ADORABLE Exmoor pony or engagement ring? As Nigel and Mandy Hill have, over three decades, become well-known producers and judges in the Exmoor-pony world and Mr Hill has taken on the chairmanship of the breed society in its centenary year, you can guess which way the decision went.
The Hills were on holiday and looking for a companion pony when they wandered into the tourist centre in Lynmouth, were directed to Exmoor Pony Society (EPS) stalwarts and herd owners David and Sandra Mansell and swiftly became the owners of Sable —and more. Mr Hill recalls: ‘David said, “Would you like her in foal as well?” and I said: “Go on, then.” Then he said: “We’re looking for an area rep for the Midlands.” It just sort of grips you.’
There is, indeed, something irresistible about this native breed; the pleasing neat uniformity of a herd stolidly grazing windswept moorland speaks of antiquity, timelessness and romance. Their satisfyingly compact physique and rounded backsides, bushy Bash Street Kids hairdos, charming mealy noses and ‘toad’ eyes are a source of local pride and have long inspired painters, including Munnings, Aldin and Edwards.
Research by equine vet Peter Green in 2013 suggests that the ponies’ standard appearance as we know it today only really developed after the reclamation of the Exmoor Forest in the early 19th century. However, they certainly closely resemble the primitive equines that roamed the steppes in prehistoric times or were depicted in cave paintings; these ponies are undeniably rare, locally distinctive and as totemic to the moor as its precious red-deer herd.
Denne historien er fra May 26, 2021-utgaven av Country Life UK.
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Denne historien er fra May 26, 2021-utgaven av Country Life UK.
Start din 7-dagers gratis prøveperiode på Magzter GOLD for å få tilgang til tusenvis av utvalgte premiumhistorier og 9000+ magasiner og aviser.
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Save our family farms
IT Tremains to be seen whether the Government will listen to the more than 20,000 farming people who thronged Whitehall in central London on November 19 to protest against changes to inheritance tax that could destroy countless family farms, but the impact of the good-hearted, sombre crowds was immediate and positive.
A very good dog
THE Spanish Pointer (1766–68) by Stubbs, a landmark painting in that it is the artist’s first depiction of a dog, has only been exhibited once in the 250 years since it was painted.
The great astral sneeze
Aurora Borealis, linked to celestial reindeer, firefoxes and assassinations, is one of Nature's most mesmerising, if fickle displays and has made headlines this year. Harry Pearson finds out why
'What a good boy am I'
We think of them as the stuff of childhood, but nursery rhymes such as Little Jack Horner tell tales of decidedly adult carryings-on, discovers Ian Morton
Forever a chorister
The music-and way of living-of the cabaret performer Kit Hesketh-Harvey was rooted in his upbringing as a cathedral chorister, as his sister, Sarah Sands, discovered after his death
Best of British
In this collection of short (5,000-6,000-word) pen portraits, writes the author, 'I wanted to present a number of \"Great British Commanders\" as individuals; not because I am a devotee of the \"great man, or woman, school of history\", but simply because the task is interesting.' It is, and so are Michael Clarke's choices.
Old habits die hard
Once an antique dealer, always an antique dealer, even well into retirement age, as a crop of interesting sales past and future proves
It takes the biscuit
Biscuit tins, with their whimsical shapes and delightful motifs, spark nostalgic memories of grandmother's sweet tea, but they are a remarkably recent invention. Matthew Dennison pays tribute to the ingenious Victorians who devised them
It's always darkest before the dawn
After witnessing a particularly lacklustre and insipid dawn on a leaden November day, John Lewis-Stempel takes solace in the fleeting appearance of a rare black fox and a kestrel in hot pursuit of a pipistrelle bat
Tarrying in the mulberry shade
On a visit to the Gainsborough Museum in Sudbury, Suffolk, in August, I lost my husband for half an hour and began to get nervous. Fortunately, an attendant had spotted him vanishing under the cloak of the old mulberry tree in the garden.
