Whispering Back (11 page)

All the awkwardness of the first drive had disappeared. As we drove through the cold, dark, windy night, rain splattering against the windshield, it was obvious that she’d really warmed to Monty, and had even asked to come back on the next day of the course.

Before we went around to Jane’s, we stopped by to check on the horses. It was dark and windy in their field, and when they saw us they came charging over, snorting playfully, manes blowing wildly, curious about this new person.

We collected Adam and went off to the pub for a few beers before ordering a take-away curry. One glass of wine followed another, each anecdote rolled into the next, and before we knew it, we’d reached that time of the night where six hours’ sleep suddenly becomes an unattainable luxury. I hadn’t been drinking, but I’d hit the level of tiredness that’s almost intoxicating.

‘I’ll pick you up at seven-thirty then?’ I asked doubtfully. ‘In the morning?’

‘No problem,’ Lucy assured me.

Adam and I reflected on the strange turn our lives were taking. Who would have thought we’d spend the evening drinking with the author of my all-time favourite childhood book? Still, in the back of my mind, I was hoping she wouldn’t be ready to go to the college in the morning as Sarah, Candide and I were to give our presentation in the afternoon. The idea of exposing my riding skills – let alone my bridle-less ones – to her was not appealing to me. I’m the sort of person who, if I were an actress, would never allow friends and family to come to the opening night, or possibly not any other night either. When things go well, I always regret that friends weren’t there to witness it, but I’d rather that than be horribly embarrassed by screwing up in front of them.

To my surprise, and slight dismay, she was ready promptly, just those few short hours later. Perhaps she hadn’t gone to bed at all. Conversation was a little more subdued on the way into college.

In the morning, we had another meeting with Monty, as he explained more of his concepts and training techniques. There was a BBC film crew there, and I began to get a little nervous. Surely they would get their filming done in the morning and not bother to stay for the afternoon? I hoped so, but it seemed improbable.

Sometimes I’m astonished by my profound lack of understanding of a situation. Once, at university, I suddenly realised that the Engineering student against whose stomach I was lying might be expecting something more from the situation than I was intending. (This was before Adam and I got together.) The fact that we had gone out for several meals, including a ‘study picnic’ at Grantchester meadows, and that we were lying on the same bed studying didn’t strike me as particularly significant. Cambridge has a ratio of about four men for every woman, and I was quite used to being the only woman in a roomful of eight men (more than which constituted a party as far as college authorities were concerned, therefore requiring written permission from the Porter’s Lodge). I was the only woman on my course of twelve students. It seemed inevitable, then, that a large proportion of my friends would be male. I was very fond of this person, and going through a particularly tactile phase, but that was it, as far as I was concerned. Looking back I’m astonished at my stupidity. The strange thing is, I don’t consider myself to be particularly naive in such matters. It’s as though my brain had all the relevant information, and just didn’t bother to process it.

So it was with Candide. With a little mental clarity I might have been able to see the situation for the daunting task it was. There I was, on the strength of two actual sessions, about to show Monty Roberts, Kelly Marks, a BBC film crew, my childhood heroine Lucy Rees, and all the other students on my course, the principles of bridle-less riding. At least Mary Wanless wasn’t there.

By the time we went out to the stables in the afternoon, I was feeling a little other-worldly. Not just that I was tired, but I felt distanced from my body, as if it was happening to someone else. As I warmed Candide up, I was aware things weren’t going too well. She was distracted, and even a little bored, and my signals to control her speed and direction weren’t getting through. I could see from Sarah’s face that she was worried.

‘If things look like they’re not going too well,’ she advised, ‘make sure it’s not too obvious from the outside that you’re trying to control her. If she canters off, just go with it, like it’s what you intended to do, and if you want her to stop, say “whoa” quietly enough that no one on the outside can hear, otherwise they’ll know it’s all going horribly wrong.’

