True Stories - No Coincidences
The story of Sema
From a very small child I had always loved horses. My first baby picture was of me being held on a horse on Yarmouth seafront by my father on one of our rare visits there. In those days very few people owned cars and the train fare to Yarmouth was beyond the pocket of my parents at that time, my father was a Lorry Driver and this was long before the Heavy Good Vehicle licensing system came into being. He inherited his HGV through what is known as “grandfather’s rights” and later having become foreman in the company insisted on taking his HGV in order that no man who worked under him could say he could not do the job.
As I grew up my passion for horses grew and each visit to the seaside or indeed a holiday in our local resort of Hemsby would result in me living for the ride on the donkey or the pony that my dad would treat me to each day. Eventually my father was moved to a place called Loughborough, he had proved so good at his job as a foreman the company he worked for decided to promote him and he was sent to Loughborough to open a new depot there. The only good thing about this move as far as I was concerned was the fact we bought a house very close to open fields and it was Quorn Hunt country, there were lots and lots of horses.
My depression at leaving the familiarity of the place I had been born prompted my father to offer me the opportunity to go riding once a week. The price then was seven shillings and sixpence, roughly equating into today’s decimal currency as 35p! My parents were extremely short of money having bought a very nice house that stretched their budget to the limit so these weekly riding lessons were what I dreamed of from one week to the next. The first horse I rode was Sheena a beautiful fell pony. I remember to this day my first ride on her. We left the confines of the stable yard, (there was no arena to learn to ride first) heading out on the open road she spotted a lush piece of pasture and promptly trotted over to it and put her head down to graze, whereupon I fell straight over her head. Undaunted I continued and began helping out around the stables just to be near the horses.
After a few years the owner of the stables a Mrs. Divine, decided to retire and so Sheena was for sale. Oh how I wanted that pony. Mrs Divine was by now allowing me to ride her ponies as and when I wanted so I decided to take Sheena to my parent’s house in the hope my father would see her and buy her for me. When dad heard the clip clop of hooves up the drive he came out to see what it was and I dare not ask if he would buy the pony for me. The look on his face said it all I knew he would have loved to buy that pony but could not afford it. He later offered to sell his treasured Morris Minor car to fund the purchase of the pony but I told him I did not want him to do that.
Whilst in Loughborough we had found a beautiful riding school set in 200 acres, the owner of the school being a lady called Jennifer Bream. Jennifer taught me the finer art of riding, there was no plonking on the horse and away you go – although I have to say it was a very different scenario then to the riding as it is taught today. Jennifer had all lessons divided into three classes, beginner, intermediate and advanced. The advanced group of riders were all adults. One day I arrived for my lesson and she said I am going to put you in the advanced class. You are the only person of your age (eight) that I have ever done this with. I remember the riding at Grace Dieu was always made to be interesting and exciting. One day Jennifer decided we would just have a day of racing each other across a vast field. By this time I had created an affinity with a beautiful chestnut pony called Gay Lad. He was fleet of foot, nimble and sure-footed over jumps I trusted him implicitly. I remember our first “race”. Gay Lad and I lined up so small in stature against the adults in the class. “Ready, steady go” and we were off, I was up in my stirrups and Gay Lad was running like the wind, it felt as though his feet hardly touched the ground. On the way up the field I caught site of my father over to the left he had his hands over his eyes, we were going so fast. Gay Lad and I won the race. That little story has helped me recently. I have taken a course and learned NLP becoming a practitioner and use the feeling and the impetus of that feeling on Gay Lad’s back in an NLP technique known as anchoring.
Eventually dad proved so good at his job yet again he was asked to move to London, where he became group operations manager for a very large brewery. It never ceased to amaze me that dad who had left school at 14 with no qualifications and whose first job was as driver of a horse and cart for Wensum Laundry in Norwich could enter management and produce systems of working for breweries that were sheer genius, what was more he always seemed to pluck his answers to problems from “nowhere” – he would ponder a problem and with a little of his “keep it simple – common sense” he always arrived at a solution. Indeed he developed a system called palletisation and this was adopted through all the depots of the large Brewery he worked for.
I hated London; being in the middle of the “concrete jungle” was so unsuited to me. We found a riding school in Potters Bar quite a way from where we lived and I began going there for rides, there were no lessons. It was there I first met an old horse that the owner had just bought in a sale in Wales. She had no name and was extremely thin and she hated other horses. I liked her instantly and seeing a prospective purchase the owner of the stables let me ride her out on my own. I rode her down the track towards a very narrow gate and we passed through the gate and what ensued was an extremely pleasant hour together. I wanted her. On the way home I decided on a trot and in order to get her moving forward more freely I clicked my tongue. What happened next will live with me until the end of my days. The old girl lit out like a bat out of hell, trotting so fast it threw me out of the saddle so that I was sitting behind it. Luckily we had a long stretch of bridleway so I was able to grab hold of the front of the saddle and haul myself back into the seat still moving at a rate of speed the like of which I had never experienced on any horse at the trot. As I pulled on the reins to slow down the old girl increased her speed. The narrow wooden gate was now frighteningly close and there was no sign of her slowing down. I tried pulling on the left and right reins to guide her into a field but her neck was set in this forward striding stance like concrete. In desperation at the impending narrow gate I dropped both right reins and with all my might I heaved on the left rein with both hands and ran her into a thick bush. Phew we had stopped. I later learned that when jockeys want trotting horses to go faster they use a pulling motion on the reins!!
