Fight For Your Dream (15 page)

Forty-two Empty Acres

We were rapidly outgrowing our one-acre paddock at home, and I was beginning to get a little concerned about the amount of space we had for our little herd of alpacas. For guidance purposes, we usually say that six alpacas can be comfortably grazed on an acre. Our one acre paddock now had five alpacas grazing on it, but I'd already broached the subject with Nigel that I wanted to put Sophie and Carla into calf around Springtime 2001. Fifty weeks gestation period would mean that we would get our first two cria born in 2002, which was quite a way off, but I wanted to be organised and have sufficient grazing for all of them. Winters at Bassett can be harsh and severe and, at 1000ft above sea level, we get our fair share of snow. It's not unusual for us to experience temperatures as low as minus ten degrees Celsius. We've never actually been snowed in, but that's only because we have the farm machinery to dig our way out!

The spring/summer of 2000 turned out to be the beginning of a part of my life where I began to blossom in my own right. Nigel had been in business since the age of 17, and over the years we've been through the good times and the bad times that paddling your own canoe brings. I'd always been happy in a nine ‘til five job. I liked routine, and working for the Sheffield Magistrates Court had given me that. I certainly wasn't the business material that was Nigel's forté. Prince and I were forming a good partnership; he was a real gem of a horse. He was forward going and could sometimes get quite excited, but I never felt frightened on his back, which was completely the opposite of how I felt with Merit.

My confidence was building all the time. I was learning quickly, and through Smeltings had met and palled up with a lady called Joy Cuthbertson. Joy was ten years my senior and I had been introduced to her via Vicki Stenton. I was still in pot from my accident on Merit, and Joy had just finished her riding lesson in the indoor school on her horse, Rupert. He was a Grey Connemara cross.

Joy had also been in a similar accident to mine a few years earlier, again after owning Rupert for just two weeks, so we immediately had something in common. We struck a chord with each other and became great friends. It was through Joy that I was encouraged to enter my first-ever competition with Prince. It was a hunter class taking place at our local riding club. The venue was only about one and a half miles from Smeltings, so we could easily hack down there and it would give the horses a good warm up. On the morning of the competition I was so nervous that I was permanently on the loo! Nigel had bought me a new competition jacket. It was black with a red silk lining and, together with my white shirt, black tie, beige jodhpurs, black boots and black velvet hat, ‘I felt a million dollars'.

Nigel came down to the showground to watch Prince and me do our bit, and took loads of photos to remember the day by. My first initiation into the equestrian world of competition was deemed a success. I'd pushed myself to overcome my inhibitions and I was proud of that. By summertime I was riding Prince at least four or five times a week. I kept up with my regular lessons, but it was hacking out in the open countryside which I loved. Most of the time I would hack out in company, especially at the weekends, and our Saturday morning hack consisted of around five of us, which included Joy on Rupert, Barry on Colin, Clive on Tim, Wendy on Cassie and me on Prince. I dubbed us ‘The Famous Five'. We had such laughs. Before we left the yard we'd all put our two penn'orth into which route we could take. I was always happy to go with the flow, as I was still learning all the different bridle paths but, more often than not, it would be Wendy and Clive that argued the toss. Most of the time Wendy would be the last one to stroll over to the mounting block, which used to irritate Clive immensely. We'd all be on board, our horses waiting patiently, and Wendy would be checking Cassie's bridle or stirrups muttering, ‘We're not rushing, Cas, we're not rushing.' Clive would tut and look skywards cursing, ‘She thinks we've got all day.' I must admit to finding the whole scenario amusing. We are fortunate that living in the countryside provides us with some fantastic bridle paths, and most of these are off-road and usually have some grassland, where we can get a good canter, or even a gallop if we're lucky. Barry owned Colin (I always thought it was a strange name for a horse), and invariably I used to call Colin: Barry, and Barry: Colin, much to the amusement of everybody else. However, Barry and myself were kindred spirits when it came to having fun on our horses. On most bridle paths, there are certain places where we normally agreed to have a canter. The horse and rider at the front checks to make sure everyone behind is ready, and then off we go in single file. On so many occasions, Barrie and myself would look across at each other, nod our heads and take flight, to the annoyance of everyone else. We loved racing each other equally as much as our horses did, side by side, backsides out of the saddle, we certainly went for it. We'd laugh out loud as we heard voices in the distance shouting, ‘Slow down, slow down.' It was worth it, even though we would be berated by the others when they eventually caught us up!

