19
This is a lovely warming story of when my sister Janey discovered her natural love – horses.
Early June in Oban was a favourite time and place for travellers, we loved it there. No surprise, then, to find us camped not far from her lovely beaches. Mum’s brother had settled there many years before, so whenever we found our road stopping in Oban, Mum visited our uncle Charlie and swapped family joys and tragedies.
We had other reasons to enjoy that part of the west coast. The beaches had bonny pale sands, untouched by debris, seaweed or rocks. Bare feet were at home on the Oban seaside. If the weather was warm we’d play all day, catching the incoming tide in freshly dug pools to float paper boats in, or simply to bob up and down in ourselves, depending on how deep we had dug. Sandcastles became whole villages. Then, tiring of building, we’d swim in the Atlantic water until we resembled wrinkly prunes. We didn’t have a care in the world. Our childhood was filled with such heavenly places.
That particular summer my sister Janey, who was five years older than me, found her natural love, one which was to stay with her for life.
In a field near where we had camped was a beautiful stallion, a big horse about twenty hands high. Jet black like midnight without a moon, he was the bonniest beast she’d ever set eyes on in all her sixteen years. She loved horses. Daddy knew if there were any nearby then that’s where she would be. She had a way with them; she would whisper in their ears, and could make them do her bidding without any difficulty.
After a few days she asked Dad who owned the horse. He knew that his daughter would ask him that question, so he’d found out earlier from a factor on the estate which bordered the field. The horse was a surprise birthday gift for the landowner’s daughter, who was due home soon from university.
Dad warned her to forget about the horse. He didn’t want her upsetting any landowners or factors. Janey said she’d only look at the animal from the gate and not approach it. But as it turned out, she would find this impossible.
That night it was hot and clammy. Janey found sleep difficult. She pulled on my pyjama collar, asking, ‘Are you sleeping?’ I told her I was, and she should do the same.
‘I have something to tell you,’ she whispered. I told her that if she didn’t shoosht, Mum and Dad would wake up and not be too pleased. She leaned over and whispered in my ear, ‘I can ride the horse. I was on it bareback today. But keep it secret.’
‘Dad will go crazy if he finds out,’ I told her. ‘Leave the beast alone, it’s not yours and never will be. Anyway, he’s a stallion and you know how unpredictable they can be. He will love you one minute, kick you to death the next,’
‘He’s a big cuddly teddy bear, and he loves me to bits. My face is raw with him licking it.’
Next day she asked me to go with her to see the landlord; perhaps he would let her ride the horse. He was a nice gentleman and took Janey into the stables. He obviously recognised and respected her natural interest in horses. He told her, though, that the stallion needed a lot of manhandling before he was ready to be ridden, and she’d be wise not to approach him.
The sun was exceptionally hot when we arrived home. I helped Mum with the dishes as Janey rabbited on about the stables. I wriggled into my red swimming cossie, still damp and full of sand from the day before, and chased after the big breakers rolling onto the beach. My older sisters, who’d been baking in the sun, were the colour of chocolate. The early evening brought supper alfresco.
Later, as the day headed to its close, we went to bed, leaving Janey whispering in the stallion’s lug. Dad doused the fire, calling to her to come to bed. I think he was hoping the animal would either give her a sharp kick or bite which would put paid to her horse interest. He wasn’t too worried though, because he knew that after tomorrow we’d be gone from there and she’d have to find a new friend. It was berry time, and the long journey from Oban to Blairgowrie meant an early rise for us all.
All was in its place and peaceful when suddenly Babsy, the youngest of our family, sat up in bed and said that Janey wasn’t in hers.
Dad was furious, and said, ‘She’ll be in the field yapping with the stupid big horse. I warned her to stop her nonsense.’ He pulled on his trousers, pushed feet wearily into his boots and went outside.
For a wee while we didn’t hear a thing, then he came back and whispered to us to come out and see something. Like a row of little skittles we lined up beside the bus. He pointed at the beach – and what a fantastic sight was before us. Janey could be seen riding flat out as the stallion tore along the sand at full gallop. Horse and rider were one as they emerged into a blaze of black and orange, silhouetted against the red horizon.
Our Janey had known that come morning she’d have to say goodbye, so she had stolen her only chance. The stallion wasn’t dangerous; he needed human contact and Janey gave it. Both would find another road in their lives, but that night, with the setting sun disappearing from view, and the picture of my big sister and her friend, will live in my memory forever.
My sister from then on made sure that horses would be her life. For a long time she ran a horse sanctuary, taking in sick animals and providing warm stables and food until their lives ended.