by Tracy Garton
The sanctuary was still in its infancy at the time. We’d been up and running for a couple of years, but on a much smaller scale. The sisters had read about us in the local paper and, for some reason, they decided that my donkeys would be their project.
I was down at the field in Island Lane one day when they just turned up out of the blue. They called out to me over the fence, and I plodded over to see what they wanted. That’s when they explained that they wanted to help.
‘We might not be up to doing the manual work, but we’re good organisers. Maybe we could do some fund-raising?’ one of the sisters suggested to me.
It seemed like a good idea to me. Fundraising was never my forte, but there was no denying that the sanctuary needed some extra cash. Until that point it had mostly been coming out of my own pocket, and Steve’s. I had a stable on my wish list, so the older and sicker donkeys would have a proper shelter. But there was no way I’d ever be able to afford that without help.
After chatting to the sisters for a while, I warmed to them. They were animal lovers, and I think they were really excited about finding something to do with their time. They’d never met me before, so I felt really grateful that it was my donkeys they’d chosen to help.
We swapped phone numbers and agreed that the sisters would go away and have a bit of a think about how they could encourage donations. I thought maybe they’d run a little raffle or host a coffee morning. But, as I found out when the phone rang a few days later, they had much bigger plans in mind.
‘We’ve been in touch with Dennis McCarthy at BBC Radio Nottingham, and he’s going to help with a fund-raiser,’ Pauline said.
‘Really? Well, that would be fantastic,’ I said.
‘He’s a friend of ours, and together we think that we could raise the two thousand pounds you need for that stable,’ she said.
I was flabbergasted. Two thousand pounds really was a lot of money, especially back then. But Pauline made it sound so easy.
‘We’ve spoken to a builders’ merchant’s in Nottingham too. They’re going to donate some of the materials you’ll need, in return for a bit of publicity. It’s all coming together nicely,’ she said.
All I could say was thank you. I felt choked up with emotion that people could be so kind. And the goodwill didn’t stop there. In no time at all the £2,000 had been raised, and the sisters had assembled an army of volunteers to help us to build not just one but two stables ourselves.
After that, the sisters’ plans only got bigger. A few months later, they’d talked me into hosting an open day on the May bank holiday weekend. They were real go-getters, not the type of people you say no to. And why would I say no? They made the whole thing sound so simple.
‘We’ll make all the arrangements, don’t you worry about a thing,’ Jose said calmly. ‘Just be ready on the day, and we’ll do the rest.’
To be honest, I didn’t have time to worry about what they were up to. My hands were full with looking after my ever-growing herd of abandoned donkeys so I left them to it. They’d check in with me every now and again, and I’d nod my head to say yes to whatever they were planning to do. There were talks of cake stalls, children’s games, tarot card readings, and Dennis McCarthy had agreed to officially open the event.
But I soon found out that he wasn’t the only famous face lending a hand. Unbeknown to me, the sisters had spent hours and hours writing off to every celebrity they could think of, asking for a donation for an auction. I don’t know what they said in their letters, but they must have tugged a few heartstrings because the packages came flooding in.
By the morning of the event, they’d acquired signed books from Anthony Hopkins and Paul and Linda McCartney. Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber sent T-shirts from Cats and Jesus Christ Superstar, and Stuart Pearce, who I was reliably informed was a top player for Nottingham Forest FC at the time, donated signed shin pads.
I thought the sisters were joking when they revealed the star lot of the auction, but they were true to their word. They’d been sent a lovely plush car rug from none other than the Queen Mother herself. I couldn’t believe it – we even had the backing of royalty.
The day before the open day, we spent hours in the sunshine setting up all the stalls and making sure everything was ready. I had nerves in the pit of my stomach. What if no one came?
I shouldn’t have worried, though. By 10.30 a.m. we were flooded with visitors and, apparently, cars were queuing for miles down the road. To say it was a success is an understatement. It was phenomenal. By the end of the day we’d raised around £7,000, which was nearly half of our running costs for the year. The Queen Mother’s rug alone went for £250.
