Horses
Lassie was Mother’s mare, promised to her by her Father for a wedding present, but broken in by her brothers as, sadly, her Father was killed before her wedding while breaking in a particularly fiery horse for a neighbour. So I wasn’t very old when Mother set out to take Daddy some morning tea with me in one side of the pikau (a kind of saddle bag made from a sack) and some scones in the other, and a billy of tea in her hand. Thermos flasks weren’t thought of then, and a bottle in a sock didn’t stay hot very long. By the time I was four, Dago, a huge shire horse, and the main stay of the team for pulling stumps, was a firm favourite. I would go out and catch him (when he wasn’t working) and by tapping his knee he knew to put his head down for the bridle to be put on and I could scramble on to his back. He would walk round until he thought I’d had enough (or he had) and then go and stand by the gate until someone came and lifted me down. He was always given a slice of bread and sugar, or perhaps an apple or carrot. Many tears were shed one cold night when he slipped into a drain and by the time he was found he was so cold he developed pneumonia and died.
Monty was the pony bought for me to ride to school, and a very dependable and gentle animal he proved to be. When Alexa started school, Beauty was bought - a lovely black mare and although sometimes she put her ears back at us when we went to catch her she didn’t chase us as the white pony the Clarke girls had did to them. Jock was a lovely and lively chestnut and took the gig many a mile, as well as doing his share of farm work, especially in the wagon or haysweep.
I never saw my Father ride any of the horses, but Uncle Sam’s mare, Jean, was used for riding and in gig, and later in double harness in the phaeton, but perhaps most of all he rode her when he was using the team in the harrows, though he always had to have the backs of his hands covered to prevent them being sunburnt. Uncle Sam was great fun to be with and always helped a hard job to be easier, just by the way he accepted what had to be done.
In my teenage years I went to many places with him, picnics, socials and dances, and later, when his children were small I was able to look after them while he and Aunty Lizzie when out. One day I was sent to put the boar back in his paddock. However, he thought otherwise and instead of meekly walking back to his paddock, he turned and faced Jean. He must have mesmerized her for she wouldn’t move. Nearer and nearer he came, moving in a semicircle, until I got her to move, but so did he - straight at her, with his mouth wide open. He grabbed her flank but fortunately didn’t immobilize her or get my leg and we made it back to the shed and the men. With loving care, her master bathed and tended her and eventually the wound healed. Jean had two foals. The first one, Nugget, a light heavy weight grew to be a great asset on the farm and worked well in sledge or dray, in single or double harness.
The second, Ladybird, was like Jean herself and was given to me and I had much fun and delight in training her in the way she should go, but she was really rather a disappointment, she didn’t have the turn of speed or the keenness to go like Frosty. He was the one I bought when I left school and he really satisfied my desire to go quicker. One day I raced him against a car and they clocked him at 30 miles per hour. When I took him to the show he refused to jump. I hadn’t even thought that he would be expected to do so. However, I spent the day on his back and really enjoyed being a part with the other riders and ponies entered in the competition. Previously we had entered in our local sports days for best pony or rider, but we rode for enjoyment, not for show and others ponies were more showy than ours.
Frosty was a good cow pony, but one day I tried to carry a bucket of curds and whey from the pigpen up to the house for the chooks. The whey splashed over and ran down his skin and the bucket bumped against him too, and he thought that just wasn’t on and took off like a rocket. He did learn to let me carry anything, even a skinned sheep, but when he somehow knocked Alexa into the trough where she had stopped to adjust the ballcock that let the water run into the trough, he spoiled his reputation.
Perhaps remembering all that was good about Dago, when the men saw a horse of similar stature in the sale (they had gone there to buy one) they came home with King Dick. He was young, but most ungainly and though he did work well he was never anywhere near like old Dago.