The Horse Forum banner
Status
Not open for further replies.

Childhood memories.

46K views 582 replies 25 participants last post by  Foxhunter 
#1 · (Edited)
My maternal grand mother always said I inherited my love of horses from her grandfather who was a carter back in the 1820s. Doesn't really matter as I had a deep affection for them and dreams of being an Olympic rider from an early age.

The only contact I had with Horses was when the rag and bone man came around with his horse and cart. The mare was a big bay with a white face, part Shire and as patient as they can be. She pulled the cart up and down the hills as her owner called out ”Any old rags and bones?"
People brought out ragged clothing and scrap metal to receive a few pence or if we children brought it out we were handed some sweets or a lollipop.
Growing up immediately after the war things were tight and nowadays recycling is all the rage, back then nothing went to waste
I don't know why but Mr Grant would always sit me up on the broad back of the mare. I would hold the hames loving every moment of it. No other children were allowed to sit on her so I was very privileged.

Friends of my parents, Aunty Gay and Uncle Smithy, had had marriage problems and Mummy had taken Gay and her daughter Sally in so they had a roof over their heads. Sally was a big sister to me. The marriage was sorted and they moved to the mainland. Mum, my younger sister, also Sally, and I would go and stay with them. Big Sally had a Welsh pony, Snowball, Uncle had a TB - the biggest horse in the world to me, Tiber. He was actually only 15.3.

We would go ride Snowball in the orchard always bareback. He was a fiery little so and so possibly because Sally and I would sneak him buckets of oats. Mostly we were doubled up, she was always in front and me behind.
I cannot recall a particular time but I know that we were frequently bucked off, run away with, dragged off by the low branches of the fruit trees or, the most painful, thrown into the gate or hedge when Snowball galloping straight towards the fence line, swerving at the last moment whilst we went straight ahead. I usually had a better landing because having been on the back I would land on Sally squashing her further into the brambles and thorns.

I do remember the two of us sitting in the bath in the evening admiring each other's bruises and scratches. It was never any good going indoors complaining to out mothers as there would be no sympathy.

When I was about seven I started proper lessons at a riding school across the Island, Mr Pocock. I went with two friends. First pony I rode was Fifi. On arriving the next week I was told that Fifi had died and I was put on an old grey called Wizard. The third week I was told Wizard had died. I really began to think that I had jinxed the poor animals.
The two friends parents that took turns to take us there were not happy sonthose lessons stopped. Later in the local paper here was a report that he had been closed and fined for cruelty. He was pretty ignorant of equine matters. Those animals had no access to water, he thought they could get enough from the grass.

So Riding stopped. There was a much nearer riding school but that was expensive. Begging and pleading, asking for riding money for birthday and Christmas, my parents eventually agreed to me starting there.
This was my break through into the equestrian world.
 
See less See more
#4 · (Edited)
The two girls I had been to Pococks stables with had several months start on me at the new riding school - their parents were rich compared to mine!

I was surprised when I saw the stables, they were nothing much at all. Three loose boxes and the others tied up in the pony shed, two rows of them, one half under cover, the other open to the elements.

The place was owned by a Miss Fleming and her partner Mr Trumble - both seemed ancient to me. I was on a novice ride accompanied by Miss Fleming. The pony I was allowed was Pixie, a 13.2 part Exmoor. For the first time ever I was shown how to mount correctly.
We went out up over the Downs, I thought I was doing very well but Miss Fleming, at the back of the ride would be shouting out orders of "Heels down on Pixie." or, "Shorten your reins on Pixie." It was endless. Her voice would resonate all around and I just wished I wasn't riding a pony called Pixie.

Back at the stables it was lunch time so they were all untacked, had their saddle patches brushed off and given a feed. I was allowed to help feed and then told I was to young to stay so to go home.

I worked it out that the bus fare was four pence each way. If I walked the three miles home and the three miles there, in four weeks I would have enough for an extra ride. I was only allowed to rode every other week and the time seemed to drag so slowly and then the hour riding go so fast. My birthday was soon and if everyone gave me money I could get a course of twelve lessons.

I was way to young to work but, running errands to the shops usually brought a monetary reward. All this went into my riding pot. Later, when the summer holidays started I knew I could get more helping to clear the beach of any litter and with lunch find some pop bottles and collect the deposit charged onnthem. There was always the added chance of finding coins in the sand.

So, with birthday and Christmas money I was able to ride most weeks. I would arrive as early as I dared and loiter as long as I could after each ride. The day came when I wasn't sent home and stayed all day until the ponies were ridden bareback out to the fields. The pride I felt when I was allowed to join them and ride Molly to the furthest field. My experiences on Snowball stood me in good stead and I was perfectly comfortable without a saddle.
 
#5 · (Edited)
Riding became routine. I spent all the time I could at the stables. We all worked our hearts out. Soon, on a Saturday I was getting to the fields early to catch and bring the horses in for their work, then on a Sunday, which was their day off, a group of us would go out and bring some of the ponies in from the Down fields to the home paddocks so the girls working there didn't have so many to bring in.

in the winter we would, tide allowing rode on the beach. By this time I had been promoted front the beginners ride to Miss Fleming's 9.20 ride. There were no lead reins on this rode and we could get more canters.
This particular Saturday eight of us rode down to the beach. The stables were on a ridge well above the town. We would rode down to the Old Village and then down a tarmac path to the beach.
At the time some of the ponies had been pony racing in the summer so were fairly keen to go. Miss Fleming was always particular over what horse she rode. She didn't like anything that was to lazy or to hot. This particular Saturday she was riding Faro, Mr Trumble's hunter. Being an Anglo Arab and very fit, he was inclined to spook a lot and known to put in the odd buck or three.
We all groaned when we saw her pull him out, we knew that this was going to be a slow ride.

