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My Wild Ride
The Inspiring True Story of How One Woman's Faith and Determination Helped her Overcome Life's Greatest Obstacles
By Fiona Johnson Allen & Unwin
Copyright © 2013 Fiona Johnson
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-74269-774-1
CHAPTER 1
Horse crazy
I remember loving horses from a very young age. Many girls dream constantly of Cinderella, fairytale princes and pretty white horses with flowing manes and tails. But after my parents took my sister, Jacqui, and me on a trail ride when I was eight years old, I was hooked. Poor Jacqui was allergic to horse hair and suffered hay fever every time we went riding, so we were hardly surprised when she soon turned her attention to squash.
I thought my parents, Steve and Senga Smith, were the best parents in all the world — and I still think that now. They took me for a horseriding lesson at a riding school near our home in Baulkham Hills, Sydney, every week for nearly two years. My whole life revolved around that one-hour lesson on a Wednesday afternoon. It became an obsession for me — I lived and breathed horses. In the school holidays I would spend hours at the riding school, mucking out the stables in return for extra lessons. It was a small price to pay for the chance to feel the warmth of a horse's breath on my hand, to stroke a silky soft muzzle, to watch them gallop carefree across a field, and then to ride these amazing animals. In my heart I knew that horses were for me. And one day I would have my very own.
So strong was this belief that, despite not owning a horse, I bought my first saddle when I was ten years old. I was at a garage sale with my mum. The asking price was 50 dollars and I only had 45, but lucky for me, they accepted my money and I went home with a saddle. It was nothing flash — quite the opposite, really — but, to a horse-crazy girl with a head full of dreams, it was the best saddle ever. It was mine.
After moaning and groaning for several days about me wasting my pocket money on such an old thing, my dad spent the next three months crawling around our lounge room floor with the saddle and me on his back. I guess Mum and Dad hoped this would satisfy my desire for owning a real horse. As I rode on my dad's back, I imagined I was riding a beautiful black stallion along a golden sandy beach. The wind whipped my long wavy hair, the salty air caressed my skin and tingled my nose. Except that my dad was not quite as nimble as my dream horse, so I'd often find myself face down on the carpet.
I became an avid reader of the classifieds. Every week I would rip out the section advertising horses for sale and study every word. Mum said our budget for a horse, if we ever got one, would be 200 dollars. It sounded like an incredible amount of money to me, but in the real world it was barely enough to buy a broken-down nag from the knackery.
Another consideration was the ongoing cost of keeping a horse. Most places wanted around 50 dollars per week for agistment. This was out of the question for us. I asked my mum how much we could afford each week and she said no more than 15 dollars.
I almost felt defeated. Almost. But I refused to give up my dream and started thinking of ways to earn money to put towards the agistment costs. I thought I could babysit or wash people's cars or maybe get a job in a shop. Being reminded that I was still only ten years old, and way under the legal age to work in Australia, hurt my plans a little. However, I knew somehow I could and would make this happen. I had to have a horse and nothing else mattered.
One day after visiting my aunty, Mum and I were driving through Kellyville in the Hills District in Sydney's northwest when I noticed a sign — 'R.M. Ranch'. I convinced Mum to call in and ask them about horse agistment.
We turned into the bumpy dirt driveway that stretched half a kilometre ahead of us. In the paddock to the left of the driveway, there were horse jumps and two dressage arenas. Further up the slight rise, there were several paddocks, sheds and stables. I began to get quite excited, despite my mother telling me not to.
We parked at the top of the driveway in an open area bordered by a large machinery shed on the left, a feed shed and stables in front of us, and a wash bay and grooming stalls on the right. Another small driveway between the sheds led to a modest white cottage. Mum and I walked towards the cottage and were greeted by two rather large but welcoming dogs.
A young woman stepped from the doorway with a friendly 'Hello, can I help you?'
I was lost for words, but Mum introduced us and told the woman about my dilemma. The woman, who said her name was Linda, nodded and smiled kindly while she and Mum chatted. Then Linda told us they offered agistment for 12 dollars a week.
Hallelujah! I was jumping for joy, but poor Mum was devastated. She had grand plans for her little girl to be dressed in frilly lace dresses with pink ribbons in her hair. Not me — I was going to be a real-life cowgirl!
At that point, a wiry man in his 50s stepped out of the house and Linda introduced him as her husband, Ray. Little did I know then that Ray Murray had once been an Australian speedway champion and was an accomplished horseman. He tipped his hat, said 'G'day' and asked what kind of horse I had.
