[equus]

I was 16, a trainee in a big, highly disciplined yard, my first year on horses, horses that seemed like something I dreamed up - expensive, exquisite, clipped and turned out to turn heads.

I arrived as they came in for the season, fat and round after a summer of grass, bored of grazing and ready for work. First walking excercise, then a trot or two and I was learning to hold their power calmly and plainly. Our head girl alongside me showing me how to lightly check, keep order, respectfully listening to words like 'hold'.

As the season moves on the tempo gets hotter and I learn new phrases like 'Hold HARD' 'Take the front' 'Kicking on' 'Are you right?' 'Bring him down'. A line of five girls sat on hot, powerful, getting very fit horses, one head girl calling the ride, sending anyone struggling to hold their mount to the front, keeping discipline. I learn the rythms and rhymes, trots that last so long, canters feeling only tenuously controlled, horses getting fitter, bucking, breaking rank, and the head girl shout 'HOLD HARD' 'Take the front' 'Bring him down' each skill to match the words had been taught side by side, on hot horses, getting fitter.

On a morning you could see your breath the head girl says we're going to the gallops. ME - be inside my head, like an exam, like the day a dream will come true, feeling small but like I could rule the world or not and just fall and I remember the feeling of the tack, how the saddle smelt of soap and leather, how the bridle seemed so soft but heavy. I was on Muffin, a thourougbred in his early teens, a good hearted, easy horse.

Muffin was wise to it all, my tense body, the extra chatter, the disciplines called more clearly, he skipped and bucked all the way there.

I saw them, endless, green lush, as yet untouched, finally - the gallops. Inside my head goes beyond what I can wrap words round, fear and want, confidence and none of it, the testing day, caught in discipline, staying there safe.

'You right?' Shouts the head girl. I nod, wound up like an industrial spring. 'You right?' called back through the ride, more nods I think but can't see. 'Kicking on.... HOLD'

Explosions behind me, in front of me, CHAOS, FEAR, bucking, farting horses, too close behind, I sat mine's buck but only just, CHAOS!!

'HOLD HARD' The discipline rings through the air, do as your told, get to work, sit down, calm down, HOLD, HOLD HARD, hands down and still. And chaos slips into the rythm of the canter, relief, rythm, holding, rythm, dreams forgotton, just motion and rythm.

Breaking the sounds from the leather and hooves, the horse's breathing, the feel of mane on knuckle.

'Kicking on', she can hear we're alright, the chaos put back in it's box. Now is not chaos just force, arms ache, hands sore, fear coming, holding, losing, LOSING. The head girl says 'Come on, let him out' 'Take the handbrake off' 'Get up his neck'. Can't she see I losing control? 'Take the F***ing handbrake off!!!'.

Discipline, always, how we sweep, how we shovel, how we tack up, stuff nets, trot on and take the handbrake off! And music comes; a rythm I never heard before, Muffin slips into a new gear, my senses tied to his gallons of air, sweet easy breath, the sound of the saddle and hooves. He covers the ground in his own dance. The handbrake is off.

Inside me is firworks night, joy beyond words, impossible true me riding a fine thoroughbred, fit at the gallop. Sweetness, like best honey, flying, hearing a music that welds into my soul, the sound of it in all dimensions, sound can be a feeling of mane on knuckles.

'Kick on' 'Get up the neck' and a new phrase - 'Ask him'. Now I ask, I get up the neck, fear's long gone, like the horse I want the gallop, blood is faster than water. Up his neck with him I ask for the lead, for the gallop still endless. All I can see is the lush grass, I can hear the head girl laughing, necks come next to mine, Muffin quickens again, and again just green grass.

'Bring 'em down!' I know that phrase, a clear instruction from me to Muffin, not a demand, not a fight, sit down, hands down, holding. He comes back sweetly. Other horses and chatter come back into my world, he's relaxed, happy, I'm still flying in the clouds but disciplined, my body doing as the ride is called, while my head run's through mountains and swims in lakes.