January 28th 2002 - We finally leave Devon

The following is an extract from the orginal manuscript of 'When Sophie Met Darcy Day' published by Harper Collins

Thankfully the horses didn’t travel too badly and everybody arrived to Wiltshire in one piece. Michael and I unloaded the horses and put them into the new stables. They all greeted each other and soon settled down to their hay. We popped Angie, Monty, Big Ears and Noddy into their new barn, which they then explored with interest, and put the the hen houses into the poultry barn. It was over, we had moved everyone and they were all safe and well. We kept our wellies on in the kitchen,(a leak in the bathroom had flooded the cottage) made some tea and went to bed.

The next few days came and went in a flurry of activity. We sorted out the feed shed but soon realised that the boiler wasn’t up to cooking the barley and linseed, it was taking far too long, and using up too much electricity and we had to change the horse’s diet to ready prepared sacks of feed. We couldn’t turn any of the horses out into the fields because we had to put up new fencing, so we decided that they could go into an adjacent barn, the floor of which was covered in deep sand. The horses had settled in well and although they were pretty perplexed about going into a barn for a buck, kick and a roll rather than going out into fields, they got used to it. Red was perfectly happy in his new barn, although he would have to get accustomed to being turned out into a small paddock as opposed to wandering in and out as he had in Devon. Angie and Monty with Big Ears and Noddy explored everywhere, they too, were happy in their new home. I managed to get hold of the eejit who had flooded the bathroom and kitchen and he fixed the leak. I then had a problem with all the soaked linen, duvets, and blankets together with the curtains that I had planned on asking my mother to alter for the cottage windows. I bagged up the curtains and put them outside the door, Michael mistook the bags for rubbish and put them out for collection. I never saw them again. In between making sure the horses were alright, I made some sense of the cottage. The old stove at the end of one of the downstairs rooms was a nightmare, it ran on oil and it was supposed to be able to heat the rooms as well as cook. It was called Stanley and it couldn’t do two things at once; we were constantly faced with a choice, food or heat?

That winter was the wettest I could ever remember, every day was dark and windy, and we began to worry that we had moved somewhere that never saw the sun. We began to question the name of the farm ‘Rainscombe Hill’, and prayed that it hadn’t been called this for a reason, but of course, it would have been.

27th January 2002

A continuation of the orginal manuscript 'When Sophie Met Darcy Day' published by Harper Collins:

We arrived back to Devon at about teatime and spent most of that night making sure that we had packed everything. We had arranged for a cattle truck to come to us the following morning as well as the horse lorry, so that we could load up the poultry, sheep and goats and all the outside equipment. I shut the poultry in their respective houses because it was an easy and safe way to transport them. Thus, they went to bed in Devon and woke up some hours later to find themselves miraculously transported to an entirely different world. Colin stayed overnight in his lorry, we managed to grab a little sleep and in next to no time it was time to load everybody and everything else. Our dogs by this time were a bit bemused, their home was empty and we knew that they sensed our stress. Beryl was more sensitive than the rest and kept hiding in corners, but they all had their tails between their legs and were nervous about what was happening.

We would be glad when we could get their routine back to normal.

The cattle truck was loaded and filled to the gunwales, we sent it on its way and began to load the horses. It was a nightmare and took ages. I had ordered tubes of sedation for some of them but they still played up and in the end, just as Al threw a wobbly in the lorry and put his head through the roof, I called in our vet for stronger sedation. Doris, one of the fillies refused to load. We did everything, and she got angrier and angrier, and in the end threw herself down upon the lorry ramp in a massive sulk. At one stage, I even thought that we would have to leave her behind and I would have to stay and try and find someone to look after her until such time we could come back for her. Finally out of desperation, we tried big bales of straw, we stacked them either side of the ramp to stop her running out and then about six of us rolled a further large bale of hay behind her and she had nowhere to go but up into the lorry.

