Today's drive
It has been raining. That's an understatement - Britain has been undergoing the aftermath of Hurricane/Tropical Storm Alex, whose huge volume of water has been suspended over us for several days, held up in its northeastern travel by high pressure over Scandinavia. It rained solidly for 48 hours and put down over 6" of rain on Monday and Tuesday. Today it rained half-heartedly all morning but by lunchtime things looked OK for driving.
I went over to Tebay, to the stable where Ruby is staying at present.
She is already yoked up when I arrive; my friend David likes to teach them standing still by leaving them tied up in his building, with the carriage and harness in place, but no blinkers, so they can see exactly what is going on all around and gain confidence that though it may be irksome, it doesn't actually hurt if you go with the flow. Ruby has " got" this bit and is perfect to yoke and unyoke, but she is impatient for action once you go out, and is inclined to shuffle and dance backwards and forwards. We need to work on this.
I change the riding bridle for my "racing half cup" blinkers, correct the fit of a few harness components (it's my harness and vehicle, so David is less familiar with it than I am), drive carefully out of the building, and then with Chantallamy on the back step we head off down the yard.
"Whoa, stand still, Ruby," while she opens the gate. Ruby is shuffling and wants to go out and work, but she holds the bit gently and waits for me to say she can go. She doesn't go back or sideways, which is an improvement. Well done, Ruby. We wait a little longer than usual after Chantallamy gets up on the back step, before moving off. Ruby is compliant. That's even better. What a clever girl.
We drive down onto the road and turn left instead of David's usual right. We walk round the bus stop and the big road sign in a nice circle, then straighten up past the stable yard and set off along the road to Gaisgill. Ruby is really striding along, her broad bay back like a table filling the shafts, and her tail swinging freely. Why am I excited? all we are doing is WALKING. But this is a walk that is worth savouring. She is so relaxed, yet full of go. I can hardly believe that this is the mare who knew nothing about driving only 11 days ago. Her ears are forward, her mouth is soft. She is really enjoying herself. We pull steadily up a long rise, and breech down the next to pass Lynn Winder's stables and Cocklake Farm. Ruby has got used to the young horses in the field trotting down to watch her go by, so she doesn't whinny this time and goes on swinging along, occasionally doing a little soft-shoe shuffle to show that she wants to go faster. I know if I let her she would accelerate gradually and powerfully like a big automatic car. But she holds the bit gently and settles with a good grace to that long, quick and powerful walk.
The roadside gullies are full of rushing water; she flicks an ear, but she was raised on these fells, and knows the noise of running water after storms is nothing to be afraid of. A heron, full of fish from the River Lune, flaps lazily over above us. The clouds are a mix of dark and pale grey, low and tumbled and half threatening, but the rain holds off.
Ruby's still green and unschooled, and she tends to look left and drift right; I spend a lot of time keeping level reins and the whip softly tapping her right flank to make her walk in the proper place on the road. A Land Rover and trailer comes along, and we have to pull in tight to the left hand verge to let it pass; she is steady and attentive. She has travelled in such trailers herself and knows they are not dangerous.
We pass the stables. There's a faint movement of her body as we pass the yard gate; we have turned in here to come home on other occasions. But with a word from me and a touch on her side from the whip, she accepts that this time we are going further and not stopping. "Hmm, well, that is interesting; after all, perhaps there will be other horses around if we go on?" Here's a nice level stretch of road; I ask Ruby to trot, and off she goes, smooth and powerful, really enjoying herself. We're now into entirely fresh territory; everything is new to her. At the next farm, Raw End, she is a little surprised to see a gang of Shetland ponies all trotting up to the fence to snuff at her as she goes by, but she holds her line on the road - just turns her head to look, and goes straight on. We walk again, as there is a tractor and trailer coming; I talk to her, and she keeps going, listening, trusting. She doesn't rush into trot after it passes, but goes on walking, walking. Past the sheep building at Redgill, with the fat lambs trotting about and the pen gates rattling; another Land Rover and trailer draws up there, behind us, but she just turns her ears to listen and does not alter her stride.
