By Dot Daynard
Excitement in the home of the French family of Fullarton township in Perth County, was growing quickly on Christmas Day 1947.
Surely Mom and Dad could down their breakfast faster. The cows were already milked, fed and bedded down, the horses and pigs were enjoying their Christmas breakfast and clean pens, but we four siblings really wanted to get into the living room.
You see, we had spotted a huge box under the Christmas tree – addressed to Helen, Dorothy, and twins Bob and Bill. What gift would need a box that big?
After what seemed like years, Mom and Dad announced it was time to unveil the surprise so off we raced to our parlour.
As we tore off the wrapping paper, the smell of new leather hit us and we spied the gorgeous golden brown leather of a new saddle.
While it was undeniably beautiful, the note on it was confusing. It said that the saddle was for the horse in the first stall. No, that could not be right! Even we youngsters – ages 4, 6 and 9, knew the horse in that stall was Tony, one of Dad’s team, and we all were scared of him. Surely Mom and Dad didn’t expect us to ride him.
With zero enthusiasm, we four young siblings reluctantly pulled on our winter clothes as Mom and Dad insisted we trek to the barn. Why should we go? We knew we would never ride Tony. The beautiful saddle was just a wasted gift.
Trudging slowly through the glistening white snow, around the creaking wooden gate at the drive shed, and past the cackling hens in the red painted hen house, onward we strolled heading towards the double barn doors, behind which was the horse stable.
As we entered the white-washed stable, the moody silence was suddenly pierced by loud screams. There in the first stall was THE most splendid brown and white pony we had ever seen.
Helen, being older and wiser than her three younger siblings, fortunately admired this beautiful animal from a distance while Bob, Bill and I headed right for him. Of course Mom and Dad panicked and attempted to grab us. However, some of us made it right into the pen and were hugging our new Major, who luckily bore the brunt of our excitement with nonchalance.
That day marked the beginning of a wonderful eight-year friendship with our beloved pony. Whether it was rides around the community, with or without the beautiful saddle, or we were doing acrobatics on his back, nothing bothered Major.
Sadly in December of 1955, dear Major took very sick and could not be saved. On December 5, we lost our beloved, and way-too-young friend.
Now, so many years later, brother Bob still remembers how the school teacher got angry when he could not remember his lines while practicing for the Christmas concert play. Obviously she didn’t understand how deeply the death of our beloved Major earlier that day, affected us.
Every time I drive through Seaforth, I think of Dad purchasing Major from a farm near the park, and then hiding him in our uncle’s barn near Mitchell until Christmas Eve when they snuck him into that first pen.
That golden brown saddle still remains a family treasure and resides in our niece’s riding stable. No doubt, she has heard many stories about the years her Dad, her uncle and two aunts used that saddle, beginning that Christmas day 73 years ago.
Christmas 1947 was one we four siblings will never forget.
