"Dear to me is my bonnie white steed; Oft has he helped me at pinch of need."

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Again the early-morning sun was generous with it's warmth. All the sounds dear to a horseman were around me-the snort of the horses as they cleared their throats, the gentle swish of their tails, the tinkle of irons as we flung the saddles over their backs-little sounds of no importance, but they stay in the unconscious library of memory.

— Wynford Vaughan-Thomas