Seaside thrills

WHAT is it about me and horses? They have always utterly enthralled me.

When I was a child, all sorts of interesting horse traffic went past our house regularly – rag-and-bone men’s ponies, coal-lorry heavy horses, milk-float horses, and assorted draught and riding horses. Wonderful.

I particularly liked to see one horse – Major – waiting patiently while his owner humped sacks of coal to people’s coal houses. He never moved a muscle until his owner climbed back on to the cart and then off he would go to the next customer, knowing exactly where to stop.

My riding lessons were the pinnacle of my childhood existence. I was allowed one every six weeks when my parents could afford the six shillings.

One particular riding school was run by a woman called Doris, who would ride a large horse to which the ponies were attached on either side, sometimes two at a time. They would be tacked up ready for the riders whom she would collect from their respective homes. When she had a full complement, off we would set at a cracking trot down the main street of St Annes-on-Sea down to the beach.

I often marvel that once life was so free of traffic that ponies with inexperienced little girls on board could rattle through the town unimpeded and vaguely safe. Once on the beach we all went like the clappers – oh the thrill.