Samphire Song

by Jill Hucklesby

  This is a horse that needs incentives. I produce a carrot from my pocket and let him sniff it. His lips attempt to smother and snatch it away. I throw it to Sue, who gives Samphire a whistle. He makes a disgruntled rumbling sound, drops his head, paws the floor of the trailer and starts to move backwards.

  Once outside, Sue gives him the carrot, which he munches hungrily and everyone gathers round to take a closer look. Mum has instructed them not to touch him for now, as he’s nervous and unpredictable.

  ‘He’s a beauty, Jodie,’ says Rachel. ‘What’s his name?’

  ‘Samphire,’ I reply, proudly. ‘He needs breaking in. Hope your offer of help is still open,’ I add with a grin.

  ‘You bet,’ replies Rachel, pleased.

  After answering lots of questions from the other girls about where he’s come from and how we nearly lost him at the auction, I walk him to the back of the yard and tether him on a ring so that I can give him a good groom. It also means he’s out of the way of the returning three o’clock ride. Mum joins me and gives me a sandwich she bought at a garage on the way back from the auction. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was until now.

  ‘I’ll be off, then,’ she says, giving me a hug. ‘See you later.’ We’ve planned a girls’ night in, with face packs and nail painting.

  ‘This is the best day of my life, thanks to you,’ I tell her. Mum looks quite emotional and puts her hand on Samphire’s neck. He quivers under her touch, unsure.

  ‘I think he’s a great addition to our family,’ she says. I’m thinking that’s not quite how she really feels, but I’m sure she’ll love him too, in time.

  ‘Here, give him this,’ I suggest, handing Mum another carrot from my pocket. I show her how to keep it flat on her hand so that his mouth can take it easily. Samphire buttons his lips and turns his head away. Mum shrugs, disappointed, and hands the treat back to me. She’s not really a horsey person, but she’s trying hard, for my sake.

  Samphire is sniffing the air, trying to work out where he is. His neck is arched and he flicks his tail, even though there are no flies.

  Mum walks away down the yard, her easy stride making her hair swing from right to left. There’s a spring in her step that I haven’t noticed before. Her new job is already bringing changes for us all. I feel so lucky. I know Ed does too. Mum is always thinking about us and trying to make our lives full and happy. As happy as they can be without Dad.

  If there was a school for mums, she would definitely be top of it.

  Samphire is stamping his front right foot now, letting me know he’s agitated. Cautiously, I lift it to check his shoe and see that the metal is worn and slightly loose. After skittering left and right, he lets me look at the other three in turn. They are in a similar condition.

  ‘That’s the first job, then. New shoes,’ I say, making a mental note to speak to Sue and arrange for the farrier to visit Samphire when he next comes to the stables. It feels good, and grown up, to be making these decisions, like I’ve entered a new world. I’m not a kid any more. I have real responsibilities in the shape of one big, beautiful, crazy horse.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Whoaaaah!’ says Ed, almost toppling off his bike. ‘It’s really hard pedalling backwards.’

  ‘Well get off and walk then,’ I tell him.

  ‘Nah,’ responds Ed. ‘’S’OK. I’m good.’

  Samphire doesn’t agree. He finds Ed’s antics quite alarming and is sidestepping down the lane. I thought a gentle walk to break in his new shoes would be a great idea, but I didn’t expect two-wheeled company. It was a surprise that Ed got up early to come with us, but I’m glad he wants to get to know Samphire.

  ‘And now, it’s Edward J. Palmer, going for the world record . . .’ Ed yells, taking off down the lane at speed and disappearing round a corner. Samphire stops dead in his tracks and snorts loudly, flaring his nostrils.

  ‘I know, he’s a pain, but you’ll get used to him,’ I tell my nervous horse. ‘Walk on.’ It’s two weeks since the auction but my new, wonderful horse hasn’t calmed down.

  Samphire’s feet are planted firmly on the tarmac. It takes me about five minutes and a bribe involving peppermints to persuade him to move forwards. When we reach the bend, Ed’s bike is lying on the verge, by a gate, but Ed is nowhere to be seen.

  ‘Ed!’ I call.

  ‘Over here, Stick,’ he replies, from a distance. He’s waving from the cabin of a tractor, half way across a field. There’s no sign of the driver. Ed is bouncing up and down on the seat, pretending to drive. I motion for him to get out.

