Fight For Your Dream (13 page)

Horsey Encounters

I'd always loved horses. My uncle Stan had first introduced me to them. He had a few horses on his farm, one of which was a little Shetland pony I'd named ‘Toggles'. Toggles ran together with a few stallions in the top field. He was a grey roan and, although he was by far the smallest in the field, he'd definitely not realised. He was a little pony with a massive character, very feisty and certainly top of the pecking order. He would often double-barrel the stallions if they got too close but, the funny thing was, they allowed him to get away with it. I never had any formal training or lessons to be taught how to ride, apart from Uncle Stan throwing me on Toggles' back, no saddle, no bridle, just a head collar and lead rope attached. Back in those days it was just a case of learning as I went along. The BHS (British Horse Society) would have had a fit if they had seen me. I never wore a riding hat because I didn't own one! No fancy jodhpurs or riding boots, instead just a pair of old wellies and trackie bottoms. Having said that, I certainly developed a good seat, as we say in the trade; basically, in layman's terms, it means developing the technique of how to stay on the back of a horse without falling off! Wow, did I have to learn quickly.

Looking back, I suppose my confidence and husbandry skills, since owning my alpacas, had made me blossom as a person, and I began thinking of trying my hand at other things. My childhood days were long gone, but my love of horses had never waned. As a little girl I used to daydream about one day owning my own horse. I never really believed that it would happen though: ... until now! It was August 1999 and I had been having riding lessons for several months at our local riding centre, Smeltings Farm. Vicki and Mike Stenton owned the establishment, and played a very hands-on role with the day-to-day running of the centre/livery yard. Alongside them worked both their sons, Damian and Mark, so all in all it was quite a family affair. Since my diagnosis, followed by all the treatment, Nigel tried to give me virtually anything I wanted; he would have given me the moon if it would have been possible. As usual on a Saturday morning, we were sat outside in the garden with mums and dads drinking coffee. It was a beautiful sunny day and Nigel was glancing through the Yorkshire Post newspaper. The Yorkshire Post was renowned for being very farm orientated, with articles and advertisements for the buying and selling of farming machinery and such like. All different sorts of animals were advertised for sale, from domestic cats and dogs through to commercial sheep, cattle, pigs, goats, poultry and horses.

‘Elaine, what about a horse?' said Nigel, as he peered over the top of the newspaper.

‘What about a horse?' I questioned back.

‘Well, we've got a stable doing nothing. Why don't I buy one for you? We are paying for riding lessons, so it makes sense to get one of our own.'

‘Nigel,' I exclaimed, ‘I haven't got the experience to own a horse, never mind look after one!'

‘Why not?' he said. ‘You can learn'. He leaned across me, placing the newspaper on my knees. ‘Look, there's loads for sale, have a look through and see if you like the sound of any, and we can go and have a look'.

‘What, just like that?' I laughed.

‘Yeah, exactly like that,' he smiled back.

That's one thing that I've always admired about Nigel; I've never known him deterred by anything or anybody. In Nigel's eyes, there is nothing that is unachievable if you want it badly enough. The problem was that it would be me doing the riding and the looking after of this horse, and I wasn't quite as confident as Nigel was that it would be as easy as he thought. However, I was very excited at the prospect of possibly making a childhood dream come true, so I read on with interest. The seed had been planted, and it wasn't long before I had picked out a handful of horses that I liked the sound of.

‘Give ‘em a call, then. Tomorrow's Sunday. Let's spend the day looking for a horse. We can do two or three viewings, I would have thought, if we plan a round trip'.

‘Nigel,' I said, ‘you make it sound like we're looking for a new house, not a horse.'

‘Well, there's plenty for sale,' he said. ‘We want to buy, people want to sell, so it sounds pretty straightforward to me'.

That's how Nigel sees life. Make a decision; go and do it. Failure never enters his head, nothing is impossible.

I threw my hands up in the air and wandered inside to make the calls. I wished I had a quarter of the confidence that Nigel had.

