Trigger

Down to Essex for a couple of nights.

The task of clearing the family home is drawing to a close. As my sister and I contemplate the need / desire to catalogue the ~5000 family photos currently held in 5 enormous stacker crates, and I try to work out just how much storage space I shall need to accommodate the various items of treasured furniture for which neither of us currently has room, one of the most pressing matters is the long term future of my faithful childhood companion, Trigger:

He looks as if he would be hard pushed to carry me now, but I know how well he was constructed by my grandfather (Da), and I would actually have no qualms about climbing aboard:

Of course, back in 1962 he could carry both me AND my sister, under Da's watchful eye.

The leather saddle bags, rifle, full-length leather rifle scabbard, lariat and bed-roll are all long-lost to history; only the saddle remains, with it's door-knob pommel, and stirrups kindly fashioned by one of my father's colleagues, the metalwork teacher at the school at which he taught:

Perhaps one day I'll find the time to re-stitch the saddle and bridle, and restore Trigger to his former glory; for now, though, he stands watch over the house while I consider where he will next be stabled.