Mum quickly told him that we didn't have one and we were in the 'just looking' stage. But, being so close to my dream of having a horse, I didn't want to leave it at that so I asked Ray if he knew of any cheap horses for sale.
He thought for a moment and then said there was a horse in the back paddock that the owner had lost interest in. He offered to make some enquiries for us.
I ignored Mum's look of exasperation.
Ray and Linda invited us into their house so Linda could take down our phone number. Inside the front room was a pool table and a bar, and the walls were completely covered with championship ribbons and trophies. Most of the awards were from horse events such as the Royal Easter Show and the Arabian National Show, but above them there were also a few older, slightly faded ribbons and trophies that announced 'Australian Champion' with Ray's name inscribed on the bases. I gazed up at these in awe.
That night, and the nights that followed, I barely slept as I imagined my horse and me at R.M. Ranch and all the things we would do together. A few days later — though it felt like forever — Ray phoned my parents, who were now resigned to their fate, to say the horse's owner was eager to sell and wanted 250 dollars. Ray explained that the horse hadn't been ridden for about two years, and was a bit shaggy and rough-looking, but that didn't bother me. Any horse was a good horse, I thought.
So before long I became the proud owner of Ricki — although I thought of him more as my new best friend. He was a 12-year-old bay gelding and stood at 14.3 hands high. That was an average height, but to a small ten-year-old like me he seemed huge. Despite spending the previous two years in the paddock without any riding, he was quiet and had a kind nature. He had beautiful brown eyes and I loved him straightaway.
Every afternoon after school I went to R.M. Ranch to see Ricki. I'd groom him and hoist my old saddle, which weighed about 12 kilos, on his back. To get on him I'd have to lift my foot as high as possible to reach the stirrup and then scramble up any way I could. Ricki was patient and stood still as I went through this haphazard mounting procedure, until I eventually worked out that I needed a milk crate to stand on.
As I got to know Ricki and the ranch, riding almost daily, I fell off more times than I stayed on. But I always remounted straightaway. Nothing could shake my confidence or the love I had for my horse.
My parents also allowed me to join a local pony club, which was held every second Sunday, where I took part in dressage, jumping, sporting and all the other club events. Dad was responsible for towing the horse float to and from the pony club grounds. He was a police officer at the local station but, even when he was on night duty, he still got Ricki and I to pony club, where he'd nap in the car or the float while I was riding and then be back at work that night. It wouldn't have been easy, but he never complained, not to me anyway. Mum helped out in the canteen and Dad occasionally did timekeeping for events, so while I was meeting other kids at pony club who were equally obsessed with horses as I was, my parents also made friends with other long-suffering parents. Some of these families also kept horses at the ranch. Many Sundays after pony club, we would all gather at the sheds overlooking the vast and beautiful back paddock and have a barbecue while the sun went down over the rolling hills of Kellyville.
Horses became my whole world. I spent all my spare time at the ranch with Ricki, and learning everything I could about horses from Ray and Linda. In his younger days, Ray had been a saddle bronc rider and ridden bulls in rodeos. He had also been a trackwork rider on racehorses for a while, and competed in campdrafting on the New South Wales circuit. At R.M. Ranch, he and Linda bred Arabians and Palominos. What they didn't know about horses wasn't worth knowing and I looked up to them on all levels. Although they nicknamed me 'Trouble', they fed and housed me on many weekends. I loved being at their place.
Set on 150 acres, the ranch provided plenty of room to explore. I remember feeling so happy and alive galloping up the beautiful big hill out the back; from the top you could see over the surrounding properties, including the 300 acres of dairy farm next door. I spent hours and hours at the far end of the back paddock, with the other kids at the ranch. We created trails and cross-country jumps through the bush, and sometimes just hung out or took the horses swimming in the dam. We grew up wild and free.
Being a teenager who owned a horse had its perks but nothing was more fantastic than having my best friend, Ricki, star in one of the most popular television programs at that time — A Country Practice. Parts of the show were filmed at R.M. Ranch and Ricki was in the right place at the right time. The producers needed a quiet horse for one of their lead actors to ride and Ricki was just what they were looking for. He even got paid for his work, which went towards the costs of keeping him over the next eighteen months. I was so proud of Ricki as I brushed him every day to make sure his coat shone for the cameras. I would have brushed him more, only I had to go to school. He was famous and all my friends were envious, and while I was bursting with pride at his achievements, to me he was always just Ricki. I couldn't love him any more than I already did.
