31/12/2024
Reminiscing (born 1964)🐴 (updating as I remember more)
The photo is one of very few I have of me at Pennoak Riding School, Hammersley Lane, Penn when I was a teenager teaching (13-19) for my Mum to earn to compete once a fortnight.
Trained at Fulmer, Porlock, Radnage House, Wellington and with Kate Hamilton FBHS, I (and all the other instructors - a very fond mention here for the oh so kind and smiling Maddie Mackenzie-Wallace who went on to make the Grove in Wycombe her home, Corinne, Penny, Sally, Pauline and ? please send me your name if I’ve forgotten you?) was always kitted out in a hat (still have that one), hairnet, BHS tie (David competes in that still - it's on loan) boots, V neck, often corded breeches and Harry Hall quilt, waxed or "dead sheep" jacket depending on conditions.
But the “arena” (we had 3 in various places as often had three lessons going on at once) was mud, bedding or dust depending on the weather and one was on quite the slope.
“Leading file in succession forward to working trot to the rear of the ride” instruction not coaching.
Noakes was our farrier, Ned Boldero from Bellingdon End Farm delivered our feed, and Bob Baskerville, Terry Horgan and David Long were our revered vets in succession.
A great trip out would involve a visit to a tackshop eg Cox in Chesham or saddlers Kay Humphries in Beaconsfield (is this where my passion for leather started?) and I still remember being measured for my first proper made to measure boots - yes, I still have those too.
The few horses and mostly ponies were out 24/7 Monday to Thursday and then in to work harder at the weekends.
I taught many actors and actresses, who had lied on their CVs, to ride.
Ponies could be ridden without saddles and thatched with straw. When Mum left the yard some of us would often grab our favourites (mine was Jacob) in headcollars and race round the "cross country" course we had built in the woodland between the property and the housing estate where we lived, no saddles or hats because we were fearless. She pretended not to know.
Stables were mostly deep litter but thrush was unknown.
Some bits were undeniably grim - creosoting fencing and stables, reproofing green New Zealand rugs, trotting in liquid mud trenches the shape of an arena, wood shavings were bagged and collected from factories in Wycombe, worm ridden ponies were bought to be produced from Reading or Southall markets, equine births and deaths were matter of fact, the wonderful jumpers I bought on for local dealers, breeders, owners and producers - Maureen ?? from Stadhampton and Kim Barzilay in particular come to mind - were always sold just after I fell in love with them, and, if you got kicked, bitten or fell off you were asked what you did wrong. Chilblains on feet, hands, ears and thighs.
Beefbug*er sandwiches, cake and tea or pop was our fuel. We often ate it with our wellie booted feet ankle deep in the muckheap.
Yards concrete and rough, stables differing sizes and variable homemade construction, tack snaffles, cavessons, quilted pads and GP saddles, and ponies hot strapped were immaculate.
We lusted after the height of sophistication that was the Clarendon sheepskin boot for the horse but never got them.
Thieves were shown the door immediately.
I remember the first Spillers Pony Nuts.
I loved and hated the weekly barley and linseed preparation. Bran mashes and epsom salts, sometimes with black treacle, were Mondays.
We had a chaff cutter. If you got cold you took a turn on that or went onto the muckheap to stomp the layers flat.
I lost the top of my finger to the hind shoe of my horse when my Aunt drove the tractor into the front of my horses stable as I was mucking out. Mucking out was done with skip and hands (gloves were optional) to save on bedding.
I drove tractors, fenced and laid concrete with my parents, rode before school and taught after school and did every piece of homework set (bar the needlework) by my grammar school (Lady Verney High, Wycombe) passing all my exams (bar the needlework). I was denied my horses and any interaction on the yard for 6 weeks before those exams and accepted (I think) the sense of it.
I was going to stay on for A levels with the intention of training as an English teacher. However, one day I was hauled over the coals by my Headmistress for appalling results and insubordination. I let her finish and politely asked which “Dawn” she thought I was. A half hearted apology ensued but sadly it was negated by her turning over my file, opening it, and proclaiming that working with horses (my plan B ) would be a terrible waste of a very good brain. I left her study determined to prove her wrong and I know I’ve done far more good and had infinitely more fun than I would have had in any classroom.
I did not have the best of times at Pony Club, though apart from being called a cheat because my ponies were so fast, I don’t really remember why. Hunter trials at Gravelly Way (pairs "dressing" was the best fun) and shows at Hughenden Manor were highlights though.
Our riding school provided an entertainment in the main ring along with pony rides at the Penn Village Fete for several years. I remember half passing Puff to the Blue Danube.
I won countless “Best Rider” and show jumping classes and won at County show pony, riding horse and working hunter. I trained our homebred 14.3 stallion Scotch Gunner and competed at PSG on grass.
I remember the wonder and terror of sharing the brand new indoor arena at Addington with its fearsome lady owner, the Countess of Inchcape and she was not impressed when I held my line and made her go left to left when she thought I should give way.
