A horse for Sarah: The story of Robin, Sombra, and a maths lesson

Hi everyone; meet Sombra, my sabbatical horse!

As soon as we arrived  in Santander, at the end of January, I started looking for a horse to ride.  After a couple of wild goose chases looking for riding stables that didn't exist, one day in March I met  a man in the elevator with a huge basket of bread.  I asked him who it was for,  expecting to hear 'the ducks',  but instead he said 'the horses.'  I responded the way I've always done when anyone mentions horses.   What horses?   Where are they?  And, Can I ride them?  It turned out to be my lucky day: The horses belonged to his friend, Astrid, they were close, and yes, I could.  

with Sombra, May 23, 2013

The riding stable is in Mortera, a 10 minute train ride from Santander, out in the beautiful Cantabrian countryside.  Astrid is a lovely lady from Holland of about my age.  She speaks four languages fluently, breeds Welsh mountain ponies, and owns a stable of show jumpers that compete all around Cantabria.  One of them is 'my' horse; Sombra.  She's a beautiful dappled grey mare, 15.2, and perfect for me.  (At the official Cantabria showjumping website you can see pictures from the latest show jumping competitions.  You might even spot Sombra!)

Having a horse to ride makes me think about Robin, a pony I used to ride in the 1970s, my 'golden age' of riding.  He wasn't mine, but I rode him in the summer holidays at The Gilberts, South Trew Farm, Highampton, Devon. He was only 14 hands, but he could keep up with all the big horses galloping across Dartmoor.  (As Mr. Gilbert said, 'he thinks he is one of the big horses').  When we weren't out riding, I spent hours with him in the stable or in the field, grooming him and talking to him.  I wanted to take him home -- was he for sale? I asked.  'They're all for sale for the right price', replied Mr. Gilbert.  My heart leapt!  It turned out the price for Robin was 180 pounds.  That was a fortune for an 11 year old in 1971, but I wasn't deterred.  I asked around to see what type of work a person my age could do, and found a paper round that paid two pounds a week. 

With Robin, summer 1971

A few months later, it became clear that the two pounds a week wasn't accumulating quickly enough, and access to larger amounts of money remained stubbornly out of reach.  However,  I had confidence that 'where there's a will, there's a way.'  I formed a club, the sole purpose of which was to raise money to buy Robin, and enlisted my 7-year-old sister Caroline to join.  The name of the club was, predictably enough, The Robin Club.  Despite my best efforts with the rest of the family, the club membership remained at two.  In our meetings, we designed a top secret code in which every letter of the alphabet was represented by a horse related symbol (for example, a sideways horseshoe was C, and a riding hat was S).  We made a banner, and using colored pieces of felt, glue, and scissors, we 'wrote' The Robin Club on it using the symbols.  Unfortunately, impressive as this banner was as a work of art, it didn't do much to advance the goals of the club.  

The first fundraising scheme of the R.C. was selling all our books.  Caroline was reluctant, so I had to explain that membership in the club, while a great privilege, came with certain responsibilities.   Sacrifices would sometimes be needed.  We wouldn't have time to read anyway once we got Robin, I reasoned.  It would all be worth it in the end, I assured her.  So one Saturday morning we took all our books -- representing years of Christmas and birthday presents from our many relatives -- put them in a wheelbarrow, and wheeled them down to the second-hand bookseller in the Wells market.  He gave us 3 pounds for the lot of them.  Disappointing, because we had a lot of good ones, but there it was.  I would have to come up with another idea.  (The books mysteriously re-appeared in our house later that weekend.  My mother never said a word about it, but I suspect she had given the bookseller a piece of her mind).  

