Equestrian Meccas from Maine to Menlo Park via the Kennebec Morgan Horse Farm

Thoroughbreds excel on the racetrack, Arabs relish endurance rides, Hackneys look best in a carriage and Suffolk Punches make nothing of ploughing a 40-acre field. Many horses do more than one discipline or find a new lease of life in a second career (whoever imagined, pocketing their winnings from Kauto Star's fifth King George VI Chase, that he would be lighting up the dressage arena with Laura Collett months afterwards?), but there are few horses that are as truly versatile as the Morgan. Polo, Western, top-level dressage, cross-country, driving, showjumping, reining, hacking - they can do it all with a toss of their elegant heads.

The youngster Kennebec Echo on his first trail ride, ridden by

the excellent trainer Kathleen Bailey

I first fell in love with the breed when I visited the Kennebec Morgan Horse Farm in Maine 11 years ago, staying with a university friend with whom I had been on the polo team. We cantered through a grassy meadow by the Kennebec River and I fell in love with a bright bay mare called Kennebec Empress, one of the stars of Margaret Gardiner's yard. Miss Gardiner has been breeding Morgans on her secluded Maine peninsula for decades and has produced some superb examples of the breed, such as the magnificent Kennebec Count, father and grandfather of many fine horses. Currently flying the flag in fine style is Kennebec Ladyhawke, ridden by Margaret Bailey-Miller, who competes up to Prix St Georges in dressage, pulls a carriage as if she was born to it and has even been known to don Western tack for a 'father's' class with Margaret's dad! Nearly black and with a beautiful head, she is worthy of her parentage, dam Kennebec Sassy and sire Triple S Dark Eagle. The latter was acquired by Miss Gardiner from the Triple S stud and was notable for being hard-working, tough and good-natured. He knew his own mind, however, a trait he has passed onto his daughter Ladyhawke, who is as sassy as her mother's name and definitely in charge. This independence is typical of Morgans, who cannot be bullied into work and react badly to insensitive handling, but if you work with them and form a partnership, the bond formed is unbreakable and rewarding. Under saddle or in harness, Ladyhawke is a dream, and Margaret has done wonders with her. We drove her around Miss Gardiner's farm on a blustery, sunny afternoon, and even though she hadn't been in the shafts for some time, she was the consummate professional. I took the reins for the first time and she is so good that I could even pretend I knew what I was doing.

Kennebec Ladyhawke, born to drive

Empress, whom I last rode 11 years ago on my first visit to Maine, seemed to remember me and was as good to ride as ever, going sweetly onto the bit in the school and eagerly on the trail with plenty of energy, but always well-behaved. She is a fine-looking mare, and her daughter, Enchantress, has a particularly beautiful head, dished like an Arab but less delicate. Morgans have extravagant paces and great presence in an arena, being full of personality and intelligence. Although they rarely make more than 16hh, they ride far bigger and seem to grow under saddle. I was able to experience this first hand when I had the great, if slightly terrifying, privilege of riding Kennebec Angel, out of Kennebec Ariel and by CW Sterling Silver, in a tiny showjumping competition. Margaret's sister Kathleen has done a huge amount of work with her and told me all her secrets - principally, to not let her get away from me between fences. A collected trot was the key, as canter tends to get faster and faster, but she has such ability that she can jump anything from a standstill and I am proud to report that we won both classes, 2ft 6in and 2ft 9in. It was a tiny show, but considering I haven't been over coloured poles for years, having only hunted since I left university, I was thrilled! Perhaps I'll have to start showjumping properly...

