IF I COULD TURN BACK TIME...

It’s a lovely sunny day, your horse is saddled and you are looking forward to the ride ahead. This is just how I felt on a Midsummer’s Day (June 21st) in 1986, little did I know, an hour later, my life would be changed, forever…….

The sky was a beautiful blue – not a cloud to be seen, the sun, by 5 o’clock was making the temperature perfect, we were on our way home, just stopping momentarily on our local heather-strewn common. I was quietly sitting, chatting on board this mare I had recently backed and been riding out and then bang…

In a split second the mare had reared up (we now presume, away from a grass snake coming out to bask in the sun), overbalanced and fell over backwards, with me still on board, but now underneath! She rolled off me and I clearly remember wondering, with my back in the dirt but with my legs in a sort of a backwards roll position, how on earth my knees could be so FAR past my ears?!

My legs, from gently swaying on each side of my face, one at a time, -plopped- of their own accord!, each with a heavy thud, to the ground.


THE RESULT?

A permanent spinal cord injury at the point of my lower waist. I stupidly assumed, a broken back was like a broken leg, 6 weeks and the bones would be mended! It would be some weeks later when I would learn the cruel truth.


WOULD I RIDE AGAIN?

I had come to terms (reluctantly) with my new lifestyle, but my injury was not going to be compatable with the Thoroughbred and style of Cross Country riding I had enjoyed. I could hear the clip clop of horseshoes on the bridleway right underneath my hospital window (torture), making me determined that somehow, I would find a way to ride again.

I think we are all guilty of not noticing people in a different situation to ours. I can honestly say that Riding for the Disabled or steps into shops or narrow doorways hadn’t even CROSSED my mind – until now!

I looked into riding on offer at the RDA (Riding for the Disabled Association). I could see they did a champion job for the nervous physically handicapped or the mentally handicapped, offering riding in indoor or outdoor schools or around a set scenic route, but having owned my own horses and ridden mainly outdoors on long hacks, I could see that the interest they offered would not satisfy me for long. I enquired whether the RDA would allow accomplished riders to hack out, and the answer was no that their insurance and staffing levels weren't geared for it.

Could I go back to riding my own horse if I adapted my saddle and came up with a way to mount? The 6ft sideways spooks, a trademark of the Thoroughbred, although I had never noticed them, sitting seemingly glued to the saddle before my accident, would send me into orbit now! I had been scratching my head regarding what type of horse would now be suitable. I knew my beloved Thoroughbred was on borrowed time.


GOODBYE... AND...HELLO

A few months before my accident I had gone to see a Western riding demonstration using a Quarter Horse. I was enthralled by this sturdy yet beautiful creature and her level way of moving and calmness with all the weird and wonderful things she was being asked to work around. Here, to, was a beautiful saddle, deep seated and with something to hold onto – I wouldn’t have to look hammy in an “adapted” English saddle. Was this the answer to the type of horse and style of riding I now needed?

So, I took a deep breath sold my Thoroughbred and bought an American Quarter Horse, a dark brown imported mare called Tempest Flash, and yes, she proved to be wonderful.

She was calm to work around in my sports wheelchair, I could even lead her from my chair. She stood like a rock while I was hoisted (more like dragged!) up her side! to saddle height within a large A-frame which she stood untied in. She did not move off until I picked up the reins.

So, I was sorted, once again enjoying the scenery and sounds of the country that a wheelchair and undulating or muddy going prohibits however much you yearn to be out there. But a part of me felt this superb buzz should be on offer to more people. I had met so many super people through being injured: what about letting others try their hand at this? Of course, I would need more Quarter Horses, but WHERE THERE'S A WILL THERE'S A WAY!

So, way back then, three years after my accident, I thought disabled riders should have the equal opportunity to ride out into the countryside and decided if it was not on offer yet, then I needed to get a move on and establish something! I wanted these riders, like me, to have access to horses, so highly trained, that a rider could enter a competition and the spectators would never know which rider could not climb off! or they could go out on a hack and be pretty much assured of a safe and secure ride on a horse that had, to as great an extent as possible been exposed to scarey objects that would normal trigger the fright and flight reaction in the horse - no joke if you are sitting on top not able to get off!

Hmm, so I wanted to open a centre, or better still supply these specialist horses to whoever needed one, but at about £5,000 each I knew I could not establish a centre by purchasing trained horses, so went about it the long way round - breed foals, grow them on and train them ourselves, or if a real bargain was available basically trained Western, buy it and add on our specialist training.

And so, I started with putting my first Quarter Horse mare, Tempest Flash, in foal to the stallion, My Fancy Bobby, that was imported with her!


HELP!

I owe the furtherance of my plans, from a one-horse owner to a stud farm of five stallions and twelve mares, to the steady succession of helpers over the years – I could not have got so far without them. When I ran out of available family or friends I turned to advertising in the local papers for help in return for Western riding, I was not going to give up my dream due to my lack of leg power!

We were always short of a male that knew one end of the hammer from the other and in the spring of 2000, following an advert for a handi-man to take on the part-time job of repairs to the barn, we found Clive, who not only was good on the hammer front but became a dab hand at handling the stallions.

A stoke of luck for me was that Clive and my relationship went from one of friendship and mutual appreciation for this band of horses and my vision, to one on a rather more permanent footing, lets just say it has husband and wife in the term and has given us a little bundle of joy with the birth of our baby, Robbie in March 2003, making a big sister out of Megan at eleven years of age – he would hate me to use any slushy endearments here!

Clive's first love, before he met me was a horse, but an iron one and now that love is shared equally between his ironhorse and his favourite American Paint stallion, Ty (oh you soppy dates out there, didn't think it was going to be me did you??)!