40 years later, Dad and me, 2011

Time passed, I was 14, and we were still a long way from the goal.  I remained optimistic, but my level of commitment was perhaps no longer quite 100%;  in fact, I'd spent some of my paper round money on Beatles LPs from the EMI staff shop (my Dad worked for EMI).  Clearly a radical change of tactics was needed, so I abandoned the Robin Club and, instead, tried to persuade my Dad to lend me the money to buy Robin.  I spent hours working on calculations to show him how I would pay him back by giving pony rides to children once Robin was mine.  He remained unconvinced.  He would harp on about pesky little details like how are you going to feed him?  Where is he going to live?  (there was a field behind our house; it didn't belong to us, but I was optimistic that I'd be able to persuade the owner that it would be good for the field to have a horse eating the grass in there).  What about vet bills?  persisted my Dad.  What about the blacksmith?  I was getting quite annoyed with him for being so bogged down in trivialities that he was unable to appreciate the genius of my vision of horse ownership.  With a resigned sigh, I returned to my room to do more maths (if only we'd had excel in the 1970s!)  When I presented my Dad with the final result, a complex, color-coded chart showing predicted expenses and revenues, he took it and studied it carefully.  That's when it dawned on me that he was taking all of this dead seriously; he had been all along, and suddenly this realization was more important than whether or not I got the horse.  

First, he noted that I had added in all of his additional costs, and approved my estimated totals in the expenses column.  Then we looked at revenue.  I had three columns.  The first was my paper round earnings.  The second was projected income from giving pony rides.  The third  revenue column I had titled 'DSD.'  What's this? he asked.  Ah, I said.  Well, I said, 'DSD' means 'Dear Sweet Dad.'  He smiled, but I knew It was no good; I knew I was doomed.  I realized that I had always known it.  Yet, somehow I was smiling too because suddenly I had started to feel like a grown up.  My Dad may not have known much about horses, but it turns out he knew a thing or two about being a Dad.  

With Nipper, Sonky, and Domino, 1973

So, I didn't get a horse of my own, but I was lucky to be able to ride Robin in the summers, and the rest of the time I often went riding with my friend, Karen Wicksteed, and her two ponies Nipper and Sonky (see right).  Some days we went riding out in the countryside, and others we cantered around the fields bareback doing circus tricks. Sometimes my Dad came and took videos of these hilarious antics.     

Christine, summer 1994, Camp Dovewood, Florida

Since then, (i.e. over the last 40 years or so) I've done hardly any riding, although I've tried to introduce my children to the love of horses when I could.  Left is a picture of Christine, age 11, at a Florida summer camp which I chose for her specifically because it had riding.  She looks pretty happy with her horse!  

So, back to 2013 . . . I've been riding Sombra twice a week for two months now, and this week when Christine was visiting us in Santander, we went riding together.  She rode Sombra's friend, Vega.  Here we all are ...

Me and Sombra, Astrid, Christine and Vega

Mortera, near Santander; May 23, 2013

Fun with Sombra

Getting a straight answer

10 characteristics of good question answerers:

I’ve been writing a letter of reference for a former colleague (I’ll call him ‘Robert.’)  One of the things I wanted to try to explain was that ‘he’s good at answering questions.’  This sounded vague, but it is a difficult concept to clarify.  So I started to think about what it means, exactly, to be a good question answerer. 

train station, Santander

I’ve had quite a bit of experience with asking questions recently; it comes with the territory when living abroad.  Moving to a different country is like starting a new job or a new school –– you need to learn 'how things work around here.'  So, you find yourself with an endless list of questions, and one of the first things you need to establish is who to ask.  You don’t always have a choice; for example, you're pretty much stuck with whoever is at the train ticket window when your number comes up.  Either you get the information you need, or you become frustrated, give up, and call Corin.  (He has an app for that).  

Of course, working in a second or additional language adds another layer of difficulty, but it doesn’t change the basic premise:  Some people are better than others at answering questions. 

I was reminded of a conversation I had a few months ago with a friend (I’ll call her ‘Hilary.’) She had just started a new career as a teacher at a school for special needs children, and she said that whenever support staff had a procedural question, they came to her, even though she is the most junior and least experienced of all the faculty.  She couldn’t understand this; my immediate conclusion, however, was that people instinctively recognize in her the quality of being good at answering questions. 

I pointed out to Hilary that in any job I’ve had, there was usually no correlation between how long a colleague had been doing the job and how likely I was to ask that person a question about the job.  Instead, I’ve tried to sense, or discover by trial and error, who is most likely to answer in a thinking, sensible, way.   

So in an effort to further elucidate this quality, I’ve come up with the following ten characteristics of good question answerers:

1.  They listen carefully and ask relevant follow up questions if needed.   

2.  They know when an answer requires further elaboration.  For example, if the question is about where to get supplies, and if getting supplies first requires a form to be filled out and signed by the boss, they will tell you that, even though you didn't ask about a form.  
However ....

