Linsell Farm

🎉 Spin the Wheel Sale! 🎉

It’s back!

Shop June 11–14 and save up to 25% off with a spin of the wheel.

We’ll also be giving away a $150 Vision Saddlery Gift Card!

To enter:
• Like this post
• Share this post
• Tag 2 friends in the comments

Shop online June 11–14 or visit us at the Vision Show Shoppe at Wesley Clover Parks June 13–14.

Good luck, and happy shopping!

Exclusions apply. Discounts cannot be combined with other offers.

We’re Hiring – Retail Sales Associate

Vision Saddlery is looking for a dependable and friendly team member to join our team for 25–30 hours per week.

We’re looking for someone who:
• Is mature, responsible, and self-motivated
• Is comfortable working independently and taking initiative
• Has a valid driver’s licence and reliable transportation
• Previous retail experience is considered an asset
• Enjoys providing excellent customer service
• Has strong organizational and communication skills
• Experience with Shopify is considered an asset

Responsibilities include:
• Assisting customers in-store and online
• Processing sales and online orders
• Receiving and organizing inventory
• Merchandising products and maintaining displays
• Keeping the store clean, organized, and welcoming
• Assisting with general day-to-day operations

This position is ideal for someone who enjoys working in a relaxed environment, takes pride in their work, and appreciates being part of a small business where customer relationships matter.

To apply, please send your resume and a brief introduction about yourself to [email protected]

We look forward to hearing from you!

Important Reminder! The deadline to submit any Spec Changes/Proposals for the 2027 Trillium season is June 30. As a member based organization, we know that your input is important!

Do you have an idea to add or change a division or class at Trillium Champs for 2027?

If you have a proposal, head on over to the THJA website www.thja.ca/circuit and click on the Spec Change Procedure/Policy button. Complete the form and email it to [email protected]. Please note that you must submit the exact wording for your spec change proposal.

Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to submit their proposals!

Pink Floyd told a session singer to "sing about death—no words, just emotion." She improvised one take. It became one of the most powerful moments in rock history. They paid her £30. They put someone else's name on the songwriting credit. She waited 30 years. Then she sued—and won.
January 1973. Abbey Road Studios, London.
Clare Torry was a session singer.
Good work. Steady pay. No fame. No spotlight.
Most nights meant jingles, background harmonies, commercial work. Show up, sing what's on the page, take your check, go home.
Then the call came.
Pink Floyd needed a vocalist. Immediately. Abbey Road Studios—the most prestigious recording facility in Britain.
Clare barely knew their music. But a gig was a gig.
She agreed.
She walked into Studio Three and found a band in the final stages of recording something extraordinary—a strange, ambitious album called The Dark Side of the Moon.
They played her an instrumental track.
Richard Wright's keyboard progression, slow and vast and ominous. A musical meditation on something enormous that didn't quite have a name yet.
They needed a voice to complete it.
Then came the instruction:
"Sing about death. No words. Just emotion."
Clare hesitated.
She was a professional session singer. She followed sheet music. She sang written melodies. She delivered what she was asked to deliver.
She had never been told to simply feel.
But the tape rolled. The music swelled.
And Clare began.
At first, she tested small melodic ideas—tentative, searching.
Then she stopped thinking.
The music pulled her somewhere deeper, and she let her voice respond instinctively. Cries. Wails. Soaring phrases that sounded like grief and defiance intertwined.
No map. No lyrics. No structure.
Just raw, unfiltered human emotion carried on her breath.
When the take ended, she was shaking.
She apologized. Certain she'd ruined the session. "Let me do it again," she said. "I'll hold back next time."
The room was silent.
Then: "That was perfect. Exactly what we wanted."
They recorded several more takes. But everyone in that room understood the truth: Clare Torry had captured something on that first attempt that could not be planned, could not be repeated, could not be manufactured.
She had taken a musical meditation on mortality and transformed it into a visceral, wordless confrontation with death itself.
Two months later, The Dark Side of the Moon was released.
It exploded.
The album became one of the best-selling records in history—over 45 million copies. It spent more than 700 weeks on the Billboard charts over the following decades.
And "The Great Gig in the Sky" became one of its most defining, most beloved, most emotionally devastating tracks.
People played Clare's voice at funerals.
In hospital rooms.
On late-night drives when words failed them.
Her wordless performance became a universal language for fear, sorrow, and the terrifying, beautiful fact of being alive and knowing you will die.
Millions of people heard her voice.
Almost none of them knew her name.
Because when the album sleeve credits were printed, only one name appeared under "The Great Gig in the Sky":
Richard Wright.
Clare Torry was listed as "vocalist."
Not co-writer. Not co-creator. Not composer.
Vocalist.
She received her session fee—£30—and no royalties.
Not from the millions the song earned.
Not from any of the 45 million albums sold.
Not from any of the decades of licensing, synchronization, streaming.
£30. Once. For one of the most recognized vocal performances in the history of recorded music.
For years, she stayed silent.
That was the session musician's life. You were paid once. You were never credited again. You were a tool, not an artist. A voice for hire, not a composer.
She knew the arrangement. She accepted it.
But she also knew something was wrong.
She hadn't sung a prewritten melody. There was no prewritten melody. Richard Wright had created the instrumental foundation—the beautiful, haunting keyboard progression.
But the vocal line—every soaring phrase, every anguished cry, every emotional arc—had been created by Clare Torry, in real time, in that room, on that January night.
Without her improvisation, the track was unfinished.
Without her composition, it was incomplete.
As the years passed and the album kept selling, the inequity grew harder to ignore.
In 2004, Clare Torry filed suit against Pink Floyd and EMI for songwriting recognition.
The case went to the courts.
Musicologists testified about the nature of improvisation and composition.
Audio engineers analyzed the recording, demonstrating how Clare's vocal line provided melodic structure that was compositional, not merely performative.
Legal experts explained what many in the music industry had long understood but never been forced to acknowledge:
Improvisation, when it creates melodic structure, is composition.
The composer doesn't have to write it down. Doesn't have to be in the room with a pen. Doesn't have to be officially designated.
If you create the melody, you composed it.
Clare Torry had created the melody.
In 2005—thirty-two years after that January session—the case was settled.
Clare Torry was officially recognized as co-composer of "The Great Gig in the Sky."
She began receiving royalties.
She never sought revenge. She sought acknowledgment—the simple, long-denied recognition that what she had created was hers.
Her victory became a landmark in music industry history.
A precedent for session musicians everywhere—particularly women—who had contributed creatively to iconic works without receiving proper credit.
The music industry had been built, in part, on their talent.
The music industry had consistently ignored their authorship.
Clare's case cracked that system.
Not completely. Not permanently. But meaningfully.
Today, when you listen to "The Great Gig in the Sky"—and you should listen to it—hear what Clare Torry made.
Hear the way her voice rises and trembles.
Hear the panic. The pleading. The surrender.
Hear the moment where it sounds like a human soul deciding whether to fight death or accept it.
Hear a 30-year-old session singer who was told to sing about death with no words and somehow found the exact sound of what that means.
Pink Floyd asked her to do something that had no precedent.
She walked in off the street, improvised one perfect take, and delivered something that millions of people would hear in their most private, most vulnerable, most human moments.
For thirty-two years, someone else's name was on it.
For thirty-two years, she received none of the money it earned.
Then she stood up.
And the courts agreed with what anyone listening to that recording already knew:
Clare Torry didn't just sing about death.
She composed something that will outlive us all.
Pink Floyd asked her to sing about death.
She gave them immortality.
And in 2005, history—finally, belatedly, rightfully—gave her the credit she had earned in a single take.
In January 1973.
At Abbey Road Studios.
In Studio Three.
When a session singer stopped thinking and started feeling.
And everything changed.

