Moment Two and Three. Still here!
So you thought the first accident was bad? Well read this one!
I was returned to riding school only weeks after my first accident, no therapy at all. In between the two accidents I lost my paternal grandfather James Bruce Grant. I was helping cut logs to make jumps at my Squadron Leaders estate in Puckeridge. Major 'Taggy' Ted Barclay was at the top of a tree swinging about like a demented khaki chimp, when my riding instructor came and told me there was a call at the majors house. This was most unusual so I knew something was amiss. I remember a very large house with very long corridors smelling of wax and money. The Majors study was like stepping back in time, a huge Victorian desk dominated the room with the ominous phone lying there waiting. I picked it up slowly to hear the voice of my father, telling me that my grandfather, his dad had passed away in the night from a massive heart attack. It was a short conversation and what really sticks in my mind were the walls full of stuffed and mounted animal heads.
I walked back, determined not to break down in front of my mates. But it was no good, I sat in the middle of the woods and began to cry. My grandfather had a huge influence on me. He was the Clan Chieftain of the Essex branch of the Mighty Clan Grant! He instilled in all of us a love of Scotland and our highland heritage. I will always remember him as having white hair and a constant rolled cigarette on the go along with a good highland measure of whisky. He had a lovely deep laugh and Im told when he used to practice his pipe tunes on his chanter, he'd pop his glengarry on me and Id dance away. He was only 67 when he passed away and deserved so much longer. Its because of my grandfather that I took up playing the highland bagpipe at the age of about 26.
There was some umming and aahing about whether Id be allowed to attend his funeral as he 'wasnt a close relative'!! Eventually they decided that I could. A few weeks later I had the second and most serious accident and again it involved a horse.
We were on Rotten Row in Hyde Park practicing an escort trot. This is a very fast sitting trot, knee to knee and takes a bit of work. Someone had decided to give me a horse straight out of remount school. This is a place in Melton Mowbray where horses are broken and then trained then shipped off down to the regiment. Was I unlucky to be given that particular horse? Was I considered one of the better riders who could handle a new horse? Who knows, but the grim reaper watched gleefully as we saddled up and went out in to the park. The horse was very nervous right from the start. Even crossing the road out of the main gate to the park it was flinging its head around and skittering all over the place. I thought things would be ok once we got into the park, How wrong I was. As we started the escort trot the horse came up on its back legs and I managed to control it. It did the same three or four times and unfortunately on the fifth time it didnt go back down. It all seemed to happen in slow motion and as the horse continued upwards I was binned out the back door, striking my back on the edge of a kerb. As I looked up in shock all I could see was 700 kgs of angry horse heading my way. Adrenaline and good reflexes allowed me to roll out of the way just in time otherwise I would have been crushed into the kerb and would have probably been killed. Inches from my face I watched a 16.2 hh horse go completely vertical and go right over onto its back. I had never seen it before and have never seen it since. The horse got up with all of the saddle smashed to pieces and bolted across the park.
Now a bit of background and hopefully some humour to the end of this story. We had been riding constantly for weeks for hours every day, sometimes in khaki corduroy britches and sometimes in the white leather buck skins which were permanently damp from all the cleaning and blancoing.
We were all suffering from saddle sores. I dont mean a few aches and pains I mean proper sores and it was painful. It was for this reason that some us wore tights underneath the britches for warmth and some protection. On this particular day I was wearing nothing beneath my britches at all. No underpants nothing, not a stitch!
So back to the main story. The rest of the ride had stopped and in my shock I had stood up and started to tell the riding instructor he could 'Fuck off, you can stick your fucking riding school up your fucking arse you fucker' or words to that effect. I couldnt understand why the Corporal of Horse ( a sergeant ) was laughing as a lowly trooper ripped into him in front of everyone. I then felt a draft where no draft should be and looked down. My britches had split from the top button right around to the back end of my arse. With no undergarments to hold anything in I was stood there 'au naturel'. What made it worse was that as I looked up from my exposed groin area there stood two tourists. The couple looked on aghast as a Trooper of The Queens Lifeguard stood in the middle of Hyde Park swearing at the top of his voice with his cock hanging out. ..........
Yet again I was let down as I had to wait for the ambulance sitting on a park bench. No attempt to help me with first aid was made at all. Again it was off to the same hospital where it was discovered that I had fractured two of my lower vertebrae. This time it took weeks and weeks to get better with lots of physiotherapy from the NHS. I spent some weeks at home recuperating and went back again to riding school. This time I managed to get through it, riding in the same places where both accidents had happened.
In the space of about 7 months I had suffered two serious accidents and the loss of my grandfather in between. In those days there was no such thing as counselling, certainly not in the Army., you got hurt, you got better you got on with it. I was young, I was determined and didnt think of the effect that those injuries would have on me in later life, both physically and mentally. Thats another blog for another day.
Finally I would also like to point out that I have only ever fallen off a horse 4 times and only two of those were my fault!
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