3.  They don’t use the question as a springboard to show off what they know.  In most situations, when a person asks a question, they are looking for a specific piece of information, not a story.  

Rainy day and out of gas on Mull!

4.  They understand why the question is being asked and provide you with the information you need, which may not necessarily be the answer to your question.   For example: On the Isle of Mull, at 5 p.m. on a Sunday, my friend and I ran out of petrol.  We asked a local man where the closest petrol station was.  Instead of giving us the answer, which would have been useless, he said ‘they’re all closed.’ This man, then, was a good question answerer because he didn’t answer the question!  He knew it was the wrong question.  Instead, he gave us what we needed (a gallon of petrol to get back to our campsite!)

5.  They don’t make you feel inferior for your lack of knowledge.  Good question answerers understand that different people know different things; everyone has ‘pockets of knowledge.’   I’ve found that people who imply that your question is foolish are often trying to deflect attention away from the fact that they don’t know the answer. 

6.  They consider their audience and answer at the appropriate level.  They take into account what the asker already knows about the topic, what they need to know, and how much information would be too much.  For example, how was the Grand Canyon  formed?  Imagine how you might explain this differently for (a) an 8 year old, (b) an adult, or (c) a student in a geology class.   

7.  When they don’t know the answer, they say so; they don’t prevaricate.  There’s nothing worse than asking a direct question and getting a reply that goes on and on but never answers the question.   A good question answerer will say 'I don't know, but here's how we can find out.'  

8.  They don’t patronize.  When students ask a question related to course content or procedures, teachers often ask ‘leading’ questions to enable the students to think through the problem and find the solution themselves.  But this is a teaching strategy, useful for building confidence and independent thinking in students.  Used outside of a teaching context, it is patronizing. 

Gina at the International College of Seville

9.  They are friendly and helpful.  They smile at you, giving the impression that they are happy you asked the question.  They embrace the role of helper, rather than just answerer.  For example, if there is a series of steps to follow, they explain them.  If there are potential pitfalls or 'knock-on effects', they point them out.  If the answer is ‘no’, they suggest alternatives.  

10.  They understand the difference between real questions and rhetorical questions, or requests disguised as questions.  This is particularly difficult in a second or additional language because the subtle cues that signal ‘real’ versus ‘rhetorical’ don’t necessarily translate.  They can even be different between cultures that use the same language, something I was reminded of a few years ago on a British Airways flight from Orlando to London.  A flight attendant asked me with a big smile ‘would you like to close your window shade for take off?’  The expression on her face when I said ‘no, thanks’ was priceless.  I’d been away from England so long I'd forgotten the classic rule of British politeness:  Always word requests to make it appear you are giving the other person an option.  Unfortunately, if the other person doesn’t know the rules and thinks they really do have an option, you are a bit stuck!

All I need to know about life I learned playing cards with Grandad

This blog post is dedicated to my Grandad, Herbert Edward Walmisley:  March 25, 1895 – December 24, 1977

Today, March 25, 2013, is my Grandad's birthday.  He would have been 118, exactly 100 years older than Corin.  Grandad died when I was 17 and Lala (which is what we called my grandmother) went to live in another city, but before that, their house was my favorite place to be.  I spent hours with Grandad discussing everything from the meaning of life to how to grow the best runner beans.  We did the Times crossword together.  We watched Upstairs Downstairs. He listened to my hopes and dreams, he encouraged me, he told me stories about his childhood, being in the trenches in World War 1, and his days as a cavalry officer in India.  He taught me lots of things, including French verbs and proverbs,  chess, mathematics, how to draw in perspective, card tricks, and card games.  

Here’s what I learned playing cards with Grandad:

• You don't choose your cards.

• Some cards are better than others.  

• You need both luck and skill.

• There are winners and losers. 

• There are rules.

• Some people cheat.

• In some games you can change your cards.

• Sometimes you have to take a chance.

• Eventually you run out of cards and the game ends.

How can these lessons be applied to the game of life?    

