Golden Horse: The Story of Astra

Chapter One

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I never had any children; my horses were my children. Although I married, it didn’t last long, only five years. I’m surprised it lasted that long. My husband Ron hated horses. He pretended to like them when we were courting, but once we were married, the truth soon came out. I think he thought he could change me, make me give up my horses and my dreams, turning me into a dreary housewife who would wait on him hand and foot, always doing what he wanted. However, when he realised he couldn’t, he became exceedingly jealous of the time I spent with the horses, thinking that I should be spending it with him. After a while, the jealousy turned to hatred and then anger. He never realised that if he had joined in we could have spent more time together, but I suppose, he would never have done that. It would mean being around those wretched horses that he despised so much. A lot of the trouble stemmed from the fact that he was fearful of them, though he would never admit it. He was a big strong man, and I was a frail woman, for him to be afraid of the beasts while I was not, was unthinkable for him. I think he was ashamed that he had that fear.

One day when I came back from a show, I found a letter on the kitchen table saying he was leaving and wanted a divorce. He had packed up all his things and gone. So, that was the end of my marriage, and I got on with my life. I expected to feel awful, but I didn’t, when he left, it was like, situation normal. I didn’t feel anything; we had drifted so far apart, there was already a big empty space where he should have been. We had become strangers.

My sister Elizabeth married a lovely man, his name is Barry Parker; he's a dentist, so we all get free treatment. He is dotty about horses she met him out hunting. They have three lovely girls Jennifer, Jocelyn and Dorothy, who have married and had children of their own. My grandnieces are as keen on horses as I was at their age. Yesterday two of Jennifer’s children, Emma and Joanna came over for afternoon tea. We were looking through one of my old horsy albums, when we came to a photograph of me feeding a horse over the field gate.

'Which horse is that, Aunty Clare?' enquired Emma. 'That’s Astra, Donna’s first daughter.'

'Isn’t she beautiful. How old was she when that picture was taken, Aunty Clare?' Emma’s eyes were wide with admiration for the tall golden coloured horse in the photo.

'That photo was taken on her 19th birthday.'

I remember it well; it’s funny how certain events stick in your mind. It was a warm April day, the sky looked so blue, and there were little cotton-wool clouds drifting lazily across it. The birds were singing their spring songs, and the new leaves and grass looked so fresh and green, it made you feel good to be alive.

Astra had come trotting over to greet me, and I gave her some horse nuts, which she gobbled down greedily, then nuzzled at my hands for some more. I dug into my pocket for them and gave them to her; she took them gently her soft velvety lips tickled the palm of my hand.

Down the road, a large milk churn Lorry came rumbling and banging on its daily round of the nearby farms. Up went the mare’s head, ears pricked, then suddenly she shied away from the gate and galloped off at full speed across the field, head in the air and tail flying like a banner.

She had never liked large Lorries ever since the garbage truck had frightened her as a yearling. Astra had jumped the wall out of her field into the garden in her fright. My Mother, and I had a merry game trying to catch her before she trampled Mothers much prized rose garden and lawn completely into the ground. Age had not mellowed her nor changed her ideas about large Lorries, at 19; she was just as daft as ever.

Astra’s sire was Astro Boy, by Astronaut. Astro Boy was a racehorse of considerable ability. Winning the Champion Hurdle at Cheltenham, (considered to be the most prestigious hurdle race in England) twice, before graduating to steeple chasing. Then he won the Cheltenham Gold Cup (the equivalent of the Derby for steeplechasers). The following year he came a close second to Red Flame, in the Grand National Steeple Chase at Aintree (the most testing of all steeplechase races in the world). To get around the Aintree course in one piece requires a jumper of exceptional talent. Astro Boy’s dam was Babble, she was also a steeple chaser of some talent. She had run in the Grand national twice, coming a creditable fourth in the first one and seventh in the second, it was a group finish with all seven horses tightly bunched.  I was extremely lucky to get a service for Donna; the owners lived very close to us, and I had got to know them quite well. Their daughter Susan had a show jumper called Sky Blue, and I became quite friendly with her.

