Gypsy Horses from St Day Cornwall

 Friday 20th January 2012


I love these two gypsy horses, one only
six month's old, I was told, bought at the St Day Horse Fair. But so far I cannot find any such thing.They are definately gypsy type horses known as gypsy cobs. As far as I remember when I was about five, our bread and milk was delivered by a huge horse with feathering around his/her fetlocks. But I thought it was a Shire horse as all large horses with furry fetlocks I thought were Shires. I fed them a slice of bread or carrot and was amused by how they would have a nosebag of food fitted over their heads to feed. They would also walk right onto the pavement over the curb to see if you had any treats for them, dragging the entire cart with them while the breadman or milkman was delivering loaves and bottles. I've looked up St Day Horse Fair but haven't found anything. Most horse fairs seem to be up North and close to links to Ireland. I am not sure if what people mean by Gypsy relates solely to Ireland or whether it includes any of the gypsies elsewhere in Europe. It amused me that every Horse Fair I checked out on the web was always 'the biggest, oldest and most important Horse Fair in the whole of Europe. Could those Irishmen be yarning it a bit? 
I had no idea that there were still old Gypsy Horse fairs in Cornwall. But I still haven't found one. The only one I actually know of is Appleby in Yorkshire where the horses are walked into the water of the river Appleby, young lads show off trotting around bareback looking very precarious probably trying to impress the young  ladies and stand out from the crowd, which of course they do and caravans are dotted about everywhere.


I read about the one in Bannisloe in Galway, which turns out to be very close to Roscommon where my Great Grandfather Michael Fuery came from. He was married to Georgina in 1839  in Boyle Roman Catholic Church. The next census has them on the outskirts of Birmingham in the Midlands. In the summer, while I was in Taos, New Mexico I met Enda Walsh the famous Irish playwright who was kind enough to inform me that in fact, Roscommon, was a right dump of a place! Always good to find out your ancestors didn't come from the most beautiful place on earth and weren't King's or Queen's, which of course one would prefer. When people talk about 'past lives' and reincarnation they never were slaves in Cleopatra's palace or on some other humble level or other but nearly always the High Priestess or the Lord High Chamberlain. 


I love the red coat that the adult horse is wearing and he seems very proud of it, almost standing to attention. They are not the prettiest of horses, but very strong and tough and able to stand up to all sorts of weather with their thick furry coats. I like these two almost have Roman noses, slightly curved and I

imagine able to bear a harness and so on. If
they were used to haul longboats on the canals full of coal, as well as pull the little gypsy caravans it would obviously help to have a very strong facial bone structure. They
seemed very curious about goings on around
them and almost like they were expecting someone to come along and put them in harness and make them do work! 


Had a lovely friend visit from Truro on Friday the 20th January and proves to me what a boost a bit of congenial company can be. Especially someone you've known for 42 years and counting. 


We managed a good walk, a sit down in Penberth, a playful encounter with Brendan the Irish sea dog who is huge, red brown coloured, with a coat like a sixties Afghan coat turned inside out, a funny face and a good friendly temperament. He gambols around outside the cottage that Moira and Neil live in right next to the sea about two yards from the sea! I saw Moira and Neil in their little boat going out of the cove one full moon night looking very sweet and romantic.
Reminded me of 'The Owl and the Pussycat.'

On the Sunday following I managed a game
of tennis with David Beamish and Darren down at the courts at Porthcurno. Then I decided to have a bit of a cycle ride on the wonderful Motobecane that my neighbours have allowed me to use. I was coming along past the Crean turn and up to the ponds where the ducks are by the turn to Polgigga and took the turn to Porthgwarra and cycled about two miles along there, although it seemed to be a lot longer. Past through a large farmyard with a group of bullocks standing glumly in one of the sheds who looked like they would prefer to be out in the
fields. 


I was astonished by how tiny and small 
Porthgwarra cove was compared to my 
favourite beach at Pedn Vounder, with only one brightly coloured blue and white fishing boat tied up on the slip, when several boats used to go out from there. This one is the only one that still does lobster fishing. The quay  had similar huge boulders that they have at Penberth. A couple were sitting and peering at the sea and there was the rounded black shape of a seal's head
popping up every now and then from its pursuit of catching fish. They always seem to be as curious about us as we are about them. Such a wild and tiny little cove but with a nice
little sandy beach. 


Finished the wonderful Clare Tomalin biography of Charles Dickens and of course I am astonished at his behaviour and treatment of his wife Catherine Hogarth. Really I think some of these 'genius' authors should be kept as far away from women as possible for the protection of the women concerned! Over and over I read and hear about the poor treatment that some male writer's, artists, poets and musicians enact on their often long suffering wives, partners and girlfriends. I think the problem is a lack of strong willed and calm
women who have strong self esteem and who are able to stand up to these men without all the emotional shenanigans. One thinks of Picasso,Rodin, Tolstoy to  name a few. Claire Tomalin is a prudent writer that doesn't preach or nag in her books. But it seems Catherine wasn't allowed to voice an opinion or do much but comply totally to Charles Dickens.  When she did finally she was put out and set apart from her own children who sided with Dickens. I find it perverse that her own sister Georgina preferred to stay with Dickens after her sister was formally separated from him. Obviously the status she derived from being Dicken's handmaiden was far superior to any kine of loyalty she had to her sister. To me this behaviour is very innapropriate. It wasn't till  Dickens died that Catherine saw her sister again, after twelve years. It is not clear what exactly Catherine did to exact her treatment except that a new woman had entered Dickens life who was also sidelined and kept apart whilst Dickens could nestle in the comfort Georgina and his daughters provided. Apart from Catherine's fertility the words castration and impotence come to mind regarding her life inasmuch as she was expected to be extremely passive. Somehow this genius was excrutiatingly sensitive when it came to his wife and did not want an equal or a challenge. This is so different to the relationship that existed between  Charles Darwin and his wife Emma who regularly discussed and critiqued Darwin's work and whose opinion was sought out. Darwin seemed also a lot fonder of his children than Dickens was. We also learn that despite Dicken's mythic standing, he enjoyed being flattered.


My theory regarding famous narcissist's is that their narcissism is the counter balance or opposite of their greatest fear which is abandonment terror. Thanks to a friend in Taos called Val who pointed this out to me. Dickens wanted to be loved. Towards the end of his life he performed readings from his books. He was both excited, elated and minted from doing this. He loved the approbation and applause from the audience. He had to be helped on and off the stage, he almost killed himself performing the Death of Nancy over and over again.  Earlier in the Tomalin biography we hear how his Mother wanted him to go back to the blacking factory he was sent to aged 12 when his Father went to the Marshalsea Debtors Prison. He was put into a lodging house aged 11 alone with no family protection and left to the mercy of the landlady. In his later writings he mentions these kinds of situation where children as young as 10 years were put in lodging houses and sent out to work. One can't help thinking of Oliver Twist and of how Dicken's himself sent four of his sons to boarding schools in  Boulogne from the age of 8, thinking this would make them more aware and appreciative of their privileged position. Several were subsequently sent to  Australia and never seen again. He admitted he didn't want these sons. One has to think would birth control have been better? Would he not allow his wife to use it? Did he not make the link from his sexual appetite to the production of babies? Is this a genius or a madman?? At least he didn't have Catherine committed to a Lunatic Asylum as did  many other fine upstanding Victorian Gentlemen. But one of his daughters was determined to put the record straight about him and said he was not always a 'good man.'