Fiona Hathersage
After I left school in the sixties I decided to go on a week's riding holiday in Wales with a girl friend.
We got the usual 'joining instructions" and a list of clothes and things to take with us. I was excited to see this:- "It can be very wet here but we ride in all weathers. Rain does not stop us going out on the hills but if it is windy as well we often go in the valleys to get some shelter. Nevertheless we strongly recommend you to bring two fully waterproof full length riding macs with you if you can. Putting a wet mackintosh on after lunch after a wet morning riding can be unpleasant."
As I had two macs anyway this was no problem to me but my friend Sally rang me a couple of days before we left to ask what to do as she only had one. I told her not to be so mean but to go and get herself a new one as her own was already fairly old. She agreed and we arrived at the stables with two macs each as suggested.
In addition to us there were two other girls and a rather dishy young man. He and one of the girls only had one mac but there were still no fewer than eight riding macs hanging in the back lobby after we had unpacked our things. In addition the girl who ran the place had a heavy black rubber riding mac.
I thought I was in heaven.
However, for the first three days the macs just hung there. It was warm and dry and only their distinctive smell constantly reminded me of their presence.
On the Wednesday it at last turned wet. We all pulled on our best mackintoshes and set off for a lovely ride across the moors, down into a wooded valley. We got back to the stables with the waterproofs pretty soaked but ourselves still dry underneath. Camilla's black mac (Camilla was the owner) was clearly ideal for the Welsh weather and she said she had had it specially made for her as it really never did let any water through at all and she could not live in and run the stables in such a wet area without a riding mac that was totally waterproof.
After lunch we went out again and by now it was really pouring. We all decided to keep our better macs on and tried to forget the clamminess of them as we did them up and this time fastened the storm tabs across our throats against the wind driven rain. I saw Camilla fiddling with something underneath the skirt of her black mackintosh and she showed me that she had had an extra bit of mackintosh cloth fitted that went from the belt at her back between her legs and fastened at her waist in the front. This stopped the rain from getting into what she described as her "nether regions" and kept her crutch and bottom dry. Another of the girls said that she had been told that if she wore a mackintosh hunting apron under her riding mac it would do the same job and while the mac kept her top half and her back dry the apron would prevent the rain driving in by the pommel of the saddle. This was all fascinating to me, who seemed at that point to be the only mackintosh fetishist there, although I noticed the young man taking a good bit of interest.
That evening we all hung our macs to dry in the boiler room taking care not to put them any where too hot that might cause them to perish. Camilla laughed as she hung hers back on the peg in the back hall saying that as it was pure rubber outside rather than rubberised cotton it would drip dry in a few minutes.
Sadly the Friday was dry but that evening we heard a really horrendous weather forecast for the Saturday and Camilla asked us if we really wanted to ride across the hills to a pub about two hours away, have lunch and ride back in what seemed likely to be very heavy rain. We all voted to go and Camilla said she would advise us to wear both our riding mackintoshes if we had two and anyone who didn't could borrow one of her old ones. I went to bed in extraordinary anticipation of the next day.
Sure enough it was pouring down from a leaden sky as we had breakfast but there was no wind at all. Camilla said it would rain all day but it would be less uncomfortable than if it was being driven by a high wind. She suggested that we put the older smaller mac on first, obviously, do it up as tightly as possible including the leg straps and throat storm tab and them put the newer better one over the top similarly well done up. When I had done this I felt almost trussed up but the whole situation- the belt, leg straps and throat tab on my old mac all rather tighter than they should have been as I had grown since I got it, and then my new heavier bigger mackintosh over it - gave me the most wonderful feeling. As soon as we got outside the rain started to make our macs even heavier and to me the sight of us four guests all in white riding macs and riding boots and hats and carrying a variety of riding whips was a massive turn on. Camilla soon joined us in the yard dressed in her black rubber mac but as well as the mackintosh and boots and riding hat she had buttoned on to her mackintosh collar and black rubber hood which totally stopped any rain coming down her neck and, as it also buttoned round her upper lip only her nose and eyes were peeping out from a complete outfit of black rubber. She held and swished though the air a very long schooling whip. "Ready for anything!" she cried as we all mounted.
That ride was fabulous. The rain just came straight down in stair rods and by the time we got to the pub I had got very sexed up. We took off our outer macs and everyone found that at least some rain, and in two cases a lot of it, had indeed soaked through onto the smaller older mackintosh underneath.
I kept mine on for lunch in the warm pub by the end of which the smell of rubber riding macs must have been either upsetting or exciting all the other guests in the pub. Soon it was time to ride home and we struggled back into our wet heavy outer macs and raced home. I am ashamed to say that at least one of us used her whip a little too freely but Camilla won the race almost without touching her horse with her lovely long whip.
Fiona Hathersage
September 2003
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