But it wasn't long before the bright lights of television got me wanting to become a star like Ricki. By now I was fifteen years old. I was introduced to an agent and after countless auditions I finally got to appear in the Mars Bar and Pizza Hut television commercials. At the age of sixteen, I scored a main part in the Warner Bros film, The Flood. With a cast of American and Australian actors, it was set in Texas in 1986 and based on a true story. The storyline was about a group of kids on a church camp; when their bus tried to cross a raging river, they were swept away. I played the part of a fourteen-year-old girl who, along with her brother and sister, drowned in the accident. It was an amazing experience for me, despite the fact that I was a little overwhelmed.
Most of the actors were very self-confident and outgoing. They knew the perfect jokes to crack at just the right moment. I was less confident, and felt a bit uncool next to them. It probably didn't help that my character was dressed in hideous clothes and had pigtails. I guess at that age I was quite self-conscious.
About a year later, after what felt like another 50 auditions, I was flown to Japan to do a commercial for YKK, a major international company making everything from metal zippers on clothing to building materials. I was given a really nice female translator for the week; she loved to shop and thought all teenagers liked to do the same. In the spare time I had in Tokyo, I had a tough job persuading her to take me to some of the tourist spots rather than to the mall.
Standing at the top of Tokyo Tower, looking out across the sea of highrise buildings that seemed to stretch forever, I could hardly believe that I was so far from home and on my own. This didn't happen to everyone — it made me feel special. In reality, it was my parents who were the special ones. After all, they had let me go to Japan alone. They had always encouraged me to live my dreams. They believed that we all have choices and you determine your own future by the choices you make. My parents were wise, too. On their advice, most of the money I earned from acting jobs was put into a savings account.
At the time my dreams seemed far away but I was determined that one day I would buy a property near the beach. I would marry Prince Charming and I would have horses and two gorgeous children. Some people rolled their eyes when I told them about my plans and said I'd better forget Prince Charming and marry a man who could afford to give me my dream lifestyle. I ignored their sarcasm. One day I would make them eat their words.
I was seventeen and I had all the answers!
Back home, the inevitable happened. I outgrew my beloved Ricki and he wasn't as young or as nimble as he used to be. We decided to put him out to pasture, as you do with horses — a life of retirement in the country, where he could eat all the lush green grass he wanted and not worry about keeping his figure trim for TV. The property owner at Cessnock, in the Hunter Valley, promised he'd have the life of Reilly. I didn't know who Reilly was — some said he was a generic Irishman, much the same as Paddy — and I didn't care as long as Ricki was well looked after and happy.
After bidding my old friend farewell, I bought a four-year-old gelding called Sox. What a challenge! He was a 'green horse' — one that has just been broken in and is in the process of learning to understand the rider's commands and perform them willingly. Sox was a chestnut Australian stock horse cross Arabian and stood at 15 hands high. Within six months, Sox was showing a lot of promise in dressage and we were training at novice level, quite an achievement for a young horse. I was happy with his progress under saddle and had also taught him to do a few tricks, like kissing my cheek, shaking hands and playing chasing games in the paddock.
Ray started spending even more time with me, teaching me how to understand horses and to communicate with them in their language. He taught me how to command respect while being fair and kind, how to break each movement down into tiny steps and perform each one perfectly before moving on to the next, and how critical it was to apply and release pressure at the right moment.
He told me many stories about his life that amazed me, and not just the work he'd done with horses. Ray had been a sidecar rider, which meant that he literally hung out of the sidecar, sometimes with his head only inches from the ground, to balance the bike being ridden by his partner Graham Young, whose job it was to steer the pair around the racetrack at breakneck speed. On ten occasions between 1964 and 1979, Graham and Ray either won or were placed at the New South Wales or Australian titles, and they won the Australian Sidecar Championship in 1969. Even though I knew nothing about bike racing, it wasn't hard for me to imagine the skill and courage that took.
I couldn't have asked for a better mentor. In my mind I can still see Ray's face, lined from years of hard work in the sun; his bow-legged walk, that typical cowboy stagger; and his dusty brown Akubra hat, well-worn with holes in the top from where his fingers would place it on his head every morning.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from My Wild Ride by Fiona Johnson. Copyright © 2013 Fiona Johnson. Excerpted by permission of Allen & Unwin.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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