing. When she returned to France again as favourite for the French Champion Hurdle, she looked the obvious winner. The race was going so well. But five fences from home, she was gone. A jumping error had caused her to break her neck.
Her death caused endless debate about whether she had been raced too much in a long season. Holland makes an interesting case in defence of Dawn Run's handlers. Tragedy aside, she is now remembered at Cheltenham, in a bronze statue, sharing an honour already awarded Arkle and Golden Miller.
No discussion about National Hunt racing, particularly if it involves the non-racing man in the street or simply non-competitive horse-loving horse owners, will focus solely on the sporting aspects of Cheltenham. Described by many, including Holland, as "the world's greatest steeplechase" all too often the dangers, the casualties and the fatalities obscure its glories. It is a tough race, run over four and a half miles with 30 jumps, including the infamous Becher's Brook, of four foot six inches.
First run on Tuesday February 26th, 1839, the race drew 17 starters and the jumps were lower than they are today. It has survived public outcry, war and often impossible conditions. Now limited to 40 starters, less than half this number usually finish. The 19th century had its share of great victors including Cloister who won by 40 lengths - a record that stood until 2001 when Red Marauder took the race - and Manifesto, winner in 1897 and 1899 and who contested it eight times. It is interesting of course that many of the early heroes are remembered in paintings and drawings, there are no photographs. One of sport's enduring speculations is how Arkle and Desert Orchid - neither of whom ran it - would have fared.
Looking at National Hunt's rich history, it is the horses who dominate. All powerful and, equally, all vulnerable. Of course there are also the jockeys - Jonjo O'Neill, John Francome, Richard Dunwoody - and the trainers, including Vincent O'Brien, who enjoyed much success before concentrating fully on the flat.
Holland says: "horses are my life". She owns and hunts former steeplechaser Bradbury Star. She has given the history, which is fascinating, in a book that also includes the humans. But the pages come to life with the horses, their triumphs, their tragedies. A small colour photograph of Red Rum glancing out of his stable catches his intelligence and unusual serenity.
But it is Arkle, named after a mountain in Scotland, wayward superstar, beloved and immortal, who dwarfs all else. He won 22 of his 26 steeplechase races. He lost his final race, finishing second. Afterwards it was discovered he had broken a pedal bone during the race. He was only nine and his career was over. A lively retirement seemed obvious but his injury crippled him. At 13, too stiff to enjoy life, he was put down.
Still, Arkle always knew he was the best - because, as experts, riders, fans and armchair critics invariably agree, he was.
Steeplechasing - A Celebration of 250 Years by Anne Holland is published by Little, Brown at £20 in UK