The next morning I must admit to being really excited. I'd not slept that soundly due to my excitement. I knew now that I was going to own my own horse in the near future, and my tummy was doing cartwheels! I'd made several calls the previous day to a few horse owners who were advertising their horses for sale. A couple of these were horse dealers, but some were private sellers. Nigel had decided on our first destination and our last port of call, so we had a plan to work to. We didn't have sat-nav then, so it was down to my map reading capabilities to get us to our venues, without taking too many wrong turns. Unfortunately, map reading was not one of my better skills back then, so there were quite a few gasps from Nigel of, ‘Oh no, Elaine, not again!' I could have done with a tape recorder to switch on, the amount of times I went wrong saying, ‘Sorry, love.'

However, despite my little hiccups, we did manage to arrive at every destination, give or take an hour or two late. I rode every horse that we went to see, but nothing I saw was really what I was looking for. They were nice horses, but I just wasn't bowled over by any. For me, buying a horse was a big decision. It wasn't like buying an item of jewellery that you could take back to the shop for a refund if you changed your mind. No, it was much more than that, and I had to be as sure as sure I could be that it was the right type of horse for me. I was totally inexperienced, green, as we would say in the horse world. In hindsight, as I would find out soon enough, we should really have enrolled the help of someone like Vicky Stenton, who had years and years of horsey experience, to guide and advise us on what we should be looking for. But we didn't. Actually, I didn't really know anyone well enough to feel comfortable asking. It was early days in the building of friendships in the horsey world, so we just carried on regardless. Every opportunity we had was taken up searching for horses that sounded like they would suit, not just at weekends. Sometimes, Nigel finished work early and we would set off north or south wherever the horse was based.

It's funny, but after a while I found it quite frustrating not being able to find what I wanted. To be honest, I didn't have any firm requirements, probably because I was so green. I wasn't even bothered what breed, type or colour I wanted, and that really does show how green I was! Thinking back, it was a recipe for disaster before I even started. Since then I've come along way in the horsey world and learned a great deal. I've had to. You could say I threw myself in at the deep end; it was either sink or swim and I didn't want to sink! I'd had enough of that over the previous years. I was determined I was going to swim! We've laughed about it since, but there was one occasion in particular that will stick in my mind whilst searching for my perfect mount. I had never considered a mare (adult female), it was always a gelding (castrated male). I'd mainly ridden geldings at Smeltings, and mares were renowned for being a bit temperamental (for any men reading this do NOT comment!) Anyway, there was this one mare that I'd come across, which sounded interesting. It was on a livery yard. I'd not spoken to the owner of the yard, but I had spoken to the head girl. She had said the mare was certainly worth a look and a ride, as she wasn't ‘mare-ish' at all (horsy term).

Not true, as I was to find out at my peril. The ménage was in use for teaching, so we were taken into a large field adjacent to the ménage. What happened next is not for the faint-hearted. Nigel had recently bought a video camera and was enjoying trying it out with me on horseback. I was in agreement with him filming, as I thought it would be useful for me to see my riding position. ‘Mmm, she does seem quite laid back, this mare,' I thought. ‘Maybe she's a possibility after all'. Not so, as I was shortly to find out. The head girl said the mare was already warmed up as she'd been used in a lesson, so no need for me to do much stretching with her. I set off in walk down the long side of the field, putting her into trot soon after. I was surprised how quickly she responded to my leg aids - we were off in no uncertain terms. Meanwhile, Nigel had set the camera rolling. He said later that as we trotted off down the field he thought, ‘Wow, Elaine's certainly putting this one through its paces.' Wrong again! It was the mare that was putting me through my paces. I tried to stay calm and keep relaxed, but by now the mare had voluntarily gone into canter, and I was beginning to feel tense. I was reacting just like they say in the text-books you shouldn't do. By now I was trying to decide how best to stop the bloody thing. The mare's pace and speed were increasing. Back at the other end of the field, Nigel was still unaware of my plight. He says he remembers thinking how confident I must have felt to be upping the pace so soon. Wrong again! In fact he said it wasn't until the mare started galloping that he started to panic as he realised that I was struggling to keep control. Nigel stopped filming and turned towards the head girl, who was by now trying to muffle her sniggers with her hand. She obviously thought it was amusing, watching what must have looked like a scene out of a comedy sketch being played out before her. The funny thing was that although Nigel was no longer filming, the camera was still rolling and in his panic he dropped the camera, which was still busy filming the scenery. We have laughed about this so many times since, but I can tell you it was no laughing matter at the time. Nigel's shaky voice could be heard shouting at the head girl to help me, and the camera was still merrily filming various varieties of grasses, whilst being kicked around the field in earnest. Thinking about it we could have sent that clip to ‘You've been framed'. I'm sure we could have got £200 for it!