The horses were stamping and fractious in the lorry because they had to wait such a long time for Doris to load but instead of nearly tearing my hair out, I was calm, even when Al’s emerged from the top of the lorry, all I could think was that I had inadvertently absorbed some of the sedation from my hands which I had tubed into the horses. We had to do then was to load Red and Toffee into the back of the lorry but we also had to do something very sad; say goodbye to our dear friend Peter.

A couple of months before we had told Peter that we were going to move to Wiltshire, he and his wife Greta were sad but understood the reason. I told Peter that if he so wished we would take Fasci with us, she was happy and she loved the company of Ben, it would have been a big wrench to have separated them. We had over the years managed her sweet itch ( the cause of her bald and sore mane and tail: biting midges had plagued her for years throughout the summer months). Peter knew that Fasci would not be happy to be on her own once more and told us that he would like us to take her with us. It was a hard thing for him to decide, he loved his little horse and not to be able to go and see her twice a day would leave a huge hole in his life. Nevertheless, he helped us load her into the lorry and as we drove off, he turned away. I was sad to leave Devon, I knew that our life would never be quite the same again.

The Day of the Move - 26th January 2002

The arrival of Noddy, Big Ears and Monty - looking somewhat perplexed.
From the original manuscript of 'When Sophie Met Darcy Day' published by Harper Collins:

We moved the charity at the end of January 2002. I had travelled up and down to Wiltshire on a number of occasions to keep an eye on how things were progressing.

We had to arrange new vets and farriers and deliveries of haylage ,straw and concentrates, this was quite difficult because we didn’t know anyone. I had worked out that we could boil the barley and the linseed in an electric boiler until such time we could re-instate our Aga. (We had determined to take our Aga, come what may. Our new Landlord had spent days and days cleaning and painting the cottage and it was now bright and fresh, it also smelt clean and the prospect of moving into it no longer seemed so unattractive. We had arranged for new carpet to be laid, my mother and Freddie had altered curtains for us and had even made blinds for the kitchen and loo and an arctic van had delivered enough cleaning products for us to use on the bathroom so even that looked reasonable. Inside the bathroom was quite a big linen cupboard with a cold water tank resting on rotten slats, we had these replaced because the last thing we wanted to sort out was water flooding through the house. It seemed just such a lot to do and organise from quite a distance away. The furniture men came to pack up the house in Devon and I followed them to sort out the unloading in the cottage, leaving Michael to camp in the now empty house. He was long faced as I left, but took comfort that I had at least left him a kettle, tea bags and milk. I took Brian, Beryl and Bessie for company, leaving Lucy and Sadie to look after Michael. All the furniture arrived and we unloaded it all into the cottage along with countless boxes. We had already cleared out the sheds next to the cottage which meant that we could safely store any overflow furniture, this was a blessing because by the time we had finished there was hardly any room to move, let alone try and make sense of anything. Beryl, Brian, and Bessie tore about the place exploring everywhere and were particularly delighted when they discovered the newly bedded up stables. Graham and Lucy had been joined by Dawn and had done a fantastic job in rebuilding the stables to make them safe and secure, and I thought that the horses would settle in really well. I realised the reason for the dog’s glee when I saw that the beds were moving and shifting with hundreds of rats. When we had cleaned out the barns they had lost their warm beds and had moved into the new stables. I managed to find a pest control company who promised to come in as soon as possible but in the meantime the dogs would have a high old time. I did as much as I could that night, and unpacked until late. I knew that we would be pretty tired when everyone had finally moved so I unpacked the linen in the cupboard in the bathroom and made up our beds. Just when I thought that I had done as much as I could, I got in the car to drive home, but for some reason I couldn’t turn the interior light off. I was incredibly tired and I couldn’t see how to sort this out. I spoke to Michael on the telephone but he too was baffled, and I didn’t know a soul that I could ask. I had to get back to load the horses first thing in the morning and couldn’t drive three hours with the light on in the car, in the end I managed to unearth the Landlord’s telephone number and much to my amazement he shot around to have a look (by this time it was nearly midnight). Sadly he couldn’t work out what to do either but in an incredible act of generosity told me to take his Jeep and he would try and get our car sorted out for us. His Jeep had seen better days and if I went over 55mph it made a horrid grinding sound, in addition it was nearly empty so I spent some miles worrying that I would break down before I could find a petrol station that was open. It was a rotten drive and I got back at about 3am.

