Split trousers? Split your sides.

Were you taught as a child that it was rude to laugh at other people’s troubles?

Absolutely, (unless of course it was yet another ‘blonde’ joke or someone you are not really fond of, slipped on a banana skin.) Sometimes a guffaw escapes a bit like a burp after a fizzy drink. It is an involuntary action.

Like the time………….

I spent most of my holidays as a teenager riding my polo pony Alex in the mountains in the Drakensberg. While we were at school for a couple of months in between holidays he was not ridden at all so I was adept at clinging to his back for those first ‘hairy’ rides before he accepted that I was actually the boss. My claim to fame from the farm staff and the family?
I never fell off.

I grew up and life happened but I never lost the passion I had for horses and riding.

Himself, (my husband) and I had been married a couple of years and we revisited the farm. (Himself had never recovered mentally and emotionally from that humiliating horse ride on our honeymoon) so I had to ride alone.

It was glorious.

Here I was, a mature married lady of 24, but back on my neat old horse I felt exactly like I had at 16!

The sky was a perfect blue and the Drakensberg looked like the dragon’s teeth it was named for. I could identify the Sani
Pass quite easily. The creak of the saddle and the jingle of the bit in Alex’s mouth transported me back in time. The carefree bliss of those days came back to me full force.

Alex had nuzzled the sugar cubes out of my hand and snorted softly against my face in recognition of me. The only benefit of his ageing was that he had no desire to gallop away with me and we jogged off up through the gum trees to the back fields companionably. I was actually momentarily sad that he had no inclination to assert his authority……………little did I know.

The farm was exquisite and rolled away into the mauve/blue yonder.

With a little pressure from my knees he took the old familiar ride across a narrow bridge into a spacious field near a haystack that staff were making as they reaped the crop of winter feed. The smell of mown hay was powerful even though it was Saturday and no one was around.

Suddenly the spell was broken.
An electric current surged up through Alex’s body as a snake boiled in coils around his legs.

Pixabay

He leapt and all my old impulses were still there and I clung like Velcro as we galloped in a frenzy away from danger. I ‘came to ‘ a couple of minutes later to find us charging full ball at a barbed wire fence. Together we swerved around and faced the haystack where the very long, 3 to 4 metre hooded Cape Cobra had taken refuge. It was horribly close to the bridge and it is such a nasty minded snake that I was not sure whether it would lie in wait and attack as we passed.

Highly unlikely I tried to comfort myself but Alex was with me and when I urged him forward with a sharp tap of heels in his ribs and I threw my body forward over his withers, he leapt ahead as though fired from a catapult.

The glorious feeling of a full on gallop surged through the pair of us and we were ‘kids’ again, fused in mind and body. The joy of the moment subsided in me but my horse galloped all the way home and I let him go.

Himself and my childhood companion Chris and his wife came at a run when they heard the hooves pounding on the hard clay of the road. It was obvious that we were alarmed.

Within minutes Chris was driving his big lorry down the back road to the hay field.
His wife Jilly and I took up the rest of the space in the cab. Himself, full of bravado, rode in the empty back of the truck as though a knight ready for battle. He was armed with a shot gun from the gun cupboard.
‘I want to make sure that the beggar has not taken up residence in the warmth of the haystack. A bite from one of those could kill one of my staff,’ Chris said as we drove with purpose down that back road.

We got to the actual field and approached the haystack. Quietly I closed the window of the cab.

We were silent............ 4 pairs of eyes scanning the scene.

Suddenly a wheel jammed in a soft damp spot. Revving the engine got us into more trouble. Finally Chris gestured an unmistakable sign that Himself should climb down and give the truck a boost to free the wheel.
Himself responded with sign language that clearly said, ‘NO WAY.’

In spite of the tension we were smiling wryly at our predicament.

Resigned, Himself scanned the area and eventually put the shot gun down carefully and climbed gingerly down onto the ground. Chris gave him a ‘thumbs up’ sign and Himself crouched under the vehicle with his shoulder at the jammed wheel. As Chris revved the engine Himself lifted his body as strongly as he could.

Then all hell broke loose.

There was a dreadful sound of action under the wheel and something came flying out. We were 3 white terrified faces looking out of the small cab window backwards, at the action behind the truck. We watched in AWE as Himself, using both hands flat on the bed of the vehicle came flying up towards us. He tucked and rolled as though he was still that gymnast from his days in the Air force team. He came up smoothly in a balletic sweep and ended up facing backwards with the shot gun ready for action. He obviously was expecting the snake to slither over the edge to attack him.

Silence fell and THEN it dawned on my husband that what filled the air was………………laughter.

He got up stiffly, laid the gun carefully down once more, came round to my door of the cab, wrenched it open, his face like thunder and yelled, ‘WHAT?’ at the 3 of us.

We sobered up immediately and told him.

As Himself lifted the truck wheel slightly, the tyre hooked an empty, large, plastic fertilizer bag that had been left on the ground, scooped it up and flung it noisily into the air with considerable force. That, coupled with the perfect forward roll executed, knees spread widely, by my gymnast husband had us guffawing with relief actually that sounded horribly like laughter to him.

When we told him that in all the action was the sound of his trousers ripping from waistband at the back to the zip in the front he cracked at last and also began to laugh.
Eventually we were out of the truck holding onto each other as we gasped out bits of the story as we each had experienced it.
We were drunk with the fright and then the wonderful release of laughter.
As we re-lived seeing the flash of his ‘tighty whitey Jockey scants’ we guffawed again.

Gradually we wiped noses and eyes and began to breathe more normally.

The bible refers to 'laughter as good medicine'.
I've even heard of hospitals that have a 'humour' room with amusing videos, comic books and funny pictures to try and help patients recover more quickly.

We all have experienced that flow of 'happy hormones' after a good laugh and know that feeling of well being.

The memory of that particular day still brightens a grey day and brings a smile to my face.
I live by the maxim, 'A good laugh a day, keeps the doctor away', although apples have their place too!