Girls Horse Club Blog

Harper and Ebony’s Fields

Published by • Oct 21st, 2011 • Category: Fiction

by mymagic, age 7

When I was a young seven year old, I cycled with my parents, brother, cousins, aunts, and uncles. I did not necessarily want to be spending the first day of my summer holiday cycling up around mud-caked roads with embedded rocks and sprinkles of gravel spitting up into my face, but if my brother and the rest of our family wanted to, I didn’t really mind.

At the end of our cycle, we reached a little field with horses grazing in the middle. I loved horses. I had lessons and had joined our local Pony Club. I went on pony days and this year I was going on Pony Camp. But having a picnic with family in a horse field is pretty brilliant too. “Poppy, are you daydreaming again?” my dad called, smiling cheerily.

I beamed back. “Tell Ollie to slow down or he’ll fall off… too late, he already has!”

My older brother, Ollie, was intrested in sports. We had to watch him play tennis, football, badminton and rugby.

“O.K, Ollie?” mum called.

“Fine,” the grumpy fifteen year old grunted.

Soon we reached the field, and I happily flung my bike down and hugged the horses in the field. “That’s Harper. The Friesian over their is Ebony,” a voice said.

I spun around. A elderly lady was talking to me. “Oh.”

“I see you like horses.”

“Sure do.”

“You’re talented.” And she left as quickly as she appeared.

* * * * * * * * * *

Five years later, when I was twelve, I went to visit my twenty year-old brother, Ollie, and his wife, Allie-May. He lived in Dartmoor, Devon. It was a pure English place, with pouring rain. Allie-May was making little marzipan people, and icing them with little bits of edible beads, stuck on with edible glue.

“Poppy, put your coat on!” my mum called, “Gosh, no wonder why you get colds. I bet you don’t wear a raincoat when you’re helping out at that yard!” I sighed and ran up to the door of the little cottage.

“Hello Poppy!” Ollie said, “Come in!”

Later on that week, I was riding on the grassy fields, when I saw a pure black Friesian, and a dapple gray welsh pony. I shook my head, no. But then I had to try..

“Ebony! Harper!” the horses’ ears twitched “EBONY! HARPER!” I yelled so loud my voice echoed between the mountains, which were about a fair hundred and fifty miles away.

The horses looked up and cantered towards me. I dismounted the sleek palomino Thoroughbred I had been riding and pulled the reins over his head. I ran so hard that he was finding it hard to gallop beside me. Ebony and Harper cantered even harder, urging themselves into a gallop.

“Oh, how I’ve missed you!” I whispered, running my fingers through the horses’ manes. I collected the hairs and put them into my empty lunch bag.

“Oi! Whaddaya’ think you doin’, touching me ‘orses. You ain’t meant do be ‘ere. Private property! Be off with ya’! Good riddance!”

I mounted quickly onto my loan for a day, the Thoroughbred from the stud over where Ollie lived. I looked around and found a post with two head collars on. I slipped them onto Ebony and Harper’s head, and cantered off into the distance.

“I’m callin’ the police!” the outraged man called. But I knew. I knew he wasn’t their owner. I knew that the lady was calling the police on him. I knew the lady through and through, and she knew me from when we met when I was seven. She said she would let me ride them any day. But she had never told me she lived here. Never.

* * * * * * * * * *

When I was twenty five years old, I had my own horse. Or should I say horses. Ebony and Harper had moved fields and stables yet again. To my little back garden, behind my little ivy strewn cottage with the old beams and oil running cooker. I had my own stables next to my cottage, where I watched my hired instructors teach little children. I sat on a fence next to Ebony and Harper, eating stewed apricots and crumpets. “Oh guys. You have taught me so much,” I said in pure joy, “So much.”

* * * * * * * * * *

So I have told you the story of Ebony and Harper’s fields. I have said it through and through. I have told you from when I was seven, to twelve to twenty five. And look at me now. Writing in this old diary. A fifty year old woman, writing a diary. At least I have you guys, Ebony and Harper. I’ll always remember you. This diary is dedicated to you. Stay safe up there, won’t you! ~By Poppy Sophia Briarpatch.

Poppy smiled through watery tears and looked up at the sky. She walked through the apple orchard and looked at the fields where the foals grazed. It was a life. A brilliant one.

4 Nickers »

  1. Omg… That was amazing!!!!

  2. So….Amazing!!!Yes….I canĀ“t say anything more,only Amazing!

  3. Thank you so much.

  4. I love this story! It’s awesome!