From the very first moment I sat on a pony, I was hooked. I knew there and then that in the saddle was the place I was meant to be.
How did a little girl growing up in Birmingham with no connection with horses develop a lifelong passion that was to set her on an unswerving path through life?
Read how it all started, in this short extract from the beginning of Only Heroes and Horses.
We were at a school fete, and amid the crowds and the cake stands and the coconut shy, I spotted the sign which would change my life: ‘Pony rides – 50p’. I was just six years old, and I reckon it was probably the first time I’d seen a pony in real life. You don’t get many horses in suburban Birmingham, which is where I grew up.
Dad gave me a shiny silver coin, and I eagerly approached the pretty chestnut pony, with its stocky legs and shaggy coat. I can still picture her now – how her soft brown eyes were full of kindness, and how she flicked her ears forward in friendly alertness, and gently swished her tail. It was like she was saying hello. I reached out my hand tentatively and touched the pony’s velvet nose. She breathed out in a quick snort and I giggled as the rush of air tickled my hand.
Dad’s 50p bought me a ride which must have lasted no more than ten minutes, to the edge of the school field and back – but I’d never in my life felt so serenely happy as I did perched in that pony’s saddle, the sound of her hooves softly thudding on the grass. As the ride came to an end, I saw Dad had been joined by Mum and my thirteen-year-old sister Julia, who had her face painted like a butterfly.
‘Look at you!’ Mum called as I approached, pressing her camera to her eye. ‘Say cheese, Nat!’
The photo she took that day, which I still have (pictured above), captures a life-changing moment. With my long blond hair resting on my shoulders, my face says it all: pure joy.
I think my parents thought my horse fixation would be a passing phase…
Dad says that for the rest of the afternoon they couldn’t keep me away from the pony. I begged him for more coins, then patiently queued over and over again for more rides, until he eventually insisted it was time to go home. As our family car pulled out of the school car park, I pressed my nose to the window, trying to catch one last glimpse of my pony friend.
From that day forward, horses became my obsession. Now, I should say I’m not from a horsey family – far from it. Dad was a police officer, Mum was a caretaker and they’d never had riding lessons growing up. I think they both thought my horse fixation would be a passing phase, but if it was, it’s one I still haven’t grown out of.
When we went to the library, the only books I wanted were ones with ponies on the cover. At home, I drew endless pictures of horses, and made up little stories all featuring long adventures involving me astride a trusty steed. Mum stuck the picture of me and the little ginger pony on my bedroom wall and every night I’d stare at it until my eyes got heavy and I fell asleep, dreaming of horses.
Knowing how happy it would make me, Mum and Dad decided to find me some riding lessons. Our urban neighbourhood wasn’t bursting with opportunities, but ever resourceful, Dad found a rescue centre where they took in animals from circuses. They had a few ponies, and the guy that ran the centre kindly agreed to teach me to ride. Every weekend, he would take me out on the roads and I just loved it. Sitting in the saddle of a little albino pony called Noddy, I felt like he and I had become one body, one brain, and together we could do anything or go anywhere.
I was so obsessed with horses that the other kids at school thought I was weird
As the years passed I became more and more horse mad. By the time I was ten I was spending my whole weekends at the rescue centre, mucking out stables and grooming ponies in return for an hour’s ride. For me, it wasn’t really about riding as much as it was about being with the animals. I just wanted to talk to them and stroke them and smell their reassuring horsey scent. As a child, the ponies were the realest friends I had. I was so obsessed with horses that the other kids at school thought I was weird. At break time, I’d linger on the edge of the playground, fiddling with the little pony figurines I always carried around with me. I’d watch the other girls playing pat- a- cake or skipping or whispering in each other’s ears and feel a dull ache in my chest. Occasionally, the boys would hoof a football directly at me, scattering my plastic ponies. My face would burn as I hurried to pick them up, their laughter ringing in my ears. But I’d forget all about the hurt and the humiliation, as soon as I was back alongside the ponies again.
‘You know, life isn’t really about fitting in,’ Mum told me, stroking my hair one evening when I told her how people at school were saying I smelled funny because I spent so much time at the stables. ‘If you’re kind, true to yourself and stay positive even when the world wants to bring you down, you’ll always stand out – and that’s much more important.’
‘I don’t know why I have to go to school,’ I said, burying my face in her shoulder. ‘I just want to have my own stables and spend all day every day with my own horses.’ Mum put her arms around me and drew me closer.
‘If you work hard, Nat, I know you can do absolutely anything,’ she whispered.
Only Heroes and Horses is available in hardback, ebook and audiobook.
