Saddle Acres

This was posted by Keystone Equine. I thought it would bring back many memories for us.

When I was a kid…

‘English riding’ was a foreign concept, here in my neck of the woods. Wanting to do so simply meant that you were weird. Everyone rode and showed stock seat or else, they grew quite proficient riding ba****ck at home.

Our model of perfection was the British Horse Society’s old “Manual of Horsemanship”. We did our best, despite the lack of an actual Pony Club, to follow this book to a tee. One thing that strikes me as I scroll by today’s ads for tack and ergonomic riding togs, is how styles have changed over the course of my lifetime.

First of all, helmets were a bit of a fluid notion. People often jumped at gymkhanas in either flat cloth caps or bowlers, or even with bare heads. I vividly remember the day that the Canadian Equestrian Federation steward started enforcing the new rule that our velvet hunt caps required chin straps of some kind… and the mad scramble to fashion something, anything, so that we might still be able to jump and compete!

Our elephant ear jodhs and breeks were bulletproof, of whipcord with a dozen teeny little buttons that one struggled with at the knees. When Harry Hall came out with two-way stretch fabric, suddenly, a whole new world opened up to us, one of form-fitting rust and canary. We wore ratcatcher shirts with buttoned chokers or complicated stocks that needed correct tying. Our pins were plain hunting whips or small gold blanket pins, as anything else was considered vulgar.

It was all about good taste. Our backsides were well and truly covered and it was the horse, not the rider, who was meant to shine.

On chilly days, we showed in beautiful hourglass cut tweed coats—whether or not we were hourglass shaped—of an elegant and flattering length. Hot days, we brought out our cream or baby blue linens. Gloves were always brown.

Boots were a whole different story.

There were no zippers, kids, and if they were easy to put on, they didn’t fit. Oh, the desperate moments before one’s class, trying to fit boot pulls, baby powder, even plastic bread bags all inside the boot top, without rucking up the breeks. Speaking of boot tops, patent ones were all the rage when I was young and I was never lucky enough to have them, but my sister did. Spurs sat high upon the counter seam; any lower, they were wrong. Our boots were also shorter than we see now, built of a stiffer leather than is current and without a doubt, Dehner and Vogel were THE ones. I have mine, still.

Now, depending on how old and traditional your teacher was—mine were all crusty pre-war types—you might have a fitted sheepskin numnah under your saddle, or no pad at all. The saddles were flocked with wool and would shape quite nicely to fit the horse. Hermes close contact saddles were the new thing, with their cutback heads and absolutely nothing in front of, underneath or behind your leg. A huge game changer was the invention of stirrup irons with rubber treads.

We used flat bridles for showing with plain snaffles, or full bridles or pelhams. The latter two had rolled leather lip straps, as well as curb chains. Children were expected to understand and be proficient with double reins at an early age… and so, they were.

Black tack was considered cheap and shoddy, even in dressage, so all tack was brown—and never, ever had sparkles on the browband! Actually, there were no sparkles, period. For show hacks, browbands of plaited velvet ribbon were considered bling enough. Whether saddlery, clothing or teachers, all the best came straight from England or Germany. Ordering anything new was a slow and patient process, for there was no keeping up to the trends with a click online.

Good teachers were rare treasures here in the west and should one be taken into a program, it changed the entire course of one’s life. Teaching was quite strict by today’s standards and in my memory, without much input from the parents. Hours were spent being lunged on our horses without reins, or stirrups.

I remember that we usually had to drop our irons for equitation classes and these had to be crossed in front of the saddle to rest on the horse’s shoulders. No swinging, dangling stirrups, ever. The judges thought nothing of asking us to switch and ride one another’s horses. We braided buttons down the neck with yarn, or with thread for the really important days. Tails were pulled to lie flat along the dock, with checkerboards damp-brushed upon the rumps of hacks.

We trotted and cantered ‘round to live organ music, all in the quest to earn trophies that one had to actually polish. Oh, those beautiful loving cups and silver trays...

Way, way back, when I was a kid.

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