HOW KAYF ARAMIS GOT HIS NAME
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Kayf Aramis with J Murtagh. Third win at York April 14 2009
Beginning at the tail-end, so to speak, the MIS of Aramis is, in fact from Misty, a much loved pony, not, as some might think, from the distinctive men's aftershave nor from the name of one of the Three Musketeers in the novel by Alexandre Dumas, Athos, Porthos and Aramis whose motto was, as we all know, “all for one and one for all”
MISTY THE LEGEND
Part 1
The story of a pony that morphed into a race horse
Misty, the beautiful half Arab, half Welsh Cob pony who for five years trotted forth from the back garden of 135 North End Road in NW11,finally breathed her last in a Gloucestershire field on Mid-summer's Day June 21 2000. She was buried the following day in the shade of an old crab apple tree under which she had fallen, an idyllic spot with a view to one of the famous Gloucestershire hills topped with a corona of trees. She was an exquisite creature with huge appealing eyes fringed by long white eye lashes. There was a certain Moorish hauteur about her and a quick intelligence that at times could be interpreted as mischief. For the five years she was in the area she attracted a huge fan club. Isobel, then fourteen and a pupil at Henrietta Barnett School, was frequently seen on the Suburb roads and, with special permission from the GLC, along certain tracks all over Hampstead Heath. Misty's early life was researched and we found that she had been a good jumper and had originally hailed from Great Dunmow in Essex. We visited one of her past owners in Hertfordshire, a Lennie Hawkins, whose daughter won many rosettes competing on Misty. These trophies were proudly displayed around the walls of their sitting room.
Isobel first came across Misty at College Farm, a tract of green land and old farm buildings in Barnet, along the busy Regent's Park Road, where even today one can see sheep, horses or cattle grazing in their unlikely location, attracting the young and old to pause and 'stare as long as sheep or cows.' A piece of history magically kept from the clutches of developers. In return for mucking out after school and at weekends, Isobel was allowed the occasional ride and later on even to compete in the small gymkhanas that were held from time to time. On those occasion I remember that Misty's former jumping prowess strangely eluded her, much to the chagrin of her keen and competitive rider.
This was the start of Isobel's passion for horses, though evidence of her love for animals, especially horses, was clear from her infant and junior school art. Neat little cats, rough collies ( how prophetic as later she would care for a rescued cat called Browbury and two rescued dogs named Shady and Ricky ) and most of all, rows and rows of neatly hooved ponies. These were drawn, coloured and painted at every opportunity in every notebook and on every cover.
What started her off on the 'ruinous road to racing' was an innocent enough donkey ride up by the Whitestone Pond in Hampstead. A few donkeys, well past their seaside galloping days, were led around the back towards Admiral's House before returning over the Heath back to the pond where they rested in the shade of the tree till the next batch of eager children disrupted their daydreams. The donkey rides made way for pony riding in Epping Forest where there was no doubt that Isobel had 'discovered her seat.'
Riding in Epping Forest
Isobel on Rusty
Her confidence grew as she joined rides, led by Jill, a character not unlike one from Therwell's novels, who would lead her little charges from the stables in Strawberry Vale over the main North End Road onto the Heath Extension. Isobel's favourite pony was called Rusty, a willing creature whose colour reflected his name, though sometimes she was given an old nag to ride, possibly as she was the only one not to complain when she was shouted at for not keeping up with the group as the wayward pony listened not to the rider but its tum and stopped a every verge to eat grass. After one such event I found Isobel weeping in her bedroom nursing her hands cut through by the reins, yet blaming only herself for not managing her mount better. Later, in the sixth form, she volunteered to work at City Farm for her work experience, which proved to be both an exhilarating and a healthy option instead of working in offices or shops. Part of her duties was to exercise the horses and later on she took lessons from a very talented young girl called Mary Wanless who wrote 'Riding with the Mind.'
City Farm, which was set up in in 1972 on a piece of derelict land in Kentish Town, is to celebrate its fortieth anniversary in 2012. The idea of introducing children living in overcrowded Inner London areas to country life on their doorstep was the inspiration of a young American, Ed Berman, who cajoled British Rail to allow him to use a piece of their land for the benefit of the local community. The story we heard at the time was that Ed Berman was diagnosed with cancer and, believing he might not live to a ripe old age, threw himself into projects for the benefit of local people. He set up The Almost Free Theatre, with the young Simon Callow and Anthony Sher rehearsing to the cacophony of a growing number of farmyard animals in the background.
