CHAPTER 4

St. Florence was then and still is a very attractive small village just about four miles from the sea. Situated in the valley of the river Ritec, in those days of the 1960s there were eight or more small farms all within the village. Each one had a small dairy herd and where there were children there was a pony. I must have been one of seven in our part of the village, but I was the only filly and the only Registered Welsh Mountain Pony in the district.

Most of the riders were little girls aged between five and 11. They were members of the local pony club and had been taught to ride properly. The ponies varied in size from Shetlands to big strong, almost horses, around 14.2 hands. Ponies were changed according to the age and size of the riders, so they were never with the same family for more than two or three years.

They were looked after properly and well groomed, and there was quite a bit of competition amongst the owners to have the best turned out pony.

We were status symbols for many of the owners, especially where their daughters were concerned, and most of the girls entered for gymkhana and show events. My job was to be a pony the two boys could ride. I was to be bomb proof and safe and I was to be taught good manners.

One day, when I was approaching my second birthday, it was decided that I should be properly broken in and schooled so that the boys could ride me quite safely and properly. I knew all about being broken in and schooled because my mother had explained it all to me during that first Summer on the mountain slopes.

"Well bred ponies like you will be properly broken so that you are a credit to your father and mother," she said. "Both of us come from a good riding strain and it never takes more than a week or two to get our family perfectly trained."

I was already used to children sitting on my back and I had felt the bit between my teeth for quite some time.

Mike asked around about horse and pony breakers and he was recommended to Mr. Dai Boswell, of Pembroke. He called to see him and Mr. Boswell said: "I only break ponies I like. If I don't fancy them I won't break them."

One Sunday afternoon he called to see me in the field. He was accompanied by his daughter who was about 14 and her name was Debbie.

"Yes," he said. "I like Twilight, so I'll take her home now." Mike said: "How will you get her to Pembroke?" "Easy," said Mr. Boswell, "Debbie will ride her." So I was quietly taken into the stable and all the necessary gear was fitted onto me. "Now Debbie," he said. "Off you go. I'll follow in the car."

Debbie was a good rider and she walked me all of those eight miles very slowly, stopping for traffic and allowing me to graze on the verges now and again. In just about two hours we arrived at Mr. Boswell's stables.

Here were hunters 15 hands high and over, either being broken in or being schooled. In the large meadow were jumps where show ponies and hunters were being trained. I was just a very ordinary small Welsh Mountain Pony, insignificant and I felt very lonely.

On the Monday morning, Mr. Boswell came out to me and put on a saddle and bridle. "Now Twilight you won't be long here, for you have been well handled since a very young foal. You are not wild and untouched like most of the horses and ponies I have to break. You just need a bit of schooling and traffic sense. You've got to be taught to turn right and left, know when to stop and start and generally learn good manners. You've got to get used to children of all ages and sizes for you are going to be the best ride in St. Florence when you get back. Debbie will teach you everything in a week, and by next Sunday you'll be back in your own field."

I didn't need any complicated kit, no basic handling. With my saddle and bridle Debbie led me to the busy road. "Now then Twi," she said, "I'm going to take you through the busy streets of the town. I shall ride you in traffic of all kinds, lorries, vans, cars and motorbikes. We shall also go to the railway station so you will be used to trains." In those days there were still steam trains on the line from Pembroke to Tenby and she would ride me to the station to await the arrival of them so I would understand the grinding of brakes, the hiss of steam and the shrill noise of the whistle.

For two or three hours every day we would ride the lanes and roads around the town. I was taught to stand still when Debbie dismounted and would wait for her to re-mount without any movement. I got used to the hum and roar of traffic, the screech of brakes and the tooting of horns. After a while, none of these bothered me.

"I wonder what you will be like when barking dogs approach you," said Debbie. Little did she know that in my early days on the mountains I had been taught to ignore inquisitive dogs and foxes. "If they bother you, just turn your hind quarters and let them have the feel of your hooves," she used to say. "They won't bother you again." In town or on the road I just ignored them.

Only one thing startled me and that was a piece of plastic blowing through the air, but I soon understood that this would cause me no harm.

I was taught to stand quietly while being saddled and bridled and I was always ready to be caught in the field. Every time they wanted me to come they would give me a tit-bit of a sugar lump or a Polo mint.

On the Thursday, Mr. Boswell said: "It's time for you to be shod Twilight. You've got good hard feet, but all this walking about has worn down your feet. Now you'll need to be shod and so I'm going to take you to Mr. Jimmy Thomas the Blacksmith."

He haltered me and we walked about a mile to Mr. Thomas's forge, which was also his garage. He was a tiny man about five feet tall and looked to me very kind and pleasant to talk to. "What have we here Dai," he smiled. "A young one from the mountains. I can tell the breed. I bet she's one of Mrs. Jones's from up there in North Wales."

"Quite right," said Dai. "And she's a good one, as quiet as a lamb. An excellent mover and when required plenty of spirit. She's young, only about two, but she'll make an excellent children's ride."

"Let's see how she shoes," said Mr. Thomas, and he picked up my hooves one by one. "Tidy hard blue hooves," he said. "She'll be no trouble at all. She's standing quiet, we won't be long."

He fired up the forge and measured each of my hooves and proceeded to make my first shoes. I shall always remember the smell of the forge and the burning scent of my hooves as each shoe was fitted still hot and nailed securely. It was all over in less than an hour.

"Now come on girl," said Dai. "It'll feel strange for a while, but you'll soon get used to the feel of those shoes. Mr. Thomas is an expert and they'll last you quite a few weeks."

We clip-clopped away from the forge and now I began to feel really grown up and proud to be a well-shod pony.

By the weekend I was ready to go home. Debbie rode me all the way. We trotted and cantered and I loved the sound of my hooves on the hard road.

All the family were waiting for us along with Mr. Boswell.

"Who's going to be the first on her back?" he called. "Come on Mark, you've got the look of a jockey lad," and he lifted up Mark, a tiny five-year-old complete with hard hat, jodhpurs and crop. Mr. Boswell showed him how to sit tidily, how to hold my reins, how to give me commands to stop and start. We were led around the field once or twice, then Mark was allowed to take control.

"That lad's a natural rider" said Dai. "I can tell one when I see one. You'll have no problems with him. He sits well and that's what it's all about. Above all he looks right, just like the jockeys you see at the races. Keep him interested."

Next on my back was Michael, a chubby four-year-old. I could feel his weight a great deal more than Mark. Michael, too, had no fear and soon he was riding quite well on his own around the field.

"We are new to the horse and pony world Mr. Boswell," said Mike. "Can you give us a few tips to ensure that Twilight is well looked after?"

"Don't over feed her when she's not being ridden, never feed her straight after riding, let her cool down and have a drink of fresh water first. Give her good meadow hay with no mould in it during the Winter. Watch she doesn't eat too much rich Spring grass or she'll have tender feet causing laminitis. Make sure she's wormed regularly - at least in the Autumn and again in the Spring. Try to move her to fresh pasture regularly and take care of her feet. Have her shod regularly when she's out on the road and. if you have any doubts about her condition. don't hesitate to seek the advice of the vet. Groom her every day and get used to handling her. Treat her kindly and with respect and she'll be a good friend to you all."

With that Mr. Boswell said goodbye to me and patted me on the head. "You've got a good home girl," he smiled. "You are very lucky indeed."

With that he was gone and I was not to see him again for almost two years when he came to collect my own son ready to be broken in.

More next week