My First Riding Lesson
Almost 60 years have passed since my very first riding lesson. I don’t remember everything, but some moments stayed with me so clearly that they feel as vivid as ever.
In many ways, it seems I was born to live a life with horses. I still don’t know why. My mother was terrified of them and my father was allergic, so neither of them had ever really been near a horse. Yet horses were all I cared about. Whenever we drove past one, I sighed with longing. And at the zoo, it was always the pony rides that fascinated me—not the other animals. I could watch horses for hours.
A girl in my class had started riding school, and I was beyond jealous, but I didn’t know how to begin myself. I was already taking piano lessons and doing figure skating, so asking my parents for something more felt impossible.
Then an opportunity appeared. A large shopping centre was celebrating its first anniversary, and Pilegården Riding School was there with some of their horses, offering children a chance to try riding and advertising their lessons. It was the perfect moment to convince my parents—and when they saw how enchanted I was by the horses, they agreed. I must say, they were incredibly kind and have supported me so much throughout my life.
My mother had a cousin, Doris, the only person in our family who had ever ridden—apart from an uncle who had trotters. When she visited, she told me everything that would happen at my first riding lesson. I was nervous, excited, and desperately wanted to prove that I deserved to continue riding. She even gave me her old riding helmet, mostly made of cardboard really, but I was unbelievably proud when I put it on for my first visit to Pilegården.
The day came, and I felt a mixture of fear and joy. They put me on the biggest horse of all, a horse named Faust. I don’t know how big he truly was—perhaps around 155 cm—but in my nine-year-old eyes he looked enormous.
The stable was filled with stalls, about 14 or 15 horses stood there. A few box stalls existed, but they were reserved for privately owned horses. There was also a smaller stable with four stalls and three boxes, also for private horses. The indoor arena was tiny, maybe 15 x 30 meters, yet 6–7 horses were in each lesson.
Faust was the designated beginner horse, something I understood immediately. He didn’t move an inch when I got on. He sensed instantly that I was completely inexperienced. Doris had carefully explained how to use my legs if the horse didn’t want to walk, but I felt sorry for him and didn’t dare to nudge. The riding instructor led me around a few steps so I could get some walking done—and for me, that was absolutely wonderful. I had done it! I hadn’t fallen off and Faust had been so kind. I was bursting with happiness.
From that moment on, horses became my entire world. All my worries disappeared the second I stepped into the stable. I still remember every horse’s name from that time.
Normally, we students weren’t allowed in the stable between lessons. The staff groomed and tacked up the horses because they didn’t want us getting injured. Sometimes, if you were lucky, you got to brush your horse before riding—and that made the whole day special. Later, when we became older and more capable, we could become responsible for one horse, and that felt just as amazing as riding.
Pilegården Riding School doesn’t exist anymore; it closed many years ago. But the memories from those early days have stayed in my heart ever since.
I dont have any photos from the riding school, but here is the oldest picture I have with me on a horse (Dolan)
