Country life
Falling for it
Leanda de Lisle
Peter has now bought two horses. Ben, the chestnut I introduced to you in an ear- lier column, and Sky. Rather a hippy name, don't you think? He is grey and huge but, I'm told, very gentle. Perhaps I will be able to ride him. I haven't sat on a horse for years and I do miss it. But I can't cope with nasty falls anymore. I've had one too many.
As a tiny child of four or so I would sneak off to the paddock to see my Dart- moor pony, Tuppence, and climb on his bare back. He wasn't a very good pony. He'd try to bite me on the bottom as I got on and then he'd be off, galloping around the paddock until I was knocked off by the branches of an apple tree. Did I learn a les- son from this? No. I was still at in when I was in double figures, only on other peo- ple's ponies. Tuppence had to be sold when my parents found out that my sister was asthmatic and I had to get my riding thrills where I could.
I told a friend at school that there wasn't a horse alive I couldn't manage and she put me on a real beast her family kept at home. Naturally I fell head first on to stony ground. But she was a nice girl and kept the incident to herself. I had a bigger prob- lem the day my parents decided to have some formal family pictures taken. I was having a riding lesson, which actually just consisted of me leaving the group and gal- loping up little paths through the heathland around Greenham Common. The pony I was riding that day shied, I fell and caught my foot in the stirrup — not unlike the unfortunate woman who was killed on a dude ranch in America recently. But instead of being dragged to my death, I was dragged in circles as I held on to one of the reins. I ended up with nothing worse than a badly scratched face, but it did nothing to improve the Addams family photo session.
After that my only falls were for boys, which were much more unpleasant and painful, at least until I met Peter. He promptly put me back on a horse, took me out hunting and taught me what falls were really all about — being scared and humili- ated, seeing stars and not being able to walk for a week. Falling from horses is not an occupation for mothers who learn, at some indefinable moment during the birthing process, that they are mortal.
But if I could stay on one of these new horses of Peter's, now that could be fun. Those of you who don't ride, won't know what the term 'snaffle mouthed' means. Well, if you ask a proper horsey person they will tell you it means the horse has brakes. You pull the reins and it stops. But in my experience in nine out of ten cases it will only stop if it wants to. This horse Sky is said to have a rubber-snaffle mouth. In other words, hair-trigger brakes. However, I'll believe it when I have experienced it.
Sky isn't a lazy, old horse and they are the only kind I trust to keep in the county boundaries once I've mounted. It seems strange that there was a time when I wouldn't have minded about that. I certain- ly do now. When you are really young you fly, metaphorically, close enough to the sun to feel your wings melt and, literally, plough into dirt, with equal equanimity. These days I'm into armchairs, and if I'm going to be really bold, armchair rides.
'Guess what? I'm smoking for two now.'
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