  ‘It’s a John Deere 8120,’ he shouts as he jumps down and runs towards me. ‘Two hundred horse power. Imagine two hundred Samphires pulling at once.’

  ‘Amazing, Teddy.’ I actually can’t imagine that. I’m having trouble coping with just one Samphire. He’s decided he would rather be on the other side of the lane, as far away from my brother as possible. ‘Listen,’ I say to Ed, ‘why don’t you ride on to the start of the bridlepath and we’ll meet you there. I’ll time you, if you like. Shout when you get there.’

  This does the trick. Ed loves a challenge.

  ‘Okey dokey,’ he calls, picking up his bike. He makes revving and screeching noises and swerves away, his front tyre in the air. Samphire whinnies and rears up.

  ‘There’s no need to copy him,’ I say, using all my strength to steady the frightened animal. My left arm is in the air and Samphire continues to shy away, flinging his head to left and right. It’s a battle to bring him down again. He wheels round, knocking me off my feet and, before I know it, I’m rolling down a small slope at the side of the road and into a ditch. The squelch that follows tells me I’ve landed in something less than good. My nose confirms that I’m lying in stagnant mud, which stinks. Ugh!

  Luckily, Samphire isn’t running off. He’s looking at me, making a nickering noise. I ease myself up and back up the bank. My left side, my hands and my face are brown and filthy. I take Samphire’s halter rein gently. He’s standing quietly now, a model horse. I find a lump of carrot in my pocket and offer it to him. He sniffs it, looks away, sniffs it again. We stand, staring at one another for at least a minute. He’s testing me, trying to work out if the treat is a trick. Eventually, his long tongue sweeps over my hand and he munches noisily. His pushes a hopeful nose towards me and snuffles my jacket.

  ‘I’m sorry about that, boy,’ I say to him. ‘Did they beat you, your last people?’ I will always take care not to raise my arms quickly ever again. I stroke his nose, very gently. He makes a strange, grumbling grunt and paces backwards.

  ‘No you don’t. Come here, Samphire.’ I keep my voice very calm and the rein loose in my hand. I try to relax my body so I don’t show him any tension. ‘That’s it, good boy,’ I encourage, as he takes his first step towards me. ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’

  I start to lead him forwards, and this time, he moves with long, easy strides. I increase my speed to a comfortable jog. Samphire is trotting now, the steels on his hooves clattering on the lane. It feels like a first; we’re moving together. He has such an elegant way of lifting his legs and holding his neck. I feel proud, exhilarated and relieved all at the same time. We’re making progress, slowly but surely. His last owner was so wrong about him. He’s not a devil horse, just a damaged one, who needs time to heal.

  ‘Hahahahah!’ laughs Ed, as Samphire and I reach the beginning of the bridleway. ‘Actually, it’s an improvement, brown suits you.’

  ‘Yeah, very funny,’ I sigh.

  ‘Aaargh, you really stink,’ he yells, holding his nose. ‘So, what was my time?’ he asks.

  ‘I didn’t hear you shout,’ I tell him.

  ‘Aw, Stick, I yelled three times.’ Ed kicks at the ground with his trainer. He picks up a twig and draws a line on the ground.

  ‘Sorry, Teddy,’ I tell him. I want to hug him, but he holds a hand up to stop me crossing the line. ‘Will this help?’ I produce a chocolate wafer in a wrapper and throw it
to him.

  ‘Oh yeah, oh yeah!’ he declares, doing a funny dance, then unwrapping the treat and stuffing it into his mouth. Samphire whinnies. It sounds like a protest.

  ‘Oh, OK, here’s yours,’ I say, finding the other carrot and offering it to him. Ed and Samphire exchange glances, each chomping greedily. Ed gives him the thumbs up. Samphire snorts and shakes his mane. I think they’ve made friends.

  It must be a boy thing.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The moment of truth. After more than three weeks of halter-walking Samphire, getting him used to his surroundings, his new stablemates and the feel of unfamiliar tack against his skin, I’m going to mount him today. Sue thinks he’s been used to riders as there’s a girth strap imprint in his belly hair. She says he may have had a bad experience – an accident, even – and that’s why he was labelled ‘unbroken’ by his previous owner.

