A Healing Touch

This gentle short story of a childhood recalled is by Julie Goodall.

Working with the horses had been more than a hobby for me . . .

and Miss Lewis replied that she had just turned seven.

She explained that you didn’t start riding ponies until they were about four.

They stayed green for a while, she told me.

I didn’t see any green ponies in the field so I guessed that they must all be at least seven or older.

She told me quite a bit more about ponies and horses, but it was a lot of information as we stood there, feeding Shadow handfuls of grass in the sun.

I hoped that she wasn’t going to test me.

A couple of other ponies wandered over to join us and, finally, she said that she had a bit of work to do in the stables.

For want of something better to do, and not to return to being alone, I asked if I could help.

****

For the rest of the summer holidays I was at the stables every day.

There were other children at various times of the day, mostly girls, and two boys, Kenneth and Brian.

Miss Lewis lent me a pair of wellies and some trousers called jodhpurs that other children had donated when they’d grown out of them.

When I rode Shadow or Tulip, I borrowed a hard black hat with a peak that shaded my eyes from the hot summer sun.

Over the weeks, the shadow of grief eased a bit from my heart.

I learned so much from Miss Lewis about how to groom ponies and feed them.

“Kate, remember to clean out the brush with your curry comb.”

She would place the curry comb on the wall beside me, along with a plastic beaker of squash.

“And don’t forget the body brush. The dandy brush is a bit hard for his face.”

Miss Lewis’s word was law in Lilliworth Stables and we followed it to the letter.

She was firm but endlessly kind and I became as pony-mad as the rest of them.

I bought “Pony” magazine with the pocket money I earned from cleaning the car for Mum, and stuck posters of ponies all over my bedroom walls.

I never had enough money to pay for rides but carried on earning them by helping out at the stables. When Mum went into hospital “for her nerves” and Aunt Janet came to look after me and Pete, little changed on a practical level.

Both Mum and Dad had gone from our home, but Miss Lewis and the ponies were always there, and I felt like they needed me.

“You’re a Godsend around here, Kate,” Miss Lewis said to me and I bristled with pride as I washed off the muck on my wellies with the hose.

“You could enter a competition, you could,” Kenneth told me one day when we were mucking out the stables.

I liked Kenneth. He was quiet and you could muck out a stable with him, saying very little.

When he did talk, he’d say something he’d been thinking about, or come out with something that would have you practically rolling around on the floor.

He had a crooked nose from a fall from a horse

(not one of ours).

He was hilarious and I’d often be thinking about him long after my ride home on the bike.

In September, though, his dad got a job up country and his whole family moved away.

****

Stepping into the chapel, I stopped in my tracks, certain I’d entered the wrong room.

My pulse quickened and I went back and checked the stand at the door.

Yvonne Lewis.

I noticed a Stetson on top of the coffin at the front of the room. There was no doubt about it; I was in the right place.

But the hum of people was astonishing. There must have been at least 40 mourners.

Had they all responded to the advert, like me?

The service was beautiful. At the front, behind the minister, was a slideshow of photos of Miss Lewis’s life.

Of course, in almost all of them she was accompanied by horses.

There were photos of her trekking, showjumping and doing dressage.

Photos of her just being with horses. Photos of her with children at her stables.

In one, I felt sure I caught sight of myself with a pitchfork and felt a rush of blood to the face.

We sang “Morning Has Broken” and “How Great Thou Art”.

The theme to “Black Beauty” played as the coffin disappeared behind the curtain, which made us all smile.

As we left the chapel, there was a donation bowl for a local horse and pony welfare centre. I slipped in a tenner and made my way outside.

The heat of the sun transported me to that very first day I’d stopped at Miss Lewis’s field.

In some ways, it felt like a lifetime ago, and I supposed it was, really, but in other ways it was like yesterday.

I could almost hear the mower of a nearby gardener and the snorting of ponies beyond the fence.

I’d felt alone then, and purposeless.

Some things never change, I thought wryly, watching as people milled around chatting.

I felt a bit out of it and wished that I’d brought Pete along.

All the talk of Miss Lewis, and the wonderful photos, had made me nostalgic and I was emotionally lodged between a painful childhood and now.

“Incredible, isn’t it, how many lives she touched?

“Just goes to show, really, that it’s not just about having children and passing on the family name.”

I was standing alone, so I realised that the voice was directed at me.

It was deep and gravelly, sounding like it might belong to a well-built older man, but its owner was tall and wiry, with a nose I’d never forget.

“Kenneth?”

The man nodded with a wry smile.

“I’m not sure whether I’m flattered or insulted that you still recognise me from when I was ten.”

Miss Lewis and the ponies were always there

He laughed heartily and I flushed, hoping he wouldn’t realise that the recognition was because of his nose.

“Of course, there’s no mistaking this conk,” he added, pointing at the offending feature. “With me to the grave!”

He grimaced at his own choice of words.

“Oh, dear, not entirely tactful. But you know what I mean.”

How I was supposed to respond, I had no idea, so I grinned and wondered if he had a clue who I was.

“I’m betting you’re Kate,” he went on, extending a hand. “I’d never forget those green eyes.”

His hand closed around mine and I shook it, a little taken aback at his confidence.

