Hobby Horse

Yes, I think that I would eat horsemeat.

In fact I am convinced that on a school trip to France in the 1970's I was fed horse as a main course during one of those large host family gatherings and long, leisurely meals which are decried by the English as being typically French but secretly we, as a nation, yearn for the time and social skills to partake in something similar here. It was a bit chewy and grisly but flavoursome in a sweet sort of way.

The controversy this week that burgers supplied to the largest UK supermarkets were found to contain a small amount of horse has touched a bit of a nerve.

Notwithstanding the evaporation of any trust and loyalty we may have had as customers of the named outlets, well at least until it is time to actually go shopping,  I feel that a good proportion of the outcry has been because of our attitude to horses themselves.

Is it right and proper to eat, whether unknowingly or not, a creature that has contributed to our economic and social growth, carried us to and from home and to battle, achieved almost mythical status as in the case of the famous steeds of our historical figures and even won us a few quid in a sporting arena?  We have no qualms about consumption of beef, pork, lamb and chicken because they are principally bred for their meat and not any other characteristic, in spite of an element of charm and cuteness in some cases, mainly frolicking spring lambs, wobbly new born calves and scampering little piggies.

The horse is held particularly in part reverence and part fear by the English. The former is more than evident when coming across a horse and rider on our road network. Traffic grinds to a crawl to furtively pass by something with the combined girth of a fat man on a bicycle but yet the same care and diligence is not afforded to a fat man on a bicycle. There may be a few thousand points to be earned from a cheery, appreciative wave from a high-viz clad, firm thighed stick of a lass on top of the animal or an equally withering stare and hand signal if there is any suggestion of less than suitable respect being shown.

We fear horses because, lets face it they are big, heavy and muscley added to which they are skittish and unpredictable. Ask a striking miner or a Molotov throwing anarchist what figures amongst their most terrifying experiences and I am sure that facing a line of mounted riot police preparing to charge would be right up there. Even more likely to strike panic into small children than to ask them to walk past an unruly dog is asking them to walk behind a horse. A swift kick can be the result of an approach from the blind side, or at least the fear of such is sanction enough to give a very wide clearance.

Some distant relatives had a farm with horses and I remember clearly being a bit in awe of a beast close-up and even more so when allowed to sit on and astride it. I can appreciate from this very limited exposure that riding a horse is quite a dangerous thing even on the flat. Add to the equation a few hurdles, varied terrain, low tree boughs and every manner of potential noise and disturbance and it is a case of taking your life into your own hands in the name of recreation .

A horse formed a major asset for households in the 17th and 18th centuries as a means of transport for the better off , or to haul a cart or wagon by which the artisans and tradespersons could earn a living but was not indispensable being regularly traded and replaced as age, infirmity or economics dictated.

Stables in the cities and towns lent out horses for hire if a journey over a short distance was a necessity. If owners were not able to accommodate their horses within their own properties then business opportunities arose for liveried stables. Old sepia tint photographs of most urban streets of the late 19th and into the early 20th century often featured piles of horse dung and yet another allied commercial opportunity for this to be collected up and sold as manure.

Horses have had excellent endorsements in literature, for example, Black Beauty, on TV with such tear jerkers as 'On White Horses' and Follyfoot and the recent blockbuster movie and stage play of War Horse.

Most city centres have a statue of a mounted hero and the names of famous horses are well known. Try these as a bit of a quiz. Bucephalus (A t G), Copenhagen (D of W), Marengo (N B), Black Bess (D T) , Trigger (R R) and Hercules (S and S).  Someone did tell me about the significance of the pose and number of legs in the air for an equine statue  to the fate of the depicted dignatory, ie killed in battle or never actually partaking in any conflict.

So, the chain of events that led to the detection of horsemeat in our everyday food, has forced us, as a nation to examine our position and regard for these proud and dignified animals. We should remember that they are not immortal and often end up in the knackers yard to be processed for a range of products from glue to an ingredient in feedstuffs.

As I sat at the head of a line of traffic, just today, behind a slow moving horse I admit that I did lick my lips in anticipation of a juicy steak made from its ample rump and haunches which ranged about in front of me.