Some Memories fade with time. Others remain so vivid that you can close your eyes and find yourself right back in that moment, remembering the smallest details as though they happened yesterday.
For me, one of those memories is a Christmas morning when I was about eight or nine years old. Dad told me that we were going to visit an old lady he knew who had nobody to spend Christmas morning with. It seemed perfectly reasonable to me. That was my parents.
We climbed into the car and Dad, Mum and me, we drove about 5 minutes down the road. We pulled up outside an old building nestled amongst a row of terraced houses. Dad told Mum and me to wait in the car and he disappeared around the corner. A few minutes later, he came back and told us to follow him. I had absolutely no idea what was about to happen. As we turned the corner, I saw a stable. Hanging outside was a banner.
‘Hi Gemma, I am Shelly, your new pony’
I can remember looking at Dad in complete disbelief. ‘Really, I asked?’ And he did his little laugh with a nod of his head. That laugh. The one I would give absolutely anything to hear again, is as vivid in my mind now as it was all them years ago.
I started crying. Mum started crying. Dad took me into the stable, and there she was. Shelly, a beautiful Welsh Section C mare who would become one of the most important animals in my life.
We spent that Christmas morning doing stable chores, cuddling her and getting to know one another. Dad even sat me on her back in the stable. I couldn’t believe she was mine. Eventually, we went home, where I discovered more presents waiting for me. A grooming kit, a riding hat, body protector, saddles, bridals, and treats. Mum and Dad had thought of everything! It was the best Christmas of my childhood, and strangely enough, it’s only Christmas morning I can remember so clearly.
I didn’t know it then, but that pony would change my life and she would become my Dad’s best friend.
A little mare with a huge attitude.
Now, before you imagine a sweet little pony who carried me gently through childhood, let me introduce you to the pony that taught me to get back up!
Shelly was a typical Welsh Section C. Sassy, opinionated, full of life and with an attitude ten times her size. When the wind got up, so did Shelly. She had a wonderful habit of rearing up while I was riding her and staying there until I eventually slipped off. If we found ourselves in an open field, she’d take herself into a gallop and I just had to pray to make it to the end. I’m fairly certain my opinion on the matter never entered her head. I spent plenty of time picking myself up off the floor! But in the stable, or when she was being led, she was a different pony. She was loving, affectionate and had this incredible way of making you feel like the most important person in the world. She had a huge personality, but even bigger heart.
Looking back, Shelly wasn’t just my first pony, she was my teacher. She taught me patience, confidence, determination and that sometimes the only thing you can do when life throws you off is get back up. Although, admittedly, I think she enjoyed throwing me off a little too much.
Dad’s way of doing things.
Dad was a typical older gent who had a farming background. Flat cap, straight-talking, stubborn as anything and not particularly interested in being told what to do. He was a bugger to put it politely. He had what I always describe as an unspoken language with animals. There was something very natural about how he handled them. He was patient when patience was needed, but firm and fair when necessary. He didn’t believe in making a fuss, and he certainly didn’t believe in giving up. If I ever said ‘I can’t’ he’d get mad and reply with ‘You bloody well can!’ and usually he was right. I trusted his knowledge because he had earned that respect. He understood horses, and he understood me.
Over the years more horses came into our lives. There was Magic, our big black Dales x Thoroughbred, and Aramist, a little stallion we took in after he’d been neglected and tethered with a huge chain cutting into his neck. But Shelly always had a particularly special place in everyone’s heart but especially Dad’s, and Dad had a special place in her heart too. They absolutely adored each other.
Three Generations and one very special pony.
When I became a mum at 18, life changed. I was trying to find my feet as a young mother, and naturally I didn’t always have the same amount of time for the horses.
Dad stepped in.
He took over more of Shelly’s care, and their relationship grew into something rather extraodinary. She wasn’t just a pony he looked after. She was his companion, his routine, and in so many ways his best friend. I genuinely believe she kept him young and his mind sharp.