The horses were due to be picked up at 7. The lorry arrived and we loaded Sam with Tish, BT, Poppy, Frank, Monty and Anna. They all went into the lorry easily, I sat with the driver and off we went. I had arranged for Michael to stay behind and look after the remaining animals whilst I settled the horses in Wiltshire before travelling back to collect everybody else. The first journey was quite uneventful but Colin, the lorry driver had to take a break by law and this he chose to take by eating his lunch in an Asda store café in Swindon. It was one of the largest stores I have ever seen. It was agony having to watch him shovel down huge mouthfuls of congealed baked beans, and greasy sausages all the time washed down with gulps of tea when all I wanted to do was unload the horses and settle them in for the night. There was however something about it that did help, I managed to locate the in store pharmacy, the fellow behind the counter groaned as he saw my hands, they were chapped and bleeding from days of packing and cleaning and he was kind and helpful in his advice as to what cream I should use.

After what seemed an age we arrived at Rainscombe Hill Farm. It was a dark, and windy day with driving rain and the horses spooked at shadows when they got off the lorry. Horses can be quite conservative creatures and don’t always react well to change and BT, living up to his name (Broughton’s Turmoil) was particularly unnerved about his new surroundings. We had created open plan stables and the horses could easily see each other and even groom each over the dividing walls, they took comfort from this and before long started to eat their hay. I checked that everything else was ready for the goats, sheep, poultry and the rest of the horses and went into the cottage to make a cup of tea for us all prior to returning back to Devon.

10 Years at Rainscombe Hill Farm - 26th January 2002 - 2012

The following is an extract from my original manuscript of my book 'When Sophie Met Darcy Day' Published by Harper Collins in March 2011.
It describes in detail the move from Greatwood in Devon to Wiltshire. I think it is interesting because it portrays the lead up to our move and the enormity of the decision in upping sticks and moving the charity.
Chapter 7 Rainscombe Hill Farm

Michael was driven. He began to scour all the newspapers for suitable alternative premises.

Whenever he thought that perhaps one could be suitable, he would take off early in the morning and return late at night. He always put a brave face on it, but sometimes the length of the journeys and the fact that he couldn’t seem to find anything vaguely suitable made him secretly doubt if we were ever going to succeed. In addition, our car was 20 years old, unreliable and it was hard to find enough money to afford petrol for long journeys. It was a case of food for us or fill the car.

An agent, whom we knew, had advised Michael that a farm lease was on the market in Wiltshire. The agent recommended him to waste no time in viewing it.

I hadn’t shown much interest, as he yet again went missing for the day. When he finally came back he told me that he had stopped at a town called Marlborough in Wiltshire. He had gone into a pub and ordered a cup of coffee. As he sat at a table on the pavement to drink it, he told me that out of all the places that he had visited, this was the one place that he felt that we could be happy. I hadn’t been enthralled by this little piece of information and asked him ‘how could he possibly envisage us being happy in a town, had he plans for the horses to run around the pub car park?’

Of course, what I hadn’t known, until he finally ventured the information was that as he had sat and drank his coffee outside the pub, he had already viewed the farm and had offered to take it. Thirty other people had been queuing up for it the same day and he knew that if he didn’t move we would lose the opportunity.

Furthermore’, he added as he took another swallow of pink gin, his bravery getting stronger by the moment, ‘I have made an appointment to view the farm with you tomorrow’. He took another long slow drink and added:

‘I’ll get my own supper then’.



It was a silent drive on that dreary day in the winter of 2001, as we made the long journey from Devon up to Wiltshire.



We drove through Marlborough and Michael pointed out the memorable pub (it must be the only pub that he has ever gone into and asked for a cup of coffee). I could understand what had attracted him to the town. It had a broad high street with old buildings and shops on either side with a church at each end.

