Whispering Back (18 page)

‘But you’re cowboys,’ we reminded him, our illusions lying in tatters. ‘You eat these things straight from the tin, don’t you?’

‘Yes,’ he replied with an affronted dignity, ‘but not in the morning. That’s just disgusting.’

Matt and Zane caused a stir wherever they went. They almost never removed their hats, which was probably just as well as the straight line etched in their hair by the rim of their stetsons was not particularly fetching. Whenever we went into a pub they’d be greeted with ‘Yee-haw, ride ’em, cowboy!’ or ‘Howdy, pardner’. They always seemed surprised by this attention, and would respond with quizzical looks, and a polite hello. It was as if they couldn’t work out how anyone knew they weren’t from ‘around these parts’, wherever ‘these parts’ happened to be.

One of the biggest challenges on one of Monty’s early tours was to hold a demonstration at London Arena. With a huge capacity, this could be a fantastic opportunity. On the other hand, with no purpose-built facilities, and no stabling, the logistical problems were considerable. Horses would have to stay in their own lorries or trailers on site, and somehow have to be decanted into the round pen, for which we would have to provide our own surface. And being located in the East End of London, with an entirely urban local population, there was a definite possibility that if we couldn’t sell enough tickets, we would be making a considerable loss. But if we could even approach a full house, it would be the biggest event of its kind ever held in the UK. Kelly took this challenge on with typical zeal and determination, but even so from the moment she decided to undertake the task until the night itself, some twelve weeks or so later, she never had a good night’s sleep.

The cavernous arena was like a huge metal box, lined with high stands of seating on all sides, facing a square of grey painted concrete floor. Dean, a student on the course, had assured Kelly that he would be able to make a suitable surface for the pen. It simply involved shipping in tons of dirt, placed on a temporary chipboard floor, and then topping this with several more tons of sand. ‘Rake it smooth, and Bob’s your uncle.’

Sensi, proprietress of the smallest riding school in the world
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Sensi and Wilberforce on the ridgeway
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Adam receives his Monty Roberts Preliminary Certificate of Horsemanship from Kelly Marks
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Off-side at last – and the ‘Misty hug’ is born
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Finn showing the Chief who’s boss, Long Street, 1998
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Maybee, the first pony we trained at Moorwood
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