Christine and I both loved horses. Whereas I had taken an official route into learning to ride she had never had a lesson.

Back in December 1993 I had spent a couple of weeks in Malta at my mothers house together with my Grandad and my Great Grandad. My Grandma had died only a few weeks before and I needed somewhere to go other than hanging around on my own at the house I lived at in Petersham near Richmond. My Grandad had already been taken to Malta by my mother and it was decided that my Great Grandad would come over with me so that he could keep his son company. My Grandad had spent his entire life taking his Dad out to the pub every Friday or Saturday night, and sometimes both, without fail. This was something that, over the coming four and a half years, I would continue to facilitate by driving them both to the pub after I got back from London on a Friday night. There were occasions when I would not quite get back in time and my Grandad would order a taxi in his stuttering manner over the phone and I would pick them up later.

Fast forward back to 1993 and the Christmas in Malta. It was a horrendous trip. My mother lived on Gozo which during winter time was devoid of much to do except drive around, take in a few sights, and eat. I spent much of the time ferrying around my youngest sister trying to take my mind away from the situation both from a personal grieving perspective and from my anger at my Grandads behaviour around my mothers house. Initially I was bunked up with him in a double bed in the same room but I soon moved out into the main living area evicting my sister who then had to move into my Grandads room. He would spend most of the nights muttering, complaining and sobbing. He would often also get up during the night to make cups of tea and would slam doors and hit light switches and other objects with the walking stick he had made for himself years before with a rose branch from his garden.

Over the two weeks I was in Gozo I became progressively more bored and frustrated until about a week before the return trip home. My sister suggested we went horse riding when I had expressed my desire to learn to ride one day after she had told me she went horse riding regularly with a friend at the local riding centre. She phoned and booked us in to ride the next day.

I fell in love with riding straight away. It was obvious that horses were intelligent and sensitive animals and I felt at home in their company in much the same way as I did with dogs. Over the next few days I went back to the riding centre for more of the same. It got me out of the house and away from my Grandad who, although obviously in pain of grief, was obnoxious and poisonous to be around. On the penultimate day of the trip I went for the last ride of the holiday only this time for a two hour hack that was to include a beach trip for the horses. I was reliably informed that every horse might go a little crazy and do odd things while in the water. When we got down to the waters edge things did indeed get a little hairy. Most of the horses got excited and one or two boisterously so. The one in front of me started moving around rather skittishly and before I knew it my mount moved in behind it just as it let out a swift kick. Indeed if we had not moved forward the kick would have landed square on my kneecap so I felt rather lucky, although my leg was squashed into the kickers rump. After that I turned my horse round and went back up the beach. At this point the animal threw his head up in the air and set off with carefree abandon back in the direction of the riding centre up a road with me hanging on as best I could on top. I had never cantered before and my only clue that something was different, other than the speed we were now travelling, was the seesaw like motion of the horses head. I had no idea what to do, nor how to stop, except that I instinctively stood up in the stirrups like a jockey. We cantered down the road at a speed that seemed dangerous and coming up rather quickly was a narrowing of the road and a nasty looking wall at where the narrowing stopped. I was sure that I was going to be slammed left leg side into the abrupt wall. I did not know for sure how to steer at this speed but at the last moment the horse veered to the right as if sensing the imminent impact. I was relieved but still going at speed and I could now hear shouts from behind that I assumed were instructions but I couldn’t hear them. Soon enough however the horse gave up flight and slowed down into a trot, then a walk, and then stopped.

I flew back the next day with my Great Grandad in tow and vowed to learn to ride with a chastisement from my Grandad, who was staying in Gozo for the foreseeable future, still ringing in my ears. “I’m the one into bloody horses not you!” As soon as I got back I looked up local Riding Centres and signed up for lessons at Kingston Riding Centre. I also decided to learn the arts of stable management and joined a course, again at Kingston Riding Centre, for the British Horse Society Progressive tests scheme to work towards my BHS1 qualification. Furthermore I decided to go back to Gozo as soon as I could afford to and asked my sister to make enquiries about me helping out at the Riding Centre on Gozo.                

I did indeed return to Gozo and helped out at the Riding Centre there for a few days. That whole experiment came to a quick close however when, after being asked to lead a hack with a couple of tourists I had an accident when the young colt I was riding bolted and slammed me shoulder first into another horse before dancing on my back. I was relatively lucky to come away with only large scratches and grazing across my back. I didn’t go back after that. When I returned to England though I carried on my riding lessons for another two years eventually going to lessons with Catherine.

