The Walton Horse ~ A Personal Remembrance

I was seven years old when we first met. A skinny little thing that could have been blown over by a strong breeze. I was alone. He was one of many on that garish carousel.

For a while I just stood and watched it go around and around but eventually I handed my money to the carousel barker and chose my horse. Why him? I have no idea. They all seemed much of a muchness with their prancing hooves and their gaudy colours. Maybe he was different. Maybe his face was a little kinder than the rest, not so fierce looking. I climbed aboard his hard back and soon we were off, up and down, around and around. From that moment I knew he was mine. I knew I could never own him but he was mine, as if he had been waiting for me since he was first created.

I drank in every detail of him, every chip in the paintwork, every colour, every line of his manufactured body. When the ride came to an end I stayed on and continued to stay on until my money ran out. Then I whispered in his wooden ear that I would be back tomorrow.

I was on holiday with my parents but I could tell that, in reality, they wanted this time to themselves, not have me dragging along with them all the time. So, every morning I played alone on the beach and every afternoon my Dad gave me money and told me to take myself off to the amusements.

I was not interested in the cranes that grabbed for soft toys, watches or sweets. I was not interested in the penny machines where you might win something back. No, I only wanted him.

The second afternoon I returned. I knew him immediately with that instinct that maybe only a child has. We became friends. I knew he was wooden and could never speak but I felt he could hold all my secrets. So up and down and around and around we went passing each time a grimy window where I could see the sea and the sun scintillating on the water.

I would lean forward with my arms wrapped around him, no longer holding the reins. I laid my cheek upon his neck. I dreamed he would fly me away, far away to another land where little girls were not lonely, little girls were not bullied, little girls were not afraid,  little girls did not have to experience dreadful things.  Yes, he would carry me on his back to a magic land where bad things never happened. Sometimes the tears would run down my face and  fall in drops on his shining surface. I would wipe them away from my face and from his body with my hand -  in the hope that nobody would see.

I told him how I wished my life could be, of all the things I wanted to do when I was older,  of my friendlessness. I told him how he was the only one that I could talk to and I knew that he could never tell tales on me, never get me into trouble. I could trust him completely.

So every afternoon I spent with my friend. It came to the point where, when my money had run out, the barker let me ride for free. I think he sensed my loneliness and took pity on me. I became friends with him as well but I was very shy and we only exchanged odd words and smiles.

Of course, it could not last, after two weeks the holiday came to an end. I remember there were tears in my eyes as I walked to that carousel on that last morning. It was with a heavy heart I climbed aboard. I told my painted companion that I was leaving, maybe we would never meet again and I told him I loved him. Yes, I loved him. Our parting broke my heart.

After that, there were many times when I lay trembling in my bed and I pictured him in my mind over and over again. I used to imagine he would tear himself loose from his gilded pole and come galloping to my rescue, that he would know exactly where to find me and would make everything alright. I used to dream of him at night, dream that I was on his back again riding into a golden place, a place where happiness reigned.

In fact I was to see him again and for several years. My parents liked the place and were happy to make it their yearly holiday spot.

Oh the joy of running to that carousel the following year and finding him still there. I imagined he looked pleased to see me, as if he knew me from all the hundreds that had ridden him since.

So it continued until I was just short of twelve years old. I was still telling him my secrets although life had moved on since then, some situations had changed, others remained the same. In those days, at that age, you were still very much a child. I said my goodbye to him that year with the same sinking feeling but content in the fact I would see him the following year -  convinced that nothing could part us.

Alas, it was not to be. That year my parents  decided they wanted to holiday somewhere else. I was devastated although I could not tell them why. That holiday I found another carousel but I did not want to ride it. It was not my carousel, there were no horses that were like him. Instead I went off for long walks by myself.

So I lost my gilded friend. I often thought of him throughout the passage of time. I wondered what children were riding him now. I hoped that none were as unhappy as I had been.

However, I did see him again. When our daughter was around the same age as I had first been, she was taken by us on  a day trip to that same strip of English seaside. We took her into the amusements and I stood stock still in amazement. There was the carousel looking almost as I had left it. It had been re-painted, that was the only change, but he was still there , his white coat gleaming and I knew him immediately.

Our daughter ran straight to this ride and climbed aboard. She did not pick my horse. She had no preference. I watched her going around and around as I had once done. She sat upright with her head thrown back in laughter, waving to everybody. After a couple of rides she got bored, she wanted to try other amusements. She ran off. In my heart I was so glad for her. Glad that she never went through the bad times I had been through, glad she was outgoing, glad that she needed no wooden friend to ease her pain. Glad I had made sure her life was better.

I watched her run to the next attraction and whilst the carousel stood still and I made sure nobody could see me, I went to my old companion and stood before him. I told him that after all these years I had come back. I told him I had never forgotten him.

I did not ride him. I knew somehow it would not be right. I could never recapture those times, they were memories now for both of us or that is how it seemed to me. I stepped up and touched his painted black hoof and thanked him, thanked him for making the bad times more bearable. Thanked him for the hours of pleasure he gave to an unhappy little girl, thanked him for being my loyal friend. I took my final goodbyes.

I walked away. I did not look back because I now knew that in life there is no going back, we can only go on. Whatever life holds for us, we can only go on.

As far as I know he is galloping still on his endless ride to nowhere but he is in my heart and always will be. I think he is etched deep into my very soul. Just a  simple painted horse, a piece of carved and coloured wood but he meant the world to me, so much so that I cried doing this entry and remembering with such clarity how things were.