Copper Prince’s Tale

By Suzy

My story begins very differently from the well-loved novel narrated by Black Beauty. No loving mother greeted me when I entered the world. There were no green meadows to frolic in or shady trees to rest beneath on long, hot summer days. Instead, after my mother gave birth to me, I lay on filthy bedding in a small, decrepit stable. My mother was a stunningly beautiful chestnut Arab, but her beauty was marred by a vicious temperament. As I struggled to stand on wobbly legs, an ancient bay hunter lifted his bony head and peered at me through rusty partition bars.

“Jolly little chap” he remarked to my mother, but she wrinkled her nostrils disdainfully, stamped her foot and laid back her ears. The whites of her eyes flashed in the dim light as she snaked her head impatiently from side to side. Finally she lashed out with her back legs, narrowly missing me. “I shall kick its stupid head in if it comes near me!”

The old hunter snorted in disgust and turned sadly away. “Poor thing, she won’t look after him” he lamented to a painfully thin Welsh pony in the next box. But the Welsh pony showed no concern. Nobody cared for him or for any of them for that matter, so why should he be bothered about a newborn foal? He ignored the old hunter, continuing to lick pathetically at a few mouldy grains at the bottom of his manger.

“Talk to yourself!” grumbled the hunter, and pushed his nose hopefully into his own manger. There wasn’t much likelihood that a cheerful groom would bring him a feed, so he went back to dreaming of his old hunting days when he proudly carried the Master on his back, galloped after hounds in full cry and leapt bravely over any obstacle in his path. Yes, those were the days he mused and his head slowly drooped, his legs buckled, and he sank to the floor with a grunt.

But I am getting ahead of myself. I shall start at the beginning when Reginald Lomax, a horse dealer, bought my mother at a local sale.

**************

Mr Reginald Lomax had no interest in man or beast. His greatest love was alcohol, and he enjoyed drinking copious amounts at every opportunity. He had inherited Beckinsdale Stables from his sister, horses and all, and he hated them. To him they were only fit for selling to some unsuspecting mug who wanted “a nice quiet horsey” for their offspring. To begin with, pony- mad but inexperienced girls from the village helped him run the stables in return for free rides. However, even they realised that Lomax wasn't providing enough hay or feed for the horses and consequently they became thinner, weaker and not so much fun to ride any more. Gradually the girls disappeared leaving Lomax to fend for himself. He spent most of his money and time in The Black Horse Inn and as funds dwindled he cast his eye dubiously over the few old and scrawny horses he had left for sale. Reluctantly he decided his best bet would be to spend the last of his money on a few better quality nags to sell for a profit. The following week he attended a local horse sale and as luck would have it, or so he thought, he was just in time to see my mother plunge into the ring, dragging a grim-faced attendant behind her. Guffaws of laughter greeted this scene and the auctioneer grimaced.

“Do I hear one hundred pounds? One hundred pounds to start the bidding, one hundred pounds for this attractive brood-mare!”

A few sniggers and cat-calls greeted this statement as my mother struck out with her front hoof, catching the attendant on his shin.

“Come along ladies and gentleman, I’m giving this beautiful mare away at a hundred pounds. Who’ll start the bidding? Who’ll start me at one hundred pounds?

There was a deathly hush in the room now as the attendant vainly struggled to control my mother, but she was in no mood to be led around this hot and stuffy sales ring. Suddenly she reared, tearing the lead rope out of the attendant’s hands and charged across the ring.

Exasperated, the auctioneer tried one more time “Do I have any bids for this quality brood-mare. Do I hear fifty pounds?”

“Twenny quid” slurred Lomax. He conceitedly thought he knew a thing or two about horses and was convinced he’d have no trouble selling a beauty like her. So what if the mare was a little lively? He’d soon sort her out later with a good whipping!

The auctioneer seized his chance to sell the chestnut mare and get her out of the ring. He’d wasted enough time on this troublesome horse.

“No more bids? Going once…twice…” he banged the gavel down quickly “Sold to the gentlemen in the corduroy trousers” and Lomax found himself the proud owner of my beautiful, but deranged mother.

***********************

Sarah Dillington-Symthe stood in front of a rotting gate and read the faded sign nailed crookedly to the gatepost. “Beckinsdale Stables High Quality Horses Bought and Sold” it proclaimed. She gazed doubtfully across the un-swept yard. An old pitchfork lay abandoned on uneven cobbles and a wheelbarrow lay drunkenly on its side in front of an empty hay barn. Rumours about Lomax neglecting his horses had spread like wild fire in the village and Sarah had decided to visit the dealer’s yard in the hope of finding out the truth once and for all. Even on this warm spring day Sarah shivered as she strode purposefully across the yard heading for the first loose box in a row of decaying wooden stables. A terrible smell pervaded the air. Flapping her hand under her nose she opened the first stable door and stared into the gloomy interior. A swarm of flies swirled into the air, buzzing angrily as they were disturbed from their feast on the rotting carcass of small pony.

“Oh my God!” Sarah reeled backwards. Feeling dizzy and nauseous, she forced herself to investigate further and reluctantly peered into another box. She gasped at the sight of an emaciated bay horse lying awkwardly on a deep bed of stale manure. At least he was alive, but only just. Sarah jumped as a loud crash and the sound of splintering wood erupted as my mother kicked repeatedly at the adjacent partition wall. She gingerly pulled back the bolt of our stable door and my mother, seeing her chance of freedom, barged past her and galloped out through the gate and onto the road. “Lomax!” Sarah bellowed angrily “Where the hell is that man!”  A few seconds later she heard a squeal of brakes and sickening thud as a lorry ploughed straight into my mother, killing her instantly. Turning towards me, Sarah’s eyes filled with tears as she knelt down and gently put her arms around my neck. Instinctively I ceased to struggle and sensed that here, at last, was a friend who could help me. “No need to be afraid any more little one, you’re safe now and coming home with me.”