Christine had learnt to ride by trial and error. She had not been given the same tutoring by any means and was rough round the edges in the practically minded but ultimately amateur way that was hers. She however had come across, through a friend, an irish lady that rented a house with stables and pastureland and three horses. Essentially the lady needed help with her horses in exchange for free riding and Christine obliged. It was during the course of this arrangement that I came into Christines life and duly mucked in, and mucked out, with the work. It did mean early mornings however which I enjoyed but was never good at. Christine was a good motivator though and had a way of making you feel small about taking an extra five minutes in bed. So on the mornings when it was Christines turn at the stables we would get up and head down. She would set herself to task feeding the horses, mucking out and doing other minor chores. The two goats would also be fed and watered before, after a wait of half an hour or so, tacking up and heading out into the woods. I might mention at this point that these were the Redhouse woods that I was already very familiar with and I found new pleasure in beating the tracks up and down the hills and hollows taking in the views and the morning air. Seeing as the stables were at the bottom of the valley of Redhouse Woods I was introduced to new routes that joined onto familiar ones. I did however feel as though something was missing as we trotted and cantered along.

I’m not sure who suggested taking Jemima along to the stables first but it was perhaps a natural progression when we had to take weekend shifts to help out with the horses. I was a little uneasy although maybe my concern was unfounded as Jemima had never had a problem encountering horses in the past. She was always curious though and would ‘head round back’ for a look and a sniff at the horses rear end. So we arrived one Saturday morning and Jemima jumped out of the car unaware of what lay just ahead. We all walked up the track to the stables and opened the gate. Jemima took a look around trotting about with tail the air as she always did, discovered the horses, and didn’t really pay much more than passing attention. Then she saw a goat that had come out of the pen when it had heard us arriving. “Jemima no!” I shouted as she gave chase! The goat turned and fled back into it’s enclosure followed by a black behind and a “Woh woh woh!” Christine and I both ran into the goats enclosure to witness a stand off between Jemima and two goats one of whom was stood behind the other. Both sides took it in turn to stomp at each other before retreating with Jemima punctuating the affair with her regular triple bark staccato “Woh woh woh!” Christine laughed and returned to the task inhand while I stayed to watch. It’s a fascinating thing to watch two animals curiously sizing each other up trying to work out what each others intentions were. Jemima liked to chase and be chased so I was never in doubt that she would not hurt the goats – it just wasn’t in her nature. Although boisterous and manic she was also very fine boned, dainty and graceful and not built for fighting although she was blessed with a sense of balance and ability to use her weight. I had originally expected her to be bigger and chunkier than she was but Jemima was now fully grown and was still puppy size in many ways. The goat need not have been worried about being physically harmed but I guess from the goats perspective there’s no way you could tell it. Jemima too wasn’t in any great danger as the goat was not about to attack something that had chased it into it’s enclosure and cornered it there. Besides as soon as Jemima discovered where the goats food was she tucked in. The goat obviously a little disturbed at having it’s breakfast munched on approached the large rubber bowl and tucked in too from the other side. The two of them eyed each other while goat number two stood and watched from afar not knowing what to do. Every now and then a stomping scuffle broke out between Jemima and goat number one but the main excitement was over.

After all the main chores had been performed we tacked up the horses and set off for an hour or so. Christine would most often walk out in front as she was routemeister while I would be behind by a length or so. Jemima completed the column at the rearguard! It brought a smile to my face to look behind and see my baby girl tagging on the end of the hack. It was almost as if she was saying “yes ok I get it we walk in a line with horses.” Every so often we would trot and Jemima with the obvious impediment of having shorter legs would have to canter, but whenever we cantered the horses she would be left behind for a stretch until we slowed down and she could catch up. Jemima would even partake of the logs that had been left out on previous hacks to provide jumping entertainment for the horses. You would pop over the small log to get the sensation of jumping and look behind to see Jemima popping over the logs too. Anything that looked like fun Jemima would always join in with and the jumping was no exception.

Hacks like this were common affairs after this first trip with Jemima in tow. I would sometimes even walk Jemima in Redhouse Woods the night before a hack to set up some extra logs and on one occasion a couple of small jumps although these were taken down before we could use them. Apparently this was not allowed which seemed harsh to me but such is life.

One of my most memorable Jemima moments came at the stables. Over a period of a few visits Jemima had developed a strange relationship with a young Arab mare by the name of Lolly. Lolly would seek Jemima out whenever she came along and would sniff Jemimas bottom when her back was turned. Jemima would then go a little loopy and charge around tail between her legs like she was possessed. One day Jemima was down towards the bottom of the field sniffing around when Lolly trotted down for the usual sniff test. This time she gave Jemima a slight nudge and Jemima performed the usual charge around only this time Lolly turned about and Jemima gave chase! She chased Lolly across the field as the now demented horse tossed her head and tail up and galloped from right to left across the muddy ground to an area behind the stables. They both disappeared from view for a few seconds until they both came rushing back out but now it was Lolly chasing Jemima from left to right! I could see the wild eyed expression on Jemimas face and I stood mouth open expecting the horse to catch up. She didn’t manage to though and Jemima performed evasive manoeuvres when she reached the other side of the field. It was the funniest thing I had seen, or perhaps would ever see, first hand.