The best thing about the open day was how it brought the community together. The village had never had such a huge event and everyone loved it. The local pubs sold out of beer, and no one even minded the traffic problems as they were all at the open day too.
I think back to that day as a real turning point for the sanctuary. Until then, it had been a little venture for me and Steve. But after the open day, we found ourselves surrounded by an army of regular supporters. We didn’t have to struggle on alone anymore, and it was all thanks to the sisters.
We hosted the annual open day for several years after that, always with just as much success. Our celebrity friends stayed on board too. The next year the Queen Mother donated a fantastic set of silver teaspoons, and Frank Bruno and Gary Lineker sent auction items too. We sold drawings by Reggie Kray, a signed picture of Elizabeth Taylor, ties from Richard Whiteley and Michael Caine, and a pair of gloves worn by actress Deborah Kerr in the fifties film The King and I. It only came to an end when we moved to Huttoft and finally had the council’s permission to open all year round. I look back on the open days with much fondness.
It was the beginning of summer, a few months after Alan’s arrival, when the phone rang early one morning.
‘Radcliffe Donkey Sanctuary,’ I answered, still chewing on my last mouthful of toast.
‘Oh, hello. I’m setting up a photoshoot in your area, and I wondered whether it might be possible to borrow one of your donkeys?’ said the man on the other end of the line.
‘Erm, maybe, what for?’ I said.
‘It’s a beach-themed bikini fashion shoot and a donkey would really finish off what we had in mind,’ said the voice hopefully.
‘Well, I suppose so. When do you need us?’ I asked. Fashion wasn’t really my thing, but I couldn’t think of a reason to say no.
‘In a fortnight, in Sutton-on-Sea. Would that be okay? We’ve hired a beach hut on the promenade,’ the man explained.
‘Go on then, we’ll see you then,’ I said.
I was a bit bemused. Somehow, over breakfast, I’d managed to get myself involved in a fashion shoot. There’s never a dull day at the donkey sanctuary.
So a few weeks later, I found myself preparing for our debut into the world of style and glamour. I’d roped Lesley in too. I wasn’t going to head down there to meet all those fancy fashion people on my own; I needed backup.
‘Which donkey is going to have the honour then, Tracy?’ Lesley asked, as we dished out the donkeys’ dinner the night before the shoot.
‘Well, I’m not really sure what they want. The man just said a donkey. I was wondering about Alan, though?’ I said hesitantly.
I’d been mulling it over ever since the man had phoned a fortnight earlier. As soon as I’d stepped outside that morning, Alan had caught my eye. He was loitering over by the fence, cocking his head confidently to one side. When he saw me he stood dead still, as if he was posing. There’s no way he could have known about the phone call, but it seemed as if he was pitching for the job. His gaze was saying, Pick me, pick me!
After everything Alan had been through, perhaps he did deserve a chance. He’d come on so much in the months that he’d lived at the sanctuary, so it would be nice to make him feel special as a bit of a reward. And, in my amateur opinion, he certainly had the looks for the camera. Perhaps I w
as biased, but I thought he’d look gorgeous in the shots.
‘The only question is whether you think he’ll behave himself?’ Lesley said, hitting the nail on the head. That was my one concern too. Was Alan a bit too cheeky?
We both turned to look at him as we chatted, and there he was standing in the yard like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
‘Look at him. How can we not take him?’ I said, laughing at his innocent expression.
So the next morning Lesley helped me to give Alan the star treatment.
First of all we gave him a good wash, paying particular attention to the dusty backs of his legs. Then that was followed by a thorough brushing. Alan’s hooves were already in good nick, thanks to a few repeat visits by the farrier. So the final touch was a lashing of hoof oil to make them really gleam.
Alan loved all of the attention. I think it gave him a bit of an ego boost to have Lesley and me fussing over him so much. By the time we were done Alan looked camera ready, but the same couldn’t be said for us. We were soggy and covered in hair.
‘Do you think they’ll want us on camera too?’ Lesley joked, striking a ridiculous pose.