Reunited with my darling Empress

In the field where we first galloped 11 years ago! It felt as if I had been 

in Narnia for the intervening years - no time had gone by at all

Warming up Angel, finding the perfect trot

Angel makes her customary athletic shape

And again! What a horse

Pony done good. Angel with her proud owner, Kathleen Bailey

A few days later, Margaret and Kathleen showed off the cross-country ability of Morgans when they took two youngsters schooling on the beautiful Snowfields course in the depths of Maine. Kathleen rode Kennebec Rugby, out of Angel and by Triple S Dark Eagle, and he flew everything, even a trakener that very definitely had a dragon lurking in the ditch beneath. A gorgeous deep liver chestnut, he is destined for great things. Margaret's Jester, also by Eagle and out of Kennebec Joy, had never jumped cross-country before. He put in a huge leap at the first log, and was soon clearing everything as if he had been born to it. The Kennebec Morgans are fine examples of their type - remember the name!

Jester's first ever cross-country jump

Kathleen and Rugby ready for Burghley

Don't you know there's a dragon down there?!

A fine pair of Kennebec Morgans

Jester gets his eye in

Proud sisters with their brilliant boys

Back in California, I swapped the wild forests and meadows of Maine for the manicured lawns of the Menlo Circus Club and the 44th annual Menlo Park Charity Show. Set up by Betsy Glikbarg to prove that there was interest in horses when the future of the equestrian facilities of the club was in doubt, it takes place in August and sees the equestrian glitterati gather for competitions and Champagne. From a half-day competition it has grown to six-day show with an AA ranking, the highest given to an American show, but still raises money for the Vista Center for the Blind and Visually Impaired. The atmosphere is a bit like Guards Polo Club, with linen suits and white tablecloths, and attendees include some of the most high-powered people in one of the most successful cities in the world, but it is nothing if not welcoming. It is a wonderfully relaxed event, and the organisers can be proud of the continuing efforts that have transformed it from a one-day local show to a week-long festival of the equestrian world. 

The place to be: the sponsors' tent at Menlo Park

Local sheriffs stand to attention for the national anthem

Wine in the arena and in the stands: my kind of show!

However, I had to grit my teeth at times watching the Jumpers class. Showjumping in America includes 'jumper', 'hunter' and 'equitation' classes, the distinctions of which can be confusing to someone used to the straightforward English categories. Hunters jump rustic fences loosely based on the hunting field, and are judged on their manners, athleticism and appearance. Jumpers tackle coloured fences, but, unlike in international showjumping, time and jumping faults are added together from the first round, with the fastest winning, rather than having a jump off for those that went clear the first time. Equitation is a blend of the two, with riders being judged subjectively on jumping faults, rhythm, position, smoothness and even the horse's appearance. I have heard that hair extensions are used to improve tails! My problem was that the jumper classes seemed to be contested by amateur riders on enormous schoolmasters who did their best to scramble round the course as their riders hauled on their mouths and got behind the movement. Because every round was timed, any thought of collection or riding a line was discarded in favour of a mad rush, horses' heads in the air. It was a rather ugly display, and it was a relief when the Grand Prix class began and proper, professional riders showed how to ride a clear round in a quiet fashion, and then use their superior skills to ride a tight corner or change from speed to collection in the jump off. 

Yes, that is a sofa in the Grand Prix course

In support of the United Kingdom? A patriotic Aston Martin

The Aston Martin fence, sponsored by Bentley San Francisco

I attended the show as a guest of Don DeFranco, a realtor and one of the sponsors. Before lunch, we watched the Lead Line class he underwrote in memory of his father VJ DeFranco, MD and pediatrician, a group of teeny-tiny tots led by their proud parents, either on their own teeny-tiny ponies or, amusingly, on a sibling's full-size horse. Without the native ponies we are so blessed with in Britain, it's normal in the US to see small people with their legs barely reaching the saddle flaps. Fortunately, the horses were remarkably calm; indeed, all over the showground horses were led or ridden through the spectators and past other horses with nary a squeal or a kick among them. Most horses live in large yards here and are far more used to people than to wide-open spaces, unlike the ponies that come from remote farms in the UK and only encounter crowds at shows. One quirky difference was the plaiting, or braiding, of tails - instead of the end of the French plait being looped vertically, hiding the end under the plait, the ends were wrapped around horizontally. Rather pretty.

Don DeFranco presenting a prize in the lead-line class

A tiny child on a not-so-tiny horse!

