This poem is by a home-educated girl called Katy. She likes art, fashion and writing, and we are delighted to be able to share her work with you.
This poem is by a home-educated girl called Katy. She likes art, fashion and writing, and we are delighted to be able to share her work with you.
Learning to ride is a fabulous hobby. It can be pricey, but you can borrow a hat and crop from most stables, and start off in trousers and strong shoes. It is great exercise, very exciting, and teaches respect for animals, balance, and correct posture.
When I was very young I rode at Stourton Stables, a children’s riding school where the ponies were mostly grumpy and had to be separated in the fields for fear of kicking each other to pieces.
Oh, happy riding lesson days. Hours spent in icy pouring rain, in snow, in fog, and even more rarely; in lovely sunshine. The best riding times of year for me were spring and autumn, before and after the major insect season.
Once a year, in August, Stourton Stables had a summer camp. Fifteen lucky kids were invited to spend a whole week with their pony, grooming, tacking up, and riding every day. There would be a jumping competition and picnic hacks, a visit to the three counties showground, and a swim at the leisure centre.
I was allocated Heidi, a grey mare with a snotty attitude. Literally. One of her tricks was to toss her head about whilst being ridden and flick massive globs of snot and foam backwards into the rider’s face.
Aside from the snot, she was zippy and responsive, pleasant enough to ride; but her main problem was she was evil to groom and tack up. She was a biter and a kicker. Hence I gave an audible groan when they announced we would have to wash our pony’s tail. Drat!