‘I bloody hope not. I’m nominating you for that job if they do. And don’t argue, I’m the boss,’ I said, looking down at the state of me.
There was just enough time to tidy ourselves up before we loaded Alan into the horse trailer and set off to Sutton-on-Sea, a couple of miles down the road.
The fashion people had got special permission for us to drive right along the promenade, so I flicked the hazard lights on and we made our way down past the beach huts. I could see the photoshoot a mile off. All the equipment was sprawled over the prom and down onto the sand.
As I hopped out of the driver’s seat, the man from the phone call came over to say hello immediately.
‘It’s so nice to meet you,’ he gushed.
‘We’ve brought Alan with us. I hope he’s what you were after?’ I said, leading Alan down onto the concrete.
‘He’s perfect, absolutely perfect,’ the man drawled. ‘Look at him, he’s adorable.’
‘So, what happens next?’ I asked.
‘We’re just getting Katie, our model, ready then we’ll get started. This is fantastic. We couldn’t have a seaside photoshoot without a donkey, could we?’
It’s true that seaside donkeys are a really big part of the culture in Lincolnshire. In fact, the first time I ever saw a donkey was on a family holiday at the beach near Skegness.
By the age of six or seven I’d already started horse riding classes. So when I saw kids riding donkeys up and down the beach, I immediately wanted a go. I begged my mum for my little stash of holiday pocket money, and she handed it over with a typical mumsy warning.
‘When it’s gone it’s gone, so don’t come begging for more,’ she said with a shrug.
Much to my disappointment, she was right. As I counted out my coins I knew I wouldn’t get many donkey rides for my dosh. So I came up with a cheeky plan.
‘Can I lead your donkeys for you?’ I asked the man in charge of the donkeys plodding up and down the sand.
‘Hmm, what’s the catch?’ he asked.
‘A free ride?’ I suggested hopefully.
‘Go on then. Take that one, she won’t cause you any trouble,’ he said, gesturing to one of the older, bored-looking donkeys.
Soon there was a small child aboard and I tugged at the donkey’s rope to get her to start walking. I led her down to the sea, then we headed back. I didn’t really need to do much, as the donkey knew the drill. I spent hours going backwards and forwards while the owner took the money and put his feet up.
Then, after a while, I’d done enough hard graft to earn my free ride. It was worth every moment.
Now I’m older and I spend all day every day surrounded by blooming donkeys, my opinion on donkey rides has changed somewhat. I’m not against them. Some donkeys even enjoy them. The problem that I have is with the welfare of the donkeys.
The guidelines say that a donkey can carry a person weighing up to eight stone. I find that shocking. That’s how much some adult women weigh. Plus, they only have to be given one day off per week.
It’s fine for a donkey to plod up and down the sand with a small child on its back, but carrying a hefty weight day in and day out can really take its toll. I’ve found that out myself, the hard way.
Linda, one of the first donkeys to join Muffin, was retired from the seaside. She’d carried so many people over the years that her spine was damaged beyond repair. It was so dipped that when it rained heavily she’d have a puddle on her back.
We did everything that we could to keep her pain free, so she could enjoy her freedom at the end of her life. But despite that, one day in the field her back simply snapped. It was sickening. There was nothing that the vet could do, and she was put to sleep. I cried and cried when we lost her. I know a donkey can’t live forever, but Linda shouldn’t have died like that. It was all down to being ridden on a daily basis by people who were too heavy. How is that a fair life for an animal?
So seaside donkey rides might be an important tradition, but think of the donkeys. I always tell people to get to know the owner before deciding whether to pay for a small child to have a ride.
Down at Sutton-on-Sea, the photoshoot was nearly ready to begin. It was a lovely warm and sunny day but, with all the kids at school, it was quiet down at the beach. The model, Katie, came tottering out of one of the beach huts with the make-up artist trailing behind her.
‘This is Alan, he’ll be in the photos with you,’ said our guy, making the introduction.