It was towards the end of the summer that we got our first lucky break. Joy and I had ridden in the ménage that particular morning. We were going over our dressage test that we had to learn before the competition took place that weekend. As with most dressage competitions at our level, one was allowed to have a caller whenever a new direction and action was required. For example, at the letter C pick up trot in to a twenty metre circle, change the rein at B and walk. However, if you could memorise the test it was thought that you may be awarded higher marks, and you looked more polished as a partnership. We'd had a good morning session and so we thought we would reward ourselves with lunch in one of Hathersage's many coffee shops. It was whilst we were scanning the menu that I got a call through from Nigel. I quickly told Joy what I wanted to order and, like the good citizen I am, stepped outside to take the call. Nigel doesn't wear his heart on his sleeve, so sometimes it's difficult to tell if he's excited, especially when it's a phone conversation, but on this occasion the excitement in his voice was quite obvious.

‘I've just had a very interesting conversation with the estate agents'.

The estate agents are local agents in Sheffield who sell private and commercial properties/land in and around the Sheffield area.

‘Why? How come? What about?'

‘Well, you know they're selling the sports ground by our factory'.

‘Mmm, yeah,' I answered.

‘They've just told me that a large chunk of land around the Ringinglow area is due to come on the market any time soon'.

‘Never! Really? Whereabouts? How much is it?' The excitement was now getting to me. ‘Oh, bun, this could be just what we're looking for!'

‘Hang on, hang on, that's all they could tell me at this stage. Hopefully they'll be able to tell me more by the end of the week. It's still in the process of being finalised, so they can't tell me much more ‘til then,' Nigel stressed.

I pressed the end button on my mobile as Joy was doing her best to attract my attention through the coffee shop window. ‘Wow', I thought to myself, as I quickly re-entered the coffee shop. That evening we spent most of the night discussing the possibilities of whereabouts the land could be. The area in which we live is called ‘The Mayfield Valley'. It is an area of outstanding natural beauty. It's also a green belt area, which means that the land is unable to be built on for residential purposes. ‘Elaine, look, we'll just have to be patient and wait and see. It's impossible to guess where the land will be'. ‘Yeah, I know, I know, but every bit of land that I know of is being grazed on around us; I just can't think where it can be,' I said, getting rather frustrated.

A few days later it was competition day: my first ever dressage test. This time the venue was at Far Nova Livery Yard. It was about a mile further than the Hallamshire Sports Ground where the hunter class had been held, so we had quite a way to hack this time. Again I was very nervous, but this time I'd got the added pressure of memorising the test routine. I'd been over and over it time and time again, but there was a lot to remember, and I was worried that, because I was so nervous, I might forget the test routine.

On arrival at the venue there were horses all over the place. The warm-up area was tiny, and I was relieved that we'd had quite a way to hack on the way down; at least our horses were well warmed up. After being allocated our slots, we were allowed to hover just outside the call-up area. Three horses were called up together and then each one individually was called into the arena. Joy was the one before me, which I was pleased about. They say owners are a bit like their horses; this is definitely true with Joy and Rupert. The minute Rupert stepped out of his comfort zone away from Prince he let out an almighty whinny and spun around to look for Prince. To Joy's embarrassment, a few muffled laughs were heard, which immediately cut the ice and settled my nerves. Actually they completed a clean routine with no hitches.

It was now my turn to face the music. ‘Good Luck,' whispered Joy, as they passed me as they exited the arena and we entered. As we trotted in I patted Prince's neck and said quietly, ‘Come on, Principal, we can do this.' I took my position on the centre line of the arena facing the judges, removed my hat and simultaneously bowed my head as is required. I tried to imagine I was back in Smeltings arena just practising my routine, relaxed and calm, just enjoying the moment alone with Prince. It was difficult though. I was amazed how quiet the whole arena fell as I moved off the centreline. You could hear a pin drop, and this in turn made me feel under more pressure to complete the routine with no mistakes. I can still feel the immense sense of relief, trotting up toward the centreline, thinking I'd not made a hash of it, I'd done it. No, actually WE'D done it together, and we were now truly a partnership! My efforts earned Prince and me our first ever rosette together. We finished in sixth place and I was ecstatic!

