Just watched a progemm on a woman with working horses. She contracts them out to many foresters in the UK and also takes part in trials.
I have never had anything to do with horses, it has always been dogs, but I can’t even look at a heavy horse without a lump in my throat and a longing never to be assuaged.
If I was younger I would definitely do something about it, especially if I had the field as well as forest space but I am too old to start now even if I could.
Years ago, like many breweries in the country, Shipstones in Nottingham employed Shire horses to haul their delivery drays around the pubs of the town, a sight not to be missed. Sadly no more I think.
I just wondered if anyone else felt the same way about those massive friends with their great big fur flowing feet.
Not my first experience but the most memorable. I was driving my lorry down the bottom of the M 11 towards its junction with the North Circular one day. The motorway split at that point, straight on for the South Circular and bear right for the North. That left a large expanse of empty greenery in the triangle. I glanced to my right and saw a massive heavy horse and rider in full gallop with the large feathered feet trailing in the slipstream. I have never before or since seen such a majestic sight and was smitten to the core while struggling to keep my mind on the job. What I was riding was much bigger and heavier but I never saw anything to compare with that.
Watch that programme if you can find it, it is inspiring.
As you get older there are certain advantages to be had by a deteriorating sensual reduction. Thankfully it doesn’t reach the heart though, until that organ stops altogether.
The only chunky horses in our hamlet are four meat horses, possibly retired meat horses that didn’t end up at the butchers, and which the neighbour’s daughter, an animal rights lawyer, lets graze in their field.
Back in the day, it was common to see Shire type horses being ridden - most farms would only have had one or two horses whose prime function was to work and also be the prime transport.
Shires are very hard to ride, especially in a gallop.
My neighbour currently has 5 Clydesdales, they mostly live in the fields around our house. They’re lovely and very friendly, they did ride one of the mares but she has mild arthritis in one of her legs, so they no longer do. We’re waiting to see if the 2 mares are in foal yet.
Back in my old Breton commune my neighbour’s father used two of the stocky short tailed Breton horses he bred to plough his fields by hand and I often used to see the same going on in the fields on the way to Roscoff many times. Henri told us that there was nothing more satisfying than ploughing with horses, his tractor had been given a day off.
I used to live very close to the retirement home for horses back in the UK and we often used to go at weekends and take carrots and old bedclothes for them. I will always remember Sefton the horse that was injured in The Hyde Park bombing as that is where he spent his final days along with some other well knowns. They had many of the big working horses too, some had been used right upto retirement by breweries and were a wonder to watch
In the mid 60’s we had a rag n bone man whose cart was drawn by horse. Just a generic dray horse rather than a shire, but impressive nevertheless. He was very gentle and all us kids wanted to ride on him.
There’s a local organisation that sometimes comes to collect litter on the beach (where people haven’t used the bins). They use one or two heavy horses and I’ve seen them with groups of schoolchildren participitating, they seemed to love it. I think Leucate my be using horses instead of tractors for refuse collection on the beaches.
As long as the horses aren’t working in extreme heat I think it’s a great idea.
This is Haley and her new born son, Harker, not long after he was born. It was a very wet morning and a bit of a difficult birth, but he’s a very handsome, well mannered 3 year old now.(sorry about the quality it was very wet and cold).
I know there is advice, if not more, to not use surnames on here but that name, spreadeagled on the grass is not a million miles from my own. All I will tell you is it is not Parker. He seems to be wondering why his legs are at right angles rather than vertical like Mum’s.
@Shiba You have reminded me that there was a place called Brantome Horses not far from here who re-homed retired police horses from the Met. We visited several times it always seemed open to the public. No riding though, just wandering, watching and touching.
And another, more painful, memory has just re-invaded my mind.
As a lad of about 5 in the late '40s I used to help the milkman on his round near to my home at the corner of an unmade road in Southampton. He would start at the bottom of the 300 metre leg delivering all the way with his horse drawn wagon. We lived on the bend at the top and I would join him from there for the short leg to the main road. I assumed he then turned on to the latter so I would jump off and go back home. One day I realised that he went back down, past my house so, unbeknown to him, I stayed on the back step to save me the walk. Little did I realise just how fast he would go home with an empty cart and he swung round the bend before I knew and was rattling down the long leg back to the dairy.
I didn’t want to walk all that way home so jumped off without the knowledge that I ought to get my legs in motion. The result was I hit the unmade stoney surface full length at about 30 mph and skidded on my front quite some way.
I trudged back home, bleeding and rip torn where Mum stripped me and straight into the bath to be cleaned off. Then, covered in iodine and re-dressed I was sent out to play again.
We, or rather our Mum’s, were well 'ard in those days, we had just faced the Gerries, this was nothing compared to that.
(no idea if it was made there)