“When we move to the country, you shall have a horse!”

How many times did she hear those words … yet she knew they would never be able to afford acreage, and she knew her father needed to be near the city for his work. He was trying not to destroy her hopes, but she knew it would never happen.

How many times did she read Black Beauty, and the Pony Club books! It never hurt to dream, did it?

Later, much later they moved to the edge of suburbia – not too far from a riding school in the bordering countryside. She could ride there on her bike, couldn’t she? But lessons cost money, and riding gear was expensive. “When we can afford it,” she was promised. After all, there were six children …. She knew it would never happen.

She saved her pocket money. The riding school also hired out horses by the hour. For several weeks she went to the riding school, and she simply stood and watched, envying those of her friends who were having lessons.

The day came when she had enough money to hire a horse, and ride. Her dream would come true, or it would be as close to being realised as she would ever get. For a few weeks, she had a sedate horse, one who had to be strongly encouraged to trot and then canter. She didn’t mind. It helped her confidence to grow as she taught herself to ride. She was given a few minutes of unofficial and unpaid instruction so she would know the basics.

The following week, she was given a different horse to ride. A magnificent one, an ex-racehorse. Her heart soared. As she mounted, she felt excited to see how they would go together. Was her dream now being fulfilled in a different way? If only her family could see her now.

They set off, firstly at a slow pace, then moving into a trot, then a canter. This was what she had dreamed of for so many years. Farther and farther they went, enjoying the sunshine and fresh air, the wind blowing her hair back, her freckled face alight with pleasure.

Then … crack, the horse hit a sharp fallen twig which snapped under his hooves. He reared up, spooked, tossing his mane. He moved from a canter to a gallop. The girl clung to him, trying to rein him in. Just as suddenly, he stopped, bucked violently again, swinging her from side to side.

Panic filled her, her fear condensing her wild thoughts into just two words: “Stay on!” She knew instinctively that her life was in danger, and she was kilometres from help. A cluster of trees was ahead. Suddenly the wild horse bolted again, heading for the trees. With alarm she saw the low branches. This horse was intent on killing her!

She had no time to lean forward, so she threw herself backwards along his rump, knees clinging to his sides. Time and again the horse twisted and turned, racing back time and again to the low branches, trying to dislodge her.

Fear transitioned to anger. “I WILL stay on. You WON’T kill me!”

Her dream ride was now her nightmare ride. Time seemed to stand still as the two wills battled. Suddenly, the horse paused, then took off at a gallop again, but this time was heading back to the ranch. She willed herself to cling on, refusing to allow him to throw her, or to win.

Visions of horse races filled her mind, and she leaned forward, riding the horse as she visualised the riding of racing champions. Finally, gasping, chest heaving, she saw the stables, and exerting every last ounce of strength, she reined her horse in, snorting and furious, and brought him to a standstill.

The riding school tutor helped her to dismount. “You’re back early!” he said, surprised. “I don’t know who gave you this horse to ride – he’s a nasty beast, and very unpredictable!” he said.

Shaken and trembling, she rode her bike home.

Not many weeks later, she heard the news. One of her friends, the much-longed-for daughter after four sons, was killed in a horse-riding accident. She was having weekly lessons in a riding club and was said to be a competent rider. She was wearing full riding gear including a helmet. However, her horse bolted, and she was thrown. Her foot caught in the stirrup, and she was dragged, suffering traumatic head injuries.

I was the teenager who dreamed. Annette was my friend, who died at fourteen years old.