GETTING UP TO STEED
THE WORDS OF A FAMOUS AUSTRALIAN AUTHOR RECONNECT MAGGIE MACKELLAR WITH HER PONY AND HER CHILDHOOD.
before her death in 1954, the Australian writer Miles Franklin — most famous for her sizzling debut novel My Brilliant Career — wrote a slender childhood memoir. By then in her 70s, she recalled, “The rhythm of horses came to me earlier than walking. In those moments … when the sense of actuality has been slightly loosened ... there recurs for ever, like the movement of a stream or the pattern of leaves flickering in a zephyr, the sensation of a well-bred horse being released, or about to be released, into action.”
The manuscript published after she died was called Childhood at Brindabella. I was a history student the first time I read those words and they snatched me back to my own childhood, where the only place I ever wanted to be was on the back of my (not very well-bred) pony.
From my horseless student years, I am now lucky enough to be the caretaker of a special grey pony named Monte. When his owner heard my daughter didn’t have a horse, she generously offered him. He was paddock fat and not interested in being ridden by a 13 year old but, after a turbulent few weeks, the two entered the sweetest partnership. Fast-forward 10 years and, whereas my daughter has long since graduated from Monte’s broad back, he is now perfect for me.
Horses have always been a passion, but the role of groom and taxidriver and has seen me ride less and less. The uninhibited joy I knew as a child on the back of a horse was replaced with middle-aged caution. I decided the best thing to do to regain some competence was for Monte and I to go to Hobart for lessons with a friend who is a show-jump coach.
At first we were cautious and unfit, and I seesawed from dry-mouthed fear to euphoria as we worked our way up to small jumps. In his day Monte was a superstar jumper, and I couldn’t have a better master. It was as if I’d been asleep, dead to the sensations that used to animate every thought and movement. Then one afternoon, we cantered up to a line of jumps. Monte saw the distance perfectly, and for a change I sat still and balanced. We land, take off, land, three strides, take off, land, four strides, take off and the last is cleared.
A smile I hadn’t felt since I was 12 welled up out of me, and I knew I had the look of the ecstatic. Monte dropped to a walk and I hugged his sweaty neck. It’s a gift, the moment of connection where the shared language is intuition, touch and trust. It’s Miles’ remembered rhythm, and mine too. Maggie Mackellar lives on a sheep farm in Tasmania. Her work includes the acclaimed memoir When it Rains.