And then something beautiful happened. Shelly, the pony who carried me as a little girl, became part of my son’s childhood too. Travis was the absolute apple of my Dad’s eye. My parents adored him. He was the son they never had, and I think it’s fair to say they spoiled him rotten. In fact, they had a wonderful habit of over-parenting me!! I’d say no, they’d say yes! It used to drive me mad. But when I think about those days now, I remember the love more than anything else. Dad would walk down the field holding a little Travis’s hand who would of been around 2 years old. Then Dad would sit Travis on Shelly’s back and lead her up the field and back towards the stable. I can still picture Dad and the way he looked at him. A love far too great to put into words.
Sometimes I think about that little girl, years before, sitting on that very same pony while Dad walked besides her, with his flat cap on. Now there he was doing it all over again with his grandson. The same pony. The same man. Another generation. Travis remained Grandad’s boy as he grew older. Their bond never disappeared. If anything, it grew stronger. Forever a Grandad’s boy!
When Shelly left us.
We had Shelly 19 years. Nineteen years of childhood, adulthood, family life and memories. She had watched me grow up, become a mother and begin raising my own family. And she had spent so many of those years besides my Dad.
When Shelly eventually passed away from old age, we were all heartbroken. Dad, well Dad was absolutely devastated. He wasn’t a man who openly expressed his sadness. I never saw him cry. But I knew. He became quiet. Looking back now, I feel that something changed in him after Shelly died. He seemed to slow down. He became older somehow, and over time he reached a point where he didn’t really go anywhere anymore.
At the time, I understood that he had lost an animal he loved. But today, after everything I’ve experienced with grief, I see it differently. It wasn’t just a man and his pony. Shelly probably held his deepest secrets, his pain and his heart. I imagine there were things he could share in her company without ever having to find the words. She asked nothing of him other than his presence, and she loved him as much as he loved her
I wonder now whether I ever fully understood it then. But I do now. Grief doesn’t only come from losing people. Sometimes the loss of an animal can change the entire rhythm of someone’s life, and sometimes the deepest grief is the grief nobody sees.
Finding the girl I used to be.
It’s strange how life takes us in directions we never imagined.
Over the years, I became a mother, a carer and eventually a woman trying to understand who she was after losing both parents. For so long, my life revolved around responsibility. There was always somebody who needed me, something that needed to be done or another problem that needed solving. And somewhere along the way, I lost touch with parts of the little girl I used to be. Recently I ‘ve found myself thinking more and more about the horses, the animals and everything Dad taught me. Dad didn’t just teach me how to ride a horse or look after an animal. He taught me how to understand them on a much deeper level. He taught me that animals communicate in ways that don’t always involve sound. That patience, trust, respect and understanding can achieve far more than force ever will. He had his own way with animals, and without really knowing it, I was learning from him everyday. It became second nature to me.
Looking back, I realise just how much of what’s in me that came from Dad. I’m beginning to understand that those lessons never really left me. They’ve simply been sitting quietly in the background while life took me in other directions. Now as I start getting back my routines with my animals, I feel as though I’m returning to something familiar, like Dad is walking back with me. Something that belongs to us as father and daughter. Something Dad helped create inside of me. Perhaps finding myself again isn’t about becoming someone new. Perhaps it’s about remembering the little girl who felt happiest around horses, dogs and farm life. Who wasn’t afraid to get back on after failing off, and whose Dad stood beside her telling her she could do things even when she doubted herself.
I miss Dad’s wisdom more than I can explain. His outlook on life, his stubbornness and his refusal to waste time worrying about things out of his control. He had a saying that I can still hear so clearly. ‘What are you worrying about? It will all work out’ And perhaps those are the words I need to carry into this next chapter of my life. Because I’m learning that grief doesn’t just involve saying ‘goodbye’, sometimes it involves finding your way back to everything they taught you, everything you shared with them and every part of yourself they helped shape.
I am grateful beyond words that I got to be my Dad’s Daughter. He was the man that led me and my pony down the road in his flat cap. The man that gave me Shelly and the man that taught me so much about life without ever realising just how much those lessons would mean to me one day.
I hope I am making you proud.
And whenever I find myself doubting whether I can build the life I have always dreamed about, I’ll remember your voice.
‘You bloody well can!’
Love you Dad.
Till next time x
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