Coming up now is the green horse's big test: Gaisgill Row Farm, where the grass verges abound in spooky stuff. Big slabs of marble intended for kitchen worktops, bought up when the local workshop closed; demounted truck-container bodies with fertiliser stacked inside; tractors; implements; uneaten bales of silage from last summer with frayed plastic wrapping trailing from them; wheelbarrows; roofing materials. Ruby doesn't even appear to see them. She whinnies at a mare and foal but keeps going. Past the cattle building and the house and the milking parlour and the feed hopper, and through the puddles on the road she strides out confidently. "If you say so, then we'll go there." This mare, as grannies say of confident babies, "has been here before". We walk to the next road end, then turn round and head homeward. We have walked perhaps a mile and a half, with short steady trots. She is warmed up and absolutely rock steady, so it is time to think about what else we might ask. I am still keeping her to a straight line on her own side of the road; she is a little left-bent all the time, but that will fade with steady work and schooling.
Chantallamy comments on how I change the pitch of my voice to give Ruby commands. I had not noticed it, because I do it by habit after driving for so many years, but I explain that this helps Ruby to know when I mean her to take notice and do something, and when I am just chatting to a passenger in the vehicle. Chantallamy also says that my touches of the whip are probably hardly noticeable through Ruby's thick hide; again I explain that I know she is sensitive and will be feeling what I am doing. After all, she can feel a little fly landing, so why not my whip? We talk about Ruby's drift to the right hand side of the road; "you're not in America, Ruby!" Maybe we should have a word that means "drive on the left"? Chantallamy suggests, "England!"
We walk back past Gaisgill Row; again, Ruby takes absolutely no notice of the assorted decorations on the grass verge. A domestic cat hides with flattened tortoiseshell ears behind a tuft of grass in one of the steep fields, and watches us ride by. We go through the dips and bends by the sheep building, and the road is clear, so I press Ruby to trot. Again, that smooth surge of power, and off she goes up the long rise to Raw End Farm. The Shetlands have decided this is no fun, so they ignore her. We crest the rise and Ruby comes out of draught and feels the breeching. This time she is a tiny bit unbalanced; the cart is now pushing her and she wants to go still faster so she breaks into a gentle canter. The hops get bigger and the bum is coming up higher - " Ruby, no, we're not going to do this." I take rein, softly, and she comes back into my hand, steadying to a trot, nice and level again. Good girl. Clever girl. What a star.
We walk for a little way, then try another trot. This is cut short by another Land Rover and trailer appearing where the road is narrow; Ruby stands quietly close in to the hedge, with Chantallamy by her head just in case she steps the wrong way when the trailer is close. But Ruby just watches; she doesn't move. Chantallamy gets back on the step after the trailer has passed, I ask Ruby to walk on, and away she goes. We pass Cocklake Farm where John and Ann Cooper are doing something energetic down a drain, with a tractor running machinery from its power takeoff. Ruby doesn't break stride as she goes by; reared on a farm, this is all old hat to her.
Past the stables, the young horses trot alongside, sploshing through wet patches, rattling the rushes, but she ignores them and strides up the hill. I ask her to trot, and she goes forward smoothly. It is fascinating to feel how she tests what I will allow; if you shut your eyes you can feel the power turn on and off as she goes forward, then feels the bit and subtly tones it down; back and forth we converse as she trots up the slope, over the top, and for a little way down the far side. She's "got it" now; she already knows that she must hold the cart downhill when she's walking, and now she understands that she must not allow it to suggest that she goes faster, even if she's trotting; the trot remains a trot. We reach the level and walk again. Let's play round the recycling centre; we make circles round the road sign, walk up the grass verges and over gravel lay-bys. She is calm about it all, although the right handed circles fall in rather. Schooling, and miles on the clock, will cure that.
We arrive at the yard, and the Welsh Cob stallion has come down from the top of the pasture to see whose footfalls he can hear. Chantallamy takes my whip to chase him off so we can get into the yard. Ruby has time to practise standing still. She knows we have finished our work; but she can see the gate is closed. Ten yards from the gate, she is standing quiet and relaxed. She is waiting intelligently to be allowed back in, to have the carriage taken off and be given hay and water. I repeat the Stand Still command, and praise her for being so good. She waits for the gate to be opened, and on my word she takes the carriage carefully into the building.
We unyoke and unharness her, and I brush her off. She has done a steady three miles and is barely warm. When I've done brushing her, she nibbles me and asks for more, so I give her a really good working over with the body brush. Her eyes half close in bliss; she leans into my brush strokes; "brush my mane out please.... clean my face.... this is better than food...."
David arrives just as we are tidying up. "Had a good drive? Has she been good?" " Yes, she was perfect - this is what holidays are about.... "
Sue in the English Lakes
Intelligence is no defence against one's own stupidity