********************

James Thompson had been happily employed at the Colonel’s stables for 25 years, starting as an eager stable lad and moving up to his present privileged position as Head Groom. He was under orders to find a suitable horse as a birthday present for the Colonel’s niece, Dora Maddocks. After months of fruitless searching, Thompson finally found what he was looking for when he attended a local horse show. 

I had been entered in the Pure/Part bred Arab in-hand class by Sarah, my owner and handler. Thompson watched approvingly from the ringside as I produced a faultless individual display and the judge called us into first place. Sarah proudly led me out of the ring, and I arched my neck and tossed my head as the red rosette fluttered on my bridle. Thompson approached us and enquired if I might be for sale.  He quickly explained that his employer was looking to purchase a special horse for his niece’s birthday and Sarah was delighted to send me over to the Colonel’s stables for a week’s trial after hearing all about Dora's mission to rescue old and mistreated horses. Soon afterwards, I was installed in the Colonels grand and very comfortable stables.

“Here’s the horse I was telling you about yesterday, Sir. He’s got a super temperament, just needs a bit o’ schooling on, that’s all. Be just the ticket for Miss Dora I reckon.” Thompson clipped a rope to my headcoller and as I was led out into the immaculate yard, my bright chestnut coat gleamed in the morning sunshine.

 “He’s certainly a smart-looking horse.”  The Colonel patted me admiringly. He ran an expert hand down my legs and gently prised open my mouth to inspect my teeth. “Trot him up for me Thompson, would you?”

 

“Right you are, Sir” Thompson trotted me across the yard. I felt I should show myself off as best I could so I kinked up my tail, tossed my head and snorted as I pranced towards the Colonel.

 

“Splendid! Sound as a bell. Pop some tack on him and let’s see how he goes under saddle.”

The Colonel observed how well I behaved whilst Thompson tacked me up.

“Someone has taken care in handling and breaking him in, he has excellent stable manners” he commented.

 “Aye, he was broken in by Sarah Dillington-Smythe, an excellent horsewoman. He had a rotten start in life though, and ‘e does have a bit o’ spirit with a mind of ‘is own sometimes just like ‘is mother had, don’t yer old boy!” Higgins patted my neck affectionately.

“Oh?” The Colonel’s eyebrows shot up. “What happened to him?”

“About three years ago a so-called dealer called Reginald Lomax at Beckinsdale Stables, bought a wild chestnut mare at a horse sale. He got more than he bargained for and could do nothing with her. Soon afterwards she gave birth and tried to trample her foal to death. Luckily the foal was found just in time by Sarah after she’d gone there on the pretext of buying an ‘oss. She also found Lomax drunk in the tack room and a stable full of dead and dying ‘osses.”

The Colonel shook his head, remembering how sickened he'd felt reading newspaper articles revealing all the sordid details of the Lomax case. “From what I remember not many of those poor unfortunate horses could be saved. When Dora heard about it she cried for days, a terrible business. And Copper was the foal that Sarah rescued?”

Thompson nodded, smiling broadly.

“Well I never!” exclaimed the Colonel. He remained quiet for a moment, no doubt thinking how very fortunate I was to have been rescued.

Thompson broke the silence “We’ll go on up to the top field then Sir, and I’ll show you his paces. He ran down the stirrups, gathered up his reins and gently climbed into the saddle. I champed at the bit, eager to be off. “Steady Copper, easy does it” he said soothingly and patted my neck. “We don’t want the Colonel thinking you’re too full of yourself and won’t be suitable for Miss Dora” We walked and trotted a circuit of the field and then the Colonel signalled for us to canter. I was enjoying myself and kicked up my heels, nearly unseating Thompson. I heard a shout of laughter from the Colonel and after several more bucks and a wild gallop across the field Thompson managed to pull me up, smiling ruefully. “As I said Sir, he has a bit o’ spirit!”

The colonel waved his hand dismissively “Oh nothing Dora couldn’t handle, she’ll relish the challenge!”

Thompson’s face lit up. “You’ll be buying him then, Sir?”

“Yes, provided he passes the vet inspection. Get that organised for me will you?

Thompson beamed and doffed his cap “Right away Sir!” He gently scratched my withers. “You’ve no worries now old chap, the colonel’s niece is a bonny lass and you’ll have the life o’ riley down at Follyfoot.” As we made our way back to the stables, I had a good feeling that my next home and new owner would be everything I had ever dreamed of.

***************************

Dora was enjoying her birthday tremendously, floating on a home-made raft in the lake at Follyfoot with Slugger, Steve and Ron. They were the only people who had ever been her real friends. She felt a warm glow of happiness, but although this birthday had been the best she had ever known, she felt sad that Uncle had been unable to join them.

Steve glanced at Dora and remarked “Something you didn’t get for your birthday…a horse.” 

“Oh yes she did” shouted Slugger triumphantly. “Look!”

Dora stared in disbelief across the shimmering lake. There was Uncle, sitting on his horse and waving to her. And standing quietly next to him was the most beautiful chestnut Arab she had ever seen.

“Not another blooming ‘orse!” wailed Ron.

Dora smiled serenely, but inwardly she was bubbling over with excitement. Her very own horse at last! Now she could truly say that this was the best birthday she had ever had!

The End.