My mother bought the foal’s dam a 7-year-old 15.1 hh flea-bitten grey mare called Donna for my 16th birthday; I had grown out of the junior show jumping classes. My ambition was to be like Pat Smythe the famous British show jumper. I started off in the junior classes with a couple of 14.2 hh ponies called Ruby and Amber. In those days, junior show jumping was in its infancy, they didn’t have novice classes for ponies. I rode in the junior open classes; it was sink or swim, as my two ponies were complete novices, as was I when we first started. I suppose I was lucky, for despite my mistakes, we were successful. The ponies were quick learners, and extremely talented jumpers, especially Ruby, and I learned rapidly as well.

Ruby and Amber were sisters, Ruby a year older than Amber. Their mother was probably one of the most famous show-jumping ponies of her time. Her name was Greyhawk; she was a dark bay with two white socks on her front legs, and a blaze down her face. She was a Thoroughbred/Hackney cross, who retained the high-stepping trot and enormous power in the hind legs of the purebred carriage horse. A remnant of a bygone age, Greyhawk was a Wembley and international champion many times over. Ruby and Amber’s sire was another famous jumping pony called Tom Tom; they were both owned and bred by the Walsh family, well-known in jumping circles. Their daughter Brenda rode both Greyhawk and Tom Tom in the junior open jumping classes.

I did very well with Ruby and Amber but when I turned 16, I had to go up into adult classes, which meant I had to ride a horse, as ponies are barred from adult classes. My mother swapped the two ponies - which by this time were worth a considerable amount of money - her hunter, and several thousand pounds more for Donna. She would have been cheap by today’s standards but in those days, the eleven thousand pounds needed to purchase Donna, made her a very expensive horse indeed. I just prayed that she would live up to expectations.

We didn’t know much about Donna’s history, except that she was half Thoroughbred and half Connemara pony. However, her actual pedigree was unknown. The Connemara is noted for their jumping ability, and the Thoroughbred is noted for their speed and stamina. By all accounts, this was a very auspicious combination. She was a flea-bitten grey with dark grey legs to the knee and hock, and one white sock on her left hind leg. She was a stockily built horse with a powerful neck and hindquarters, she had in fact the perfect conformation for a jumper. She had come over on the boat from Ireland with a consignment of show-jumpers, all destined for the Walsh’s show-jumping yard, not far from us. His daughter Brenda was now in adult jumping like me - so, we felt that we could trust him to give us a good deal. He had assured us that Donna had an impeccable record on the Irish show jumping circuit, in grade A (open) classes, so we took his word for it.

What he didn’t tell us about though, was her foul temper in the stable. Perhaps he didn’t know, as he didn’t have much to do in the way of hands-on with the horses. The first time after her arrival that I went into her stable to tack her up to try her out on a ride; I was in for a shock. Her ears went back as I approached her with the bridle, she gave me a menacing swing of her head and cow kicked at me, as if to say ‘keep away, or I’ll kick you’. I ignored her and went straight up to her. This was something new for her; I think other people were afraid of her threats. Donna never threatened me again. I think her problem was that she was a very dominant type of horse; she always wanted to be the boss. I noticed it later when she was turned out in the field with other horses. She would boss them around, and they would submit to her antics and stay away from her. It got so that she only had to give them one of her looks, and they would keep their distance. However, when I refused to play her game, she saw me as the boss horse and never gave me any more trouble. Unfortunately, she continued to wreak havoc with everyone else who didn’t stand up to her.

