Pony Club Cup (Woodbury Pony Club Book 1)

by Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  Then, hearing frantic neighs, she looked over a hedge and saw Sarah Rooke cantering across the field on an excited and indignant Chess. She leaned her bike again the hedge and opened the gate. “Are you going to the rally?” she asked.

  “Yes, and Lesley was in one of her moods and wouldn’t wait for me, so now Chess is going mad.”

  Jennifer Blacker was in a bad mood too. Though she had shouted and sulked and argued for three days she had still not managed to persuade her mother to let her transfer to the Cranford Vale. Mrs Blacker, who was an equally determined character, said that Jennifer needn’t go to Woodbury rallies if she didn’t enjoy them but that she was only prepared to drive her to a show every Saturday, and that was that.

  Lesley, seeing Jennifer coming out of the bridle path at Four Cross, slowed up the already dawdling Stardust. She was still seething with anger and she didn’t want to ride with anyone. But, as she dawdled along keeping a good distance between herself and Jennifer she heard hoofs and voices coming up from behind and, looking back saw that Sarah and Tina were overtaking her. She kicked Stardust into a trot. But the Rooke ponies were fond of each other, unlike the Rooke sisters. Stardust shuffled slowly, Chess produced his briskest trot and they managed a whinnying reunion as they turned up the Garland Farm lane.

  “Lesley, I forgot to tell you. Mummy says we’re to be kind to this new girl, Alice Drummond. Her parents have been killed in an air crash. And there’s a new boy too. He’s foreign. He’s come from Singapore, but he’s really Pakistani.” Sarah told her sister.

  “You can be kind to them,” snapped Lesley, her eye glaring angrily from behind the thick-lensed spectacles. “You’re the clever one.”

  Paul was not very happy with the arrangements for the rally. His father had dumped a large number of oil drums, an old pig trough and several worn-out tyres in an untidy heap in Long Meadow. The local builder had delivered six cavaletti and the Forestry Commission twelve immensely heavy fir poles, but there was no course, no steeplechase fences, nothing to impress James. It won’t be much fun having a pony club if all the big ones give up coming, he thought despondently as he saddled Banjo.

  Lynne was determined that red roan Berry should be the best turned-out pony there. She didn’t care much about jumping or schooling and the only race she ever won was trotting, but she loved grooming and looking after ponies.

  “And for once they’re all going to see your oiled hoofs and your freshly water-brushed mane,” she told Berry as polished her with the rubber. “When we had to hack to Woodbury, Paul said it was all a waste of time, but it’s definitely worth it.”

  Paul hated grooming, but then they were opposites in things. He took after Dad and she took after Mum. She looked across at Banjo who was tied to a ring in the cattle-yard wall. His coat was awful. He wasn’t losing it properly, and, when he did all the horrible bald patches caused by sweet itch would show up. They’d bought him cheap because he’d looked so awful, but though they kept him in the yard all through the spring and summer and didn’t let him eat a blade of grass, the hair didn’t grow again. Luckily Paul didn’t seem to mind. Jumping was all he cared about.

  Mrs Rooke, the secretary, arrived, bringing Julia Cartwright, one of the junior instructors, who was to take the D ride. Julia was twenty-one, with a plump cheerful face and brown hair worn in a pony tail. She waited, talking to and admiring Berry. Mrs Rooke, severely dressed in grey, lay in wait for the members, looking sharply from her watch to her lists and back again.

  Suddenly the lane was full of the scrunch of hoofs, and pony club members came riding past the back of the farmhouse, with its small, square stableyard. Mrs Rooke ticked her list busily, and then she found Alice.

  “Your badge and fixture card,” she said, handing them over. “Now, do be sure to put your name down when you are coming to rallies. Is that the pony you’ve hired for the holidays? He looks a bit poor: you must worm him at once. Now, these are my daughters, Sarah, who’s the real rider, and Lesley.”

  Alice searched her mind desperately for something to say. You didn’t make friends by sitting on your pony in stupid silence, but then David Lumley came driving round the corner from his house in a specially adapted Land Rover with a disc announcing ‘Disabled Driver’ on the rear window. He stopped in the midst of the ponies and people.

