My riding teacher has one of those but I've never tried it yet.

That's a little closer to home. I think I'll stick to sitting on the
floor myself though...

Actually I wasn't sure what the heck I was asking about really - I
didn't know whether the difference was the kind of saddle, or how you
sit, or what kind of accent the horse has when he answers back.

I have seen Western style riding.  Haha, on the telly, in cowboy films!  It
seems to me that you almost couldn't fall out of it.
English saddles are minimal compared with Western saddles, therefore the
style of riding is completely different.
We have our stirrup leathers shorter so that when our horses trot we can
rise up and down in time to it.  Not surprisingly, it's called "rising to
the trot"  it's probably uniquely English, but don't quote me on this.  We
can also do the "sitting trot", self explanatory, but the horse needs to be
doing quite a slow controlled trot for this.

The canter is what you probably call a lope, but maybe a little faster.  We
sit down in the saddle for this.  It's my favourite pace.  Then there is the
gallop when we go like h**l flat out.

Maybe there is more tuition here to ride on an English saddle before being
let loose than a Western one with it's safety system of the huge pommel.
The only thing we can hold on to here, as a beginner, is the horse's mane.
Looking back, I was probably taught to ride quite harshly.  I was riding
well by the age of ten until... take your feet out of the stirrups and put
your hands on your head..while my horse was on a long rope held by my
"instructor" going round in circles.  It's called lungeing and it's very
good practice for both horse (on it's own) and with a rider.
So I obeyed.  I took my feet out of the stirrups and put my hands on my
head.  First we walked around for a few circles and then we trotted.  I knew
the sit trot by then so I was still okay with no stirrups and reins for
control.  Then we began to canter.  I was still fine until this stupid
sadist suddenly jerked in the rope which was attached to his bit on the left
towards her.  The poor kind lad nearly fell over and needless to say I shot
over his right shoulder and landed on the ground.  It dislocated my jaw.
I got up and said I was going home, and she said I was a coward and would
never be a good rider.  I have never forgotten this, and still remember what
her name was!!
So what to do?  Me, this child with the dislocated jaw?  Should I go home to
my grandmother (my mum was at work) and say "look what I've done while I was
riding?"  Absolutely not.  I knew if I did, I'd never be allowed to ride
again and I loved it.  So I walked about two miles to my friend whose father
had a shop and a big house we could disappear into.  Sandra.  I explained to
her what had happened and how much I didn't want my family to know and what
should I do about my jaw so no-one found out?  She was a little older than
me, 11.
We mused about it for some time, in her house, with everyone else elsewhere
and us in the kitchen.  "Tell you what" she said "I'll get hold of your chin
and pull it round."

I said okay, because the thought of not being allowed to ride again
overruled my common sense about my dislocated jaw.  So she did. The first
time did not work, so I told her to do it harder.  That did the trick!!!
Click. Ouchie.
It was the day JFK was assassinated (sp?).  We heard it on the radio when
Sandra was trying to put my jaw back in place.

It's probably not like that now, that children are afraid of parents like we
were.  Seems the reverse in fact!!

I went home with jaw in place and have said nothing about it ever to my
family, until a Christmas two years ago when my younger brother admitted
he'd been knocked down by a car, had his legs run over, got up, ran off, and
didn't tell when he was a child.  So then I told him about me and the jaw.

Tweed