Fight For Your Dream (19 page)

Friends

I liken friends to seasons of the year - they come and go. Some friends are lifelong friends but I would say they are only in the minority. That is the case for me anyway. My only lifelong friend, apart from my sister, is Bev. We've been friends for 47 years; we were both three years of age when we met. Bev is seven months older than me and, as far back as I can remember, was always a girly girl. I, on the other hand, was more of a tomboy. I hated wearing dresses, always preferring to wear dungarees like little boys, or a pair of shorts. I loved my toy gun and holster, with my paper caps making noises as if I were firing a bullet. Bev would shake her head at me when I wanted to play at football, instead preferring to play hop-scotch or something similar.

Both our families lived on Manvers Road, actually only five doors apart. We went to Sunday school together, and were always partnered up for Mayday shows, whether we were singing or dancing. On one occasion, I can remember we were re-enacting the ‘Owl and the Pussycat' scene. Bev, being taller than me, was playing the part of the owl, and I being the smaller one was playing the part of the pussycat. All was going well until the artificial boat, that we were being pulled across the stage in, careered down a gulley where all the stage lights were positioned. The poor guy pulling the particular rope in question was horrified to see us disappearing off the scenery and down into the stage lights. Apart from the lights being fairly warm, Bev and I saw the funny side of it, thought it was great fun, and couldn't stop laughing. Good job it was only the dress rehearsal! What it is to be young! Although we were two very different children, they say opposites attract, and Bev and me certainly did that. In fact we were soul mates, and I'm sure we will remain friends until the day we die.

Funnily enough, I never made any real lasting friendships at school. I'm not sure why, possibly because I was so wrapped up with my athletics.

It wasn't until my working life that I made another close girlfriend. Carol also worked in the fines and fees department. Our desks were adjacent and so, over the years, we formed quite a close bond. Sadly, as I mentioned early in my book, Carol died at the age of just fifty-one from a reoccurrence of breast cancer. I remember being very affected by Carol's death. She knew she was dying, and she planned her funeral down to the nth degree, stating exactly what funeral car her friends should travel in, in the procession. I still think of Carol quite often, and think how unfair life can be at times. She had a tough life. She always worked hard to provide the best for her two boys, and just when she was starting to enjoy life, it was so cruelly taken away from her. I suppose it's fair to say that I've been very fortunate to find some very good friends later on in life.

I met Cathy, who is also my hairdresser, within a few months of my first cancer op. At the time she was dating the brother of mutual friends of ours Trudi and Chris. Trudi and Chris ran a local pub/restaurant, and it was on one of these occasions that we first met. This particular evening the restaurant was very busy. Chris had already introduced us to his brother, Richard, earlier that evening. When Cathy joined us we hit it off immediately. In the end we decided to share a table and we are still good friends to this day. In those early days of my recovery, I tended to get inebriated fairly quickly. I was going to say it was probably down to the drugs I was taking but, actually, if I'm being totally honest, it probably wasn't anything to do with that. The truth of the matter was that I was only just finding myself as a person. I was enjoying being me, and I was enjoying being amongst friends. Consequently I tended to over-indulge a little too much. It was a sort of freedom thing. Bless them, so many times poor Cathy and Trudy have held my head whilst I've been sick in the ladies toilets. They've held my hand and cleaned me up and then, the following week I'd do it all again! By the way, I must just add that those occurrences were relatively short-lived, just until I came to my senses! What a crazy time in my life, but hey, that's what I call good friends.

We've had so many good times, with so many good friends, and hopefully many more times to come. Tony and Sue live in our local village, own an apartment in Spain and, in fact, it was Tony and Sue who first introduced us to a lovely part of Spain, when they invited us to stay with them for a week's holiday. What a holiday we had. We partied into the early hours, and danced the nights away. What a blast we had, and yes, we still do! In my quieter moments, maybe one would say mellow moments, I can look back, and feel sorry that some friendships have not stood the test of time. Joy, and David, Trish, and John, for whatever reasons, it doesn't really matter. There is, however, one criterion that does matter though, and that is bitterness, and recriminations, and I bear none of them. Life is just far too short.

It must be ten years ago since we first met Jane and Steve. It was a chance meeting really, at an even more unusual occasion: a mutual friend's son's Indian wedding. Not having ever experienced such an occasion before, we didn't know what to expect at all. It was certainly an eye-opener. On arrival, all the ladies were sent into a room on the left hand side of a corridor, the men on the right. It was here where I first made Jane's acquaintance. Being the only other white face in the room, we were immediately drawn towards each other. It was strange because I felt like I'd met her somewhere before. I hadn't, of course, but conversation flowed so easily. Shortly afterwards, our conversation was halted by being escorted out of the room, where we were asked to stand in an orderly queue. The men were in the room opposite and were asked to do the same. As we stood there, I quietly whispered to Jane about who Nigel was stood with. ‘That's Nigel, stood talking to the chap with the bald head'. ‘Really?, she replied. ‘Because that's my husband'. The remainder of the afternoon/evening was spent chatting, and swapping stories and, of course, the occasional alcoholic beverage! The strange thing was, that night neither of us exchanged phone numbers, which was odd considering we'd all got on so well.