Having left Marlborough we drove for about two miles until we turned into a long lane leading from the main road. I noticed a field that was full of docks, it was poached and there were several broken old bits of jumps lying around, this only added to my gloom and bad temper. We approached Rainscombe Hill Farm and were met by the agent. A cottage overlooked good farm buildings. We weren’t much interested in the cottage.

We just wanted to find out if we could make any sense out of the buildings for the horses. We were told that the present tenant had sub-let the cottage and 13 acres to some Eastern Europeans and had also sub-let one of the barns to some people who had pygmy goats. In addition a few make shift stables had been erected for separate liveries. It was a mess.

The stables were filthy, a bit of Perspex was suspended precariously over one of the open barns which banged and flapped in the wind. A good concrete yard was inches thick in years of mud with grass growing out of the cracks. Grey breezeblocks were everywhere. The drainpipes were broken and blocked with weeds sticking up from them. The yard was full of rubbish, in one area there were hundreds of old rubber tyres which had been used for silage. Inside one of the barns was an old milking parlour which had been ripped out. Electric cables dangled from the ceilings and the walls and the pit had been filled with bricks, old bits of equipment and iron. A small lean-to had clearly housed the milk tank at some stage.

As we looked into one of the barns, we did ask ourselves if we were always to be beset with welfare cases. We saw a skeletal mare that had been shut in on her own. Out of sheer desperation and starvation, she was eating her own droppings. One of her hind fetlocks had dropped to such a degree that she had no alternative but to use it to walk on. We knew that whatever we decided to do about the farm, we had to sort out this mare.

We were also sorry for a scraggy German Shepherd dog that had been tethered by a long heavy chain to one of the buildings. We could see the tracks that she had made as she tried to gain attention from anyone that passed by.

Michael continued to look around and chatted to the agent. He said that he thought that we were interested but only if we could have all the barns, (in which case the goats would have to go) and if we could have more land.

I knew then that his decision had been made, if he negotiated the land then that was it, we were moving.

I also knew that there wasn’t much point in arguing; once Michael determined on something he was immoveable.

Reluctantly I could see the potential: the barns were large and airy; we could make stables to our design, ones that horses could have direct communication with others and once the fields were re-seeded the horses could go out in herds.

The agent promised that he would try and sort out our further requests. There must have been something about us that made him decide that we would be good tenants. The advertisement that he had placed in the Horse and Hound had brought forth all kinds of people to look around all of whom declared an interest in the farm, but none had demanded anything like the sorts of things we had. It would have been much easier for him to take someone else.

He also promised us that he would get in touch with the tenants and get them to come and sort out the poor mare. When we had pointed her out to him, he, too, had been shocked about her condition.

Just as we were about to leave, we thought that we better take a peep into the cottage. One of the Russians had been lurking about, he didn’t look a particularly nice chap, he scowled and raised his hand threateningly as we entered, as indeed he had when I had attempted to make a fuss of his dog.

The cottage was small, unkempt, and dirty. An ancient oil burning stove was at one end of a narrow room and another small room contained a sink, and with filthy white cupboards, most of them hanging from the hinges.

There were a couple of small downstairs rooms with three bedrooms and a bathroom upstairs. The whole cottage was grimy and horrid as only houses can go when no-one cares about them. I won’t describe the bathroom. A garden door led out into an overgrown area that must have been a garden at some stage. There was a good box hedge on one side and some kind of trellis that was held up by ivy. Beyond this, there was an area overgrown by nettles and brambles to such a degree that they all but covered a rotten falling down old hen house.

We could see that we could make something out of it. It could be pretty given a bit of work, the only problem would be fitting what remained of our furniture into it. Despite having sold a lot of it to look after the horses, we would still have too much to go into this tiny little place.

However, crucially, it overlooked the yard so that I would be able to hear any problems that may arise in the night.



When we returned to Greatwood, I couldn’t help but think that the place we had just seen was such a far cry from this, our home. I pondered over it all as I sat in our kitchen, and watched the dogs who, exhausted by their joy at our return, were sleeping on their beds in front of the Aga. Of course, my period of reverie was only achieved after I had cleared up what remained of a few cushions that Lucy, our Labrador, had eaten.