When I was younger, I made it a habit to read every book whose title slightly resembled anything from the equine world. It took me a while to discover there was a difference between Bridle and Bridal – I haven’t been a fan of rom-coms ever since! Like most horse-crazed girls, I read every famous equine book series, but frankly found them so wanting. It was just drama, drama, drama. No wonder my horse riding lessons were always so angst filled. Whenever I picked up a book with a stallion on the front, I was left wondering: where is the magic?
Putting your foot in the stirrup, hoisting yourself up and into the saddle, grabbing those reins and looking at the world through the ears of a horse is the closest humans can come to flying without machines. You are suspended in the air, moving at a rate no human will achieve on their own; the very air around you seems to dance as hooves that aren’t yours but are somehow connected to you pound the earth.
You are free.
Only the birds can catch you.
None of those horse books from my youth ever truly celebrated the relationship between horse and human. No books spoke about the sheer thrill of that gallop across the field, the birds flying out of your way, the horse’s breath in the air, the wind rushing in your ears, and your eyes watering as you and your mount conquer the ground.
They never spoke of the fact that your safety – your life – sat with this horse. Unlike with a car, a boat or a plane, what this horse felt towards you made all the difference in the world. A car wouldn’t randomly decide to buck you out of your seat because it didn’t approve of the way you were treating it. Therefore a rider has to be absolutely sure of the friendship between themselves and their mount. None of those early books ever touched on this love between horse and rider. None ever made me rejoice when a rider was saved by a horse’s love, none broke my heart by taking that love away, because it was never there to begin with.
And lastly, no book ever expressed the complete liberation of soaring over those jumps.
The earth is far behind you: there is only air beneath hooves, there is a moment when even gravity doesn’t exist. You might as well be riding a dragon; it amounts to the same thing.
I used to look sideways mid-jump and imagine I could see my horse’s wings, flapping powerfully and keeping us afloat, separating us from other mortals.
No book ever spoke about jumping the moon.
And so when my time came to put pen to paper and add my voice to the litany of equine literature, I made sure Apley spoke of that unforgettable love between horse and rider. I made sure Apley spoke of the adventure of being in the saddle, of ruling the land with no feet on the ground.
And most especially, I made sure Apley spoke of flying.
I wrote Apley Towers as a tribute to my adventures on horseback; a way of immortalising what I felt when those hooves pounded the ground. It was a way to introduce the world of horses in a way I had never seen before.
But mostly I wrote Apley Towers because riding is fun.
And I wanted the world to see that.
I wanted readers who had never been in a saddle to put the book down and feel as though they had just ridden the back of the wind.
apleytowers.wordpress.com 