I smiled weakly. A vision of me galloping around for what would probably seem like eternity, trying to pretend all was going according to plan, floated in front of my eyes. It wasn’t a positive image. ‘Promise me that if that happens, you’ll come in,’ I pleaded. ‘You can slow her down with body language, and we can start again.’

I couldn’t understand what was keeping them so long. Monty was meant to just be taking a quick look at the horse in the stables next door. It seemed they had been ages. Candide was really going off the boil, and as a three-year-old, her concentration span was short enough as it was. I didn’t want her to ‘peak’ before they came through to watch her. I also didn’t want to get off, in case she assumed the session was finished, and then felt cheated about being asked to work again. I could feel a tight knot of tension and impatience clenching in my stomach.

Finally, the crew came through, set up the camera, and we could start. The students filed in and sat on bales of straw round the edge of the pen. By this time, Kelly was in on the secret, too, although she hadn’t actually seen us working. As she and Monty came in, I hoped fervently we wouldn’t let her down.

Then I started riding, and talking, and it began to feel all right. I explained what we’d been doing, how we’d been pairing the ‘new’ signal on the rope around her neck with the ‘old’ rein aid. As I demonstrated, Candide began to pick up interest, getting more responsive as we went on.

‘Once you’re confident the horse can respond to the neck rope alone,’ I said, and by this time the reins were just resting knotted on her neck, ‘you can take off the bridle.’

Monty came into the pen to remove the bridle, and as he approached us, I tried to read his expression. It was impenetrable. His face was blank, and I had to quell the foreboding feeling that he was annoyed. After all, who was I to be explaining bridle-less riding to him? Of course, I was really explaining it to the others on the course, but would he see it like that? Would he think I was just an upstart, arrogant student trying to impress him? The nervousness came flooding back.

But Candide behaved impeccably. It was an amazing feeling to be riding along with no contact at all on the horse’s head, but being able to control her so closely with my seat bones, using the information I had only recently learned from Mary Wanless. Aside from an uncomfortable moment when we struck off on the wrong canter lead twice, it all went better than I could possibly have hoped for. There was a polite smattering of applause, Candide did a sort of bow after the last halt, and Kelly said something to Monty that I didn’t quite catch. Then I found myself leading her out of the pen, taking her back to the quiet of her stable and untacking her, feeling pleased and relieved, but not at all sure what Monty’s reaction would be. Sarah came up to me, delighted with how it had gone, and one or two other students congratulated me. It seemed childish to ask, ‘And what did Monty think?’ so I didn’t say anything and went back to the school to watch the other students being filmed doing join-ups and interviews. I was thankful it was over, and pleased that it hadn’t been a complete disaster, but I couldn’t quite shake the memory of Monty’s face, completely expressionless, as if set in stone.

When all the horses were finished, Monty called everyone into the pen.

‘What we’ve seen here this afternoon, this . . . bridle-less riding, this, this display of horsemanship is really one of the most . . .’

I shut my eyes. I felt seriously dizzy. Surely he wouldn’t tell me off in front of the entire group?

‘. . . amazing feats I’ve seen in a long time.’

I breathed again.

‘That someone could take my concepts and apply them so quickly, to such good effect, and explain them so clearly. Well, I’m overwhelmed.’

He said much more, too much for me to remember, and aside from stating rather too emphatically that I wasn’t a professional rider (‘far from it, in no way could she be described as such’), it was complimentary, embarrassing, but lovely, too. I couldn’t remember ever feeling more pleased with an achievement.

Candide might have been the high point of the course for me, but the last few weeks were precious, too. I spent a lot of time with the nervous pony, going out for walks, and sitting in his stable. I offered to continue working with him, for free, over Christmas, but the owner was unconvinced. He had made great progress on the course, but she wasn’t satisfied. I was devastated when I learned she was seriously considering having him put down due to his unpredictability. It was so frustrating to feel I could help him, but wouldn’t have the opportunity. I never did find out what happened to him.

