Foxglove

SHE is not the prettiest of ponies, not by a long way, and certainly not the youngest, being nearer thirty than twenty. Her unclipped coat is a mixture of soft ragged shades of brown, her mane thick and unruly despite the attempts to confine it in plaits for this big day in the equestrian calendar: the Opening Meet.

No saddle fits her without a crupper to balance it behind, and indeed she has taught many children to ride without a saddle at all. She has borne basket saddles, felt pads, and that luxury, the sheepskin pad, to my mind the best of seats for a young child, for the wool offers the tiny rider security and comfort, as well as a good place to curl little fingers.

I remember her dam, bought for ten shillings out of Beaulieu Road, aged, barely handled, and in foal with this pony mare in front of us. It seems as if it was only yesterday, but many years and countless riders have passed since then.

Small, narrow ponies with kind natures are the ones to teach children their riding, and this pony is beyond price, even if her head is on the large side and her quarters rather short. For sure, she could buck well enough when she was young, yes, and jump too, for a good bucker is generally an athletic animal over fences.

Led from another horse, a bicycle, or (always her preference) someone on foot, this pony has given many a child their first view of hounds from between her well-fluffed ears. She has won rosettes by the hundred for minimus jumping and gymkhana games, though nowadays Fancy Dress is her forte, standing long-sufferingly under any amount of cloth and glitter, not batting an eyelid at trailing material or strange objects in her mane.

For full feature see West Sussex Gazette November 5