We got down onto the beach, the tide was well out, the sand flat and inviting for a good canter but, just as we thought, we had to stay in single file behind her and trot serpentines and then, with her in the centre and is all in a line, do a 'wheelie' as she did a turn on the forehand. We all vied to be on the outside so we could get a bit of a canter. When we reached the end of the beach we were lined up to play 'Simon Says.' I begged to be Simon and was allowed to issue the orders.
"Simon says, touch your right toe with your left hand."
"Get off."
So it went on all very boring. We all knew the game and no one was making a mistake. I had a thought about how to liven it up and said, "Simon says, gather up your reins."
"Simon says, feet in your stirrups."
"Simon says, gallop!"
So we did. Flat out along the sands only to find that none of us could stop. We went over the stones, up a slipway around a sharp corner up the path onto the road.
Even then the ponies wouldn't stop, we raced along the road, down through the Old Village finally stopping up the hill by the Cottage Hospital.
It was only then did we realise that Faro was with us, minus Miss Fleming.
The ponies were breathing hard and we were flushed from both excitement and fear. A discussion was held over going back for Miss Fleming or back to the stables. We decided on the latter as we might get to have a jump in the arena.

We didn't exactly tell the truth over what had happened but we were told to put the ponies away. We thought Mr Trumble would drive down to pick Miss Fleming up but he just muttered and said the walk would do her good.

Nothing was ever said about this venture but the next week I had been promoted to riding with Mr Trumble.
One summer Saturday I was told I wasn't riding until the afternoon ride instead of the 10.30. It was explained to me that there was a special task I was to do.
Lunchtime Mrs Trumble and another lady appeared and took me outside to apply makeup to my face. Mr Trumble explained that the Rotary Club he was a member of, had a bet on with the RAF over whether they could or couldn't break into the radar station on top of the Downs.
My task was to be run away with and to fall off outside of the gates and pretend to be unconscious. I was then made to lie on the ground and remain totally floppy as they lifted me up. I passed muster and off on the rode we went.

I was riding a pretty pony Trixie. She was one that Pony Raced and was always inclined to go from A to B at a fast pace but she always stopped where she should. We went on a normal ride along past the Radar Station trotting and cantering and then we turned back towards home. I was told to go off, I kicked Trixie and off she went. We were alongside the road and she scooted round the corner before the gates like it wasn't there. I quit my stirrups, wondered how I was going to bail out as I hadn't been told. I hit the ground running before 'falling' and rolling. Trixie continued her way home and I lay there.
Mr Trumble rode up and asked the gateman to call an ambulance. A couple of RAF men came out and they carried me into the gatehouse laying me on a table. I remained floppy the whole time, my eyes closed.

Soon I heard the bell pf an ambulance arriving (way before they had sirens) The ambulance backed in toe open gates and the door burst open with a dozen men making machine gun noises whilst pointing sticks at the RAF men.

There were cries of "That's not fair! We would never open the gates if there was a real war."

The local Rotary members thought it was all fair game. They had been trying for a month to break in but always the Alsations, kept leashed for the duration of the bet, had always found them out.

I haven't a clue as to what the final outcome was but I do know that I was charged for the ride!
 
#8 ·
Ha ha--I am loving these stories. Your being charged for the ride you did to help them win the bet sounds like what happened to my daughter and me. We survived an airplane crash and I called and said I thought we shouldn't have to pay since the airplane crashed. They said the airplane got us to our destination and we survived, so they refused to let us off from paying.
 
#9 · (Edited)
* That autumn I was allowed to enter the Pony Club one day event. I was going to be riding Molly. Molly knew all about teaching children.

I learned the dressage test until I knew it backwards. This was not an easy test as there were counter canters, turns on the forehand and haunches, extended trots and anything else they thought they would throw in.

Miss Fleming set up a dressage arena marking it with poles at the corners and one pole either of the long sides. The letter markers were pinned to the poles. We practised, several times. It was really just to prove that we all knew the test rather than how to do the movements.

The grand day arrived, we rode to Perreton Farm where the PC had many of their events.
My tum came and Miss Fleming issued the order of "Ride right to the markers."

I entered the arena at a jog trot. Molly wasn't going to do anything more. I wasn't allowed to carry a stick and she knew it. Halted at X, bowed and jogged on. At C I turned left and the judge blew the car horn. This was a signal that I had gone wrong, but I hadn't so I continued on my merry way. The hooter kept hooting and I kept ignoring.
Molly and I continued with our jog through all the movements from walk to canter. The forehand/haunches turns were just very tight circles. The hotting had stopped about halfway through the test.
Finally we jogged up the centre line and halted, I saluted and the judge got out of her car. She was smiling as she walked towards me and kindly said, "My dear, you have gone terribly wrong."
I looked at her and burst into tears "I haven't." I sobbed.
She went on to explain that I was meant to stay inside the poles not rode to where the markers were, set back from the poles.

I had only been doing as Miss Fleming had told me - riding to the markers.

The good thing was that I did get some marks for entry and a couple of movements on the centre line. Even better was that I wasn't last!

We had walked the cross country course and I was so looking forward to it.

Miss Fleming was Jump judging so the two girls who worked at the stables took us over the practise jump which was a short pole carried in the back of the Bedford van and held by two volunteers.

I set off on the CC, Molly, knowing I had a whip was willing to go. Miss Fleming was at jump five or six, a drop fence with a ditch on the landing side. On approaching it she started to yell instructions, "Shorten your reins, sit up, legs LEGS LEGS!" we cleared it and I heard her booming out, "Well done my dear, give her a pat."

After the CC I tied Molly to the picket line tomwait for the show jumping. I went across to the catering tent next to the secretary and overhead a woman complaining of a lady shouting instructions to her riders at fence six. Dr Howie Wood. The District Comissioner for our branch, just replied. "Madam, go back there and watch, you will see that she helps every rider." That was Miss Fleming, always fair!

