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	Company Profile: FLOWTECH

SOME MOTHERS REALLY DO HAVE THEM

By Sharon Shinwell

So, you've bought the horse, the transport, and all the paraphernalia that goes with it. For months, you've been training the dressage horse of your dreams; or, rather the horse the bank balance would allow and now you are ready for your competition.

Well, for those who have the luxury of waking on the morning of show-day, knowing they only have only themselves and the horse to get ready, life is pretty simple and straightforward. Unfortunately, there are a lot of others who don't have this luxury, and "Competing Mums" fall into this category. When I look back at this period in my equestrian history, I can only ask myself, "how on earth did I cope?" and exclaim, "I must have been mad!" The sheer physical labour involved would draw admiration from the Royal Artillery Display Team.

But I can honestly say that without the devotion and patience of my long-suffering husband/groom, I would never have got as far as I did.

Comes the morning of the show. My nerves would be so shattered that sleep was elusive, so I would use the early hours, while the children were still blissfully asleep, to get my horse ready. The unconcerned nonchalance of my steed, as he chomped his way through his breakfast was very therapeutic. He had read the book - seen the film - and bought the T- shirt. If he hadn't been standing on concrete as I plaited his mane, he would have gone back down to sleep. With my trusty "groom" by my side, this part of the proceedings was usually uneventful; except to say - I could never understand why, no-matter how early we got up, we always seemed to be in a rush at the end.

Then the army manouver started for the children. Into the wagon went spare socks, shoes, trousers and jumpers. Were we staying overnight you might think? No; this was to account for the fact that wherever we went, the kids always managed to find water and, no matter how shallow, it seemed to come up to their necks!

When it came to the children, they were dressed, fed, watered and into wagon before they had time properly to open their eyes and object. And now, when we chat and reminisce about the shows we took them to, they have fond memories of the long, hot, sunny days they spent in beautiful locations and some of the odd characters they met along the way. The winter evening shows seemed just as much fun, with lots of ice, mud and of course the added bonus of being allowed stay up late. Sometimes, we had the excitement and pleasure of my mother's company, who as "child entertainer" deserved a medal. My mum had ridden herself as a child, so she understood most of what was going on. But she always said she never remembered horses being so BIG.

I have to smile when I think of the times when the children disappeared out of sight while my husband was busy helping me. I could never be sure that, under the scrutiny of the judge, I would remember my test movements, so my poor hubby had the job of calling my tests. This meant the children were trusted to supervise themselves while I rode my test. Although they were not old enough to be left at home on their own, they were old enough to stay out of trouble - well almost. The attraction of an arena, shrouded in complete silence with only the movement of the horse and rider performing their test in complete harmony of thought, was like a magnet to my children; rather like a blank wall is to a graffiti artist!

I remember on one occasion the indoor arena was of steel panelled construction. As I watched the competitor before me ride up the centre line, I was aware of a rattling noise coming from the sides of the building. Perhaps it was the wind, perhaps it was livestock in an adjacent field. But then the rattle turned into a tapping. The poor competitor looked more and more anxious as the horse she rode fixed its gaze on where the sound was coming from. Even when the noise ceased, her horse was now waiting for it to start again rather than waiting for her next command. Each time the horse approached the area concerned, it did a leg-yield-away-from-the-track any trainer would have been proud of. When I rode up the Centre line, the noise began again, but my reliable, laid-back steed took absolutely no notice. The only time my horse got excited about anything was when feed buckets rattled or the vet appeared!

When we got outside, we tracked down the whereabouts of the children, and just as I had suspected, there they were, building a den out of leftover building materials and rubble, using the arena wall as perfect lean-to. Of course, it's not everyone who has the luxury of his or her own scuttle team, to nobble the opposition, but mine could be relied upon.

The other occasion that springs to mind was when a spectator-gallery of an indoor arena, had been used to store straw bales. Somehow the children had managed to squeeze down the gap between the bales and the four-foot-high wooden barrier surrounding the arena. As I rode past down the long side of the school, two arms shot out of the straw and hooked themselves over the top of the barrier. "Straw-with-arms" was just too much for my Old Faithful, this phenomena was not in his memory banks. He then quite calmly put a "5 - metre loop in from the track" into my test, avoiding the "Living Bale" and continued on as though nothing had happened. As I rode around the corner, consumed with frustration at the loss of points this alteration in the test had just incurred, the mystery arms then acquired a head and shoulders, and yes, you guessed it, one of my cherished offspring had just scuttled the wrong team!

Oh well, there was always next time - and next time - and next time.

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