  I want to tell him I understand about scars caused by pain and sadness, scars that can’t be seen. I know I have to earn his trust. But I must also prove to him that I’m not a pushover who will tolerate bad behaviour. If he has no respect for me, we’ll never make progress. I think he knows I’m nervous about today – he can sense it.

  We’re in the yard. Sue and Rachel are with me. Rachel is riding Rambo and Sue is going to school us in the outdoor ring, if we get that far.

  Samphire is sidestepping and arching his neck as I shorten the reins. When my foot slips into the left stirrup, he wheels round, knocking me to the ground. Sue helps me up. I feel embarrassed and a bit taken aback. I look at Rambo with sudden pangs of nostalgia.

  ‘Let’s walk him up there,’ suggests Sue. ‘Follow Rambo – he’ll soon get the idea.’

  I take his reins and fall in step behind my old favourite, who clip-clops up the ramp by the side of the office towards the training circle. Samphire keeps pace with me, his head by my shoulder. I don’t look at him. He needs to know he’s in my bad books.

  The ring is enclosed by fencing in a small field. We enter by the gate and wait for Sue to take up her position in the centre of a circle worn to dirt by the pounding of hooves. I’ve had an occasional lesson in here before, when I’ve earned enough time through helping out. It feels strange to be back again in these new circumstances. After what just happened, my confidence is quite shaken.

  ‘Ready to try again?’ asks Sue, gently. I nod and take Samphire’s reins in my left hand, holding the stirrup with my right. ‘As lightly as you can,’ she advises.

  I give a little spring and am halfway towards the saddle, but Samphire is skittering away sideways. I’m holding on to the pommel as hard as I can and not letting go and when he reaches the fencing and can go no further, I swing my leg over and sit firmly on his back.

  ‘Well done, Jodie!’ calls Sue. ‘Try and rein him in now. Nothing sharp. Keep your movements firm and determined, show him who’s boss.’

  He is, I’m thinking, as Samphire takes me on a fast trot round the field, as close to the wooden posts as he dares. Any moment now, he’ll scrape me off and make a run for it. He is a devil horse, after all. I’ve worked twenty hours this week to pay for his food and stabling and this is how he repays me.

  ‘I’ll put the lunge rein on and see what happens,’ says Sue, approaching. Rambo is watching all this patiently, occasionally snorting into the warm afternoon air.

  Samphire’s having none of it. He’s pressing me against the gate and I’m raising my right leg at forty-five degrees to avoid it being totally squashed.

  ‘I have an idea,’ says Rachel. ‘What if Jodie rides Rambo and shows Samphire what to do?’

  ‘It’s worth a try,’ agrees Sue, dropping the lunge rein on the ground. As she does so, my hyper animal seems to calm down. He lowers his head and breathes heavily, allowing me to pull my leg back. I dismount quickly, my head hot with frustration. My hair is clinging to my forehead under my hat.

  ‘Just walk away,’ says Sue. ‘Don’t look at him. Go straight to Rambo.’

  Rachel has dismounted and gives me the reins. I swing up on to Rambo’s sturdy back, adjust the stirrups and encourage my old friend into a lively walk, circling Sue. On her command, we trot and then ease into a controlled canter. Samphire watches, pawing the grass, his ears forwards and his gaze never leaving us.

  ‘He’s jealous,’ Sue calls to Rachel, who’s gone to sit on the fence. She nods and smiles.

  After ten minutes of perfect schooling, shortening and lengthening strides, turning, manoeuvring, Rambo and I take a rest. I lean forwards and give him a carrot from my pocket. Sue approaches and pats his neck, fondly.

  ‘What shall I do now?’ I ask her. I’m still not making eye contact with the grey barbarian.

  ‘Let Rachel take Rambo back to the yard. We’ll see what Samphire’s like when there’s no competition,’ she replies. I think she would make a great horse psychologist.

  ‘I hope you’re free tonight, because I think you need pizza,’ says Rachel, approaching.

  ‘Yes please!’ I reply, my spirits lifting suddenly. Rachel knows just what to do to improve a bad situation.

  A few seconds later, we’re alone, Sue, Samphire and I. It’s like one of those Westerns, when everyone is braced, ready to go for their gun. Samphire is looking at Sue and me and making the strange grumbling noise through his nostrils.

