A Naked Man on a Horse meets the Underdog

Image by Pixabay

Have I got your attention? Thought so. Let me tell you a story.

A few weeks ago, I was low. I was bone tired, emotionally drained, my immune system had taken a day off and let a stinking cold through the firewall and I’d had enough. My to-do list had surged, tsunami-like, over the comforting battlements of my beloved Trello boards and I had no fight left in me.

Slumped in a noxious sea of used tissues, Vic nasal spray, Sudafed and lip balm, I was delighted to receive a call from my sister inviting me down to see her and the family in Southampton. Sneezing and honking, I wended my way down to Hampshire from Suffolk, kept afloat by Radio 2 and an industrial sized box of tissues. It was good to see my family.

We had a Chinese takeaway (bliss!) and watched something funny on TV. We chatted until late then I betook myself to the sofa bed for a peaceful sleep which never came. Keen to stay conscious on my long drive, I’d broken my no caffeine rule and was now paying the price. I did several crosswords and read a couple of chapters of my book before drifting into a fretful slumber.

(We’re getting to the naked man on the horse and the underdog. Stick with me).

The next day, I realised I could spend the day doing anything I liked. I drove to Winchester and parked in the first car park I found. I vaguely noted that there was a picture of a train on the wall and it probably had “brook” in its name[1], but that was it. As I walked into town, a sculpture caught my eye. It was the aforementioned young man on a horse, a work by Elisabeth Frink[2]. “Aha!” I thought. “That’s handy. I’ll be able to find the car park when I get back, no problem.”

Image courtesy of Graham Horn

I had lunch. I read a book. I did a little light shopping in the Cathedral shop where I saw Liz Carter’s book, “Catching Contentment”.

Just after 3 o’clock, I ambled into the cathedral with the intention of seeing Jane Austen’s tomb and having a general cultural wander. A service was about to begin. I was feeling suddenly tearful and sad, and it seemed a good idea to join the rest of the congregation in what I assumed was some kind of afternoon Evensong. To my surprise, we were asked to stand back by an usher while an entire robed choir and a selection of people in ecclesiastical costumes filed by. There were copes. There were chasubles. There may well have been crosiers. It turned out that the service was to commission three canons. I sat down in the beautiful chapel, tears pricking at the back of my eyes.

There was an atmosphere of such warmth, love and friendliness that I could almost taste it. The people on either side of me turned to smile and if I’d shown any sign of wanting to enter into conversation, I’m sure we would have. The service was wonderful. We sang, we prayed, all from a service sheet. It was quite different to what I’m used to. The Bishop of Winchester climbed the stairs to the pulpit and gave an inspiring address about reaching out into our communities, modelling love and being kind and compassionate.

At the end of the service, I felt encouraged, hopeful yet still sad. I walked slowly out into the Close, the sky now darkening and a chill in the air. I began to walk back up the hill towards where I believed the Frink sculpture to be.

Let me take you back to my long journey down the M3. A new song by Alicia Keyes had come on as I was driving called “Underdog.” The words hit me right between the eyes. We'll come back to that later.

Back in Winchester, as I trudged through the streets, head down, I looked up to see an arch to the next street. Two people were sitting there, deep in conversation. I realised that I had no spare change and felt sad that I couldn’t help them. I started to walk past, then the Bishop’s words surged back into my mind. I stopped, turned around and said hello. They were delightful. We chatted and I asked how they were. The chap (Chris) said he’d had a bad day and asked how mine had been. I did that jolly, pretend thing we all do and told him it had been fine. He looked at me intently. “Really?” he said. “You look so sad.”

“I am sad. You’re right,” I replied. We talked for ages and he and his friend (Ali) gave me some excellent advice. They weren’t asking me for anything. If anything, I was the one taking while they gave. Kindness shone from their eyes.

After a bit, I asked if they fancied a drink. Chris and I walked over to a nearby coffee shop and we got two hot chocolates with all the trimmings and a couple of bacon and Brie baguettes. Chris told me how he’d ended up sitting on the pavement in Winchester on a chilly Saturday evening. It was a story that made me long to become a millionaire and give all my money away so that no-one ever has to sit on the ground, cold, hungry and thirsty ever again. There was absolutely no self-pity in what he told me.

We talked some more while they drank their hot chocolate. We agreed that we all loved cheese. They asked what I did and I told them. I said, “I’m going to write about you. Next time I’m in Winchester, I’ll come and find you and show it to you.” Chris smiled. “Please do. We’re always here.”

Image by Pixabay

I walked away, deeply grateful for the gift they’d given me. At this point, I realised that I had absolutely no memory of where the car park, and therefore the car, was. I spent the next hour wandering around an increasingly cold and windy Winchester asking people for directions. The only thing I could remember was the man on the horse. By 5.30, I was beginning to suspect that I’d never, ever find the darned car park and that I would be living in Winchester forever. Finally, I found someone who knew about the naked man on the horse. I’ve never been so pleased to see a modernist sculpture. 

I couldn’t find the picture of the train, or the car. After another 20 minutes wandering hopelessly around, there it was. I was so glad to see it. That car symbolised my freedom. I could get into it and drive wherever I wanted. Chris and Ali, at present, don’t have that freedom.

So how about the underdog? Those who have been left behind in the mad rush for success (whatever that is) at the expense of compassion and love. No-one deserves to be that person, particularly not two individuals as lovely as Chris and Ali.

If you’re ever in Winchester, please try to find them and say hello from me. They’re in their thirties. Chris wears a baseball cap, Ali has got long dark hair and a tattoo on her ring finger. They’re lovely. They like hot chocolate with marshmallows and they’re big fans of Brie.

Most of all, though, they helped me when I needed help. Thank you, both of you. God bless you.

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[1] Turns out it didn’t

[2] I only know this because there was a plaque saying it