In an uncharacteristic move, I was unprepared for a situation I found myself in the other weekend. Back in December, I had a message from the director of my summer camp to provide dates of recruitment fairs she’d be attending in the UK and Ireland – former staff were invited along to say hi and help out. There had been one such person two years previously when I was hired, and I thought it’d be a fun thing to do (plus I needed to see the director and discuss what may or may not happen in 2015), so I agreed to attend one of the London fairs.
Having witnessed someone else do what I knew I’d be doing, I didn’t think about it too much – the day I was hired, a friendly girl (who, as it happened, had done two summers in the horseback department) was essentially entertaining the queue of waiting candidates. She wasn’t assessing anyone, but she was available to ask any of the more informal questions an applicant might have. I assumed I’d be in the same position, so I didn’t prepare myself other than remembering what I might get asked.
However, I forgot that things have changed slightly in the meantime – I initially turned down the opportunity to return to camp in 2015, deciding to stay in the UK and start to get my life back on a permanent track. Some good things have happened this winter, and I wanted to stick with them. Then my boss also said she wouldn’t return, and the carrot of a promotion was dangled in front of me. My decision was on the rocks.
Nobody at the recruitment fair I helped at was uncertain. Once the doors opened, we were inundated with enthusiastic applicants. I duly triaged the queue, turning away anyone who was seeking a position we’d already filled, and warming up those who we could potentially take. As I was chatting away, my director grabbed me and asked me to speak to an applicant she’d already approved of – our first candidate for horseback. I was excited to finally talk horse with someone, but what I wasn’t expecting was that I’d have to vet their skills! The director had decided she was happy with the person – not an easy feat, she’s justifiably a tough woman to please – and I was to make a call as to whether their horsey experience was sound.
I explained a little about the department – one of the problems we often face at camp is that whoever hires people (a selection of directors travel around the world, and none of them work at the barn) doesn’t know a huge amount about what we do and how the day works, so they aren’t able to answer detailed questions. Sometimes, it’s clear staff have been accidentally misled, and they get a big shock. They’re normally told it’s hard work (which any horse person should already know) and long hours are involved (but again, it’s camp, not a holiday – you’re there to work!) but sometimes they seem to show up assuming they’ll ride several hours per day, or during their breaks… not the case!
It’s difficult to give an accurate representation of what it’s like without scaring people off, but I tried my best. Anyone who loves horses and wants to work with them shouldn’t be phased by the hours, the poo picking and the grunt work, but some are. So I was fairly gentle. I made sure to explain that the majority of riders are beginners and that it’s therefore very repetitive. I laboured the point that if you get an hour in the saddle every two days, you’ve done well. But I did also point out that none of our horses live in unless they’re seriously ill, so although there’s poo to pick, there are no stables to muck out. And they all remained keen.
Rightly or wrongly, I didn’t ask them too many questions – the thing I’ve learned over the last two years is that people can talk a great game, have brilliant experience with horses and know their stuff, but when it comes to teaching… that’s a different thing. You honestly can’t properly tell how someone is as a teacher until you see them do it. So I didn’t ask for any detailed philosophies there, but I did ask two questions which, to me and the way our barn runs are critical: how confident are you handling horses on the ground; how good are you at picking out hooves?
Those questions sound basic, right? They should do, but they aren’t. We do always get a variety of levels of experience (see previous regarding the type of person responsible for hiring staff – non-experts), but it amazes me how many staff seriously lack confidence when they’ve got an excited or flighty horse on the end of a lead rope, or who are reluctant to bend over and pick out eight hooves first thing in the morning (that’s all they have to do once we’ve tacked up! Each member of staff is responsible for two specific horses – if you as a person do the same two horses once or twice per day for 13 weeks on the bounce, if those horses don’t have at least the fourth hoof in the air waiting for you, you’re doing something very wrong).
Throughout the course of the afternoon, I vetted and accepted enough staff to fill my department, and they’re all lovely. It was very exciting to take people through that process and see their reactions. But I did walk away a little disappointed in myself for only thinking of two killer questions – I used to work in recruitment for goodness’s sake! Anyway, it’s done now. I got excited about camp again. So my 2015 is still to be confirmed…
If you’re looking for grooms or junior instructors, what’s the most important horsey quality for you? Clearly, something else of great importance is that someone has the confidence to speak up when they’re uncertain, rather than do something wrong, but that goes for any job… Do you look for champion hoof pickers, strong biceps for lugging water buckets or another type of X-Factor? Let me know in the comments!