End of the day I wasn't placed but we rode home tired but happy. To this day I think I am the only person who has ever done a dressage rest outside the arena
 
#10 · (Edited)
*It had been very wet and that winter I had enough money saved to pay for my first day out hunting. The Meet was not far from the stables. Again I was meant to be riding Molly but she had pulled a shoe so, instead I was on Pixie.

Back then jodhpurs were made from Cavalry Twill a mostly wool mix. They were baggy and although warm in winter they were very itchy. Children wore tweed jackets and short boots.
So, the big day arrived. I plaited Pixie, they might well have resembled footballs but they were mostly hidden under his thick winter coat. I brushed him as clean as I could, it had been dry overnight so mud was removeable.

We walked and trotted the two miles to the Meet, held on this occasion at a farm just outside of the town. Mr Trumble looked resplendent in his hunting red and mounted on his hunter, Valdora Jane. The Meet was a hive of activity, people handing around food, small bite sized sausage rolls and sandwiches, mince pies and fruit cake. Adults were handed glasses of mulled wine or port. Hounds were milling around the huntsmen and quick to gather up any dropped goodies or even trying to help themselves from the trays people were carrying.

I had read and reread the Pony Club book on the laws of hunting. Mr Trumble had drummed into us to turn our ponies to face hounds and not tomallow them to kick. We knew about keeping a distance between you and the horse in front and most importantly, to stay behind the Field Master who on this occasion was him. Children were also expected to stay to the back of the field except when there was a gate to open and then they were to be quick to open it for everyone else.

Pixie, along with many other horses and ponies was shaking and sweating with excitement. Finally afternwhat seemed an eternity, the Huntsman blew his horn and he, the whips and hounds rode out the drive and down the road. Hounds and Hunt staff went into a field whilst the rest of us followed Mr Trumble down a farm track.

Pixie was being very strong and kept tarring his head down. My reins were slippery from his sweat and my hands kept sliding down the reins.
We all stopped when Mr Trumble went to open a gate at the end of the track. Before I knew it Pixie, always a good games pony was weaving his way through the other horses and as Mr Trumble was dragging the gate open he jumped it and took off with me across an open field and into a copse at the end where hounds were casting.

I was frightened of being in so much trouble and scratched from low braches. I didn't know what to do. Tears blurred my eyes and I really thought that I would be banned from hunting for life.

Hounds started to speak and I heard someone hollering the far side of the copse. Not knowing where I was, or the way out of the copse, imface Pixie's head into a large oak tree so he couldn't take off with me again.
I was so ashamed I waited until it was quiet and rode back out the copse. I seemed to be in a different field to the one I had been carted across and I quietly rode to a gate.
This was an old wooden gate tied up with bailer twine. I dismounted to open it. Pixie was trying to get away but I held on for dear life. The mus was halfway to my knees and I could feel my boots filling up. I managed to get the gate open and closed, Pixie was messing around so much that I couldn't get on again so I led him across the next field which led into the farm yard. Another gate, slightly easier to open but leading into the cow yard which was even deeper in liquid cow muck.
Eventually I got back onto the road and mounted Pixie. I sat on him for hours waiting for someone to come. Eventually Mrs Howie Wood, the Drs wife drove along and stopped. She was so nice that the tears flowed again. She assured me that everything would be OK and it was probably best if I rode back to the stables.
I did this and as I was nearly at the field leading to the stables, so I npmet Miss Fleming going out with her 11.30 ride. I had been out for all of thirty minutes from the Meet including the twenty minute hack home!

I was never banned from hunting, in fact, people were very kind about the whole incident, remarking on how well I had jumped the gate. (As of I had had a choice!) I do not know how long it was before I hunted again and when I did it was on a pony that had brakes.
 
#11 · (Edited)
* I was spending all my spare time at the stables. I just couldn't get enough of it despite having to work hard. We were taught well. Mr Trumble rides were very military amd we were sent up the jumping lane without stirrups, without stirrups and reins and then taking our jackets off as we went down the line of jumps then putting it back on the next time.
When we fell off it was cause for laughter and teasing. Bruises admired. We also would have to canter around the arena and remove the horse's saddle. Absolutely no purpose to it other than making us supple, confident and very well balanced.

Valdosta Jane, one of Mr Trumble's hunters was always turned out for a while in the late spring. She was a difficult horse to keep condition on so, April she disappeared to go to some farm amd was brought back nicely rounded at the end of July.
That winter Jane kept rounded, she was hunted as usual and only at the beginning of March did it show that she was in foal. Evidently a New Forest yearling had got in with her, no one thought anything had happened but Jane knew otherwise!
She produced a colt foal in the April. She and the foal were away from the stables. They returned in Julymspmthat they could be shown at the local county show.

A local livestock transporter was hired to take the horses and ponies entered in the show. Several of us children were put into the luton of the lorry, then the horses loaded.
Jane and Timber, her colt, were loaded last. Someone led Jane up the ramp expecting Timber to follow but he dived around the side of the lorry. Jane panicked and threw her head up hitting it on the roof. She was unloaded and seemed fine. They loaded Timber first and Jane followed. They were taken down the village to be turned out i a field on their own.
Next morning three of us went down to bring them in. I was to open and close the gates.
We went down across the field to the village and as we walked down the lane towards the field they were in we could see Jane lying down and Timber standing by her.
"Jane's dead." I said.
"Don't be stupid, she is just sleeping."
"No," I said, "She's dead. Timber keeps pawing her and she isn't moving. She's dead."