Katie couldn’t have appeared less impressed if she tried. She glanced down at my lovely Alan with a faint look of disgust on her face. If only she’d seen him when he’d been covered in lice, then she really would have been repulsed.
‘I don’t really like donkeys,’ she sniffed.
‘Well, just pretend that you do,’ the man blustered, guiding her down to the sand and beckoning for Alan and me to follow.
Katie sighed and held out her hand to take the rope from me. But there was a problem. Alan had suddenly decided that he wasn’t so up for the photoshoot either. As soon as he put his hoof down onto the sand he immediately snapped it back to the safety of the prom.
‘Come on, Alan,’ I hissed. ‘It’s only sand.’
‘Is there a problem?’ Katie snipped.
‘No, no. He just needs to get used to the sand. I don’t think he likes the texture,’ I said apologetically.
Katie rolled her eyes. I felt panic rising inside me, and I looked desperately over to Lesley for help.
‘Let’s walk him up and down the prom, and then back down onto the sand,’ she suggested. ‘He’ll be on the beach before he knows it.’
I kept everything crossed that she was right. I could already imagine the embarrassment of having turned up with the one donkey in the world who hates the beach. As far as I knew, Alan had never been a seaside donkey. He’d probably never even seen the shore before.
Thankfully, with the lure of a trusty old ginger biscuit, we got Alan down onto the sand. I handed him over to Katie, and then hustled back out of the view of the camera lens. Katie looked doubtfully down at Alan’s tough hooves and then her own bare feet, and took a big step away from him.
‘Come on, let’s get started while the light is still good,’ the photographer said.
Lesley and I watched from the prom as the photographer started snapping away. Katie posed and pouted in her blue polka-dot bikini.
‘Show the product, darling, show the product,’ the photographer directed, and Katie obediently stuck out her chest that little bit more.
Alan stood next to Katie ever so patiently, as she manoeuvred into different positions around him. His tail swished lazily in the breeze. He seemed to be enjoying his day out.
‘This is great. Alan is just what we needed,’ the man who’d booked us said, watching from the sidelines.
I
was mesmerised. It was like a different world, and our Alan was part of it. I felt really proud of him. He wasn’t the same scruffy, scrawny donkey that he’d been a few months before. He’d come a long way since then.
‘Show the product,’ the photographer called out again.
This time, Katie swung her hip to the side, and let her gauzy beach wrap trail out behind her.
‘And hold that pose,’ said the photographer, crouching down in the sand for a low shot.
Suddenly, a gust picked up Katie’s wrap in the wind and it whipped in front of Alan’s face. With a flick of his head, he caught it between his teeth and tugged firmly.
‘No, let go right now,’ Katie shrieked, tugging back.
Alan thought this was great – it was like a game. Donkeys love playing tug of war, but they usually have to make do with sticks they find in the field. But this was even better.
Then, after a firm pull, Katie staggered backwards as Alan released the wrap. The stylist dashed over and, frowning, checked it for teeth marks.
‘I think it will be okay,’ she said, giving me a dirty look. It wasn’t my fault that Alan wanted to play.
Katie shot Alan a glare too. Then, with a tight grip on the wrap, she started posing again.
I breathed a sigh of relief. That was a lucky escape, Alan hadn’t ruined the shoot.
‘Thank God, they probably would have asked me to pay hundreds for the stupid bit of fabric,’ I hissed to Lesley.
But just as I began to relax again, Katie let out a squeal of alarm. This time Alan was tugging at her tie-sided bikini bottoms, and he wasn’t going to let go. The game with the wrap had been his warm-up.
‘Get off me!’ she screamed, holding on to the bikini for dear life.
I rushed over to try to help. If my donkey left her there on the beach completely starkers, I’d never be able to show my face in Sutton-on-Sea again.
‘No, Alan! Look at this instead,’ I yelled, waving a ginger biscuit as if my life depended on it.
Lesley wasn’t far behind. She grabbed the rope and tried to tug him away. Alan’s eyes locked onto my biscuit, then he looked back at the bikini.