But then, he had always been confident, in a quiet sort of a way.

“Yes, I’m Kate.” I laughed. “So I’m equally offended.”

We smiled together and he held on to my hand a moment longer before letting it drop.

“Do you know anyone?” He looked around and I followed his gaze, taking in the tangle of mourners, who surely must have been random.

“I don’t know,” I mused, “without asking everyone who they are.

“Do you think that’s what they’re doing?”

“Probably.”

His eyes glistened, the colour of Miss Lewis’s Stetson, and I could practically smell the straw that we used to spread around in the stables.

“I miss those days,” I said wistfully. “I was never happier than when I was knee-deep in muck.

“It helped me forget everything at home.”

Kenneth glanced away for a moment, appearing to consider what to say next.

He folded the service sheet and tucked it into his jacket pocket.

“You never said much in those days,” he said finally, “but people talked. About your dad, your mum and your brother.”

I motioned to a low wall nearby and we sat, his body turned towards mine.

I took a deep breath, deciding there was no reason not to share.

“Dad died when I was nine and Mum had her own issues.

“She didn’t cope well and, when I was fifteen, she took her own life.

“Pete was fourteen and I felt responsible for him. He has mental health issues, too, and some learning disabilities.

“I guess I’ve fought to stop the same thing from happening to him.”

Kenneth didn’t apologise; he just nodded and gave an understanding smile. “Where is Pete now?” “Oh, he’s at home. It’s always been just me and Pete.

“But he didn’t know Miss Lewis so he preferred not to come today.”

I brushed imaginary bits of fluff from my skirt.

“And did you keep up the riding – the horses?” Kenneth became animated and I could see in an instant that he had.

“I wish!” I laughed.

“Never the time or the money. My life’s been pretty sedentary.”

I motioned to my expanding waistline and grinned.

“How about you?”

“Ah, well.” He rubbed his nose, a habit I remembered from the summer we’d spent together.

It was endearing and I recognised it as a nervous habit, possibly from being self-conscious about his most prominent feature.

“Once I was bitten by the pony bug, there was no going back. I own a stud farm this side of Bristol.”

My mouth must have dropped open because he laughed, a wonderful open laugh that encouraged me to join in.

“I thought you’d moved away.”

“Oh, we did, but once I was old enough, I moved back.

“I missed it here and I always dreamed about working with horses.

“My life literally is a dream come true. Apart from losing Janice.

“She was my wife, but she got fed up with the equine life running ours.

“She had her own goals and they didn’t really run parallel with mine.”

“Oh, Kenneth, that’s a shame.”

I watched as his silvery hair caught the sun.

He was surprisingly distinguished for someone who worked with horses all day, but then I supposed he had people doing the manual stuff.

Perhaps he just pushed paper around all day.

But memories of hours shovelling manure and grooming horses popped into my head and it seemed unlikely that he’d be happy to leave that side of things completely to others.

I had an urge to find out. “Please call me Ken.

Kenneth sounds a bit stuffy.

“Hey, perhaps you might like to come up to my stud one day?

“Bring your brother. I can show you both around and you can breathe in that horsey smell . . . soothe your soul.”

We laughed again, but there was a truth to his words that we both recognised.

Horses did that, touching the deepest part of you, providing protection from the world.

Birdsong cut into the momentary silence and we looked around at the departing mourners.

“Looks like we’re off,”

Ken said, easing himself off the wall.

“Better get moving before the next lot arrive. We don’t want to be gatecrashers.”

I slipped my feet into the shoes I’d kicked off.

“Are you intending to go to the pub wake?” he asked.

“I think so.”

We made our way to the car park. As we walked, I texted Pete to let him know I’d be home a bit later.

It had been a while since I’d had a good chat with someone.

It would be nice to talk about old times and, perhaps, about new ones.

A flutter of excitement sat in my chest – a feeling I hadn’t felt for more years than I could recall.

And I thought about seeing the stud farm. There was an easiness about chatting with Ken which made me totally comfortable.

A bit like when we would be grooming in silence in the yard.

I opened my car door. “The first round’s on me!” I called across the car park and received a thumbs-up.

We would toast Yvonne Lewis and remember what she had done for us.

An image of her in her Stetson and chaps settled in my mind and I realised that she had not only been touching lives the whole of her life, but she was still touching lives now.

I shifted the car into gear, feeling the warmth of the sun through the windshield like the heat of a horse’s breath.

I’d come to terms many years ago with my lot, yet perhaps it was time to carve some time for myself.

Now, in his later years, Pete was calmer, more routine and his medication kept him stable.

I could barely remember the last time we’d needed the hospital.

I led the way from the car park to the pub a mile out of town.

It was on the way that it struck me. I’d have to ask him, otherwise none of this made any sense.

We battled through the crowds and made our way with our glasses of lemonade to a table.

“If you live near Bristol, Ken, how did you know about Miss Lewis’s passing?”

He flushed ever so slightly and rubbed his nose.

“I’m still in contact with Brian. He rang me.”

“And Brian couldn’t make it?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

Ken nodded to the door. “Brian’s over there.”

“So you did know someone else at the funeral!”

The buzz of the pub dropped away into the background, and Ken’s brown eyes twinkled. Then he smiled.

The End.