All's well that ends well and no lasting damage was done, apart from my pride.

I did get the mare to stop eventually, by turning her into a tight circle whilst still in full flight. She didn't like that, but by this time I wasn't too concerned about how she felt. We came to an abrupt halt, with me still in shock at the whole episode. Nigel was running over to me as I slithered off the saddle into his arms, looking rather dishevelled. My legs felt like jelly as they hit the ground, and I was relieved that Nigel was there to keep me vertical. What an initiation ceremony for my first major horsey encounter. I was not in a rush to repeat it! We still laugh about it now, and I can't really blame the head girl for finding it funny so, wherever you are, head girl, I forgive you.

Merit, alias Danny

After several weeks of searching for my new mount, I was convinced that I had spoken to the owner of a horse I thought sounded perfect. I felt I'd asked all the right questions and, funnily enough, I'd had just the right answers! The arrangements were made, and Sunday morning we set off to East Yorkshire, destination Beverley. We arrived early. I had been told another prospective customer was due that day, so I was keen to arrive first, hoping that I would be given first refusal if we decided to buy him. The horse was called Danny and the lady was a private seller. I felt better about that, as I'd been warned that dealers could be a bit dodgy. First impressions, and I was impressed. He was an Appaloosa cross, but strangely enough he didn't look like one. That didn't strike me as odd at the time, though. Danny was chestnut in colour, fifteen hands and two inches tall, with one white sock and a blaze down his head. He looked very smart and I couldn't wait to get on him. Nicky, the owner, tacked him up and led him out into a ménage. ‘Okay, he's all yours,' she said, as she walked him up to the mounting block.

Climbing on board was my very first mistake! No experienced horsewoman would ever ride a horse that they had never seen being ridden by the owner before mounting themselves. In fact, she never did ride him whilst we were there. However, he seemed great and I walked him, trotted him and even popped him into canter a little. I was smitten. A younger girl arrived at the ménage. Nicky introduced me, and asked if I would like to try Danny out on a hack, accompanied by the younger girl. Crikey, these people were falling over themselves to accommodate me, how nice was that? How naive was that? Second mistake: my heart was ruling my head! The truth was that I always try to see the best in people, and I hope to be treated that way by others. Sadly, this is not always the case, as I have learned over the years. The alarm bells still didn't start ringing when a pheasant flew out of the hedgerow. Danny never spooked (horsey term), never batted an eyelid. Not the case for the other horse. He shot forward, startled by the pheasant, and the younger girl went out of the side door (horsey term for falling off sideways).

The times I think back to that day! Nicola must have been laughing all the way to the bank! Yes, you guessed, I bought him. I'd fallen for him hook, line and sinker!!!

The following week we were going away to Jersey for the week, so it was decided that we would take delivery of Danny on our return. Nicky had said that she would deliver him, so the date was agreed. I did enjoy our holiday in Jersey, but I was so excited about Danny's arrival that I couldn't think of anything else. The only thing I didn't like about Danny was his name. He just didn't look like a Danny and, personally, I thought it was a bit of a naff name for such a good looking horse. I decided I would call him Merit, don't ask me why, but it just suited him. Back then I didn't know that horsey superstitions say that it is bad luck to change a horse's name. Oh no, another mistake. They were mounting up quickly!