I couldn’t bear the thought of the course ending. The last day was 20 December 1996, and I think if it hadn’t been so close to Christmas, I would immediately have succumbed to a serious depression. We went to Windsor Castle to receive our certificates from Terry Pendry, the Queen’s Equerry. It was like a sort of pilgrimage, returning to the place where it had all started in this country. The last thing I said to Kelly before I got in my car to drive back to my old life was, ‘If you ever need any help, any sort of help at all, please ring.’

However, we had another problem to occupy us – a 16.3 hand high problem.

Wilberforce was never really the horse for us. He was aggressive (we clearly weren’t the first people to have hit him), and unpredictable. We didn’t have perfect control when riding him, but even less from the ground, especially when we first got him. Sometimes he charged at us in the field, and he once cornered Adam in the stable, threatening to kick him. He would strike out with his front legs, and sometimes when we were leading him, we had to let him go. At times, we resorted to carrying a whip in one hand, smacking him smartly across the legs if he struck out. In the year or so that we had him, we did manage to improve our relationship, and even took him on a long holiday, riding the length of the Ridgeway. He loved the views, and would stare into the distance for ages, while Sensi stuffed her face and admired the only view she cares about – a close-up of the grass! This experience definitely brought us closer to him, but we decided he might be better off with someone else. Just before I went on the Monty course, we put him on loan, but he came back with lameness problems. When the course ended, I decided to try out my newly acquired skills.

Wilberforce responded to join-up in almost textbook fashion. Despite my fears about being charged at, he didn’t challenge being sent away, and very rapidly gave all the signals. When I invited him in, he walked straight up to me, stopping a respectful distance away. He followed me meekly as I walked in circles, and lowered his head for me to rub it. It was almost as if he was saying, ‘This is how I should be treated.’ When I attached a long rope, I was able to lead him wherever I wanted, with no sign of that nasty tendency to strike out. Finally, we were communicating.

Shortly after that we discovered that Wilberforce had Wobbler’s disease, a progressive degeneration of the spine, which eventually leads to the horse being unable to control its movements. We watched as he became gradually less co-ordinated, and when I saw him fall over in the field, I knew it was time to act. The illness is incurable. He was fully insured, but we couldn’t claim unless we let him get so bad that he had to be destroyed on humane grounds. We couldn’t let that happen to him. Phoning around the local slaughterers is one call you wish you never have to make. I felt literally sick with fear as I walked down to his field to wait for the knacker man. I gave him one last feed as I said goodbye, filling the bucket with all his favourite foods. Adam stayed at his head, whilst I held Cobweb, Wilberforce’s field mate, a safe distance away. The anticipation of waiting for the shot to be fired was nearly unbearable. Adam had made me promise not to watch, but it was almost impossible not to look over. Wilberforce wouldn’t keep his head still, and it hadn’t occurred to me to save any of his feed from earlier. Finally, he stood still, looking off into the distance, and the man fired the bullet through his brain. Cobweb and I jumped as Wilberforce crashed to the ground. Adam knelt by his head, stroking his neck, until his heart stopped beating. We walked over to say goodbye. Cobweb sniffed him all over, and I patted his neck one last time. Then he was winched into the lorry and was gone.

Every night, when Nicole returned from Witney, she would tell me in detail about her day. I heard all about the starters, the problem horses, the nervous pony, and her achievement with Candide. I saw her wake at some ungodly hour of the morning, and leap out of bed with enthusiasm for the day ahead. I shared her pleasure in meeting Lucy Rees, and was thrilled that Mary Wanless had some positive things to say about her riding. It was clear that the course was a high point in Nicole’s life. I was worried how she would cope after it ended.

And, of course, Nicole did come back from the course in a despondent mood. Then, one day after Christmas, the phone rang. She launched herself into the room, suddenly cheerful.

‘That was Kelly Marks! She’s asked me to go and help on the first day of the next course – assist with the admin, and maybe say a little about my experiences on the course. Good, eh?’

This continuing connection with the course, Kelly and Monty was a huge boost, and having something positive to focus on helped her to deal with the pain and distress of having to have Wilberforce put down in January.