This week’s Remember The Time Blog Hop is a Wild Card. Here I recall one of my embarrassing moments from back in the day.
“So,” my boyfriend of a whole week said to me, “J and I are going riding tomorrow afternoon. Would you like to come along?” Well of course I wanted to join them; I wanted to spend all the time I could with this adorable guy (who stopped being quite so adorable in my eyes pretty quickly but, at this stage, was my dreamboat). “You can ride, can’t you?” he asked. “Yeah, sure” I replied confidently. I had been on a horse before, I knew the rules; or so I thought.
Growing up it was my sister who adored animals. Over the course of the years that we lived with our parents she had a rabbit, a cat and a dog. What she really wanted though was a horse. She just adored horses. She read the books, watched the films and, every year, would ask Father Christmas to deliver her a pony. On Christmas morning she would wake up and pull back the curtains in our shared bedroom, hopeful that there would be a horse grazing in my parent’s back garden. I mean, wouldn’t this be just the perfect place to keep one?
My sister had a best friend who also loved these equine creatures. They would spend hours playing with their large collection of Sindy dolls, each of whom was given their own toy animal to ride. On fine days in the summer they would set up gymkhanas on the front lawns of their parents houses, which were just a few doors apart. Occasionally there would be a disaster when the front leg of one of the competitor’s mounts would snap off going over a jump, resulting in copious tears and the immediate application of glue and sticky tape. The dolls were dressed in jodhpurs and tweed jackets more often than the fancy dresses that other girls chose for their improbably proportioned mini mannequins. My sister would get frustrated that their legs could not be properly flexed to sit astride. Getting feet to fit in the plastic stirrups was an irritating challenge.
And then my sister’s friend was given a real pony, kept in a field a few miles from her house. Naturally, my sister got to ride it. On one memorable occasion, I was invited along as well.
Lady was a calm and docile creature. I was shown how to mount, start, stop and steer. For the short time that I was permitted to walk her around the field she did as I asked. I thought that all horses would be like that. I thought that I could now ride.
Thus it was that, ten years later, I borrowed my sister’s riding hat (unsurprisingly my head had grown and it was uncomfortably tight) and set off for a hack with my boyfriend and J. Although I noticed that my brightly coloured, puffy anorak did not look as appropriate for the planned activity as their country jackets, it was not until we arrived at the stables that I began to feel that first inkling of concern over what I had so confidently let myself in for. It became obvious that these guys rode regularly; the horses that had been selected for them were active, sleek and huge!
The stable hand saw through my act immediately, but my pride was at stake. I assured her that I was competent and she reluctantly handed over the reins of the horse that had been tacked up for me. From this moment on, my troubles began.
The guys had taken their reins and mounted in what looked like one, fluid movement. My horse kept moving around the yard with me when I tried to approach the stirrups, leading me on a merry dance. The stable hand retrieved the reins impatiently and gave me a leg up in order that I may board the beast. Determined to avert a fast approaching farce, I confidently kicked my horse on and we set off at an unexpectedly sudden, fast trot. This was not a speed that I had experienced before.
The poor creature must have wondered at the dead weight bouncing around on it’s back; I dread to think what I must have looked like. I was holding on for dear life while my boyfriend and J assessed the situation incredulously. This hack was obviously not going to turn out as they had expected.
We reached the woods in which we were to ride and a short canter was proposed. My mount had obviously had enough and was no longer cooperating; this was probably just as well. J set off, by now showing his exasperation at my performance. My boyfriend glanced from friend to me and silently accepted that he had been conned. He knew that he couldn’t just abandon me and was gentlemanly enough to forgo his planned amusement to ensure that I came to no harm. We walked sedately along a few paths before calling it a day and returning the horses to the stables. I was mortified, but also silently relieved that I was still in one piece. At the very least, I had avoided falling off.
From the stables we drove to our university to attend a lecture. I had to carry my riding hat into the hall and was asked several times about my day by other enthusiasts. My boyfriend listened attentively as I tried to bat off interest without being shown up as the fraud he now knew me to be.
When I moved to England a few years later I decided that I would like to learn to ride properly. I booked some lessons and enjoyed the schooling I received until a pony decided to head towards a pole at speed and then stop, sending me somersaulting over his head. Winded but otherwise uninjured, I returned to the saddle but did not book another lesson. As far as I was concerned, horses and I were done.
The humiliation I felt at my experience with my boyfriend taught me a valuable lesson. It is probably as well that things did not work out in other ways between us as I would not have wished to live with the shared memory of that day. From then on I was a lot less cocky about what I could or couldn’t do, even if it did mean missing out on a few adventures. I had also learnt a healthy respect for animals larger than me, particularly lively ones, which stood me in good stead when my daughter developed a passion for all things equine.
Just like my sister, she dreamed for many years of having her own horse one day. If it does ever happen, it will not be on my watch.
Read the other posts in this week’s Blog Hop by clicking on the link below.