The day of Merit's arrival was here. I was surprised when Nicky pulled down the back of the horse box to see a pony tied up alongside Merit. Nicky assured me that it was fairly common practice to travel a horse with a field buddy, if one of the horses was a little nervous travelling alone. Yet again, I took her word for it and thought no more of it. It never occurred to me that the pony travelling back would be alone!

All horses are herd animals and prefer to have company rather than be alone. I had explained that his friends in the field adjacent would be an alpaca and a llama, but she had said, ‘Oh well, at least he's got some company.' Whilst Nicky ran through feeds and other stuff with me, both Merit and pony friend were grazing happily. All seemed well until Nicky started to load the pony back into the horse box. Merit started whinnying to his friend, who in turn was whinnying back to Merit, sounding equally distressed. ‘Once we're on the road and out of sight, he'll settle,' she called across to me. ‘Are you sure?' I questioned, not at all sure he would.

‘Yes, definitely, just give him a day or two'. By now Nicky had closed the back of the horse box, and Merit began galloping up and down the fence line. I thought, at one stage, that he might try and jump the paddock gates, but thankfully he didn't. Nicky jumped in the cab, started the engine and set off down the lane on her way back to Beverley. Suddenly I felt alone, just like I had when we arrived home with Marty and Georgie eighteen months earlier. I felt sorry for Merit too; he must have felt terribly alone. He'd been brought to a place he didn't know, a new owner he didn't know but, worst of all for him, he'd had his best friend taken away before his eyes. I had so little experience back then, so I didn't realise how traumatic it must have been for Merit. Unfortunately, from this day on for Merit and me, the situation just got worse. We just didn't gel and we were on a downward spiral. I had read a lot and was still having riding lessons at Smeltings Riding Centre, but I know now all too well that experience and time around horses cannot be replaced with theory. The ingredients I had put into the mixing bowl were in the wrong order, the method would never work, and it was a recipe for disaster from start to finish.

I tried to hack him out on several occasions, but I had close shaves every time. I had managed to hack Merit down to Smeltings for a lesson or two, but even that wasn't easy. We'd shoot off at breakneck speed; then he'd stop suddenly, turn around on the spot, and we were off back to where we'd come from. I know reading about it now may sound amusing, but at the time it was really quite wearing. I think it seemed worse because I didn't really know anybody well enough in the horsey world to be able to turn to for advice. To be honest, it was just too much, too soon. One evening Nigel was trying to hold Merit whilst I was trying to mount him. I managed to get on, but as soon as I was in the saddle he reared. I was sure he was going over backwards and, to this day, I don't know how I stayed on. I'd owned Merit for just one day less than a fortnight when the inevitable happened.

It was a typical Saturday on a warm September day. That morning I'd been grooming Merit in the paddock. I thought a little time out together, without trying to put a saddle on his back, would do us both good. The warm sunshine looked like it was making Merit sleepy, and he looked so relaxed as I groomed his forelock and face with a small soft-bristled brush, so that I was finally beginning to think that we were getting somewhere. How wrong can one be? The next thing I was aware of was a searing pain in my chest. It all happened so quickly I didn't really grasp what was happening. My chest had been lunged at by Merit. The sheer force of Merit's jaw took my breath away, and for a few seconds he just wouldn't let go. I cried out Nigel's name, but he must have already been alerted by the commotion taking place. Merit had let go of me by the time Nigel arrived, but I was still fairly shocked by the whole incident. I couldn't believe what had just happened and why. ‘For Gods sake,' said Nigel as he stared at my ripped T-shirt, ‘what's happened?' I didn't know what I would find as I lifted my T-shirt to look at the damage, if any. Merit's teeth marks where clearly visible. Fortunately it was my cleavage that had taken the brunt of the bite. I was swollen and grazed but, thankfully, no worse than that. The next sensible step would have been to walk away from the situation. The trouble is, I don't always do ‘sensible'.

