My grandfather was a lover of hansome horseflesh and was reputed to be able to ride any horse alive. His own horse, a superannuated thoroughbred, was a willful female of uncertain years who preferred to pass her days relaxing in the paddock and was therefore wary of being captured, especially by us children. It was decided, therefore, that we were to have a pony of our own and plans were put in train to find a suitable animal which would not only fulfill our needs but also satisfy my Grandfather's idea of what a proper pony should look like.

This appreciation of beauty was not confined to horses and the men in my mother's family desired nothing more in a wife than that she be outstandingly beautiful. As their standards were high, only two of the four brothers married, the other two becoming complete mysogenists who lived out their years in affluent penury. It was subsequently discovered, after the death of my Grandfather's twin brother, that he had in fact married, a piece of information which he assiduously kept from his mother and siblings. He managed, however, to rid himself of her before he died and the family never found out who she was or what her fate at his hands had been.

My other married uncle probably lived to regret his choice of partner but my Grandfather was as happy with my Grandmother as his rather dour nature would allow. She was not happy. It was only after his death when she suddenly found herself to be a wealthy widow that she grasped life with both hand and started to enjoy it.

She was charming and, naturally, very beautiful. She was the youngest daughter of the large family of an architect/painter - a member of the Heidelburg school of painting - and a lady about whom I know nothing except that her name was *Rhoda and she was Irish. It is generally assumed by the family that she died of exhaustion whereupon her husband immediately married his mistress and my Grandmother's brothers and sisters all left home in protest. My Grandmother was ten years old at the time and therefore too young to leave with the rest. One of her sisters subsequently made contact with her but she never saw any of the others again.

The great day arrived: the pony was delivered. Her name was Dinah. She was part Arab, coal black and very, very beautiful. She was also as wild as the wind and my first and probably only memory of her was seeing her galloping at full tilt down the lane with her mane and tail streaming. We were not allowed to ride her.

"Wait until she has settled down." we were told.

A week later my Grandfather appeared at lunch with a black eye.

"How did that happen?" we demanded.

Looking up at the ceiling he replied very firmly, "Your Grandmother hit me over the head with the frying pan."

A week later the holidays were over and we went back to town. Dinah went to the knackers.

*Subsequent family research has revealed that Rhoda Sexton was born in Australia. Her mother, Rhoda Pidwell, was from Kenwyn in Cornwall. I have been unable to find any information about her father, John Sexton.