Aware that the consensus of opinion in the pub, once those two got there, would undoubtedly be that I'd fallen off, I walked dignifiedly on down the lane, selected a quiet spot and attempted to re-mount. At the Moat House I'd done it with a mounting-block. The snag out here in the lane was that I couldn't get my foot up to the blasted stirrup.
Always resourceful, I led Rory to the nearby bank, stood on it and attempted to get on from there. Rory, spotting a clump of grass at the top that he fancied, promptly mounted the bank with his forefeet himself, I couldn't get on him at that angle and, hearing footsteps coming up the hill, I hastily hauled him down and we nonchalantly resumed our stroll just as Fred Ferry hove to around the corner.
'Nice day', said Fred. It certainly was, I said. A little later I tried again.
Right, in my desperation, outside Miss Wellington's where I stood in the middle of the road, at last got my foot into the stirrup, hoisted myself with a tremendous heave and came down, undoubtedly to her complete stupefaction, not in Rory's saddle, but behind it.
As if that was my normal way of mounting I slipped unruffledly into the saddle, resumed my stirrups, prepared to trot along... It was no use. Rory said he didn't mind my walking with him but if I rode him he was going home to Troy, we started going in giddy circles in the road, and off I got once more...
Many a ride I had on him after that, and he became Charles's favourite horse. That, however, is another story. That first time I took him out is engraved like Calais on my heart.
Even when I'd walked him down to the Valley it wasn't the end of it. Annabel, aghast at my bringing home a horse , stood and ho-hooed her disapproval on the hillside, the cats appeared on the garden wall like grandstand spectators at Ascot, Charles said I must get on and ride him immediately or I'd never have control of him again.
I did. Charles led him part-way to get him going. The cats craned their necks at us. Annabel bawled. At the top of the hill, pinning her hat on hurriedly as she came, appeared Miss Wellington, hastening to see what was happening...
Nobody misses anything in our village.

CATS IN THE BELFRY
Doreen Tovey
ISBN: 978 1 84953 388 1 Paperback
'It wasn't, we discovered as the months went by, that Sugieh was particularly wicked. It was just that she was a Siamese.'
Animal lovers Doreen Tovey and her husband Charles acquire their first Siamese kitten to rid themselves of an invasion of mice. But Sugieh is not just any cat. She's an actress, a prima donna, an iron hand in a delicate, blue-pointed glove. She quickly establishes herself as queen of the house, causing chaos daily by screaming like a banshee, chewing up telegrams and tearing holes in anything made of wool.
First published over forty years ago, this warm and witty classic tale is a truly enjoyable read for anyone who's ever been owned by a cat.
'If there is a funnier book about cats I for one do not want to read it. I would hurt myself laughing, might even die of laughter'
THE SCOTSMAN

MORE CATS IN THE BELFRY
Doreen Tovey
ISBN: 978 1 84024 769 5 Paperback
When she's not chasing errant donkeys in her best chiffon gown or leaving the teapot in the fridge, Doreen has her hands full looking after her family of Siamese cats.
In this tale of cats and calamities, new feline characters arrive to terrorise the tranquil West Country village. The timid lilac-point kitten Shantung is joined by the bold-as-brass Saphra, who was raised by a parrot and has a penchant for hidden treasure. The terrible twosome are all set to make the cottage a hotbed for mischief.
With cameo appearances from Father Adams, Fred Ferry and the nosey Mrs Binney, there's never a dull moment, and love is in the air for one of the villagers…
' No-one writes about cats with more wit, humour and affection than Doreen Tovey. Every word is a delight! '
THE PEOPLE'S FRIEND
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