RIP Gran

In the late 1930s, before she joined the Army and drove tanks and lorries from army base to army base to help the Second World War effort, Gran was one of the best female riders in the North of England, a feminist before feminism was invented and who, as one of five children growing up near Bolton in Lancashire was, by her own admission, something of a Tom Boy.

Fed up with being patronised by men on horseback, Gran, who never liked to shirk a challenge - and who never used oven gloves to take a Lancashire Hot Pot out of the oven or went to see the doctor when she was ill, who taught me to ride a bike and countless card games and who never complained when I wanted a sandwich or a piece of homemade chocolate cake - rode the famous Holcombe Hunt course at Harwood near Bolton to widespread acclaim.

As a result, Ladies races were introduced at Holcombe and spread to point-to-point events all around the country. Gran never sought any credit for what she had done in the name of equal opportunities because all she cared about was riding. Even when she broke her nose (twice) and cracked her ribs in falls, all she wanted to do was get back on a horse as quickly as possible.

As a city boy, her grandson never followed in the family tradition, but I thank her for so much and will always remember the wonderful times I had with her, on horseback or not! Goodbye but never forgotten.