I arrived back at the Potters Bar stables with a big smile on my face I had found the horse I wanted and when dad and I enquired the price lo and behold I had saved just enough money and had it in the bank to pay for her. She became mine and I named her Sema (my surname backwards).
Four weeks into owning Sema I became convinced she was in foal. Everyone laughed at my wishful thinking. I was adamant and called a vet. He also laughed and said I will do an examination for you but I can tell you just looking at that horse she is not pregnant. On examination he inserted only his fist and exclaimed she is pregnant! We had no idea when the foal was due and indeed she was given only a 50/50 chance of survival due to her poor condition. I was advised by the owner of the riding school to put her down his field and let her “do it naturally”. I followed this advice and Sema gave birth in the middle of a thunderstorm. The field she was in was some way from the stables and someone reported a foal lying in the middle of the field, soaking wet with no mother around it. We received a phone call from the stables and immediately went there by which time Sema and her foal were in the same stable but Sema would not accept the foal and every time the foal moved near her she lashed out. The owner of the stables told us he would be very surprised if she did not kill her foal and there was nothing we could but hope. Dad and I went home with heavy hearts and I prayed as I had never prayed before. We both woke at 5am and after sitting for five minutes in silence he said to me “shall we go have a look”. Five minutes later we were in the car. We spent the journey in silence, both fearing what we would find. When we arrived at the stables we climbed over the gate, which was locked at the time of the morning and opened the top door of the stable in which Sema had been left. Sema was standing there peacefully still; the foal lay flat out a little to the right looking for all the world as though she was dead. It seemed like an awful long time we stood there and then dad just clicked his tongue and one of the foals ears twitched, she was alive.
It was still touch and go whether she survived and indeed she developed pneumonia and although she recovered the vet told me she would have problems later in life with her lungs. That is another story of how I gained my healing tools and trust in angels I will write it up in these pages in due course.
Eventually we moved both horses to a livery centre where they had big stables and lush grass. It stretched my budget and my father’s budget to limit but what the heck. Then I met the man I was going to marry. My immediate thought on falling in love with this man was “oh no, if we want to buy a house I will not be able to keep two horses”. I had reckoned without the powers of the universe to provide a solution.
Dad was working with man who owned a firm that manufactured sheeting to cover the loads on lorries. At that time loads were covered with this sheeting and then ropes put over and tied in a specific way to create a safe and secure load, an extremely time consuming practice. The man had a brother who owned, bred and raced trotting horses. During the course of their relationship this man, Eric, and my father came up with the design that is used universally these days to cover loads on large container lorries, the curtain sides. Dad having been a lorry driver used his ingenuity to design something that is so common place today. Every time I see one of those curtain side lorries I know my dad was the person who thought of the system based on his experience of being a lorry driver and what he learned through actual experience.
The man from the sheeting company and dad became friends and he mentioned Sema who by this time we had discovered was in fact a trotting horse. It was suggested that we approach Eric’s brother with a view to finding out if he would be interested in taking Sema’s foal that was by now a two year old for training, which would mean only one horse to keep. The man’s brother came to see the horses and immediately exclaimed “that old mare is Cathedral Chimes, I imported her from Holland and she had a 15 second handicap”. He went on to explain that they had tried to get the horse in foal but she would not let a stallion near her, as she hated other horses. He said that since she had had a foal now he would like to buy her back and try and get her in foal again. He promised that she would be well looked after and if she produced no foal she would be used to run alongside his youngsters in the sulky to train them. My first reaction was to say no I would not part with Sema but after long deliberation I decided I could not be so selfish as to expect my future husband to accept that I was going to be paying for two horses instead of a place for us to live and so I sold her. It broke my heart and for years after when I went to bed at night I would remember Sema and pray she was being well looked after. I never enquired further as I could not bear to go back to the pain I felt at parting with her. I kept Semona for all of her 27 years; I still have her daughter, Hyvoy and her granddaughter, Seraphim Violet Flame. Both have similar stories attached to their lives, which I will share as and when I have time to write them up.
For me in hindsight this story illustrates how many of the happenings we put down to coincidence are in fact the universe answering our call. That is what my system of healing is all about. It is about what I have put together in exercises and working with the unseen forces of light to work with the Earth and the soul lessons in the University of the Soul (the earth) in a way that each individual can learn easily quickly and methodically, safely. The system is based on personal experience, a little of the ingenuity my father bestowed upon me, a lot of help from my departed father and my mum, the help of Angels and Masters in Absolute Truth, and an open mind.
Namaste
In Love and Light
Jeanne Ames
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