Donna’s redeeming feature was that she was an armchair, push button ride, and could she jump, she seemed to be on springs. She had a wonderful kick up of her back legs (like the German jumpers) ensuring she never trailed her feet through the fence. Her front legs were always tucked tightly up to her body, unlike some horses that dangle their front legs and carelessly tap the fences down. She was also amazingly accurate, never jumping higher than she needed to, thus saving her energy. She had an incredible memory, remembering everything new that I taught her after one lesson. As Donna wasn’t registered in England, we could register her as a grade C show jumper (novice), which gave me a chance to get used to riding a horse. We didn’t have to go straight into open classes, which have much bigger fences than pony classes. At the very first show I took her to, the day after mum had bought her for me, she won the Foxhunter class, which is for grade C (novice) horses. It was a championship qualifier; the championships are held at the Wembley indoor international show at the end of the season. I was thrilled with my new horse’s performance. I hadn’t had time to get used to Donna’s way of jumping, but it didn’t seem to matter to her; she was one of those horses that doesn’t seem to need any help from her rider, she, was an expert. Success followed success; Donna was so consistent she was never out of the money. She won the Foxhunter Championship and the Young Riders Championship in that first year. I was totally spoilt, I always expected to win, but what she taught me was to stand me in good stead in the later years.

Chapter Two

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When Donna’s jumping days were over, Mum and I decided we would try to breed some nice foals from her. The first foal was a bay colt we called Jacob, (who grew to 17. hh at maturity,) by a dark bay steeplechaser called Mr. Pegasus. He had been very successful, coming fourth in the Grand National, and winning many other top class steeplechases, so he could really jump and was quite a stayer. But his career was cut short by lameness. He was standing at stud very near to us, so I rode Donna over there for the mating between the two. Donna was indeed a fruitful vine; one service was all that was needed to give us our first foal.

We were so pleased with the result, a lovely big bay colt with two white socks on his back legs, and a tiny snip of white on his forehead. He turned out to have his mother’s and father’s jumping ability, and I show jumped him with great success. We planned a second foal, and on the 3rd of June 1969, four days late, Astra came into the world. It seemed like only yesterday that my sister and I, raced out to the stables in the middle of the night, to see if the foal had arrived yet. When we got to the stable and peered in, there was the foal only a few minutes old, not yet on her feet and still wet. She looked as though she was related to a Giraffe rather than a horse, with the longest legs I had ever seen. Looking at the new foal, I wondered what the future would hold for her. Would she inherit her mothers and fathers jumping ability? I hoped so; she had a pedigree that would be the envy of any performance horse breeder. Back then, in the late 60s, specialised breeding was in its infancy in Britain, although in Europe, it was big business. Mum and I didn’t really realise what we were doing, breeding foals with one aim and that was to produce show jumpers. We were it turned out, doing exactly what the European specialist breeders were doing.

Her proud mum was gently licking her and making encouraging noises. I'd sat up four nights in a row; Donna had difficulty with her first foal. I was a little worried she would have trouble with this second one. The foal was so big by the end of the pregnancy I began to wonder if she was having twins.

When the first foal Jacob was born, it had taken twenty-four hours of hard labour. The vet and I with a chain around his hind legs, it was a breech presentation, trying to pull him out.

I needn’t have worried, for on the fourth night of my vigil at around 2-30 am the foal arrived. I had looked at her every three hours throughout four days and nights of waiting, and my last check on Donna had been midnight. By the looks of her, nothing was happening, so I went back to the house to catnap on the sofa. I was dead tired and fell asleep immediately.

My sister Elizabeth, woke me at 2-30 am saying, 'Donna’s banging on the door!'

For a moment in my sleepy haze, I wondered what on earth she was on about. Then I came fully awake with a start, and realized what she meant. The pair of us raced out to the stables to see what all the noise was about, Donna was banging on her stable door with her hoof to summon us - this was a favourite trick of hers to get my attention, especially when she thought it was time for her feed.

There it was, the most beautiful baby I have ever seen; her nose was resting shakily on the straw. She had a half blaze down her face and a little white snip on her nose. Two white socks on her hind legs and a body of pale gold, her two front legs were still a pale gold, but they would turn black to the knee as she got older. She had a black mane and tail, and a black dorsal stripe that ran the length of her back. She was a golden dun, one of the original colours of the Connemara.