Local children were encouraged to take responsibility for looking after the animals helping to help feed, muck out and learn about animal husbandry. This model proved so successful that it has spawned many city farms all round London. For this work he was given an honour by the Queen. What is more, I gather he is still very much alive continuing his public spirited work.
Isobel's life, from then on, centred around the equine scene. Pony Club news and magazines were devoured. She entered and won competitions, kitting herself out practically from head to foot in riding gear and equipment including a copy of Ryan's Son's saddle donated by the champion rider, John Whittaker.
Riding holidays followed in Wales with challenging mounts to conquer and Gypsy, a retired blind pit pony, to befriend. And what had previously been restful holidays in the South of France turned out to be riding adventures in the Camargue with her brothers given scary mounts to ride named Ouragan and Volcane who took off with their young charges yelling, 'arrête, arrête' to no avail whilst their little sister rode with great mastery controlling her mount perfectly.
FROM COLLEGE FARM TO GOLDERS GREEN
The mutually convenient arrangement with Misty's owner, Clare, came to an end when, as often happens at that age, boyfriends take precedence over horses and so Misty was sold on. Deprived of her beloved Misty, Isobel was much distraught and when, a few weeks later, she discovered that Misty was being kept in some stables North of London, she begged me to drive up there. It seemed an innocent enough request. Little did I know what that the visit would lead to.
The sight that met our eyes was truly pitiful. Here was this exquisite creature shut in her box looking seriously depressed. She was neither being fed well nor exercised. Her hooves had grown to such an extent that further delay in calling the blacksmith would have caused permanent damage to her legs. We arranged for Misty to be given extra food and to be re-shod so that on out next visit we were able to walk her out. On her first outing Misty was like a condemned man having been granted his freedom. It was a breezy day when we walked her up the lane. The wind blew her mane as she walked elegantly beside Isobel, occasionally stopping to look over the hedge at the grazing sheep with huge bewilderment in her eyes. That day as I was leaving I whispered in Misty's ear. “ We'll do whatever we can to get you out of here, you beauty.” My vow preceded Isobel's pleas on the journey home to buy Misty and rescue her from her uncaring owner. Knowing the expense of keeping a horse in stables in London, my mind went to overdrive in lateral thinking. I remembered Frances Whitfield, telling me that as a child she kept her pony in a garage in Reading on the London Road and I also remembered that years ago a circus performer kept his horse in the basement of his house in Finchley Road leading him up and down the steep stone steps. Then I thought about and discounted the idea of keeping a pony in the front room as did a young woman in the West Country. I decided the best solution would be for Misty to be kept in our extended garden which we acquired with our semi-detached house. There was only one big problem. The side of the house was too narrow to bring a pony through to the front and the back had no access as the garden backed onto the car park of the then YHA which was run by Brian Rance, a countryman at heart. That was the obvious solution as the YHA was on Wellgarth Rd which led directly to the Heath Extension with its convenient horse track. So Brian was approached and, after checking with his Head Office, he happily accepted the plan that would allow us to put a gate in our fence to allow Misty an exit. The council had to admit that since the time that horses were kept in mews there was no legislations preventing us from keeping the horse in our back garden and finally, when all the plans had been laid, Derek, my husband, capitulated when the neighbours began asking him in the street, “So, when is the horse coming?”
For a man who had never built anything more than a stool in his woodwork class, Derek threw himself into the construction of a stable from the shell of an old summer house of which only the solid brick back wall and low side walls remained. It was just before Christmas and the weather was not always benign and there was the added problem of cutting down one of the sycamore trees that had grown inside the carcass of the building overtime. First of all he constructed the stable door which worked out exceedingly well, very solid and then proceeded to make the walls out of fencing panels the whole being held together with a great deal of nails.
It was a bigger undertaking than he had first thought and he took ten days off work and worked practically round the clock to construct his stable. First the walls, then the roof was fixed, not an easy matter as he had to fit the roof around the big trunk of the remaining sycamore and finally the door was fitted. No mean feat for a beginner and the incessant sound of the hammer and saw were heard throughout the Christmas season. Inside the stable the old water tank was emptied of its mud and cleaned up for horse food storage and shelves were fitted for straw and hay and finally hooks for the saddle and reins. Electric wiring was trailed along the fence from the house and under the bottom garden to provide light. A short track led to the newly constructed gate in the back fence and Misty even had a small yard outside her stable for her to take the air. She was hemmed in by a thin pole, yet for all her strength she never broke through it to the tasty grass beyond which served as our lawn. On pleasant, sunny days when we were out in the garden she was allowed out to join us and keep the grass down so there was no need of a lawnmower.