Unfortunately I was right, Jane had been dead for several hours. I was sent back to the stables to tell Mr Trumble whilst the two brought Timber.
When I told him Jane was dead and they were bringing Timber back, he was furious amd said she was just sleeping and when she missed her foal she would just charge through the fence.
He rushed off to see what was happening. We could hear Timber whinnying but no reply.

A while later Mr Trumble came back and he looked at me and said, "You're right, she's dead."

I was amazed that he wasn't upset. Jane had been a firm favourite of his so I asked him why.
He put his arm across my shoulders amd said, "My dear, of you cry over one, you will cry over them all and that is going to mean a lot of tears. Jane had a good life and obviously died quickly as there were no struggle marks. It could have been worse for her."

It was thought that she had a brain haemorrhage after banging her head though there were no signs of it when she was turned out.

Timber went off thatnafternoon and was turned out with a couple of youngsters. We didn't see him again until he was four years old.
 
#12 · (Edited)
* Sometimes if I had been naughty I was banned from the stables. This didn't happen very often and I wasn't confined indoors.

Somehow a gang of boys had had a run in with a group frommthe next town, it had been arranged for a 'fight' in the Landslip, a well treed area between the two towns. I and another girl had long been accepted into the gang as we didn't cry and could hold our own.

Being organised the time had been arranged for 10 a.m. I suggested, using logic, that we got there early and surprised them.

We abandoned our bikes by the side of the road. It was quite a safe thing to do as no one would dream of taking them, and walked to the Wishing Stone. We clambered up to a ledge and someone suggested we went to the next ledge up. We were all scratched and stung but it was a great spot for an ambush. Most were armed with home made bows and arrows, me - I had a catapult Dad had made from an ash branch, a bikes inner tube and a piece of old shoe leather. I boast when I say I was a good shot.

We lay in wait for what seemed like and eternity until we heard them coming. When they saw no one was there they decided to set an ambush and climbed to the first ledge. We were all so quiet until the command of "Fire!" was shouted.

Sticks, sorry, arrows wobbled there was down in a hail, there were yells and shouts of "That's not fair!" But we took no notice.

When I was presented with the catapult I was told never to sling stones with it so I didn't, I slung marbles! I had a few direct hits but had run out of ammo so picked up some mud. I happened to find a peach stone someone had thrown off the top cliff. I aimed at a boy running away and it hit him fair and square on the back of hos head.

He went down as if he had been pole axed and lay there. Nothing happened for a moment or two and then the blood started to flow and how.

I was absolutely certain I had killed him and was all calmboured through undergrowth and ran back to our bikes.

All that summer, if I saw a policeman I went the other way. I was so sure the lad was dead.

I never again went gang fighting by making sure I was always at the stables.

I totally forgot about the incident logic telling me the boy had to have been OK or there would have been consequences.

Several years later I went out for the evening with a girl from the stables. We met up with a group pf lads she knew and I was introduced. When Pam said where I was from one of the lads said, "I don't like people from there. Years ago someone hit me with a stone in the back of the head and I had to have loads pf stitches. They played dirty and were laying in wait for us."

I honestly felt a relief that he was OK. Of course I had to tell him that they were going to lay in wait for us and it wasn't a stone but a peach colonel"
He didn't believe me until I told him that he had been wearing a green sweater and where it was he had been hit.

I am glad to say I was forgiven although poor Lou was ragged for being beaten by a girl.
 
#13 ·
Love your stories Foxhunter. I think it's amazing you remember your childhood so clearly. I sure don't have too many specific stories from mine!

Please keep the memories coming :)
 
#14 · (Edited)
* I cannot remember people's names but remember animals. I can clearly remember many things happening from very early like my third birthday and getting Big Ted from maternal grandparents. Standing on a chair trying to undo the string around the box as everything was saved back then. My Grandfather was a grumpy grampy and very strict. He had a knife that was not allowed to be used by anyone and he held my hand holding hos knife and helped me cut the string.
Big Ted, (He wasn't very big at all) finally demised a few years ago from over loving.

Another thing about very early and Big Ted was when my mother went to the Maternity Home to have my sister. My God Parents came to look after me. Aunts Dorry and Uncle Tom. Dad moved across to his mother's as we only had a two bedroomed house. Aunts Dorry was very house proud and you had to take your shoes off when you came in.
Big Ted had already worn out the front of his paws. Aunty Dorry cut up an old pair of leather gloves and sewed them onto hos paws. They were still there when he demised!

The kitchen in that house was tiny. I would stand on a box and help dry the dishes. I could turn and place them on a dresser. Mum would wash up and get another towel to help me dry but Aunty couldn't have two tea towels on the go at the same time. She grabbed the towel from me telling me I was to slow. I dropped the saucer I was drying and it broke.

When Mummy came home from the nursing home (women use to have at least a week bed rest after a birth) she promised me that I could be the first to hold the baby of I had been good. I was told to sit in an armchair and not to move to Mum because I might hurt the baby.
Mummy came in holding Sally and I sat there. She asked if I had been good and Aunty said, "Well, she broke a saucer."
That was it for me, I burst into tears, kicked her on the shins and ran to Mum saying that it had been an accident.
Aunty held out their arms to hold Sally but Mummy said, "I promised Linda."
I was sat back in in the chair with my legs straight in front of me with my sister on my lap. I got pins and needles in my legs.

From that point on I knew if Mummy promised something you got it whether it was a spanking or a bar of chocolate!
 
#15 · (Edited)
*Every non schoolday was spent at the stables bar Sunday mornings, those afternoons a group of us would bring some of the ponies in from the Downs to the home fields.

My Mother was always telling us how her father, when she was a child, had a cob mare, Peggy, that pulled a cart taking him to his work around the area they were living at the time. Mummy would tell us how she and her brother and sister would rode Peggy in the orchard amd she would like to come up to the stables with us. For me this was an awful thought. My sister and cousin had started riding to have my mother as well seemed way to much.