  Mrs Rooke hurried over. “I’m afraid they’re not all here yet,” she fussed. “It really is disgraceful.”

  “Well, let’s make a start,” said David Lumley. “Can Julia get her ride into the small paddock first?”

  He was wearing corduroys, a thick, navy blue polo-necked sweater and a padded waistcoat that was a light blue. He sat with the Land Rover door open, but seemed reluctant to get down among the milling crowd of ponies.

  “Here come the others,” called Lynne, as James, looking unusually hot and flustered, came trotting up the lane followed by the Wheelers, whose voices, all talking at once, drowned the sound of their ponies’ hoofs.

  “Late as usual,” Lynne taunted them.

  “Rupert lost his boots.” Lizzie looked round anxiously “I hope Mr Lumley’s not cross.”

  “I think he is a bit,” said Netti, taking a quick glance the white, unsmiling face. “At least he doesn’t look wildly pleased to see us.”

  “Well, we’re not last for once,” announced Oliver. “Here’s someone arriving at the sideways canter.”

  “The sideways canter?” Sarah and Lynne hurried to look as a limp, exhausted Hanif and a sweat-lathered Jupiter came clattering into the yard.

  “What have you been doing to that pony?” demanded Mrs Rooke, eyes glaring behind her glasses. “I’ve never seen anyone arrive at a rally in such a disgraceful condition.”

  “Sorry,” answered Hanif, who had no strength left for argument. “He went mad when he saw the other ponies ahead.”

  Oliver Wheeler, who looked like Rupert, but with a rounder, cheekier face and blue eyes, bright with self-confidence instead of dreamy, began arguing with Mrs Rooke.

  “But it’s not fair that I should always be in the D ride. I’m two years younger than Paul and Netti and half the D’s years and years younger than me. Some of them are six ... “

  “Oh, come on, Ollie,” interrupted Julia Cartwright. “You know you’re my leader and I can’t manage without you. And poor David’s already got eleven. He can’t cope with any more.”

  Oliver went off to the small paddock, muttering indignantly. David Lumley, trying to escape from an anxious and very talkative mother, shouted to Paul to lead on. Hanif struggled to remount the twirling Jupiter. Alice turned back, grabbed his rein and tried to hold him still.

  “Are you new too?” she asked as they rode into their field, which ran, long and narrow, beside the lane and was fenced with thick hedgerows, well studded with trees.

  “Yes,” agreed Hanif breathlessly, as Jupiter jogged sideways, fighting for his head and, at intervals, pulling his rider half out of the saddle with his violent snatches at the reins. “This is my first rally and I have a feeling it may be my last.”

  The other riders had been arguing about their positions in the ride, but Hanif and Alice merely joined on at the back. Then, looking across the school at Jennifer on bright bay Sea King followed by James on the stouter, taller, but, but equally well-turned-out dark-brown Ferdinand, both decided that they were hopelessly outclassed and waited gloomily to be sent to join the D ride.

  David Lumley parked the Land Rover in the centre of school and climbed out slowly.

  The pony club members tried to inspect him without staring too obviously as he limped a few steps and then stood, leaning on his shooting stick. He was slim and wiry and about middle height, a good bit taller than some jockeys, thought Alice, who had been to the Jockey Club in Rio de Janeiro. His hair was nice, thick, mouse-brown and vaguely curly. His eyes were blue but his face was white and drawn and looked older than the rest of him.

  David Lumley looked critically at his pony club members. The first two lo
oked competent and well-mounted. Behind them came Rupert, gazing into space. His anorak was unzipped, his crash cap on the back of his head and his pony, which was half Exmoor, decided David Lumley noticing the mealy nose and toad eye, wandered along with its nose poked out. Then there were two girls on chestnuts, one anxiously fiddling with her pony’s mouth and looking down, the other dawdling along, sitting in the back of the saddle and not trying at all. A nice-looking little grey led the collection of smaller ponies. Roan Berry, piebald Chess and Black Banjo all drifted along on each other’s tails while their riders flapped their legs uselessly. At the back came a girl on a stargazing dun, and a liver chestnut sweating with frustration as he fought his equally unhappy looking boy rider for his head.