Christmas at Height

After the euphoria of that weekend, I became a regular on the equestrian competitive circuit. My dressage marks were improving with each competition, and we were taking rosette after rosette. Slowly, but surely, we were climbing to the top of the ladder. Once again in my life the competitive streak in me began to show. At the same time, we were in the throws of bidding for some of the forty-two acres of land which had finally been released onto the market. Unbelievably, it was only a stone's throw from Bassett, a quarter of a mile at the most from our house. Trying to secure the land was an absolute nightmare. We knew right from the start that we would be up against stiff competition. To have forty-two acres of prime land on the market in the Mayfield Valley was virtually unheard of, so it would be very sought after by very many people for all different sorts of reasons. Planning rules and restrictions were becoming more lenient, so the opportunities could be enormous. The one big stumbling block was how the land was being sold. The guidance notes said that the land would be sold off in several different lots by way of closed bids. Our hearts sank. Nigel turned to the estate agents for advice. We didn't want forty-two acres; we couldn't afford forty-two acres, and there was no way of guaranteeing the highest bid for any of the individual lots. In the end I came up with a bit of an unorthodox approach. It was a risk, a long shot but hey, let's give it a go, they could only say no. So that's what we did. We approached the vendor direct.

When all the closed bids were opened we were informed by the estate agents that we had been unsuccessful in making highest bids for any of the lots. We were gutted! However, to our amazement, the following day Nigel received a call from the estate agent. It appeared that the vendor had taken quite a shine to us. He had been quite taken with my sheer passion and love for these unusual creatures, and he liked the idea of alpacas, BUT, and it was a big BUT, although he was keen to sell to us, he wanted us to purchase the whole forty-two acres!

Now we were in a dilemma; how could we possibly afford it? We couldn't!

Unless...unless we re-mortgaged the house.

The one harsh lesson that the cancer had taught us both, was that we all have only one life, it's no dress rehearsal and sometimes, just sometimes, you need to take risks to ‘reach for your dream' whatever the price, whatever the cost. So we did!

We now owned forty-two acres of the picturesque Mayfield Valley. Good grief, it was an exciting but frightening reality! I'm not sure whether it was fear or what, but I can remember laughing hysterically, and saying to Nigel, ‘We've only got five alpacas. They're going to look ridiculous on forty two acres.' Nigel agreed, and we fell about laughing.

Nigel wasted no time in drawing up plans to request planning permission to build a 100ft x 40ft American style barn. No driveway existed. A stream, which was running through the proposed building, would have to be diverted and, of course, there was the small matter of several hundred tonnes of soil and rock that had to be excavated to enable the barn to be hidden when erected. Usually, planning permission would be granted by one ruling council but, because the farm is situated in the Mayfield Valley, we are governed by Sheffield City Council as well as Derbyshire Peak Park. At the top of the farm drive we have a Sheffield postcode, but on the opposite side of our drive we are classed as Derbyshire. We couldn't change the situation, so we had no choice but to liaise with both and hope for the best. After weeks and weeks of planning discrepancies we were eventually given the nod; permission was finally granted.

Winter 2000 was pretty much upon us by the time we started major excavation work. It was difficult for Nigel, juggling the stresses and strains that come with business and, at the same time, trying to apply his mind to yet another one of our projects. Nigel's mum and dad would say, ‘Oh no, not another project: when are you two going to sit back and relax?' We'd promised ourselves that this was going to be the last one! By mid-December we were making good progress. Nigel thought that, during the week between Christmas and New Year, we would be ready to tackle the erection of the steel framework for the barn. Dads, as always, would be on site to help, and a mutual friend of ours, Andy Gregg, had offered his services, which was very generous of him considering it was during his holiday as well.

On Boxing Day we'd arranged to meet on site at 9am, it was a bitterly cold day, and our thermometer was reading minus four degrees centigrade. Unfortunately, Nigel had come down with an awful cold and had flu-like symptoms. Nevertheless, we were all in good spirits and eager to get started. A Manitou machine had been delivered to site, as that would play a major role in enabling us to reach the twenty-five feet height that would be required to fasten the steel framework together. I had been voted Manitou driver. I'd never driven one before, so I needed a crash course on the finer points of driving a Manitou: well, hopefully not literally! Nigel had constructed a steel man-bucket, which would be connected onto the end of the Manitou's telescopic jib, which in turn would carry Nigel in the bucket high up in the air to fasten the framework together. The set-up was quite amusing as it looked like something off a fireman's lift scene. Joking apart though, it was going to be quite a delicate operation. I felt under enormous pressure to manoeuvre the Manitou's controls with smooth and accurate movements. After all, my husband's safety was literally in my hands.