  ‘Shall I call him?’ I ask. If I go to him, it’s telling him he’s won. Sue nods. I make my usual clicking sound, which signals I want him to approach. Nothing. I feel in my pocket for treats. They’ve all gone. This is getting stupid.

  Then something really odd happens. Samphire starts to whinny and paw the ground at the same time. The piercing noise travels up and down in pitch, punctuated with snorts and shaking of his head.

  ‘He’s talking to you,’ says Sue, astonished. ‘I think he’s explaining why he’s been such a pain.’

  ‘It’s his song,’ I tell her. ‘He’s done it before, a bit. Nothing like this, though.’

  ‘He’s really getting something off his chest,’ Sue says. ‘I think it’s best if I leave you two to it. Don’t push things. He may have done enough for today.’

  She turns and moves purposefully out of the ring, through the gate and out of sight. I know she’s just a shout away if I need her, which is reassuring. Samphire stops his noise and just breathes and snorts, swishing his tail.

  ‘That was quite a performance. Will you come now?’ I ask, tentatively, holding my palm towards him. I hold my breath as he lifts his left hoof, lets it dangle a moment, then places it down nearer to me. The right follows. He stretches his beautiful neck and sniffs the air around me.

  ‘All the way.’ Three strides later, his face is just in front of mine. He mouths his bit awkwardly, trying to spit it out. Suddenly, I feel guilty. It’s probably been a long time since he’s had to deal with metal in his mouth. When you think about it, it must be awful – something so hard champing at the soft flesh.

  ‘Good boy,’ I tell him, meaning it. ‘We’re going to try this one more time. OK?’

  I prepare the reins and find the stirrup. If he runs amok this time, I’ll have to call Sue back. My body is tense from exertion. I mentally count to three and swing myself up and into the saddle. Samphire grunts and starts to move backwards very fast. This is an almost impossible feat for a horse – any dressage rider would think it was very clever. I don’t have time to find the other stirrup before he has pushed his backside into the fencing.

  Nice one, Samphire. Now you’re going to rear up and dump me over into the field.

  Surprisingly, this isn’t what happens next. When I urge him with my calves against his belly, he starts to walk forwards and when I draw my right rein in, he turns, elegantly. He’s responding to my commands and marking a circle and I want to shout with joy, but that would be ridiculous. We can’t both behave like divas. And there’s no audience.

  It’s just me and him – and maybe that’s how he wanted it. I’ll always remember this as the special day he chos
e to tell me his story and let me hear the whole of his song. I would give anything to understand it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I’m home, showered, dressed, made-up and ready to go in about half an hour flat. My bruised pride and aching muscles are fading from my mind. I was so proud of Samphire at the end of the training session, I can forgive him anything.

  Ed threw a mock-strop when I told him I was going out for pizza without him. ‘Don’t worry about us, Stick,’ he’d said, leaning against Mum. ‘The favourite child will stay behind and take care of our mum.’

  He’s such an idiot sometimes.

  But secretly, I knew he was pleased that he and Mum are having an evening together. He has already got a stack of DVDs and snacks ready. As a special treat, he’s requested fish fingers, mash, peas and cheese sauce for dinner. Each to their own.

  There’s a toot from the lane. Rachel’s arrived. Her dad is dropping us into town and collecting us later, our very own chauffeur. I’m running downstairs two at a time, not easy in ankle boots with heels. I glance in the full-length mirror on the wall in the hall as I pass. My jeans and cropped jacket are an improvement on my usual mucking-out clothes, I’m thinking. Mum and Ed are waiting by the front door.

  ‘You look very nice, darling,’ says Mum. She’s staring quite hard at my mascara, though.

  ‘You look very nice, darling,’ echoes Ed, air-kissing me.

  ‘Have a lovely time,’ adds Mum.

  ‘Don’t come back too early,’ says Ed, shooing me out of the door.

  ‘Charming,’ I say, messing up his hair as I leave.

  Rachel has got out of the car and gives me a hug. She’s wearing jeans and a long, leather jacket. Her hair is down and almost reaches her waist. She looks totally different out of her stable clothes, too.

  ‘Hi,’ she says, excitedly. ‘You look great. And I hope you’re hungry,’ she adds. ‘I’m starving.’