  David Lumley sighed. What a collection! he thought. Where does one begin?

  “Good morning, everyone.” He spoke briskly to hide his despondency. “I’m David, your new D.C. Now from the front, can you tell me your names. First names will do.”

  Except for Rupert, who had drifted into a dream and had to be answered for by Lizzie, everyone shouted out his or her name in turn.

  “I don’t suppose I’ll get them all straight off. You’ll have to remind me,” said David, repeating them. “Now, can we have those two large ponies at the back a bit further forward—Lizzie, would you make a large circle and the rest of you follow her, except for Alice and—was it Harry? Right, you two close up with Rupert. Good. Now prepare to trot on.”

  They trotted, or at least the two leaders did. Jupiter, cantering sideways and throwing his head about, was upsetting Rosie and Saffron.

  “You’d better keep off my tail. Rosie’s not totally reliable, she kicks sometimes,” Rupert told Alice, who was trying to sit on the stiff-backed, stargazing Saffron.

  “Sorry.” She tried to slow the pony up by feeling his mouth, but he simply carried his head higher and higher until his ears were almost in her face. It was a horrible feeling and she seemed powerless; out of control and quite unable to do anything about it …

  Suddenly Rosie decided that she had had enough. Taking Rupert by surprise, she opened her mouth wide and charged off down the field in the direction of home. Saffron followed her and Jupiter soon overtook the pair of them and thundered on round the field, ignoring Hanif’s tugs and ‘whoas’.

  Alice stopped first; she managed to circle Saffron and, not being at all fit, he was soon quite pleased to stop cantering round. Red-faced, she hurried back to her place in the ride. Rupert stopped at the far end of the field by riding Rosie into the hedge, and he too slunk back into his place, but everyone was too busy watching Hanif, galloping the field at full speed and completely out of control, to bother about them.

  “Don’t worry, just keep him going round until he’s tired,” shouted David. “Don’t bother about stopping, steer.”

  After four circuits of the field Jupiter showed signs of slowing up. “Keep him going,” shouted David. “Go on, again. You mustn’t let him stop the moment he wants to.”

  He turned to Rupert. “How old is your pony?”

  “Six, but she hasn’t been schooled.”

  “I can see that. Are you going to school her?”

  “Me?” asked Rupert doubtfully.

  “Yes, you. Ponies don’t school themselves and it’s no use hoping for a miracle. If you worked on her for the rest of summer you might get somewhere.”

  Hanif appeared looking very crestfallen. “Sorry about that,” he said to David, “I’m afraid I’ve no control.”

  “So I observed. Is your pony stabled?”

  “Only at night. He was clipped when we bought him.”

  “What do you feed him on?”

  “Hay, nuts, oats, bran, chaff. The usual things.”

  “Well, the first thing is to cut out the oats and nuts. Until you’ve learned to ride him he doesn’t get a single oat or nut. Not one. O.K.?”

  “O.K.”

  “Right. Number two. Why have you got the wretched animal strapped down like that? Look at you, a double bridle, two nosebands, a curb chain and a running martingale.”

  “I’ve never been able to stop him so we’ve gradually added more and more.”

  “And you still can’t stop him, which proves you’re on the wrong track. Let’s get some of it off. The dropped nose band and the running martingale to start with, and let the curb chain out a couple of links. You’ll have to do it, I can’t. I’ve got a useless hand.”

  Hanif dismounted and felt very relieved when Tina appeared to help him.

  David had turned his attention to Alice. “How long have you had that pony?” he asked.

  “Four days. He’s hired for the holidays.”

  David groaned. “Can you send him back and ask for something rideable?”

  “No.” Alice shook her head. “I’m afraid not. But he’s not as bad as this usually. He’s just excited.”

  “You can cure stargazers, but it takes months rather than weeks,” said David with a sigh. “I’m afraid you’re in for a rotten holidays.”

  He turned back to the rest of the ride who were beginning to feel bored and neglected. “Well, now we’ve got the lunatic ponies under control, let’s see what you lot can do. Change the rein, Jennifer. Now I want you to canter on, one at a time, circle at a convenient point and join on at the back of the ride.”

