Of course people found the horse. And they loved it. And as much as Dad said its origins would remain a secret, of course they didn’t. It may have been a remote part of the forest, but people will notice a man dragging lumps of carved wood along. Particularly if it’s happening regularly and the man is sweating and swearing and falling over and occasionally kicking a tree in frustration. There was even the dreaded article in the local paper although Dad drew the line at having his photo taken with the horse. The photographer kept saying, ‘Come on, Mr Redridge, it’s local interest, people will want to put a name to a face.’ And Dad said, ‘Exactly’, and hid behind a tree. The photos looked brilliant though, they really did. And Dad didn’t throw away that edition of the Duerdale Advertiser with the rest. He kept it hidden underneath some plans in his workroom.
And the council didn’t mind. They just sent someone to check it was safe, that it wouldn’t blow over in the wind. They were quoted in the article as saying that they would have preferred it if Mr Redridge had approached them before going ahead, but they couldn’t argue with the magnificent end product of all his work. The Traditional Toy Makers Association even got in on the act with a quote about the consistent quality of the work produced by their long-standing member, Gerald Redridge. And they didn’t mention the eleven years of unpaid subscription he owed them. Word got out and people went on special trips to find the carving. I was in a shop in town and I overheard a conversation: ‘Have you been yet? Did you see it? No? I think it’s in the north-west corner, I’ll try and draw you a map, see if I can remember …’
But out of everyone in Duerdale who loved the carving, I’m sure it was me and Jon who loved it the most. I’ll probably never really know what it means to Jon because I’ll never ask. And I’m not sure I really know exactly what it means to me. All I know is that my dad could have drunk himself dead. He could’ve joined Mum and Brian Stuart. And I know he thought about it. I could see the weight that hovered above him during those months. But instead he built a massive wooden horse and dragged it piece by piece to the clearing. And now it stands deep in a hidden corner of Brungerley Forest. Created and constructed by the sweat and genius of Duerdale’s local artist, my dad, Gerald Redridge. Sometimes we don’t go and see it for weeks on end but it doesn’t matter. We know it’s not too far away. Wild-eyed and feet kicking high. Defiant.