Lady Godiva
Sunday and the thirty-second Covid blog. đ
So, with Britain and parts of the world heading for another lockdown, rather than focus on the sadness I thought I would share a happiness that I once again rekindled this week and just in the nick of time it seems.
They say you never forget your first love and from around the age of nine my first love and my whole world evolved around four legs, a mane, and a tail.
I read every book I could find about these beautiful creatures and stories of brave girl riders who I longed to be.
Eventually and after much pleading, I began riding lessons at a local school. I remember they were very expensive and although things were tough my Mum and Dad managed to pay for an hour and a half lesson once a fortnight.
It was sheer heaven (even though the instructor was slightly on the tyrannical side).
At this time the Jacatex catalogue was my âHoly Grailâ and my go to for every birthday and every Christmas present.
The image above is the 60âs version as sadly the company does not exist anymore. I couldnât find a picture of the 70âs and 80âs catalogues which I was rarely without and thankfully were in glorious colour!
When I finally arrived at my teenage years, working at a stable before and after school, allowed me to earn enough money to purchase from these catalogues my first real pair of jodhpurs.
I adored them.
They were almost skin colour with zip pockets at the side, a false fly zip (not sure why) and a shiny silver pop stud button. Which is where my Lady Godiva moment comes into play.
I was about fifteen and walking home from the stables one light summer evening. I was wearing my jodhpurs, riding boots and a light coloured T-shirt (a memory that only returned to me this week) and heading towards me was a boy from my school. One of those too cool for school boys, popular and known for winning local boxing competitions. We were both on nodding terms having gone to the same primary and now secondary school.
It was probably the most he ever spoke to me, as in utter amazement he said âBloody hell Joy, I thought you were walking towards me naked!â I remember saying it was just the colour of my jodhpurs and us both laughing. I suppose I must have looked like Lady Godiva without her horse.
Funny how these moments spring back into your memory.
Growing up, I told all my secrets and worries to the pony I looked after, her name was Tamsin, she was a beautiful bay mare and I loved her very much.
I loved riding her, I loved grooming her and I loved joining in the local gymkhanas when I was given the chance, we really were a great little team.
I remember sobbing years later, when I found out she had passed. We had shared so much together, grew up together really, she had even witnessed my first real kiss. This, after a fellow rider introduced me to his friend who he thought was a perfect match. It turned out his instincts were right and he became my first boyfriend for a while.
Even now when I think of her and all the adventures we shared, I miss her.
Those feelings returned for me this week when a lovely and kind young woman I work with, offered me the chance to ride again.
It has been forty years since I have been back in the saddle and it was incredibly emotional. Just being close again with these wonderful animals made everything come flooding back and the happy tears flowed.
I was just worried that I wouldnât be as agile anymore but I really surprised myself.
It turns out you never forget and it seems the tyrant knew a thing or two. Making me ride with pennies between my knees and shouting:
âBack straight, you look like a sack of potatoes!â âHeels down, youâre not a cowboy!â
Although terrifying, it clearly did the trick.
Even my mount and dismount wasnât too shabby and only one thing seems to have changed over these years, riding hats.
Now they are called helmets and I am sure far safer but if Iâm honest I missed the black velvet richness.
My first riding hat was second hand and my pride and joy until it was stolen (thieves broke into the stables) and so a brand new one was purchased for me by the stable owner. It was absolutely perfect, a rich black (my previous hat was a faded grey due to age) with a charming black bow at the base.
The hat I wore this week was the smallest she could find but still not small enough. I have a very small head, child size really. This helmet had a rather large pom pom and unicorns on the side. Although I must admit to having a slight pang of jealously that these designs were not around for my much younger self and my velveteen hat.
This little beauty is Fleur and I couldnât help but cry when I sat on her back.
Love and our memories are so very powerful and it felt like home.
I had also forgotten how much I love hugging these majestic and powerful animals, how amazing and gentle they are. So healing in these most trying of times.
Hat hair, donât care!
You are never too old to do the things you love, to remember and to rekindle the joy of your past.
Do not ever give up, you might just surprise yourself, even if only for a moment.
I am so very glad I didnât.
Stay Safe,
Joy xxx