The day had arrived for Misty to try out her new home. It was January 1st, 1983, a bitterly cold day with a nasty drizzle in the air. Isobel rode Misty down from Hertfordshire along the busy main roads with Derek accompanying her in the car until she got to Finchley and knew her way home. By the time the pony and rider arrived at the stable it was already beginning to get dark.
The stable was lit warmly and a wonderful smell of fresh straw emanated from it. Some warm mash was awaiting the weary traveller and sweet tasting hay was in the net. A supply of water and blankets for warmth stood by. The scene could not have been more inviting, however Misty refused point blank to enter her new abode and no amount of cajoling or pushing could make her budge. She stood stubbornly outside in the rain whilst Isobel moved inside the stable trying to warm up with hot cup-a-soups. She would not abandon her charge and, just as we thought we would have to keep vigil overnight, Misty took one step forward, two steps back and suddenly lunged at the entrance and made for the food. Misty was safe at last.
From then on Misty and her young rider became a familiar and welcome sight around the neighbourhood. Isobel ventured further afield as she and Misty grew more confident in negotiating the busy road junctions and even appeared outside her grandmother's house in Muswell Hill.
Every Wednesday, instead of going to games, Isobel would cut school and ride Misty around the Heath. One day just as she was on the track closest to Hampstead lane, a car stopped, the window was wound down and, much to Isobel's horror, Miss Marjoribanks, her formidable headmistress leant her head out and watched for a while, then gestured with her hand, wound the window up and continued on her way back to the Henrietta Barnett School in Central Square in Hampstead Garden Suburb, no doubt reflecting on the fact that she too had skipped school perhaps on one of her long, boozy lunches that she used to enjoy. Isobel continued to ride Misty on Wednesday afternoons and nothing was ever said about her exploits.
Neighbours were delighted to have a horse in their midst. Old Mr Wickert pressed £10 into Isobel's hand for extra hay and Erica was glad of the manure for her roses. In fact everybody's roses in the road did well over that period. Derek then logically thought that instead of taking loads of manure to the dump, the local gardeners at the allotments would be glad of it, so he put a message up on the gate, but alas, there were no takers, so he continued his weekly trip with black bins filled with used straw and manure to the tip. On one occasion as he was unloading his cargo, one of the bags split open the contents pouring out onto the shoe of the man in charge. 'SH.... ' he shouted, to which Derek answered, 'Yes, that's right!'
I
Lawrence and Dominic playing chess
In summer, when the ground was firm, Misty was often allowed to roam freely around the back extension and mingle with family and guests. There is a much valued photograph of Misty overlooking two chess players , Dominic and Lawrence. 'Queen toKnight two' she seems to advise with a turn of her head. She did no damage to the vegetable beds or the fruit trees, unlike one visitor, Daisy the goat, who came with Brian Rance to a Sunday tea party. Daisy was no shrinking violet, she immediately took over the whole garden seeing it her right to gobble up any vegetation she came across and the lettuces and carrot and beetroot tops were more to her liking than grass. She was immensely strong and none of us could hold her back. Needless to say, Daisy did not visit again!
Christmas treat
At first we had an old Irish blacksmith to shoe her. He used to arrive with his old van, park outside our gate in the car park of the YHA, stoke up a fire, trim Misty's feet, cut off a length of metal strip and fashion it to fit exactly. Bespoke shoes, so to speak Each time he came he attracted a crowd of back packers watching his skill in such an unusual venue. I remember him giving good advice to Isobel, though at that time she did not wish to hear his words that, in the event of Misty having to be put down, she was not to be sentimental but let Misty be led away as it was considerably cheaper than removing a carcass from the garden. Well, as it turned out, both Isobel and Misty had other plans, far more pleasant.
Misty gets her toe nail beauty treatment
The old farrier was followed by Mr Tonks and Ginger, both from the St John's Wood Barracks, who were possibly 'supplementing' their Army pay. The process was much more streamlined with cold shoeing. There was no stoking of fire and the ready made shoes just needed minor alterations. Some of the charm of the traditional blacksmith had gone. Not every shoeing went according to plan. I remember one occasion when Isobel had tethered Misty to the back fence and Ginger was about to fit a shoe, a bird fluttered down from the tree and Misty took fright and took off, demolishing most of the back fence and dragging it with her. In those days Derek used to cycle to the IOD and that day he came home to find not only the back gate missing but the whole back fence.