Eventually Mummy came with us one Sunday afternoon. We were bringing in several horses and ponies from the furthest field from the stables.
Back then women rarely ever wore trousers, certainly my mother didn't so she took a pair of father's to put on when she got to the field.
Whilst we caught the animals Mum hid behind a bush to change. All of a sudden there was a lot of wolf whistles, cheering and yelling. . Mum was well hidden from the people in the car park opposite the field gate but a group pf school children were way up at the top of the hill and could see what she was doing.

It was decided that Mum would be best on Cleo, a bay cob mare around 15.2. Everyone vaulted on tomhe horses they were riding whilst I held Cleo for Mum.
Mum was around 5'4" whilst Dad was over 6' somto say the trousers were a bit big is an under exaggeration and she had not brought a belt.
Refusing to allow me to give her a leg up saying I would throw her over the other side, she said she would get on from the stile. Mum stood on the stile step whilst I held Cleo. I explained to her to jump to the withers and not the back amd to kick with legs together to boost herself up.

This was summer time, there were a lot of people around amd most stopped to watch the horses and the school,party was now gathered around. Mum jumped to the withers and knees together kicked to boost herself up. When high enough she went to put her leg across Cleo's back only to find the the crutch of the trousers was only just above her knees and therefor wit was impossible for her to sit across the mare. She slid down laughing.
The audience also laughed.
I was embarrassed, I had called her Mum whereas my sister and cousin were acting as if they had never seen her before.

She tried again, same thing happened. More laughter. Someone was taking a cine film of it all. I was dying inside. The more people laughed the more Mum played to them. More people gathered and, as happens when there is a crowd, more cars pulled into the car park. Nowadays I would have gone around with a hat but back then I just wanted to crawl in a hole.

In the end Mum stood on the top of the stile, she needed one hand to hold the trousers up. Two men helped her balance by holding a leg and supporting her back. I led Cleo to her so that she could just step on but the mare was getting fed up and moved leaving Mum on the ground shrieking with laughter.
Mum clambered to the top of the stile again and we stood a ridden pony alongside Cleo so she couldn't swing out, Mum stepped and landed on the mare's back.
A great cheer went up and Cleo spooked a bit, fortunately Mummy stayed on top. We left the field and I decided to have Mum never want to come again so we trotted all the way.

I was astounded at how well she rode, Mum never bounced or moved once and was perfectly balanced. Considering it had been many years since she had been on a horse she did well. However, it took her a week before she stopped aching!
 
#16 · (Edited)
*Around this time Margaret, Mr Trumble daughter returned home. She had been away for a few years working towards getting her Instructors examination.
The stables had always had remedial horses and ponies in but on Margaret's return more were sent.

Money for me was tight, I worked where I could, but most jobs interfered with riding time plus the fact that I was suffering with stronger and longer migraines often keeping me in bed for two or three weeks. I loved our GP, Dr Graham-Stewart. He would come see me and when I wasn't recovering tell me to "Get outside for plenty of fresh air." so, off to the stables I would go for a few days until Mother sent me back to school.
I had all sorts of tests done to see what the trigger was but nothing came up. Dr gave Mum a sealed envelope and told her to open it when I was finished with school. Mum did this and inside was 'Migraines triggered by an allergy - to school!' He had noticed that I rarely suffered a migraine in the holidays and if I did they were over with very quickly. He was so right because, touch wood, I have never suffered another since leaving school.
I am sure, in retrospect, that it was because I was bored. There were some good teachers I worked for but e rest I did as little as possible and pushed the boundaries as far as I could. Bet no one has seen a French teacher standing on her desk shrieking because a pet ferret had sniffed at her legs. I was the heroine and caught the ferret saying I would release him outside. I took him outside and returned for the packing up of things with said ferret safely where he should be, in my pocket.
No one in class let on.

I have digressed.

With Margaret came the naughty ponies. A bay 13.2 arrived with the stables being his last chance to stop bucking. The older children were told to ride him and they took it in turns. I was longing to have a go but was told I was to inexperienced and young.
I watched this pony buck them all off with very little effort, on the lunge, off the lunge with Margaret there and without. In the end they all gave up and I was allowed to have a try.
I was bucked off but instead of getting after the pony I just clambered back on and tried again. In the end he gave up and was walking and trotting around without bucking. I even had a canter.
Margaret turned up as I had just finished and asked what I was doing riding him. I told her that everyone else had given up so let me have a try.
I was covered in the black ash of the clinker surface on the arena but so happy. Next day he bucked with me and then just gave up when I climbed back on top. He stayed for the summer, was worked in the riding school amd then sold by his owner.

Today people would be screaming pain, saddle fit needs the vet, chiropractor massage therapy et al, but although vets were around none of this would have been considered, the issue was, and still is majority of the time, he had learned how to do it and get a rider off thus getting out of work.
 
#17 · (Edited)
*Riding in and out to the field was done bareback and with rope halters, home mad plaited out of the sisal bailer twine.

There was a rough, pot holed track across an open field owned by Miss Fleming's brother. This field was usually cut for hay and then hos pedigree herd of Ayrshire dairy cows would graze it. When the cows were gazing we could canter on the grass, never towards home amd always on rides. This didn't stop us cantering bareback often when the grass was not yet cut.

On one occasion I was riding Molly and leading Trixie out to the fields. We were cantering along when I had the grand idea to be a circus order and stand up on their quarters. This I did surprisingly easily. The problem was that I had Molly's halter rope tied to the noseband so once up I had nothing to hold her with. I managed to stay there to the end and the gate was closed. Hereby lay my undoing. I was to slow to drop down onto Molly's back, she went right and Trixie left. I fell between them and landed on my wrist.
That hurt and when I looked down the bones were well out of place.

