Carousels and Donkeys

Nothing but the horse for me when the fairground came to town!

On seaside holidays at Ramsgate, I would spend all the time with the donkeys. It didn't matter if I didn't have the sixpence to ride, as long as I could stand near them. The 'Donkey Man' took pity on me at one point and gave me a free ride as I'd been standing there for so long. I loved their brightly coloured browbands with their names painted on them. I loved their gentleness.

One of my favourite games while out walking with parents and aunts and uncles on family holidays was pretending to be a farmer walking behind his horses while they ploughed the field. They were my horses and humoured me between conversations with an occasional neighs to keep me happy.

Dreams

As a child growing up in a working class family in London in the 1950s, I used to dream about horses but would never have believed that one day I'd have a horse of my own. Horses were for rich people who lived in the country, not the likes of me whose parents lived in London in two rented rooms in a block with no bathroom and a shared toilet on the landing. A rare day out in the country was a long train journey away.

However, for a treat, my dad would sometimes take me to Whitehall to see the Horse Guards on duty. I was mesmorised by the way these horses stood for hours at a time with their very stern, unsmiling guards borne aloft. Fifty years on I still remember the sounds the horse made as it shifted its weight from one tilted hind hoof to the other. The chink of metal of sword and bit and the way that it sometimes chomped on all that steel in its mouth. Warily I would put out a hand to stroke the top of a leg - I doubt I could have reached the shoulder -and loved to feel the hair, like satin, both in touch and sheen.

How it all began. . . .

This is a photo of my Grandad in the 1930s. He worked as a removal man in South London and his job was to look after the horses that pulled the furniture cart. I've been told he was a hard man who was very strict with his children. However, Mum remembers that the only time she ever saw him cry was the day the horse died.

I didn't grow up around horses but have always loved them. It must have been passed on in the genes.