The New ‘Tail’ of the Lost Red Horse - by Gill Mouat
As we come down Shenington Hill we feel the sense of calm and serenity wash over us; it happens every time. Then the view opens to the sight of the huge landscape of the Vale of the Red Horse stretching out for miles ahead of us and the village of Tysoe below the escarpment welcomes us home to the house that Jack built. Jack Quinton that is. He was well known in the village back in the day as both a good builder and the chief fiire officer and we decided to call our house Quinton House in recognition of him.
We live in Quinton House with our Cocker Spaniel, Kev and his very important job is entertainment, affection, best friend and my personal fiitness trainer. Often marching me up the hills round here and up onto the escarpment path to explore the woods while looking for a pheasant or two. Kev and I were heading towards Spring Hill with the sun high in the sky and the harkening of the leaves just starting to turn into that fresh fllush of bright lime green.
Kev was on the run with his nose low to the ground on the hunt for anything with a musky scent that he could track when suddenly a red squirrel crossed his path heading down the hill and into the trees. Kev took off after it in full chase, soon going out of sight amongst the trees and undergrowth fully in pursuit of the squirrel. I could hear him rummaging, scuffing and digging somewhere below the path, he barked once and then I thought I heard another sound like the faint whinny of a horse or was it an owl perhaps?
I whistled for him to come back to me, dreading what he might have caught hold of or found and I would have to prise it out of his mouth. When he eventually returned to me with his head, ears and paws covered in a rich red dirt he did have something in his mouth. It was the found treasure of a dirty red stone that he placed gently on the ground by my boots. I could see it was kind of heart shaped with a white seam running through the middle making it look like it was cracked almost in half. I liked it and rubbed off some of the dirt to reveal a smooth red and slightly shiny surface that suggested it could have been man made a long time ago so I popped it into my rucksack before we walked on towards Spring Hill where the wind blew up and I was sure I heard the horse or the owl call again from below the path.
Kev chased a rabbit back into the burrow as we marched back down the hill towards the church, passing the newborn lambs on the way as they played together in the fiields. I left the red stone in the garden by the tree and Kev sat guarding his treasure for the rest of the day, until dinner time of course. Later in the evening as the light began to fade we noticed the tree had a strange red glow about it as the sun went down in the West.
We woke up to another beautiful morning and Kev was in a rush to go outside, making a dash towards the tree so I followed him to fiind what looked like the shape of a red horse drawn into the grass and as I got closer I could see the heart shaped red stone no longer had the white crack through it and was perfectly placed into the body of the horse. The horse had three legs to the front as if galloping with its tail held high and ears pricked. Somehow, he looked full of spirit, prancing joyfully in our garden and Kev went to the stone with his wet nose to welcome The lost Red Horse of Tysoe Escarpment to live on in the garden of Quinton House, Old Tree Lane, Tysoe.