The others were all,laughing until they saw my arm. It was decided that most of them would take the ponies on out to the fields and I and another girl would walk back to the stables to call for an ambulance.
I remember biting my lower lip as we walked back. Mr Trumble had gone how and there was no one at the stables. I turned to the girl and said, "Bags I dial 999 for the ambulance, I haven't done it before!"

We walked back to the road and waited a few minutes before the ambulance arrived. The friend went on home promising to tell my parents what had happened.

At the ER I was X-rayed and taken to theatre to have my arm set. When I came round my Mother and her friend were waiting to take me home. No sympathy from Mum at all, she just told me it served me right for being a fool.
As I was made to go to school on the Monday it seemed only right I went to the stables again at the weekend. I rode as normal and although some tasks were limited worked doing what I could.

Riding out was far more risky than riding in because we did silly things. Trotting races that turned into a gallop, often not stopping at the fields. We would also rode the ponies up the Downs in their fields which was fine until they got fed up knowing their day's work was over, and found a variety of way to drop us.
Usually we walked on home from the fields, sometimes rather than along the road we would walk along the foot of the Downs and on more an one occasion tried riding the young beef cattle that were turned out there. I would never have made a bull rider. Fortunately most of the time we could even catch them.
 
#20 · (Edited)
*I remember winters back then being a lot colder than those of recent years. We didn't get a lot of snow but it would often be very cold and breaking ice on the water tanks would take a large flint stone to smash.

It was Christmas 1962. Boxing Day, when it started to snow that evening. The winds were high and looking out the window the snow was flying horizontally across the next door bungalow roof. Cousin wa switch us and she was so excited asking "Will it still be here in the morning?"

It was. On opening the front door there was just a wall of snow completely covering it. The drifts were high to the point that a couple along the road had snow halfway up their second floor window.
We could get out the backdoor, Daddy had cleared a path from that door up the steps to the road. He dug out the neighbours and went to help other elderly family friends and relatives clear paths and bringing in wood and coal so they could light their fires. I wanted to go to the stables but wasn't allowed until Daddy could come with us to see how safe it was.
The whole pf the IK was shut down, several feet of snow had fallen, trees had been brought down and then it all just got colder and colder and we were in what became known as The Big Freeze.

The following day Daddy and I trudged our way along the road to the first field. The ponies were standing around icicles hanging off their beards, they had been fed hay. It was the same in the other fields as we walked past. The drift down one stretch of road on the slide of the valley, was up over the overgrown thorn hedge making the drift nearly twenty feet high. Under it was a tunnel eerily lit. Footprints showed people had walked through it.
We got to the stables where Jan and June the two girls who worked there, were clearing more snow. There were only two horses stables, Faro and Sunray. The biggest problem was water. The pipes were frozen solid so they were melting snow in buckets in the tackroom. Water to the Down fields had to be carted in milk churns. These had to stay in the tackroom or they soon froze solid.

I stayed for the day, Daddy helped a bit and then went home. When I got back he was finishing making two sledges, bigger than normal and with guard rails on the sides so that the churns wouldn't fall off.

Some other friends were coming to help amd together we dragged the sledges to the stables. They were a great help, we rigged harnesses so we could drag them from out bodies rather than our hands. Several trips were made dragging the churns to and from the fields. The ponies drank more than normal and when we tipped the churns they were desperate for the precious water.
An elderly couple in the last house suggested that we ran a hose from their kitchen to fill the churns which meant a much shorter trip and even no trip running it across the road to a field.

Farmers back then didn't have the front loading tractors so clearing the road was left more or less to the council. It took weeks for them to cleat the top road. They cleared to the top of the village but the open road was left.

School had started but Mummy never made me go. I trudged to the stables each day to do what I could. It was the only time I was allowed to miss school unless I had been sick. Didn't really matter as half the pupils would be able to get there nor half the teachers.

Eventually the road was cleared, there were abandoned cars under the drifts. A track was cleared for vehicles to get along not that many cars could over the ice that formed. At least it made it easier to drag the sledges.

A few years later when I had to go see the career officer for advice on a career, he was doing his best to put me off from working with horses.
He said, "You don't realise that it is not all galloping around with the wind blowing through your hair. You do not understand what hard work it is."
Mummy just snorted and said, "If you think she doesn't know what hard work it is then you are mistaken. She knows what it is like to make several journeys dragging bales of hay and churns of water to the horses in the snow for weeks on end. THAT was hard work and she never flinched from doing it."

Finally we were able to ride. I can't remember how long it was before we could do so. There were still remnants of drifts around. The ponies were all fat and unfit to what they normally were but I believe they to were happy to be back in work.
 
#21 · (Edited)
*I was always an avid reader. I think part of my dislike of school stems from being made to read from the Janet and John books, they were so babyish! This is John. This is Janet. This is their dog Spot. I recall it being my turn to read aloud to the class and I did so without the book and the teacher smacked me for doing so. The smack didn't bother me but the unfairness did.
At th stables there were horse books and I would ask to borrow one. I would read it cover to cover even though they were reference ones. I had devoured an old medical book reading about things I hoped I would never see yet curious to want to see them.

One Sunday bring some ponies in, I was behind an older girl who was leading Brandy, a bay pony. We were trotting and Brandy seemed to be moving funnily behind. His legs were far apart as he moved. I said about it and remarked that it looked like he had tetanus. This was laughed at. The ponies were given a small feed and turned out in the home fields.

The following Saturday we were told that Brandy had died because he had tetanus. I think this was the first time that I realised that I had an intuitional feeling on something being terribly wrong and not run of the mill.

This intuition was also with me with people. I could meet a perfectly normal person and just have the feeling that I should keep them at arms length. The vet the stables used wasmone of them. I really didn't like the man. To me he seemed frightened of the horses and was never forthcoming to some bratty little girl asked questions about an injury he was treating.

