The Very Beginning
From almost the moment I could speak I asked to go pony riding — I don’t know why. My parents didn’t encourage it; neither had any interest in horses. Looking back, I think it might have been my grandad Jack’s influence. He had been a miner and worked down the pit with the pit ponies.
We went on holiday to Blackpool when I was very small, and he took me on the seaside ponies — that must have been what started it all.
When I was five, my parents (after a few long years of constant requests) relented and booked me into a local riding school for my first proper lesson — I think they hoped it would put me off for good! Far from it.
Riding at “Ted’s”
Riding at “Ted’s” became a regular Sunday morning feature. Dad would take me for my lesson while Mum stayed home to cook Sunday lunch — it was the 70s, after all.
There were two small grey ponies for the youngest children — Dusky and Toodles. Everyone wanted Dusky, who was younger, slimmer, and a bit more forward to ride than Toodles. But I always looked longingly at the bigger, faster ponies — dreaming of the day I could ride Melody a lovely black mare.
Soon, I started staying after lessons to help on the yard — a request that was gladly accepted. Sunday mornings became full days, rain or shine. I loved the older girls there — they were good riders, knew how to care for the ponies, and as an only child I think I picked up more than just horse sense from them. Thank you, Heather and Tracey, for putting up with the pony-crazy little girl you had foisted on you!
Ted was disabled — rumour had it from a riding accident — and our lessons took place in a big circle around his mobility car as he shouted instructions. When you were considered competent, you got to ride down the field and jump a hedge on the way back — the day I was allowed to do that was one of the proudest of my young life.
Turn Out Time
But my dream was to be like the older girls — who got to turn out the ponies at the end of the week. That meant riding bareback, with just a bridle, down Ted’s long driveway (about a mile), onto the road (another mile), then along a track where they could canter before reaching the turnout field.
That was the goal — and what a day it was when I was considered good enough to do it.
My First Pony — Chez
At the grand old age of eleven, I was finally deemed responsible enough to have my own pony — a huge moment for me. I didn’t realise at the time, but we were poor growing up. It must have been a big sacrifice for my parents, and I am forever grateful.
We found a pony in a field behind a pub. He hadn’t been ridden for a while, but we bought him for £250 — a big chunk of the household income in 1980. His name was Chez.
I kept him at a cattle farm near my school with about 15 other horses and ponies. I was in heaven. There were girls of various ages, and we were within riding distance of the local show — Ripley Riders Club. We’d ride up, compete in everything — dressage, show jumping, gymkhana games — then ride home again.
When we first got Chez, he wouldn’t jump a stick. But with persistence (and lots of encouragement from the other girls), we trained at the farm and improved together. I’ll never forget one day at Selston Equestrian Centre: we entered a higher and higher class, and Chez cleared well over a metre to win — then promptly stole a spectator’s burger during the rosette presentation!
Outgrowing Chez
The sad day eventually came when I had to admit I’d outgrown Chez. I was fifteen, with my O Levels on the horizon, and my parents thought it was time I took a break from riding to focus on my studies. Selling that little pony was devastating. We’d been through so much together — it felt like losing a part of myself.
But I didn’t stay horseless for long…
Rocky…………………………
The Next Chapter – Pye, Rocky, and a Chance Meeting
Within weeks of Chez finding a lovely new home, I was offered the chance to ride another pony. Pye belonged to a lovely couple nearby, and he was the fastest pony I’d ever ridden. We flew around local cross-country courses, over hedges and down hills — full tilt. You had to sit tight and just trust him to get you through!
After Pye came Rocky, a handsome grey with serious issues around jumping. I’ll never forget one Pony Club camp where he took off, then changed his mind mid-air — leaving me with a squashed nose while everyone else ran around Newark Showground trying to catch him!
Then one day, I went to the local equestrian centre to buy some feed — and that’s the first time I saw Patrick…
Chez – Rocky – Patrick
Mac and Me 