Falling From A Horse

I'’ve been scared of horses most of my life because one day, when I was seven, my brother, Ted, and I were riding our bicycles along a road through a field, on our way to school, when three horses came galloping towards us. I was petrified, but Ted, always the tease, said, '’Don'’t worry. They'’ll just lift you up in their teeth and put you down on the grass so that you won'’t get knocked down on the road.'’

I was panic-stricken. To me, those animals were gigantic and the sound of their thundering hooves paralysed me with fear. I’'d have preferred to be knocked down on the road rather than lifted up in their teeth. They didn'’t harm us but I still experience enormous anxiety whenever I’'m near a horse.

Unlike me, my daughter, as a child, showed a great desire to go riding horses. Her rocking-horse was her favourite toy. Her face would light up in ecstasy as she went faster and faster till the rocking-horse bounced across the floor almost in a somersault. I took her for her first lesson on a real horse when she was four and the lessons continued till she was thirteen. I would watch the other parents confidently help their daughters (and sons, occasionally) tack up their mounts and lead them out to the ring. I was in dread of being bitten or kicked or crushed by the animals.

Anna didn'’t seem to sense my fear, or, if she did, it didn’'t affect her. She had her accidents, like the day in Stafford Riding School, when RAF planes swooped low and the sudden deafening noise filled the indoor arena. Anyone who has ever been near when these planes passed over won’'t be surprised that the horses all bolted, depositing their riders on the sawdust ground.

Round and round the ring they galloped in a frenzied panic while the children lay doubled up on the ground, shielding their heads in their hands. I stood outside the barrier, anxiously watching my child, a small bundle on the ground over which horse after horse galloped. I was unable to do anything about the danger she was in. We were all told to stay absolutely still. Each child implicitly obeyed the commands of the instructor. It was a miracle no one was hurt that day. Horse-riding is a dangerous sport. No doubt about that!

When Anna was eight she went on a stable-management course at Bourne Vale Riding Stables in Streetly. On the fourth day of the course I called to collect her in the afternoon. I noticed the proprietor approaching. Normally he didn’'t converse with parents. He told me that Anna had fallen from her horse while riding bare-back and had been taken to Good Hope Hospital in Sutton Coldfield. At first, I thought she had been killed. I found her at the hospital with one of the young instructors. I was by that time quite used to sitting in hospitals while Anna received emergency treatment! She had a greenstick fracture and was in some pain but she bravely withheld her tears so as not to worry me. As she’'d already eaten lunch, they couldn'’t operate till 8pm. Her arm was in plaster when she was wheeled out, still drowsy from the anaesthetic, for me to take her home at about 9.30pm. The plaster stayed on for a month.The day it was removed she was taking a ballet exam. We have kept it, covered in signatures, as a souvenir!

Her riding lessons continued, and one summer we were on holiday in Kerry in Ireland when she said she’'d like to go riding, and suggested I had my first lesson in the local riding-school while she cantered on the beach with the experienced riders. In a moment of madness, just to please her, I agreed. Had I known what I was letting myself in for, I’'d have run a mile to get away from there! The riding-school may have considered it was safe indoors but I should already have known how unpredictable a horse'’s reactions can be! Obviously, I'’d forgotten the stampede in Stafford!

I put my riding-hat on and, with the help of an instructor, I placed one foot in a stirrup and a leap deposited me safely in the saddle. I must admit I'’m not at all athletic so mounting successfully was an amazing achievement for me! The horse seemed very big and the ground looked a great distance down. I became really nervous and wished I were anywhere but there. A sickening feeling gnawed at me and I was filled with tension. Then the horse began to move slowly and I learned to use the reins. I hadn’'t progressed very far when someone suddenly kicked several tin cans which had been lying on the ground and whoosh! My horse bolted. I was flung out of the saddle and, in sheer terror, I grabbed the horse’'s mane as I fell towards the ground. I clung on for dear life, my fingers entwined in the clumps of hair, as we galloped wildly round and round. It bore my weight well. My survival seemed to depend on my clinging on. In other words: My life was hanging by a thread! Slowly, and with superhuman effort, I climbed along the horse'’s neck and, by some miracle of the gods, in my blind panic I regained the saddle and began to work at slowing the horse down.

The young girls there said they'’d never seen anything like it. They assured me I'’d accomplished something few others could have done. That was no consolation to me. I don’'t think I’'ve ever experienced such naked terror before or since. I was numb with fear and whatever I did, I did in sheer desperation. I really believed my last moments had come. I think I understand how a climber feels as he/she hurtles down a mountain in a fall. Some instinctive rush of adrenaline drives you to clutch at straws. I don’'t ever want to risk being in that situation again.

Later, I rode with Anna on the roundabout horses at Blackpool and the panic returned. I knew those horses couldn'’t bite or kick or crush me but I could be thrown from them and they were big and high above the ground and they moved fast. I’'ve decided that a life of adventure is not for me!