I started National eventing at Novice through Intermediate and fell spectacularly at a Midland Bank (major sponsors) when I got bolted with and my horse chested it. I flew the fence on top I think and we both got up to complete. I got Capricorn IV (aka Puff, the Magic Dragon - bought from Charlotte Steele in Askett) fit by hacking for hours and hours. Looking back she was far too fit! Ditch jumping all the way along the side of the A404 to Amersham and Wycombe (there was so much less traffic then and policemen who saw me used to laugh and give me a thumbs up), popping the odd central reservations and numerous hunt fences in and out of woodlands and schooling on all the Commons in between (better ground than at home) would have had a lot to do with that but all my mounts could have gone round again when they got back from cross country.
I evented at Tidworth, Tetsworth, Great Missenden, Little Mattingley, Wellington, and a phenomenal place beginning with G? that had a big brick wall with a long fountain waterfall out the top that stopped many.
I groomed for Ann Quinn, Chris (can’t remember his name and it’s so bugging me but he had the big event yard to the left of the road from Chesham to Dunsmore Farm where the horse trials was?) - thanks to those who told me his name is Collins, Charlotte Steele and Andrew Nicholson when he was at Charlottes and others. I used to ride and lead for the latter at least, wouldn’t fancy doing that round Askett and Princes Risborough now.
I still have oil drums to jump though I gave up purple spray. I can poultice in my sleep. I could still make a haynet out of baler twine though I feed steamed from the floor.
I regret I can no longer throw hay bales about with gay abandon. My hands hurt because I did for so long.
I’ve seen every accident, injury and illness and wish more people would ask for help to avoid them. I used to poke my nose in when not paid but had it smashed so often I now only do it in cases of abuse. Then I fight for those who can’t.
Sweat rugs had big mesh, rugs were held on with rollers with big pads of foam underneath and old quilts off clients beds were always welcome layers. I remember smart coolers and crossover surcingles coming in.
I met my husband by hacking the bridlepath through Town Farm where he lived.
I've no idea of the year but I fell in love with dressage when I watched a very late Jennie Loriston-Clarke canter down Goodwood Hill on Dutch Courage I think to the arena, working her tempi changes, to enter and win.
Stallions earned their livings by escorting hacks and giving advanced lessons, beer was drunk by horses too on pub rides and children rode breakers, gripped with their knees so leaves wouldn't fly out, and worked on yard and led riders from 7am till lights out, earning points for rides. Back marker on a hack was an important job.
I’m still in touch with a number of those children, including two who were Saturday and Sunday yard “leaders” aka managers. I’ve coached many of their children in and out of Pony Club and when we get together we remember Puff, Tika, Damask, Rebecca and her son Gunner, Georgina, Cleo, Bluey, Chloe, Memphis, Snoopy, Cracker, Treacle, Scraper, Mouse, Jacob ridden in a Kimblewick and neck strap who could drop a shoulder so fast, and many others.
A lesson was £2.95 and two hour hack £5.65 I think.
I can close my eyes and see every inch of the yard, and Monica Bainbridges Sheepcote Dell Road, Beamond End, where I began my childhood obsession aged 8 and rode and handled stallions doing their job (Welsh Stud), and smell the tackrooms with glycerine soap, and know I was so very, very lucky to have such a carefree horsey childhood.
Thank you for everything Mum (Sue Chambers) and Dad x
“How much would I give to go back to :.
🩷 THE GOOD OLD DAYS 🩷
Riding your ponies bare back in from the fields. Without a hat.
Putting up a ‘Riding is at Your Own Risk’ sign and that sufficed.
Being dropped off at the yard first thing in the morning and not being picked up until the evening.
Only having a handful of feed options and ‘supplements’ consisted of vegetable oil, salt or garlic.
You filled your livery spaces with postcard sized signs in the local tack shop.
Livery contracts were just a vague verbal agreement.
Horses only had two rugs- a stable rug and a turnout rug. Maybe a string cooler if they were lucky.
The dedicated kids with ponies who had to catch two buses after school just to get to the yard.
Liveries had to speak to yard owners in person or ring the landline at reasonable hours.
The sum total of biosecurity was worming your horse.
Everyone wore Harry Hall jodhpurs bought from the local tack store.
Unsupervised child labour was totally acceptable and everyone mucked in.
The Robinsons catalogue was every horse owners version of Argos.
People just loved spending time with their horses.
The local farmers would be happy for you to gallop in their stubble fields once the crop was cut.
Lunch on the yard was a cup-a-soup or a pot noodle in the grubby tea room.
The kids would take over the arena at the weekend playing chase-me-charlie or gymkhana games.
If you have your horse it’s feed or water in a Tub Trug you were cutting edge.
Bedding options were straw or shavings.
Oil drums for jumps were the norm. Jump wings were for the professionals.
Our version of social media was writing on the white board.
Most horse owners generally only had a saddle, bridle and grooming kit on the yard.
Everything could be fixed with a poultice or purple spray.
If you fell off, you got up, dusted yourself off and got back on.
You could ride out or be at the yard for hours without needing to worry about your mobile signal.
- 𝘖𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘣𝘺 𝘓𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘓𝘪𝘴𝘵”
What are your favourite childhood/teenage horsey memories?