After a few minutes, Astra tried to get to her feet. Her legs went sprawling in all directions but with a bit of a struggle she made it, took one step and collapsed in an untidy heap again. All the while, her proud mum made encouraging noises to her, and gave little encouraging nudges with her nose. Several times Astra got to her feet only to crumple again as soon as she took a step. She had the longest legs I have ever seen, and she was having quite a job to organise them. Elizabeth and I watched enthralled as the foal teetered and tottered about.

After about an hour, she began to get the hang of things, but she had still not found the milk bar and was beginning to lose interest in her mother. I thought I had better give her some assistance. Astra spotted me, as soon as I stepped into the stable and staggered up to me. She crashed headlong into me and nearly knocked me over, trampling all over my feet. She hadn’t mastered the art of applying the brakes yet. I grabbed her around the neck and pulled her to a halt, then putting my arms around her chest and quarters propelled her towards her mother. With a little more help, the foal found the mare’s teat and started to suck the milk noisily. At around 4am Elizabeth and I finally went to bed, to get some sleep for what was left of the night.

The next morning was warm and sunny, so mother and baby were allowed out. As Astra tottered out of the stable behind her mother, I noticed that not all was well. On closer inspection, it became obvious that she was not walking properly; her leg joints were very swollen. When I felt them, they were hot and hard, and obviously very painful as she tried to pull her legs away when I touched them, so I hastily phoned the vet.

When the vet Mr. Randall arrived, he took one look at the foal and told me she had joint ill. It's a bacterium that gets into the blood of new-born foals via the mother's blood, while the foal is still in the womb. Astra would have to have a course of antibiotic injections, followed by antibiotic powders in her feed, when she was old enough to start eating.

What a game it became with me hanging on for dear life to Astra, with arms around her chest and rump, and my Mother or Elizabeth hanging on to her head. Mr Randall danced around after her trying to stick the needle into her rump. Astra trampled all over our toes and tried to kick poor Mr. Randall several times. He was very brave though and never gave up. I’m afraid Astra didn’t think much of being a pin cushion, at her tender age of only a few days old. Her poor little rump must have felt very sore after a few injections. After that bad start to her life, she flourished and didn’t have any more problems.

By the time Astra was a year old she towered over her mother Donna, who was only 15.1 hh by a full hand. She was growing so rapidly you could almost see her shooting up from day to day. Astra’s father had been a good 17.2 hh and we expected her to be about 16.2hh, but this was ridiculous! If Astra went on growing until she was five years old, what sort of height would she end up being?

Mr. Randall said, 'Factory farmed animals are given antibiotics to stimulate their growth. It could be possible all the antibiotics she had received as a foal, could have had an influence on her meteoric growth.'

However, that would not explain why she was such a large foal to start with. Donna was so big she looked like she was having twins. Her stomach looked like the sides of a Hippopotamus, and under her stomach, she had fluid forming, because of the pressure of the great weight she had to carry.  Astra continued to grow so quickly, well after the antibiotics had finished, and the effects had worn off. When I looked back on photos of Jacob, and Astra, as one-day-old foals, there was a considerable difference in their height. Astra was a good four to six inches taller than Jacob when seen standing against her mother.

My friend Trudy Cunningham who owned a farm a stone’s throw away from us commented, on seeing Astra for the first time that if she ever grew into her long legs, she would be a giant of a horse. Trudy was a keen horsewoman; she had two brood mares from which she bred some very high-class foals for showing. One of them had won Hack of the Year at Wembley.

As a yearling, I introduced Astra to saddle and bridle and taught her to lunge. (The horse is held on a long rein and circles the trainer). Because of her size and strength, I wanted to start her early, before she became too big and strong to handle. The filly had her own ideas about this and spent most of her time bucking and kicking out at me, all the time accompanying it with loud squeals and snorts of indignation. She was an absolute monster; I had never had such