1.  Play the good cards wisely:  If you have good cards, you’re lucky.  Make the most of them because when they're gone, they're gone.  As Grandad would say, 'don't throw them away.'   Use your talents, don't waste them.  If you have money, invest it in something with a long term payoff, like a house or education.  

What is the most important card of all?  Grandad knew, of course.  He used to ask me ‘if you could have just one wish, what would it be?’  My 13-year-old self always had the same answer:  ‘a horse.’  I remember him gently making the case for health being the better answer.  He was right.  Good health is your ace of trumps – if you’ve got it, don’t squander it.   One day you'll need to play it.      

2.  Develop strategies to compensate for the cards you lack:  If you didn’t get many, or any, good cards, it’s no use bemoaning your bad luck or comparing yourself to others who were dealt a better hand (or who cheated).  Sometimes you just don’t have the card you need in a particular situation, and, guess what?  It isn’t your fault.  Remember, you don't choose your cards.  There is no magic bullet for fixing a bad hand, but there are some things you can do.  

(a)  If you don't have enough 'money' cards, you probably only have two options.  Like Jurgis in The Jungle and Boxer in Animal Farm, you can adopt the maxim ‘I must work harder'; or, you’re going to have to cut back on expenditures.  Sometimes, both are necessary.  (Sorry, folks, no rocket science here!) 

(b)   Low on 'good looks' cards?  A lot has been written (here’s a link to an article in The Economist) about how attractive people have easier lives, and how less attractive people have to work harder to get others to like them.  This affects their success in all aspects of life including relationships and careers.  That's just the way it is.  Life's not fair.  But, looking on the bright side, working harder at being nice can't be all bad.

(c)   Maybe you think you need more 'intelligence/talents' cards?  In fact, everyone has talents and intelligence, but there are different types (see Gardner’s theory of ‘multiple intelligences’).  The difficulty is that not all types are equally valued, depending on what part of the world you live in.  What to do?  Try the creative approach.  What did you like best at school? What are your interests and hobbies?  Ask your friends what they like about you, and what they think you are good at.  Then visit a career advisor to see how you can capitalize on your unique skills.  

(d)  The more cards you have in your 'support network', the better.  In good times, you have people to share your happiness; in hard times, you have help and moral support; and in neutral times, you have company.  An effective support network means that there is always someone who 'has your back'; that you will always feel cared for and valued.  If you didn't get the 'supportive family' card, you'll have to build your own network of friends.   It’s harder work, but it’s well worth it because having strong cards in this area goes a long way to make up for deficits in others.  

(e)  Choose the right career.  This is the one single thing you can do that has the most potential to counteract the effect of bad cards and maximize the effect of good ones.  The right job can bring you happiness, fulfillment, a support network, and financial independence.   If you are young, the game is just beginning.  See a career advisor so that you can get it right the first time.  If you are older, and the game is already underway, it's not too late to change.  There may be significant obstacles to overcome; chances are, you will have to play some or all of your trump cards to make it happen.  But that's OK.  If you need them, play them.  That's what they're there for.  As Grandad used to say, 'what are you saving them for?'  

3.  Respect others.   The rules are there for a reason.  Play fair.  Don’t cheat.  Wait your turn.  It’s not all about you.  There are other people playing the game.  They deserve the same opportunities that you have.   

Respecting others also means not comparing yourself with, or judging, others.  Everyone starts the game with different cards.  Your cards determine how you see the world, how you play the game, how you problem solve.   Others, having been dealt different cards, are living in a different version of reality. 

 There are some people playing the game who don't respect others.  Some people don't play fair; some people cheat.  You will most likely run into some of these people in your life.  Although you can take steps to protect yourself from the most predictable forms of cheating, sometimes it's out of your control.  Sometimes you won't see it coming.  Don’t let it change you; accept it as a cost of playing the game.  

At the end of each hand, Grandad and I would analyze how it had gone, and he'd give me tips for the next game.  He'd say things like 'you should have brought your trumps out earlier' or 'you played your queen of clubs too soon.'  I don't remember us ever paying much attention to who had won.  We didn't care.  What was important was how we'd played the game. 

Here are some pictures of Lala and Grandad as I remember them best:  In 1973, at their Golden Wedding (left) and in the summer of 1977, in Bournemouth (below).