{Photo Courtesy of Lynne Shore Photography, all rights reserved}
Lynne Shore was kind enough to send us this great photo and here is what she said “This nearly is a Little Black Dress – the fall was in a slurry, so he stank as well. I think he – John Shaw, MFH of The Cheshire Hunt – is hoping the Lucozade will give him and his horse – Freddie – wings!!”
This photo got us thinking about the tumbles we take out Hunting. (I know all about it, as I sit here in my back brace). We would like to know, does your Hunt have a “Tumbler’s Club”? What kind of fines are levied? Do you owe everyone around you booze, or is there a Tumbler’s fund that you spend at the end of the season? We’re just curious; does your Hunt have one?
We call it the “Fallen Angels Club,” but everyone who comes off owes a bottle of champagne per fall, which is payable at the big Closing Meet tailgate breakfast. It makes for a very lively gathering!
Susan Dehnckesays
At our hunt, if your feet hit the ground without your field master’s permission, you buy drinks for everyone at the hunt that day. It doesn’t matter if your horse fell, you leaped off to aid another or were hauled off to the ER. We keep a running tally and at the end of the year, the most falls earns you the prized trophy named after a master who truely enjoyed his free drinks Rumor has it he was even known to help an unbalanced rider off but I never saw it. He did appear instantly when I dismounted my first year to address saddle pad issues. He was visibly disappointed that I had permission.
Barb petersonsays
We have a 25.oo fine which goes to feed the hounds.
Jim fainsays
Ours is known as the “Cropper Club” – and those who cropper pay a $10.00 fine and get a t-shirt.
The Belvoir Hounds levy £10 per fall which costs some a small fortune. The Cottesmore are a little cheaper at £5 per fall but seem to have more fallers.
Before I had opinions about proper turnout, I apparently had these braids. This is me, about eight or nine, at my first Myopia Horse Show aboard Mrs. Saltonstall’s horse, Henrietta. Yes, I braided her myself. There is quite a lot happening along that neck, and I appear very pleased with all of it.
I rode at Pine Grove Stables with Patty Murray, and I would ride my bike from Beverly to Hamilton to muck stalls in exchange for lessons. I wanted to ride, and that was how I could do it.
Looking at this picture now, I can have a good laugh at the turnout, but I’m rather fond of that little girl. She was willing to pedal her way there and shovel whatever was necessary to get on a horse. The braiding needed supervision. The enthusiasm was taking care of itself. And look at the helmet not even an elastic strap holding it on!
Bobby Costello was riding with Patty then, too. He went on to the Olympics, which does make me wonder where my invitation went. Perhaps someone saw this photograph.
After recording the podcast about proper turnout, finding this feels like being confronted with evidence. Here I am, having developed rather firm opinions over the years, and Henrietta has been quietly holding on to my early work. Fair enough. We all started somewhere, and someone had to be patient while we learned. I was lucky to have people who gave me that chance and a horse generous enough to wear my handiwork in public.
Who remembers their first horse show. And, more importantly, is there photographic evidence?
Cold Sunday morning. Dog in my lap, absolutely nowhere to be—and yes, my pajamas are monogrammed. I know. I’m insufferable. But I’m also very comfortable.
There is nothing particularly practical about riding sidesaddle. The habit contains enough fabric to furnish a small drawing room, mounting requires a certain amount of planning, and once everything is finally arranged, one tries not to disturb it by doing anything rash. And yet, sitting there with Thomas beneath me, it all felt perfectly sensible. Tradition is rather good at making the impractical feel indispensable.
A handful of old toy horses, tiny riders and a pack of hounds have somehow become an entire world in the woods behind my house. I never quite know what Frank is going to get up to next.
🦊 Want to meet Frank? Tap my name above, then tap the link at the top of my page to read the story.
We’ve finally made it to the meet. The sky is blue, the wind is bitter, the horses are fresh, and Thomas is taking in the whole production as though he’s seen it all before.
Chapter Five of The Ride is out now.
New to The Ride? Start at the beginning in my Highlites.
There are friends to find, Scotch eggs to eat and something rather good in a flask. And we haven’t even moved off yet.
We call it the “Fallen Angels Club,” but everyone who comes off owes a bottle of champagne per fall, which is payable at the big Closing Meet tailgate breakfast. It makes for a very lively gathering!
At our hunt, if your feet hit the ground without your field master’s permission, you buy drinks for everyone at the hunt that day. It doesn’t matter if your horse fell, you leaped off to aid another or were hauled off to the ER. We keep a running tally and at the end of the year, the most falls earns you the prized trophy named after a master who truely enjoyed his free drinks Rumor has it he was even known to help an unbalanced rider off but I never saw it. He did appear instantly when I dismounted my first year to address saddle pad issues. He was visibly disappointed that I had permission.
We have a 25.oo fine which goes to feed the hounds.
Ours is known as the “Cropper Club” – and those who cropper pay a $10.00 fine and get a t-shirt.
The Belvoir Hounds levy £10 per fall which costs some a small fortune. The Cottesmore are a little cheaper at £5 per fall but seem to have more fallers.