I was about eleven or twelve and it was my job to fill the bags with hay. With my back to the pillar, I packed it in with my feet and put the bulging two bags in the boot. Dad brought it to the ponies in Sceach. When it was spread in heaps on the briars and bushes they ate it heartily – but the young colt was continually beaten away by the mares. I spoke up on his behalf and Dad subdivided the hay again so that the colt could feed on his own, unthreatened by the mares. I felt better then. It was a good Christmas. Santa came.
I always like to slip in a little extra at Christmas.
Tom and everyone here at Ashbrook Stud.