Horseshoes, by Gillian

In my childhood in England there were still a few work horses left, plodding ahead of plows or hauling overloaded carts. I suppose their existence was extended a few years by the World War Two gas shortages, but before long they and their peaceful quiet days were supplanted by dirty, noisy, tractors.

But those beautiful beasts, or at least their shoes, remained with us in Britain for much of the last century. Many houses had a horseshoe nailed as a U above the front door. It had to be that way up as it captured and contained good luck. If it came loose and slipped sideways, or still worse upside down, it had to be righted immediately because all the good luck was fast draining from it. For many decades, horseshoes and pubs was apparently a mandatory pairing. I don't remember ever being in a pub in my younger days - and, yes, I was in quite a few, - that did not have the obligatory horseshoes and other horse brasses arrayed in gleaming splendor around the fireplace, above the bar, or nailed to smoke-blackened overhead beams. Pubs in those days were relatively quiet places intended for serious drinking, with nothing noisier than low conversations and perhaps an occasional outburst of song. Entertainment was in the form of darts, checkers, or dominoes, none of which create a huge clamor. They didn't serve food, except for so-called 'bar snacks' such as pickled eggs and pork crackling so there was no endless clatter from a busy kitchen.

Around the 1960's things began to change, ramping up the noise level with juke boxes, then pinball machines, and slot machines for minor gambling. By the 70's many had gone from bar snacks to full meals, generally increasing the hustle and bustle. By the 80's, and certainly the 90's, pubs were having to compete with the upscale chic little wine bars that were appearing everywhere and making the old-style pub seem dark and dingy by comparison. In many, as central heating became commonplace, the old fireplace disappeared; and along with it, the horse brasses. Over the same period, people became more sophisticated and less traditional and out went many old superstitions.  And along with them, out went the lucky horseshoes. You might still see an occasional one in a remote country village but you'd have to search.

In the early days of my thirty-year career with IBM in Boulder, there were horseshoe pits behind one of the buildings, and most of the daylight hours’ groups on break or at lunchtime would be out there tossing horseshoes at the stakes in the ground. Horseshoes has always been, apparently, something of a blue collar game. The pits were, I'm sure not accidentally, placed behind a manufacturing building not one that housed office workers. Occasionally men with loosened ties and rolled up shirt sleeves were spotted out there, but for the most part it was enjoyed by people in jeans and t-shirts.

Over the years, manufacturing disappeared there, as it did from most of in this country, being shipped off to that unidentified never-never land called Offshore. Along with it went the horseshoe pits and the horseshoes. Oh, it was all probably replaced by a wonderfully-equipped exercise room with showers and steam room, free to all employees. But I'd be willing to bet few have the fun there that we had with those old horseshoes.

Horseshoe pits seem to have suffered much the same fate as lucky horseshoes on cottage doors.

You might stumble over some in Podunk, Iowa, the American equivalent of that remote country village in Britain, but for the most part people prefer to partake in less staid, and much more expensive, activities these days. If, that is, they don't just settle for computer games.

Many an old English pub, dating back to seventeen-something-or-other or whenever, has been gutted and completely remodeled. A huge-screen TV dominates the wall where the fireplace once stood, surrounded by horse paraphernalia. The place is so crowded these days that you know, the minute you enter, that you will never find anywhere to sit. If you tried to have a conversation you couldn't hear a word that was said; people our age certainly couldn't, anyway. All the earlier noise-making machines are still there, but now there's the blaring television and dozens of shouting people as well. Most of those who did manage to snag a seat are ignoring their companions and giving full attention, barring an occasional quick glance at the TV to check on the status of Real Madrid versus Manchester United, to their various electronic devices. Oh well, at least they are contributing little to the unrelieved cacophony.

Thinking back to the old, almost silent, snug, with its shining horse brasses reflecting the flames of the big fire, brings tears to my eyes. Yes, I know what you're thinking. But Grandma, things are really so much better in so many ways than they were back then. And I know you're probably right. But today, just for today, I don't want to look at the past objectively, weighing the good against the bad and finding it wanting. I just want to remember those horseshoe days as good. And cry because they're gone.

© February 2015 

About the Author 

 I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have now been with my wonderful partner Betsy for 28 years.