Pony stories

I was not a pony mad child.

We had riding lessons with proper jodhpurs, 

hard hats and Vyella shirts,

but I don't remember begging for them.

Indeed my chief memory is of a fall while riding bareback 

and without said helmet whilst on holiday in Cornwall.
I think they thought I was making rather a fuss

and I had to get back on, 

but later when my mother was brushing my hair at bedtime

rather a lot came out and a deep cut was discovered.

Edited to add these photographs from the actual holiday.
Note the casual approach to riding safety for comedy effect.
My five year old sister is on the bigger horse!
I have obviously just had one of Joyce Wilkinson's 
more drastic haircuts.

My sister however was obsessed 

and I still have some of her pony drawings,

this one very naughtily drawn in

Flower Fairies of the Autumn.

We had an assortment of toy horses,

these are the Edith Reynolds hand made (rubber filled) variety.

 Distressingly, they boast on the label that they are 'real skin horses'.

Not, as it turns out, horse skin, 

(I've just looked them up and this blog

seems to know everything there is to know about model ponies)

but just as sadly, calf skin.

Grandpa made a splendid stable for them

and the one permanently jumping Palomino Julip pony,

previously blogged about here.

My favourite horses were the hobby horses we made 

from bamboo canes and stuffed socks, with wool for manes
and button eyes.

They were called Bracken and Briar.

But the real reason for these meanderings

is

the completely enchanting encounters

we had

with these Welsh mountain ponies.

Love the glamorous fringe.

We could see her foal shifting and kicking.


There was pony trekking to be had in the neighbourhood
and this time it was me begging to go.