Every child was a winner, and with these prizes they wanted to be!

Plaited tails American style

Now that autumn has arrived and San Francisco is basking in the warm sunshine of the fall months, another equestrian event caught my attention that proved Betsy Glikbarg's belief that equestrian enthusiasm is alive and well in Woodside, a leafy village near Menlo and just over Highway 101 from Silicon Valley. The Day of the Horse is organised by Whoa!, the Woodside Horse-owners Association, and celebrated 10 years this October. A range of stands entice children, the Wells Fargo stage coach trundles along and dozens of riders tackle the Progressive Trail Ride, stopping at volunteer-manned way stations for sandwiches, lemonade and carrots (the latter being for the horses). This being the Chinese Year of the Horse, many were splendidly dressed in costume, equines and humans alike. At road crossings, patient representatives of the Woodside Mounted Patrol stopped traffic and gave directions, just part of a role that sees members exploring the hills, reporting back to park rangers on fallen trees, damaged trails and wildlife, stewarding and sponsoring equestrian events from its hillside base. This is an idyllic part of the Peninsula, a rural oasis half an hour south of San Francisco, and a centre of equine excellence. I might just have to bring a Kennebec Morgan over here...

The Wells-Fargo four-in-hand stage coach

Perhaps travelling a little slower than it once did when 

it dashed across the Western plains!

Chinese-costumed riders stop for some welcome refreshment

Don DeFranco carrying off the Western look with aplomb

Misty mornings from London to California, the Country Life Fair and a neglected tomb

John Keats’ immortal words describing autumn as the ‘season of mists and mellow fruitfulness’ may be sadly over-quoted, but they remain some of the most evocative and perfectly chosen in the English lexicon. I thought of them when passing the stubble fields of Oxfordshire in September and again when looking across the ribbon of fog lying in San Francisco’s Golden Gate in October. Soft billows of white filling the hollows of a wooded Gloucestershire valley or flowing over a shoulder of the Marin headlands, spangling the ground with droplets that glitter in the early morning sun or bringing to life the boom of the foghorn that echoes around the Bay, these are the sights and sounds of autumn and fall. In Britain, a long hot summer is giving way to dampness and chilly winds, the time when wellies and scarves make an appearance once more and blackberries turn sour with the Devil’s breath. In California, the wine and walnut harvest has begun, pickers sometimes working through the night to escape the energy-sapping heat. October really is the most beautiful month of the year: autumn colours and ‘maturing sun’ turning the British countryside into a tapestry of red and gold as the foggy days of July and August give way to deep blue skies and crystal-clear air in San Francisco.

Morning mists in a Somerset valley

Clear skies above, fog below in San Francisco

'Maturing sun' swathes the city of Bath in a gauzy veil

The intense gold of autumn's 'maturing sun'

Not to be outdone, fall's evening light bathes Alcatraz in a rosy glow

September in England saw the inaugural staging of the Country Life Fair, which regular readers might have heard me mention once or twice. The sun shone and people came, in numbers that were definitely respectable, and even though there is scope for improvement, it was a fantastic first incarnation in what will hopefully become a regular part of the social calendar. There were stands galore, from gunmakers to painters, clothing outfitters to luxury travel agents, laid out in the grounds of Fulham Palace. Morris dancers and falconers entertained at the far end of the walled garden and costumed guides gave tours of the ancient seat of the Bishops of London. If you missed the fair this year, keep an eye on the pages of Country Life magazine for whispers of its return!

The archway of Fulham Palace welcomes visitors to the Country Life Fair

Sculptures by Hamish Mackie in the courtyard of the palace

Scene of a few good-humoured traffic jams: the entrance

to the walled garden and yet more stands

Morris dancers cavort in the sunny showring

Rus in urbe indeed: the gardens of Fulham Palace could 

be in a rural English village

Symbol of Britain's finest magazine: a noble 

peacock presides over the Country Life stand

Me trying on Lady Mary's tiara, as worn in her Downton Abbey

wedding and owned by jewellers Bentley & Skinner.

