Lady Godiva

In the nineteen seventies horses were becoming an oddity in the streets of Toronto. Whenever a horse-drawn vehicle or a mounted policeman made an appearance, it/he would draw everyone’s attention. I recognized the potential that my horses and antique wagons had as an advertising tool and started contacting various agencies around town. Because my stables were located in the heart of the city, I was well positioned to respond quickly to the many requests that started coming in.

Once the word got out, I was kept busy promoting various products and events and each one was a new and interesting challenge. I, or one of my assistants, in addition to supplying the horses, was often required to appear in strange costumes and regalia, as a knight in full armour riding his charger up and down Bloor St., a centurion driving a chariot around the parking lot of a shopping mall, or a Governor General’s Horse Guard Trooper standing guard at the entrance to the ball room on the fifth floor of the Royal York Hotel. I never knew what I was going to be ask to do and if the price was right, I never said no.

One day the owners of a unisex hair salon that wanted to promote its grand opening, approached me. I met with the two flamboyant new owners and they laid out their plans for me.

“Picture this!” one of them said, touching his forehead with the back of hand and staring off into the distance, “A nude Lady Godiva mounted on a pure white horse and led by a handsome page in period costume walking up Yonge St. right to the door of our salon.” “I can make the page’s costume!” the other owner chimed in, “ I already have a set of tights.”

“Well, gentlemen,” I said, “I suppose it’s possible. I do have a white horse that would probably meet your requirements, but the matter of the page might prove difficult. I don’t think I will be able to talk my assistant into wearing those tights you’re talking about and I am damned sure I’m not going to do it!”

“Not a problem!” they sang out in unison, and then one of them continued, “We already have a page lined up: a friend of ours; he knows all about horses.” “Yes!” confided the second man, “and I hear he’s hung like one!” whereupon they both started tittering uncontrollably.

“A buck’s a buck,” I said to myself as I booked the date. The only thing I was concerned about was the page’s ability to manage the horse but my two clients reassured me that Clark, as they called him, had lots of experience and that I was not to worry. I don’t know why but I took them at their word and let the matter drop.

The only pure white horse I had was a spirited gelding. He was quite obedient and controllable if you knew what you were doing but if he thought he could get away with it, he would get a bit trying at times. I had rented him out on the 12th of July a couple of times and Constable Mo Clarke, dressed up as King Billy, seemed to get along with the horse fairly well as he led the Orange Lodge’s annual parade through the heart of the city.
When the day arrived for the salon promotion we trucked the horse to the store and were greeted by Lady Godiva and her loyal page. She was a buxom young lady cleverly clad in a skin colored body stocking that, on first glance, made her appear nude. Her long blonde hair covered just enough of her ample breasts to keep the morality squad at bay and the effect was quite good. I know it worked for me!
The page was a different matter. I had begun to sense a problem when I first saw him striding down the front steps of the beauty parlor clad in yellow leotards, green pantaloons, a white lacy top and a puffy purple hat with a large feather.
He seemed to float in my direction as I stood by the horse’s head. I began to be concerned when I introduced him to the horse. His eyes were wide with fright and it seemed to take all of his courage to force himself to come close enough to give the horse a limp wristed pat on the neck.
Glancing around to see that nobody was looking in our direction, he clutched my wrist and leaning forward, whispered in my ear, “You know don’t you?” I looked perplexed. I wasn’t sure what he meant. He winked at me and said, “About the horse, silly! This is the closest I’ve ever been to one.”
I should have known better. I was constantly running into the same problem: desperate young actors and performers willing to swear to anything to get a job.
“I don’t think you will be able to handle this beast.” I told him, “ Why in hell would you lie about something like this? You could get yourself killed.” “I know,” he replied, “but I needed the money. I’m a ballet dancer and I haven’t worked for a while.”
I may have looked a little pissed off because he turned to me with a hurt look on his face and suggested the unimaginable, “Say, you’re about my size. Why don’t you take my costume and lead the horse yourself?”
This put the situation into a whole new light--not that there was anything wrong with it, but there was no way they were getting me into those tights.
I was frantically trying to think of a way that I could make the original plan work when I remembered a small amber coloured bottle of liquid that might still be in my truck. I led the horse over and, leaning through the open window on the driver’s side, opened the glove compartment. Thank God, it was still there, complete with syringe and needle.

About two weeks earlier a mare of mine was acting up on a movie set. She had been filmed several times previously during the production and it was essential, for the sake of continuity, that she be in the scene that was causing her to panic. I contacted Paul Cairns, an ex-cop in his last year of Vet school, and he suggested I try a new horse tranquilizer called Atrivet.

It had worked wonders, transforming my crazy mare into a docile pussycat; I was sure that this stuff was the magic elixir that would keep me out of those tights.

I injected a hefty dose of the drug into the white gelding’s neck and he immediately started to relax. While we waited for the full effect, I gave the page a quick lesson on how to lead a horse without getting his toes broken. He seemed more at ease. Apparently he had fortified himself with some liquid courage while I was attending to the horse.

I hadn’t had time to read the lengthy instructions on the label of the drug bottle, concerning how long it would last or any side effects to expect so when the horse’s eyes started to get droopy, I decided we best be on our way.

We hoisted the semi-naked lady on to her sidesaddle and after she adjusted her hair we set off down the street. I walked beside the page for a few yards and then, as we started to get the attention of the people on the sidewalks, I decided that it would be better if I followed discreetly along the curb pretending I didn’t know them.

I guess the page hadn’t lied about his ballet experience: Rudolph Nureyev couldn’t have done a better job of strutting and playing to the crowd.

Anyway, I could see that the page was in control of the situation and the old horse was just following along behind him, yawning and trying to stay awake so I decided to stop and get a coffee in a café along the way. The entourage wasn’t moving that fast and I was sure I could catch up later.

By the time I finished my coffee, my charges were out of sight and I had to jog a bit to catch up. In the distance I could hear laughter, honking horns, whistles and the general hum of crowd noise.

I could see Lady Godiva’s head bobbing above the throngs of people who had now gathered around her so I knew she was still safely mounted and making her way down the street. When I dogged to the other side of the street to get a better look, I couldn’t help laughing myself.

I didn’t know at the time but the tranquilizer I had administered had a peculiar side effect on geldings.
Lady Godiva elated and haughty, was obviously being inspired by the crowd and the page was striding along even more heroically than when he had begun, playing to an appreciative audience.
What they both didn’t realize was that, due to the effects of the tranquilizer, the gelding’s penis was hanging flaccid and fully extended below him: a two-foot long truncation swaying rhythmically back and forth in time with the page’s paces.
I decided to leave well enough alone: the grand opening was well attended and I had conducted one of the most effective advertising campaigns ever!