Ironically, it wasn't until three years later that our paths crossed once more, but this time we did exchange contact details. From that day forward, our friendship has grown, not just as two girlfriends, but also as four friends who just enjoy each other's company. There are so many similarities that we all share. As two couples, we were both married in June 1988, Steve and Jane on the eleventh, and Nigel and me on the eighteenth. The weird coincidence was that we wanted to get married on the eleventh June also, the number eleven has always been my lucky number, and it was also my Star Walk number. Unfortunately for us, the church was available on the eleventh, but not the reception venue; hence having to go with the eighteenth. My sister, Denise, shares the same birthday with Jane's brother, the tenth of February, and our mums were both aged forty when they gave birth to us. Weird! But true.

‘You certainly find out who your true friends are' is a cliché, I know, but a very accurate one, and one that I've heard used on many occasions, by many different people. Steve and Jane have been the most loyal of friends. They've held out the hand of friendship to me when I've needed them most, and to Nigel, when he's needed their support. Mental illness is a difficult one to deal with for everyone; you can't put a plaster on it to make it better, it's not that easy. However, they've shown patience, understanding and affection, but above all, they're ‘just there for both of us'.

To both Jane and Steve, my heartfelt thanks.

Grand Triathias Grandslam

Being hands-on with my animals has always been the most enjoyable part of running my own business. However, riding Prince was another one of my passions and, although I didn't find as much time as I would have liked to ride, he was still a big part of my life. Recently though, I was becoming more and more concerned about the amount of times Prince was seemingly falling lame. On a number of occasions he'd seem fine one day, and the next he would be terribly lame. Having been around horses for a number of years now, I was aware that at certain times in their life a horse may become lame for no known reason. Prince on the other hand had always been quite a stoic horse and never really had much lameness; this however was not the case recently. On several occasions I'd called my vet out to look into Prince's situation. Prince and I had been a partnership now for twelve years, and I new him pretty well. My instincts told me something just seemed very wrong. After a series of in-depth tests I received the news that I just didn't want to hear. It was confirmed that he had a degenerate disease of his coffin joints in both his front feet.

Nothing is ever straightforward with animals. I was receiving conflicting opinions on how best to deal with this problem and, by the time I'd completed my own research, I was only further confused. In the end I made the only decision possible with Prince's best interests at heart. I would retire him, and keep him in the luxury to which he had become accustomed. He deserved only the best. He had served me well. He had always looked after me, and now it was time for me to do the same for him. He would spend his days, and ultimately end his days, with me, relaxing in retirement in his home paddocks.

I felt good that I'd done the best for Prince. However, I now found myself creating another dilemma. I was forty-seven, but I felt a young forty-seven at that. I was healthy, strong and still had plenty of ambitions but, and it was a big but, I had no horse to ride. I was offered various horses to ride from my livery clients and, although I accepted their kind offers, I found myself once again yearning to have my own personal horse to ride. As always when I'm unsure, I turn to Nigel to talk over my thoughts; this time was no exception. Cathy, a good friend of mine, has always joked with me saying, ‘Elaine, whatever you want you get when you ask Nigel; you can wrap him round your little finger.' This time was no exception. The search was on for another horse! I tried to be sensible, taking into consideration my age, and what type of horse I thought I could and couldn't handle. I thought about it for a while, and then threw the ‘SENSIBLE' out of the window! I decided to go with my heart and not with my head. Sure enough, a few weeks later I laid eyes on what I believed may be my next equestrian partner, he came in the form of a stunning fifteen hands one inch black Welsh section D cob. The advertisement showed video footage of him competing in both dressage and cross-country; I thought he looked awesome in the way he moved.

I wasted no time and, after a twenty minute phone conversation with the present owner, I had made all the arrangements to make the three-and-a-half hour car journey down to Hampshire the following week to try him out. After placing down the receiver I smiled to myself, and was even more convinced that I might have found the right one. I was excited, very excited in fact. Nigel booked us in at ‘The Potters Heron Hotel'. It was and still is a hotel that we frequent often when travelling in that area of the country and, considering it would be late afternoon by the time we would be finished in Hampshire, Nigel thought it would make sense to stay overnight at the Potters. It was a good excuse anyway.

Grand Triathias Grandslam was his show name,and he certainly looked ‘showy'.

He was every bit what I had imagined he would be. My initial thoughts were how well he stood. He looked strong and capable, he had good legs and back, and his black native mane looked stunning as it swayed gently in the morning sunshine.

Sarah, his owner, was shortly due to emigrate to New Zealand to start a new life. Apart from her mum she had no other family ties to remain in the UK, and her dream had always been to relocate to sunnier climes. The move was imminent, so it was really important for her to find a loving home for her precious boy. I'd asked Sarah if she would ride him for me first in the ménage so I could see him put through his paces. Again, he didn't disappoint. Sarah had obviously worked hard in the past bringing his schooling on and I could clearly see that he had far more potential to shine in the future. I decided there and then that, if he performed as well when I hacked him out, I wanted his future to be part of my future as his new owner. It was difficult to contain my excitement when Sarah put him over a series of jumps; it was like watching poetry in motion. It also occurred to me that if he had such an obvious passion for fences then maybe, just maybe, my ambition to compete in a cross-country course might just be plausible. ‘Steady Elaine, steady,' I thought to myself, ‘let's not carried away.' But of course I did, so much so that I was virtually writing the cheque out. Slipping my foot into the stirrups felt like slipping my foot into a comfy pair of slippers, he was just what I had been looking for. Sarah had arranged to borrow her mum's horse so we could hack out together, which I was pleased about because I didn't know the area at all. With my sense of direction I would surely have got lost... even with directions! The hack confirmed my decision. Grand Triathias Grandslam would be my next horse if I could secure the deal.

And I did!