Almé Z: The True Story of a Showjumping Legend 🐴✨

Some horses win classes. Some horses build bloodlines. Almé Z did both.

Born in France on 16 April 1966, Almé Z was a bay Selle Français stallion by Ibrahim out of Girondine, bred by Alphonse Chauvin. He became one of the most influential showjumping sires of the modern era.

Before becoming a breeding legend, Almé Z competed internationally with riders including François Mathy and Johan Heins, winning major Grand Prix classes and proving his quality in sport.

His move to Studfarm Zangersheide under Léon Melchior helped transform his name into Almé Z. At Zangersheide, he became one of the stallions that helped shape a new era of performance-focused showjumping breeding.

What made Almé Z extraordinary was his ability to pass on power, blood, reflexes, technique, and competitive spirit. His sons and descendants include Galoubet A, Jalisco B, I Love You, Ahorn Z, Aloubé Z, Athlet Z, Animo, Baloubet du Rouet, Quick Star, and Quidam de Revel.

His influence also reached legendary mares such as Ratina Z, whose family carried the Almé Z legacy into the very top of international sport.

Almé Z died on 21 March 1991, but his blood still runs through countless international showjumpers today. His story is one of talent, controversy, vision, and lasting influence — a stallion remembered not only as a champion, but as the “crack der cracks.” 🖤

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This is your sign to come shopping. 👀🔥

For 5 days only, ALL Vision Apparel is 50% OFF + take an EXTRA 10% OFF clearance at the Vision Saddlery Show Shop at Wesley Clover Parks!

The perfect excuse to stock up on your favourite breeches, belts, show shirts, and more before they’re gone. Sizes are limited and once they sell out, they’re gone for good.

📍 May 20th–24th
📍 Vision Saddlery Show Shop | Wesley Clover Parks

See you at the shop 🖤

Treats for ponies AND people 🍬

Visit our mobile shop at to shop 25% off show jackets and show shirts! Open 8-4 today and tomorrow 🍀

Your show season wardrobe refresh starts now ✨

Join us at the Vision Saddlery Show Shoppe at Wesley Clover Parks from May 13th–17th for:
— 25% OFF select show jackets & show shirts
— An extra 10% OFF clearance

Whether you need a last-minute ring look or just want an excuse to shop before your next class… this is your sign 👀

See you at the park😉