Call it what you like, but I was upset, hurt and angry. I was determined to show Merit that I wasn't frightened or deterred by what had just happened. I certainly wasn't going to hit or harm him, but I intended to show him that he couldn't get the better of me. I tacked him up and climbed aboard. Nigel had been pleading with me not to ride him, but I wasn't really listening any more. Nigel and my dad were leaning over the fence at the top of the paddock, telling me to get off him. ‘You've proved your point now, Elaine. Leave it now, call it a day'. ‘Just once more round the paddock,' I said. Dad has never ridden horses in his life, but has worked with them in his younger days, so it came as no surprise when dad noticed that I hadn't actually asked Merit for canter. On the penultimate circle of the paddock, Merit had gone voluntarily in to canter. Normally, a horse will not change a gait unless they are asked to by the rider. The rider asks with a leg aid. ‘One last circle and I'll call it a day,' I thought.

We turned in walk and headed downhill to the bottom of the paddock. Then it all went wrong. I've heard people explain their own personal experiences of accidents they've been involved in, and a comment that most people make is, ‘Everything happened in slow motion.' Honestly, this is just so true. This is just how it felt for me. One second I was sat in the saddle and, the next thing I knew, I was being thrust upwards by the force of Merit bucking. He set off galloping horizontally across the paddock, and all I can remember thinking was, ‘Shit, this is going to hurt!' We were approaching our post and rail fence rapidly, and I knew the outcome was not going to be good. Soon I was projected skyward, and heading through the air like superwoman. I actually remember thinking that whilst in full flight! On landing I didn't feel any pain, but I was mainly concerned about where Merit was, as I didn't want to be trampled by him.

I got to my knees, quickly turning around as I stumbled to my feet. Nigel and dad were running diagonally down the paddock towards me in panic mode, so I raised my arm above my head to wave ‘slow down'. That's when I felt the pain. By the time dad and Nigel reached me, I was already walking back up the paddock, but I was rather preoccupied at trying to decide what had happened to my hand and wrist. They didn't look normal at all. Nigel was shaking his head at me as he stared at my hand. It wasn't good. After the initial rush of fear-fuelled adrenalin, my head was starting to spin and I felt decidedly sick. Dad and Nigel where supporting me under each shoulder when I said, ‘I'm going.' My legs went to jelly and down I went. That's the last I can remember in any real detail until reaching the hospital, apart from occasionally opening my eyes on the journey to hear the car horn permanently being blown and my dad's voice saying, ‘Nigel, speed cameras and police on here.'

Nigel was on a mission, and the mission was to get me to hospital on the shortest route possible and as quickly as possible. I think Nigel's motto was, if in dire straits blow your horn and to hell with the rest of the traffic!

On reaching the hospital, we were taken past all the other patients waiting their turn. After being examined by an A and E doctor, we were taken for an X-ray to find out the extent of my injuries. I'd broken my wrist in five places. They were nasty breaks and, because of this, they couldn't just set my arm in plaster. It would need surgery to be pinned. ‘Bloody hell,' I thought, ‘how long is this going to set me back for?' The only fortunate thing was, because of our private health insurance, I was able to be transferred to the good old faithful Thornbury Hospital yet again, instead of staying at the NHS Northern General. I'm not knocking our NHS at all. On the contrary, they do an absolutely fantastic job and we would be in a sorry state without them, but it seemed to make sense to transfer to Thornbury. After all, that's what we paid our premium for.

After ten days in hospital I got my release papers. My wrist had been pinned in five places, and I must admit to feeling a bit the worse for wear. Nevertheless, my main concern was not my wrist, but the horse that we'd got standing in our paddock at home. Where did we go from here? Luckily Vicki Stenton, who owned Smeltings Riding Centre, had heard about my accident, and the same night I arrived home, Nigel got a call from her. The decision was made between Nigel and Vicki that the best solution was that Merit should go to Smeltings for an intense six-week training livery, in the hope that Damian, Vicki's son and training manager, could re-educate him. That was the idea anyway. I didn't want to give up on Merit, and I wasn't about to throw the towel in that easily. That wasn't my way. I had to give Merit the benefit of the doubt.