The traditional Romany life was in decline, and thanks to the chance discovery of The Diddakoi by Rumer Godden, I realized that that almost-lost world was rather harsher than I had thought. But I couldn’t help noticing that one was as likely to spot a wagon pulled up on the verge as to spy an otter in the stream or a red kite wheeling above the hedge. Back home, I daydreamed about buying a horse and solemnly set about acquiring curry combs and harnesses in preparation for my new career. Most of all, I loved the footloose, fly-by-night pleasures of the gypsy life. I loved the jangling harnesses and the neat little bow-top with its folding beds. I loved Cinnamon, our plump and stoical horse. The best days of my childhood were spent in a borrowed horse-drawn wagon, ricocheting up and down the semi-sheer slopes of the Wicklow Mountains, reins firmly grasped in small hands.
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