Fortunately the vet was rarely called. Injuries were minimal, the odd kick or occasional lameness was about all and most of those were treated by taking the animal to the beach and standing it in the water for hours at a time.

The farrier was Mr Toms, if he was old when I started he was ancient by the time he retired and his son took over. Ever the patient man he was always willing to explain about the hoof and why he shod a certain animal a certain way.
Often we would have laminitic ponies in amd it was always the farrier that treated them never the vet. Often he would, in the severest of cases, bleed them from the heel and toe. Always there was instant relief. Those ponies, as soon as they were sound were worked. They lovedmout on the Downs where the grass was short and they had to move about to get to it. I cannot remember any pony resident ever getting laminitis or any insulin resistant diseases. Many were still steadily working when in their late twenties or even thirties.

One day a pony came in that was crippled with laminitis. It belonged to some people who had a second home on the Island. Mr Toms came out especially to treat it. It was tied in the place he normally shod the ponies and he was looking at its feet when the owner arrived. She was smartly dressed, loud and a snob.
"My good man," she shouted to Mr Toms, "This is a valuable pony and it is suffering from lemon slices. I do hope you realise the fact."
Mr Toms stood up and removed his flat cap, leant one arm, holding his cap, against the pony scratching his sparsely covered head with a finger, and said, "Lemon slices? I think I have a cure for that madam."
"A cure? You have a cure, that is not what my vet said. What on earth is it?"
"Madam, nothing better for lemon slices than gin."
"Gin, that will,cure it?"
"Yes, madam, it goes well with lemon slices."

The woman left in her car returning shortly with two bottles of gone which Mr Toms relieved her of with thanks. He winked at us children as she left, we were watching and listening. He took all the time in the world to carefully trim the pony's feet allowing him to rest when he needed.
The pony came sound and remained at the stables for the summer. I am sure the old man enjoyed his gin!

There were only two animals that could be difficult to catch, Myfanwy, a Welsh cob mare and Vicky, Miss Fleming's favourite. Both just needed a knack, Vicky you held your hand behind your back and asked her to say please. Thinking you had a treat she would place her head across your shoulder so you could put your arms around her neck thus catching her. Myfanwy was another matter, you had to look at her feet and continually talk or sing to her and she would then allow you to get close. The moment you had a hand touching her she gave up.
 
#22 · (Edited)
*Tommy, one of the school ponies was a New Forest pony. He had one thought in mind and that was to eat. He and Simon were two that were best ridden to and from the fields as they would suddenly stop dead and you would drop them and spend ages trying to catch them again.

One Sunday I was riding Tommy in and going across the field he would shove his head down turn, always down the hill, and trot with his head between his legs snatching at grass and then stop dead. Having no withers as such, people wouldmslide off his back amd over his head. The art was to hang onto the rope or you would be forever chasing him trying to catch him.

Seventeen times I slid off him, each time I took him back to the gate to rode the whole stretch without him eating. I did it in the end I thought I was so clever but, looking back, he was probably just full.

I was competing at shows. I didn't stand a lot of chance of winning anything in the jumping as I was usually mounted on a remedial. Shows were expensive, the entry fees, the hire of a shared pony and transport to and from each event.
I soon found out that the gymkhana games were anway for me to pay my way. It cost £1 to enter nine games (you got one free) and you could win £3 of you won.

If my Father had any vice it was gambling. He would bet on the races daily and was always playing cards. However, he didn't drink or smoke and his bets were for a few pence. If he had a good win we were all treated. Daddy hated playing childish card games and would cheat tomgetmit over with quickly. He always cheated to win. I learned this early on and there were two choices. Don't play cards with him or become a better cheat. I chose the latter.

In the gymkhana games there were always a lot of entries so sometimes there were two or three heats to go through before the finals. As ponies were shared it made life difficult as often the pony needed to be in two places at once. Then I started riding Taffy a 14 hand pony that was a terrible biter. He didn't nip he would take a good chunk and shake you lile a dog. He might not do it for months and then get several people in a day. Only the experienced were allowed to handle him. I took him one day and he went to bite me. He caught my arm but fortunately got the large handkerchief up the sleeve. He ripped a hole in the sweater - one that Mum had knitted and I was told not to wear it to the stables. I was so angry at him for getting me into trouble that I grabbed his ear in my teeth and but hard. He spun around in a circle with me hanging onto hos nose and mane and teeth. I drew blood. He never tried to bite me again.
An older girl, Vanja always rode him and used him in then older games section so henwas always free for the juniors. He was a great games pony. Needed no guidance, he would watch thenstarters flag and as soon as it went down he was off.
Games like the Potato Race you had to gallop the arena length, jump off, pick up a potato, remount back to the start line, drop it in a bucket and do this three times.
I had no problem with this at all, I could dismount and mount at the gallop but itnwasneven faster if you hung off the saddle and picked up the spud without dismounting, so I did. No one could touch me for the speed. Nothing in the rules to stop it.
The Thread the Needle you rode to the end, picked up a needle and thread and had to thread the needle. Much easier if you had a spare needle already threaded in your jacket and swapped.

