In the late 1950s, a unique procession made its way to our family farm in rural Australia on a crisp autumn morning - a tinker’s wagon drawn by a weary donkey and carrying not just pots and pans but the promise of stories yet untold. Among these was a creature that would imprint himself on the hearts of my family. Turps, a gaunt and somber thoroughbred horse, went from neglect to becoming a cherished companion in an unexpected and inspiring journey.
These wandering tradesmen, with their horse-drawn wagons, brought not just tools and gadgets, but a touch of novelty to the monotonous days of farm life. On this chilly morning, luck brought a tinker to our homestead. His expertise in knife sharpening and metal repair made him a common presence in regions like ours.
As children, every visitor piqued our curiosity, but this tinker brought with him an unexpected intrigue. My uncle Andy did not pay attention to the items for sale, but to a creature tethered quietly beside the donkey - a thin, somber horse that looked every bit out of place.
Uncle Andy, known in our family for his soft heart and keen eye, saw something in that horse that perhaps others might have missed. He inquired, almost casually, if the tinker was willing to part with the horse. A brief haggle later, and just like that, we had a new addition to our family.
Turps, as we came to know him, was a name that carried no grandeur but suited him just the same. He quickly became a permanent part of our lives; the horse that introduced all of us kids to the excitement of riding. Despite his initial sorrowful state, Turps blossomed into a magnificent animal, embodying gentleness and patience, attributes not always ascribed to thoroughbreds.
But Turps had his quirks. His indomitable spirit that came alive after a lengthy ride was unforgettable. Without delay, he would turn towards home and sprint at top speed, his mane blurring in the wind. He refused to slow down until we reached the familiar gate of the stable, where he would stand as if nothing had happened.
Turps’ tolerance extended beyond the usual equine patience. A particular memory that brings a smile even now is of him standing serenely while I placed my unsuspecting cat atop his back, both creatures displaying an extraordinary calm that belied the peculiarity of the situation.
Turps, a cherished memory and symbol of unexpected friendships, reminds us that the best moments in life often come when we least expect them, like on a quiet farm day introduced by a wandering tinker. His story is a testament to the belief that every creature, no matter how downtrodden, carries a noble spirit, waiting for a chance to shine.
We were never informed about Turps’ background. He was a 3-year-old when he came down the road to our farm. Perhaps he had proven too slow for the racetrack? Although his turn of speed when heading for the home paddock would render that theory unlikely!
A lovely story Rick. Thanks