There was always the nagging thought that Misty might have to be passed on, so Isobel made sure that wouldn't happen through an unfortunate accident that gave her the means to keep her pony for ever. One day, when cycling to school in the Suburb, she was knocked down by a taxi, which turned left when Isobel had right of way. The case went to court and Isobel was awarded the exact sum of money Derek had paid for Misty. She insisted that her father took the money so she became the legal owner, except of course the maintenance costs, which still remained Derek's responsibility!
YORK
Time had come for Isobel to go to University. To Derek, whose fetching supplies and carting away waste was essential to the arrangement, it became clear that when Isobel went up to York, Misty would have to go too. I had played my part in bringing Misty to 135 North End Rd, now it was up to father and daughter to make the arrangements for Misty to go to university. Several stables were visited before one in Naburn was found to be acceptable. One farmer, on being asked whether she could do dressage, looked rather puzzled, then, after a long pause, taking his pipe out of his mouth mumbled,''Ee, it's like wat-ching p-aint dry'!
Naturally Isobel's priorities at York were riding Misty and going to the races. Little did she know then that in years to come, the racing horse she bred, Kayf Aramis, would win three times in the May Festival. They were sweet, sweet victories, but that is another story.
Isobel joined the University Riding Club and delighted her fellow students by riding Misty around the campus. Despite the time spent on horses not only did Isobel get a decent degree in Linguistics but also found time to play cello with the university orchestra in a stirring performance of Beethoven's Requiem at the beautiful Minster.
LONDON in the HOLIDAYS
Back in London there were forays to Rotten Row and horse shows. One in Kensington Gardens proved memorable for Misty refusing to jump. A great many hours had gone into turning her out beautifully for the show, brushing her coat, combing the mane and putting oil on the hooves so she would not be out of place with the smart set on their immaculate horses. Luckily Misty's honour was saved to a certain degree by the fact that some of the ultra-smart horses also refused at the first fence.
Locally there will be those who remember a saddled, riderless pony galloping furiously through the Suburb, over the busy North Circular (The lights must have been with her) to return to her former stables at College Farm in Regent's Park Road. It was on an afternoon when Isobel had gone to Stratford on Avon with the school and I decided to take Misty out on the Heath Extension for her customary afternoon ride. We started of pleasantly enough with a gentle walk along the top of the track but alas, I was not to know that at the corner she was used to taking off at a gallop. Not being a strong rider I panicked, my riding hat falling over my eyes and, unable to pull her up, instinctively I grabbed hold of her neck. The next thing I knew I was waking up in the Royal Free Hospital with a policeman leaning over me saying, 'Don't worry madam, your horse is safe.' I asked 'What horse? Apparently I was dragged along the track my sweater getting crammed full of dead leaves, which were then copiously scattered throughout the hospital corridors. Years later when I had the misfortune of landing up at the Royal Free again, that incident was recalled by some of the nurses.
On another occasion Isobel was riding out in the snow when Misty slipped on some ice and unseated her rider. On this occasion Misty stayed with her injured owner. Luckily a young man happened to be driving by who was familiar with spooked horses and first he calmed and secured Misty and then took care of Isobel. On such occasions when Isobel was unable to ride Misty and I was unwilling to, after my incident, Derek took over by taking the reins and pulling Misty behind him at a jog much to the amusement of dog walkers.
POST UNIVERSITY
Although Isobel and Misty were inseparable, we detected a certain amount of pragmatism creeping in when it suited. For instance, when she was in Toulouse for the year, Amy Klein was entrusted with looking after Misty, which she did with great pleasure and competence. Similar arrangements were made to allow Isobel to spend time in Barcelona and later in Jerez as well as the six months she spent in Chicago. All these trips involved horses in some way. Although she went out to teach English in Barcelona, she soon found a riding establishment where she spent many enjoyable hours. One day we got a call from Isobel saying that a Japanese Olympic rider had offered to give her his horse. It sounded an offer too good to be true and therefore one to be resisted especially when I asked Isobel how would she get the animal back to the UK. 'Oh, ride him back' she replied. Luckily she was persuaded on that occasion not to follow her mad plan. It turned out that the kind Japanese wanted to make sure his horse would be well looked after as the animal was retiring from sport and who else but a decent English girl could be trusted to look after the horse he loved and had competed on for years.
When EU money was being thrown at Spain many schemes were set up to enrich the young entrepreneurs who took up the challenge. One day I saw and advertisement in The Guardian giving scholarships to youngsters who wanted work experience in Spain. Isobel applied to the Domecq Establishment in Jerez to learn to ride and perform on their beautiful white steeds. She arrived to find that it was a male only preserve and her job would be to muck out the stables. She was incensed and marched into Don Domecq's office and demanded to be given the opportunities she had come for. He crumbled in front of the strength of argument of this English girl and Isobel was given every encouragement to learn the craft. Curiously from the time she arrived in Jerez to the time she left she noticed that the two young men who had set this up were gradually changing from relative paupers to wealthy looking young-men- about- town driving sports cars. EU money well spent then! One can only surmise how they built on their success to gain employment in the corridors of power at the EU Headquarters in Brussels.