They brought in an obstacle race. Ponies were held at one end of the arena unsaddled. All hats were put in one sack, jackets in another and boots in a third. You had to gather your items of clothing, (tough if there were thistles in the field,) saddle thenpony, mount and gallop,tomthe start line. There were no heats for this so it was a free for all.
What I did notice was one boy who had a brown hat was given a big advantage in finding it amongst all the black ones. So, I had Mummy sew some bright red elbow patches on an old jacket, a hat that the hound pups had chewed the velvet from was painted red as were the soles of an old pair of Miss Fleming's elastic sided jodhpur boots (most boots back then had straps)
Vanja and I also used a single buckled girth.
I have never been able to run but first to the sack had to empty them. It was easy to spot my items and even though I emptied Two sacks, being the first there, I was well finished before most had saddled their ponies. It was the same for Vanja.
I would go home with ten or twelve pounds sometimes more.
Thenothernrace I loved with Taffy was Musical Sacks. A circle of hessian sacks in the centre of the arena. Riders cantering around the outside of the arena and when the music stopped you had to jump off and run leading your pony to a sack. As I said, I couldn't run but with Antakya that didn't matter as he would tow me to the circle of sacks and if another person was running for the same sack Taffy would lay his ears flat back and threaten the pony which would pull back away from him. Gave me a great advantage.

I loved those games, they were great for teaching balance and hand eye coordination. Stood me in great stead for being able to grasp a drink from a tray at a Meet whilst riding some fractious TB (without spilling a drop!)
 
#23 ·
Sure am enjoying these stories. The one about your mom trying to mount the horse in pants that were too big for her and the gymkhana stories remind me of some of my gymkhana adventures.

One of the most hilarious gymkhana races our 4-H used to sponsor was the pants race. I would go to a thrift store and buy the most enormous pair of pants I could find. Then the kids had to gallop their ponies to a barrel with the pants draped over it, dismount, put the pants on, re-mount, and gallop back to the finish line. Of course, when the kids tried to re-mount, the huge pants would fall down. We all would get to laughing so hard watching the kids hop around trying to hold up the pants, hold on to a fractious wound-up pony, and get that foot in the stirrup.
 
#25 · (Edited)
*Mr Trumble and Miss Fleming were chalk and cheese. They were always arguing over trivial matters. Miss Fleming had a chalet in the corner of the field below the stables. This was her sanctuary. She would go there for her breakfast and for any break she had a chance to take. The place was a mess! There was a bed in there where she would rest up, a chest of drawers and a small table. She had her own kettle and teapot.

Mr Trumble lived in the village below the stables, his wife was a lovely woman though totally unhorsey. I cannot ever remember her coming to any horse event or up to the stables.

The thing that they both argued about most was driving. Miss Fleming had an old A40 Austin van. It had seats in the back.


The very back was usually filled with bailer twine that she would plait into halters and ropes - woe betide anyone who didn't cut the strings at the knots!

Mr Trumble had a car and drove the Bedford Van a larger vehicle that was mainly used to pick up the girls from the boarding school and tomcart hay and water tomthe Down fields.




Neither would I consider to be good drivers! The seat in the A40 had long collapsed and Miss Fleming would look ahead through the steering wheel.
Mr Trumble was nearly blind though he would never admit it.

One day driving to a show, the van loaded with the horses tack, we were behind a lorry. It stopped and so did we. Stationary for quite a while he started to honk the hooter. We children were in hysterics as he hadn't seen that two men were carting sides of meat from the lorry into a butchers shop.

Miss Fleming, in her way home, got a speeding ticket much to her shame, she was doing 34 in a 30 limit. He wouldn't let her live it down until he got a speeding ticket a couple of months later.

In all the years I knew Miss Fleming I never heard her say a bad word about any pony or person. The nearest she got to it was when talking about her step mother and she said, "She wasn't a very nice person."
I am sure that if a pony did a double backward somersault landing on you and en proceed to eat you she would say, "Well, he is a pretty colour."

Miss Fleming usually only worked the mornings but in the summer she would return to use the old Alum Sythe to mow the weeds in the home fields. This ancient piece of machinery was her pride and joy. All winter it was stood under the hedge carefully wrapped in tarpaulins and she would get it out late spring? SN would fill the tank with petrol, check the oil. Grease the blades and try to start it by pulling the starter string until she was exhausted. This would happen two or three days in a row before she would call a mechanic from the garage.

One afternoon she was trying to start it when three lads, family friends arrived to pick me up. They were all bikers and had powerful bikes. One, Dave, was a mechanic. He tried to start it to no avail and offered to take a look at it.

Miss Fleming was in a dilemma as to whether to save money and trust a stranger or, to decline and pay out. The former won.

Before she could say anything much the three were attacking the scythe. It was soon in pieces. Each part was examined and then two of them got onto their bikes and drove off.
Poor woaman was near to tears amd went home. The lads returned having gone to a scrap yard and returned with a variety of bits and pieces.

They didn't finish the task that afternoon but were there first thing to finish the job.

Miss Fleming was busy with roses until lunch and as soon as she finished she went over to see what they had done.
That scythe was purring, it wasn't shaking and roaring as normal nor was it belching out black exhaust fumes.

She was thrilled when they showed her that they had fitted a battery and a start button. The string was still there but obsolete. She couldn't wait to give it a try and rushed to her hut to change.

She returned in her grass cutting attire, shorts that came to her knees and Wellington boots that were just below her knees and her short sleeved polo shirt.

We all went to watch including Mr Trumble. This was a significant event for Miss Fleming not to go home for lunch.

She wheeled it to the top of the triangle field and pressed the starter button, it purred into life. She put it into gear and grasped the throttle. The machine roared and took off down the hill with Miss Fleming hanging onto the handles for grim death.
She went down that field each stride a bound worthy of any Olympic long jumper, her shorts flapping wildly as she went! The dock leaves in its path cut and scattered. Luckily the field levelled at the bottom and she released the throttle turned and came back up the hill, being pulled by the scythe, the grin on her face like the Cheshire Cat.

I am sure that she had heard us all shrieking with laughter as she went but she really didn't care.

The scythe was like this but I couldn't copy the picture

http://www.ebay.co.uk/itm/oxford-allen-scythe-Rare-4-stroke-model-/112304395953
 
Status
Not open for further replies.
You have insufficient privileges to reply here.
Top