  Jennifer prodded Sea King into a canter with her heels, circled smoothly and re-joined the ride with a smug expression on her flat, pale face.

  David looked at the rest of the ride. “What was wrong with that?” he asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “It was a gorgeously slow canter.”

  “Perfect,” they answered.

  “You didn’t see anything wrong with the circle?”

  “No.” They were all shaking their heads.

  “Which way should a pony be bent on a circle? Which way should he look?” asked David.

  “Inwards,” answered Lizzie.

  “He should be bent round the rider’s inside leg,” added Sarah.

  “Your turn, James. Now watch carefully this time,” David told the members.

  “He isn’t looking inwards.”

  “Ferdie’s not bent enough.”

  “Too stiff,” they shouted now that they knew what to look for.

  Lizzie was next and she had a job to get Rajah cantering. She kicked and whacked energetically and felt quite triumphant when he finally lurched into a canter. “Too fast, he’s unbalanced,” David was shouting. “Sit up, look up. Take your hands off the withers.” Then he waved Lesley on with his good arm. She set off grim-faced, flapping her legs energetically. She managed to keep cantering round the school, but the moment she circled the pony fell back into a trot and the rest of the circle was a wild flurry of arms and legs as Lesley tried to get going again.

  “No impulsion,” shouted David. “It’s no use kicking, you’ve got to sit down and ride. Why’s that pony wearing a vulcanite pelham?” he demanded, as Lesley, looking hot and cross, re-joined the ride.

  “She’s always had one—she’s quite easy to stop in it.”

  “It’s crazy, a pelham on a pony that’s behind the bit and carries its head too low. Don’t you understand that with a pelham, whichever rein you use activates the curb chain and therefore has a lowering effect on the pony’s head. With a double bridle you have a choice—the bridoon separate from the curb chain—but your pony needs a snaffle.”

  “Next,” he shouted at Sarah. She was ready and giving Chess a sharp kick broke straight into a canter. She looked down to check that he was on the correct leg, circled neatly and joined the back of the ride.

  “Too fast,” said David. “Why kick and why look down? We don’t want to see your aids. A good rider on a schooled pony gives invisible aids. Only beginners kick.”

  Netti’s little grey Welsh pony, Tristram, had been well schooled before he belonged to the Wheelers and he went round very neatly, but David said that Netti’s circle was more like a banana tha
n a circle and that re-joining the ride was a transition and should be made with elegance. She had stopped with a lurch, using Chess’s hindquarters as a buffer.

  Lynne made a mess of her turn. Berry trotted faster further than Rajah, raced round the circle twice and then went half way up the ride before Lynne could stop her. David sighed. “We know she’s been in harness, but you could school her. Hacking may be more fun, but it doesn’t improve ponies. You’ve got to work at it if you want to get anywhere. Go on, Paul.”

  Paul bustled round on Banjo, who had a very short stride, but was obedient and willing.

  “Yes, you do it, but you don’t do it well,” David him. “You are all the same,” he went on, looking up down the ride, “You sit on top of your ponies, steering. You kick your heels and you flap your legs and you think you’re riding, but you’re not. A good rider sits deep and influences the horse’s hindlegs, gets him moving with impulsion so that he goes on the bit. Some of you are sitting too far forward, some too far back, and none of you are sitting deep.”

  The pony club members all shifted in their saddles. David went on, “Now those of you who have sensible ponies can cross your stirrups and in a moment we’ll see if we can get you riding better, but first I’d like the three lunatic ponies to circle and join on. Only at the trot.”

  Rosie set off with her head low and her nose poked out, and the moment Rupert asked her to circle, she opened her mouth wide and charged off across the field.

  “She’s so unbalanced and stiff that it’s difficult for her to circle,” David explained to the rest of the ride. “And she’s quite crafty. She’s discovered that she can escape from anything difficult by opening her mouth, evading the bit and charging off. What she needs is a properly adjusted noseband.” He remembered Hanif. “Can we borrow yours? I’d like to see if it does the trick.”