Teaching riding at an establishment in the smart suburbs of Chicago for six months Isobel witness the roughness and sometimes cruelty of the Mexican hands. Before coming home I joined her on an adventure going from Chicago to Denver by train then driving across the Rockies and plains to the West Coast. Wherever there were horses to be ridden Isobel would take the opportunity to mount and explore the countryside. One memorable ride was at the stunning Bryce Canyon where the cowboy, who led the ride, asked Isobel if she would go to the movies with him, till he noticed her chaperone. As the movies were a cool 65 miles away it didn't seem practical!
Another time whilst we were driving off track trying to find a dude ranch, we came across an old cowboy who took her for a half day ride up into the hills to an ancient sacred Indian eagle hunting ground. There she learnt much of the Indian ways and customs, in fact she got quite adept at doing the rain dance and chant.
NEW ADVENTURE BEGINS IN HEREFORDSHIRE ENDING IN GLOUCESTERSHIRE
However all good things come to an end and Isobel returned home to begin work at the Institute of Linguists where her young boss turned out to love horses and music so the pair got on very well.
It was also time for Misty to move on out of the garden to a field in Mill Hill where she would join the second member of Isobel's horse family, a fine young chestnut thoroughbred mare, named Ara, which she bought without our knowledge but with the financial help and connivance of her grandfather.
Ara
The horses remained in the field over several years until finally Isobel gave up her job with the IOL and moved lock stock and two horses out to Herefordshire where, she hoped, a bright future would await her in riding and competing with another horse-mad woman. The small farm was in beautiful countryside but the shortcoming was quickly made clear when bailiffs started banging on the door and, despite trying to find work in Hereford, there was none available. Before the inevitable happened, Isobel moved out, totally unsure where to go. London was not an option as she decided to make her life in the country permanent. Her first priority was to house the horses, which she did, in stables near Hartpury. Then she found accommodation in a large, shared country house and proceeded to look for work. Sharing the house was a young local man, Gary, who took over the reins, so to speak, and helped to rehouse the horses and generally was a helpful and dependable shoulder to rest on. So much so that on September 12 1998 they were married in the historic Ashleworth church of St Andrew and Bartholomew, whose roots go back to the Saxon times and where generations of Gary's family have celebrated important occasions. Both Misty and Ara, groomed beautifully for the special day and bedecked with old brasses kindly lent by someone in the village, greeting the bride and groom. The reception was at Corse Lawn Hotel for family and friends and in the evening Gary's parents hosted a jolly reception for the whole village at their their daughter and son-in-law's fishing inn, The Watersmeet.
The couple moved into a little house with their two rescued rough haired collies, Ricky and Shady and Browbury the cat who had missed Isobel greatly when she moved from Hereford. One day, when Isobel returned to pick up her mail, the kitten, whose foot had been crushed by one of the horses followed her as before jumping over the tall grass. He was emaciated and sick with cat 'flu so Isobel had no hesitation in taking him with her leaving a note for the owner.
The horses were housed with Paul, on whose lovely farm where they frolicked in the sun in the old apple orchard with a view towards one of the lovely Gloucestershire hills, with what appears to be a coronet on its summit. The coronet is of the 50 trees planted to commemorate the Golden Jubilee of Queen Victoria's reign. It was there that one calm, sunny late afternoon, on Mid-Summer's Day, 21 June 2000, when Isobel came to feed them, that she turned to find Misty had died suddenly from an aneurism, falling where, just minutes before, she had been contentedly eating grass. Young Tom rushed to pick flowers from the garden when he heard the sad news, it was with such affection Misty was regarded by everyone who knew her. She was buried gently the following day in the shade of the old crab apple tree under which she had fallen, her grave covered with May blossom and roses.
Misty has been much missed, after all, she had been Isobel's companion for over seventeen years and she is irreplaceable. By taking responsibility for Misty from an early age, Isobel acquired a lot of confidence, poise and strength and it also has to be said that Misty was exceptionally lucky to have had such a caring mistress. The two of them are commemorated on a bollard in Hyde Park. The bollards were erected to celebrate the 1690-1990 Tercentenary celebration of Rotten Row. Misty's bollard stands roughly opposite Rutland Gate.
March 2010
Derek's tribute
