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Authors: Adam Goodfellow
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as if a whole new dimension opened up in my appreciation of horses, indeed of life. Suddenly I realised that there was so much more to understanding a horse than I had thought. And such benefit to be gained from that understanding. So much of what Monty was saying seemed equally applicable to people. Using nothing but a rope, body language, and an acute understanding of the horse’s psychology, he created within minutes a bond with a horse he had never met before, bringing out the best in the horse and also in himself through his fundamental commitment to non-violence. The results were almost unbelievable, but it all made perfect sense. It was as if he and the horse were holding a rational conversation, all of their own. Spellbound by how he was generating such a calm presence around himself, and producing such an amazing response, I found myself being drawn into a new world, a world of relative speeds and movement, eye contact and angles, of pressure and release, advance and retreat. The world of a language he called Equus.
FOUR
When the student is ready, the teacher will appear (Nicole)
For me, the ten-week Monty Roberts Preliminary Certificate of Horsemanship course was like dying and going to heaven. From 8.45 in the morning until 5 at night my day was filled with nothing but horses, and I was surrounded by people who shared my obsession. It was just as I’d imagined going to Cambridge would be: bright articulate people tossing ideas around, sharing thoughts, discussing finer points, having brilliant insights. University had been a big disappointment in that regard, not just because I’d chosen Engineering and discovered that the loading weight of a plank of wood didn’t fascinate me that much after all, but also because it didn’t appear to fascinate many other people either. Even in the more intellectual subjects, like political science, philosophy, or English, where people would get really fired up and fiercely debate the issues of the ages, for many students there was still an underlying lethargy, a commitment to doing the least work (and the most drinking) possible, fuelled perhaps by a post-adolescent existential crisis. My biggest regret some years on was wasting the opportunity to pick some of the finest brains in the world. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.
One of the aspects of the Cambridge environment I particularly disliked, but quickly found myself colluding with, was the level of intellectual aggression. Undergraduates wanted to be seen to be clever, and this sometimes made them extraordinarily closed-minded and judgemental. Rather than listening to other points of view, they generally wanted to trash them, using the most obscure, esoteric language possible. I suppose it was partly because there were a lot of shocked, unnerved people; they were used to being the cleverest people in their school, and now all of a sudden 5 As at A level was nothing special.
But this intellectual ferocity was nothing compared to the deeply-held, never-to-be-challenged views of many in the world of horses. Over the course of the next few years, both Adam and I would come face to face with this resistance time and time again.
Not that the learning environment at West Oxfordshire College was perfect, either. There was scepticism from tutors on other courses, and right from the very start students were desperate to impress Monty with their skills and knowledge. This competitiveness was hardly conducive to learning.
I very nearly didn’t go on the course. Like so many others, I’d seen Monty on the first QED programme, and been amazed. But it didn’t seem like a possibility to meet him. In my mind, he became the equine world’s equivalent of David Bowie – an utter genius, well out of reach. Then I saw a small advert in one of the glossy horse magazines I bought from time to time: ‘Ten-week course on the techniques of Monty Roberts to be held at West Oxfordshire College, Witney’. I looked it up on
FOUR
When the student is ready, the teacher will appear (Nicole)
For me, the ten-week Monty Roberts Preliminary Certificate of Horsemanship course was like dying and going to heaven. From 8.45 in the morning until 5 at night my day was filled with nothing but horses, and I was surrounded by people who shared my obsession. It was just as I’d imagined going to Cambridge would be: bright articulate people tossing ideas around, sharing thoughts, discussing finer points, having brilliant insights. University had been a big disappointment in that regard, not just because I’d chosen Engineering and discovered that the loading weight of a plank of wood didn’t fascinate me that much after all, but also because it didn’t appear to fascinate many other people either. Even in the more intellectual subjects, like political science, philosophy, or English, where people would get really fired up and fiercely debate the issues of the ages, for many students there was still an underlying lethargy, a commitment to doing the least work (and the most drinking) possible, fuelled perhaps by a post-adolescent existential crisis. My biggest regret some years on was wasting the opportunity to pick some of the finest brains in the world. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake again.
One of the aspects of the Cambridge environment I particularly disliked, but quickly found myself colluding with, was the level of intellectual aggression. Undergraduates wanted to be seen to be clever, and this sometimes made them extraordinarily closed-minded and judgemental. Rather than listening to other points of view, they generally wanted to trash them, using the most obscure, esoteric language possible. I suppose it was partly because there were a lot of shocked, unnerved people; they were used to being the cleverest people in their school, and now all of a sudden 5 As at A level was nothing special.
But this intellectual ferocity was nothing compared to the deeply-held, never-to-be-challenged views of many in the world of horses. Over the course of the next few years, both Adam and I would come face to face with this resistance time and time again.
Not that the learning environment at West Oxfordshire College was perfect, either. There was scepticism from tutors on other courses, and right from the very start students were desperate to impress Monty with their skills and knowledge. This competitiveness was hardly conducive to learning.
I very nearly didn’t go on the course. Like so many others, I’d seen Monty on the first QED programme, and been amazed. But it didn’t seem like a possibility to meet him. In my mind, he became the equine world’s equivalent of David Bowie – an utter genius, well out of reach. Then I saw a small advert in one of the glossy horse magazines I bought from time to time: ‘Ten-week course on the techniques of Monty Roberts to be held at West Oxfordshire College, Witney’. I looked it up on
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