Route 66 - to Morocco

Driving along Route 66 westwards into Arizona , headed towards  a  layer cake landscape of the painted desert we arrived at Flagstaff where we stopped for the night in an ordinary roadside motel. In 1988 Jenny and I, as guests of our amazing immigrant Dutch host, were exploring the American dream having reached a point of near burnout at home in Norfolk. Now searching for some new experiences and opportunities, having our eyes and minds  opened to the new world where air conditioning was the main consideration for a nights rest we thought to take a brief walk. The heat of the afternoon had passed and the air cooled enough so that my shirt no longer stuck to my skin, the scent of nearby desiccated pines enticed us. As we rounded the end of the motel complex nostalgia overwhelmed in the wonderfully evocative smell of stables and horse manure!

This evening here in Norfolk twenty five years later I have just done evening stables, giving each of our horses a crunchy, luminous  orange carrot to say goodnight. Shutting up  the chickens now safely roosted for the night in defence against a night-time visit of the fox, passing the neatly stacked muck heap in the cool still air of a brilliant orange western sky at  dusk that same smell perversely comforts, confirmation of lifelong equine passion that has been one of the mainstays of my being for more than 60 years.

Wikipedia says of the Arabian horse:

While the thoroughbreds have been around for 250 years, the Arabian horse goes back much farther and is rooted in a breeding program more strict than the Jockey Club. The bloodline of the Arabian horse has been passed on for roughly 4,500 years, starting with an oral tradition.

The best of the best Arabian’s were called Asil, which means pure. The stallions were thought to be too intractable for war horses so they were either culled or sold.

The bloodlines were traced through the mares, who were also the war horses, because they were considered more brave and consistent. Once a mare was crossbred to another breed, she and her offspring for all time were no longer Asil, but contaminated.

The Jockey Club has a rule which doesn’t allow for bringing into the studbook outcrosses to improve the breed and keep them from stagnating from too much inbreeding. Yet the Arabian is the reason the thoroughbreds exist.

 

Mythical Creatures

One creation myth about the Arabian horse puts its origin in the time of Ishmael, the son of Abraham. The Angel Gabriel descended from Heaven and awakened Ishmael with a “wind-spout” that whirled toward him. The Angel then commanded the thundercloud to stop scattering dust and rain, and so it gathered itself into a prancing, handsome creature—a horse—that seemed to swallow up the ground. Hence, the Bedouins bestowed the title “Drinker of the Wind” to the first Arabian horse.

A Bedouin myth states that Allah created the Arabian horse from the four winds—spirit from the North, strength from the South, speed from the East, and intelligence from the West.

While doing so, he exclaimed, “I create thee, Oh Arabian. To thy forelock, I bind Victory in battle. On thy back, I set a rich spoil and a Treasure in thy loins. I establish thee as one of the Glories of the Earth... I give thee flight without wings.”

Another version of the story claims Allah said to the South Wind: “I want to make a creature out of you. Condense.” Then from the material condensed from the wind, he made a kamayt-coloured animal (a bay or burnt chestnut) and said: “I call you Horse; I make you Arabian and I give you the chestnut colour of the ant; I have hung happiness from the forelock which hangs between your eyes; you shall be the Lord of the other animals. Men shall follow you wherever you go; you shall be as good for flight as for pursuit; you shall fly without wings; riches shall be on your back and fortune shall come through your meditation.”

The crossing of these swift, agile Middle Eastern horses with the English mares produced speed, stamina, and agility. Races like the Kentucky Derby are what the thoroughbred is most often associated with.

Although they make fine jumpers, eventers, hunters, and even reining horses, the aristocratic bloodlines of war mares who mothered the stallions produced the deep hearts in them."

Jenny and I had been married in 1971 and following my previous visit to Marrakesh in Morocco to acquire falcons it seemed the obvious place to honeymoon. With an exotic reputation and an amazing location on the edge of the desert, the snow-capped Atlas mountains form what seems like a film-set  backdrop to the scene. It did not disappoint and in a period before major development or mass tourism we were soon welcomed by locals with sincere friendship and hospitality.

On the outskirts of the city is the local livestock market to which a new friend took us to see the local colour and customs. Horse drawn 'calliches' were common around the town but quite distressing to see the poor condition of the hapless creatures in ill fitting harness rubbing open sores. But when it comes to sale time animals usually are in good condition and well fed. The contrast could not have been more vivid when these same animals had been fattened and groomed. Of course there were camels, sheep, poultry and several horses in the loosely defined market area with Berbers coming in from the desert as well as local farmers and people from the town.

A cloud of dust in the distance seemed to erupt in commotion as sheep scatted in all directions before the wheeling, galloping, unexpected star of the whole event, a young dark bay, almost black Arabian stallion being ridden bareback by a teenage boy. Often seeming out of control appeared to be the Arab style to catch everybody's attention and stimulate a client or two. It certainly was effective and quite by chance Jenny and I were imprinted with the quintessential image of Arabian horse in his home environment of dusty excitement, our was passion kindled.

It seemed only natural to follow this latest thrill to come into our lives. On our return to England our marriage was up and running with new enthusiasm as we soon were searching for a new home where horses could be included in our way of life yet to be established. Within a few months we moved to Norfolk and no sooner arrived than Arabian horses were our growing urgent desire. Jenny and I spent all winter studying stud books, doing extended pedigrees until we felt we understood how their breeding worked and the Arabian families had evolved. Again, as in my falconry experience, much was to be learned out of the old books and pretty soon we had accumulated a working library.

The end of July is the annual Arab Horse Society show which was held on Kempton Park Racecourse for that year,  at the tail end of the county show season. My father and I went to watch and view horses that might be for sale but only one yearling colt had caught our eye. He had 'presence' in abundance  but with confusion that I could not understand until we talked with his breeder who clearly had difficulties of her own - of course this was what showed up in the animals character. He was difficult to say the least and had played up unmanageably in the show-ring. We walked away to watch the rest of the show. Towards the end of the day we did a final walk around the stables with fading interest and had largely lost enthusiasm, driving rain evaporating the party atmosphere. Father slipped in the squelching mud and fell over, it was the same old lady we had spoken with earlier in the day who rushed out of the adjacent stable to help him off the ground. As he came erect her face lit up 'Oh it's you, are you still interested in my colt?' as he was brushing mud from his clothes and hands.

With the rapidly disbanding group of people, horses, lorries and light fading we found ourselves with a colt, no equipment and no transport,  all before the days of mobile phones. From a public call box I managed to speak with Jenny at home in Norfolk who then had to find a horsebox driver willing to turn out to Kempton Park, find us and deliver me and the unruly colt to Norfolk during the night after a four hour drive. At about three o'clock in the morning we finally arrived to bed down our exhausted colt in a hastily arranged stable. So started our helter-skelter ride with Arabian horses -  Dadia, our new yearling colt was to be my teacher, my way of life was on a new uncharted track.