Racing virgin begins his new love affair

THE course is looking in tip-top shape ready for tomorrow's racing at Skipton. It is next to the river which is a great advantage at this time of year because watering is important to make the firm ground safe for the horses and remove the prospect of concussion which can occur when galloping. My rides seem to be all maidens, so hopefully I will have a winner later in the day.

My pupil finally rode in his race last weekend. He finished a creditable fourth out of five. His family were very proud and so was I at his dedication and hard work in undertaking this.

There were only a couple of hairy moments. He was facing the wrong way at the start line (still adjusting his goggles apparently) when the judge let them go. When a fellow jockey had a fall some distance in front at the open ditch he managed to gallop over the top of him rather than steer to avoid the poor devil (holding one rein having dropped the other).

Had I not been so nervous, due to the part I played in him being there, I could have enjoyed it more. I breathed a sigh of relief as he safely cleared the last obstacle.

To him it was fulfilling a dream and as he passed the winning post he shrieked, punching the air to the delight of the crowd. I felt that moment was a true picture of the real side of point-to-pointing. "Sorry darling but that is better than sex!" he beamed at his wife as we all patted him on the back. The fallen jockey quietly limped past us holding his ribcage and scowling in my pupil's direction.

I walked into my parents' house yesterday to find them all excited after dad had finally resurrected the old cine camera and coaxed it into action.

A box of old films had been unearthed from the loft and were spread across the dining room floor. I began to remember what memories lay in those reels.

Christmas parties when mum made me sing a song or recite a poem to a room of snoring uncles and deaf grandmas when all I wanted to do was go and ride my pony; a great auntie's 80th birthday party on the same day as Ilkley show. The frustrations of it flooded back.

It certainly made for an entertaining evening's viewing. In 30 years things have changed beyond recognition. We all sat mesmerised having not seen them for so long. It began with the predictable "I look so young…so thin …what am I wearing?" as we floated through the 70s.

My parents were dairy farmers until 1998 when milk prices made it impossible for the small herdsmen to continue.

We grew up drinking warm milk straight from the cow and the sound of the milking machines woke us every morning. I watched the footage of dad leading a young calf on to the lawn with some bale band round its neck. I was six years old wearing my paisley print dress and wellies, my brother was four. We took it in turns to be plonked on the calf's back as it careered round the garden bucking and kicking before stopping suddenly depositing us swiftly as we shrieked with laughter.

There was no pampering or fussing when we fell off, normality was to jump up and carry on. We loved every minute of it. Health and safety would have a field day now.

Childhood memories on a farm are very fortunate ones to possess.

CW 1/5/10