A pair of Charlies

Mike Faulds

'Watch him passing the Manse' was the doc's only warning. Off we went - Don, Charlie and I. Oh, and the car. Don and I were camping on the Isle of Harris. Charlie was a horse.

Don knew the local doctor. The doc suggested we take Charlie for a ride. Little did I know who would be taking who. Charlie was smart. 'Don't end the outing by having too much fun at the start. Bide your time. Agree to miss out the Manse. This trip could be worth more than some old apple.' Charlie didn't refuse to go up the road. He just went at his pace. 'Time to up the ante.' Charlie espied fresh grass. 'Perhaps the grass in his field was not so green,' thought I. 'Not half as green as you,' thought Charlie.

His head went down. I tried to pull the reins. But a horse with his neck stretched out is difficult manage.

I dismounted. Standing by his front leg I tried pulling sideways. Charlie ignored this. He lifted his left front leg and placed his hoof firmly on my right foot. My foot disappeared six inches into the ground. Fortunately the ground was soft. It is difficult to move a horse while pinned to the ground by one foot. It took several attempts at throwing my shoulder against his before he condescended to ease the pressure long enough for me to extract my foot.

'Why had Don not come to help?' Charlie was the only horse. Don and I would take turns driving the car, and riding the horse. I was riding.

We'd been told Charlie knew the route. So when he decided to go cross country up a steep incline, I just let him. Don took the road, and disappeared from view.

Charlie's performance would have done him proud at the Grand National. We duly arrived at the hilltop, near the road. Don had not yet appeared. Without warning, Charlie launched back down the slope. Uphill had been challenging. Downhill was terrifying. I was still on board at the bottom, just. I hinted to Charlie that we needed to be at the top. He never hesitated. Off we went. No sooner at the top, he turned straight back down again. Then up. Then down. Charlie was in his element. 'Won't he go up?' asked Don, back at the bottom where he had last seen us. Charlie showed him!

Later, at the top, Don grabbed the reins and we exchanged places. There was a five bar gate in front of us. I had visions of Charlie and Don going over the top, but I got it open in time. It led onto the machair, a large flat open grassy space leading to the beach. I drove through the gate and closed it. Turning, I could see no sign of them. Which direction had they taken? I could see either way for quite a distance. No horse, no rider. I drove to the beach. Still no sign of them. I waited.

Fifteen minutes passed before I heard the thunder of hooves. But no 'Hiyo Silver' from Don. 'Mike. Get me off!' he cried. I reached out, but Charlie had other ideas. A flick of his head took the reins beyond my reach. They were off again. Next time, I was ready for him. Don slithered to the ground, shaking. Charlie moved off gently once I was back in the saddle - for a couple of minutes. He started to gallop. I felt a slower pace more appropriate. Suddenly, my whole world spun. I could see Charlie fly over my head and away. As I made contact with the ground, I realised it was I who had flown. Charlie gently trotted up to me, reins dragging on the ground, with a look of pity on his face.

Winded, angry, lacking dignity, I snatched the reins and remounted. Enough was enough. We'd see who was in control now! Yes, we would. Don duly arrived with the car, but not before I had flown three times more.

It was Don's turn. Don was wary of the over the head trick. But Charlie had a bigger repertoire than that. Keeping the upper hand, or should that be hoof, he tried another tactic. When all seemed gentle and quiet, he suddenly rolled sideways onto the ground. Don was trapped by the left leg. I jumped out of the car and wrestled the reins till Charlie raised himself enough for Don to escape with only bruising, grazes and rattled nerves.

Now at the furthest point from home, Charlie felt free to do as he liked. He rolled on Don twice more, but Don was ready. He leapt off at the first sign of a roll.

My turn again. A long steep hill faced us. Time for Charlie's trump card. There was a rusty old barbed wire fence at the side.

I was learning. Tight reins limited his scope for action. I reined in tight. 'That's how you want to play is it?' thought Charlie. A shiny bright new barbed wire fence at leg height conjures up a picture of a very nasty rip, pain, blood and stitches. An old dirty, rusty one suggests tetanus, blood poisoning, gangrene and amputation as embellishments. I felt faint. He edged closer to the barbed wire. The more I steered away from it, the nearer he casually drifted towards it. I steered the other way. He just went closer! A vehicle with no gears, no accelerator, no brakes, defective steering, no on/off switch! Who's crazy idea of fun was this? The final quarter mile saw Charlie triumphant, led from on foot by the bridle, neither of us daring to risk the saddle.

'Good trip?' called the doctor. 'Knew you'd have no trouble with him. He's so gentle with the kids.'