Sadly, I had to give it back

When I was living in London and cycling to work at Country Life magazine, many people exclaimed in horror at the thought of braving London traffic on a bike. In fact, cars didn’t worry me nearly as much as headphone-wearing pedestrians stepping off pavements without looking, but, after San Francisco, I did find the pace and aggression of London drivers somewhat perturbing. In the Californian city, four-way stops are the norm, people are far more patient and pedestrians have right of way, if not in law, by tradition. (Incidentally, and this applies to both cities, since when has an indicator been renamed a confirmator?) Of course, northern San Francisco is smaller and less crowded than west London, but even taking this into account, the driving atmosphere is far more relaxed and there are no traffic jams to speak of. I have battled with Parisian traffic in an English car, driven at speed around the Arc de Triomphe and raced along French motorways to catch a ferry, so I am not easily scared on the roads, but plugging along on a Boris bike and dodging grumpy London drivers was much less comfortable than I expected.

Me with my trusty old green Dutch-style bike

Yet London is such a beautiful city that it was a joy to spend a few days there. Walking along the river through Battersea Park at sunset afforded views to rival the best California has to offer, and nowhere can beat its galleries, theatres, restaurants and parks. When one is living somewhere, one never sees everything one should, so my time spent away from my London home has made me appreciate it like never before. I admit that I tend to stick to the less gritty parts, but there are beautiful corners in every part of the great capital. One such, to my surprise, is in Brixton, but is sadly neglected. If you come out of Brixton tube and turn left, the traffic flows unceasingly around the Church of St Matthew, one of the four ‘Waterloo’ churches built to Matthew, Mark (Kennington), Luke (Norwood) and John (Waterloo) in the aftermath of Wellington’s victory. The columned portico looks over iron gates and what should be a noble tomb to a 19th-century philanthropist whose donations to the City of London Corporation led to the founding of the City of London School for Girls and the acquisition of Queen's Park in north London. Set back only feet from the entrance, William Ward’s tomb has been damaged by badly reversed lorries and is surrounded by rubbish spilling from wheelie bins. Crude sheets of MDF cover its carved stone sides, the inscriptions hidden away. Yet only 20 years ago, Ward’s tomb was the recipient of funds from both the City of London Corporation and English Heritage for its restoration on the centenary of the girls' school foundation. Ward’s great-great-great nephew Nicholas Ward is doing all he can to raise awareness and support for the tomb, and I can only hope that the powers-that-be listen and act to restore it and move it to a safer place further inside the churchyard where it can be appreciated and admired as it deserves.

Nicholas Ward beside the damaged and boarded-up tomb of his ancestor

St Matthew's, Brixton, where William Ward was laid to rest in 1881

 Despite such episodes of neglect, London is looking wonderful, truly the greatest capital of the greatest kingdom, United kingdom, in the world. Together with everyone I know, Scottish and English, I am enormously relieved that the power-crazed Alex Salmond and his cronies did not get the result they wanted. Jet-lag meant that I followed the unveiling of the votes live, a somewhat tense experience that ended in relief with a far bigger proportion of Scots voting No than was expected. Salmond was also revealed to be not only a sore loser but a cad, failing to show up in his Aberdeenshire constituency and leaving his second-in-command Nicola Sturgeon to face the music alone while he apparently flew around on his private jet for a few hours before appearing before a picked group of journalists. Whatever the political arguments, he has been revealed as an arrogant bully, proving the tenet of The Hitchhikers' Guide to the Galaxy that no one who wants to rule should be allowed to. I am proud to call Great Britain my home, from the Cornish beaches where I spent my childhood to the windswept city of St Andrews in Scotland where I obtained my degree, and I am so glad that the Scottish people voted to stay together. If nothing else, it would have been embarrassing to have had to explain a ‘Yes’ vote to my American friends! I am extremely happy to be a Brit abroad, not just an English girl abroad.

A tale of two bridges: sunset over Chelsea Bridge (above)

and the Golden Gate Bridge (below)