“Oh Netti, do stop weeding and take those weeds to the bonfire,” wailed Lizzie. “Julia will be here in ten minutes and it all looks so awful. Rupert, it’s no use starting to paint, the ponies will get wet paint all over them, and we must start grooming and tack cleaning for Tuesday.”
But everything turned out much better than Lizzie expected. Mrs Wheeler had cooked a delicious lunch. Mr Wheeler was in a good mood and opened two bottles of wine. Julia, who was doing design at college, was able to talk about illustrating with Mrs Wheeler and architecture with Mr Wheeler so there were no long pauses or awful silences.
The arrival of Mrs Franklin driving Hanif, Alice, Lesley and Tina, who had decided that as Hobbit was a Wheeler she’d better join the Washout’s practice, broke up the luncheon party. Netti departed on a creaking bicycle to the Robertses, who had agreed to give her a lift to the Rookes. Julia carried an armful of books and a folder of questions out to the saddle room.
“Supposing we talk about horsey things in general while I pull the mane and tail,” suggested Julia, “and then I’ll try the quiz questions on you afterwards. I don’t think they’ll be terribly difficult ones as the whole point of the Area Cup is to encourage the people who don’t get into teams normally.”
“Us, in fact,” said Rupert, putting a halter on Rosie, who had been moved into Tristram’s box to avoid the wet paint.
“The Wonders know all the quiz book answers by heart. Do you think we ought to get hold of some copies and learn them too?” asked Alice.
“Obviously, the more you know the better, but I think the setters of questions will probably try to think up one or two original ones.”
With Oliver, Tina and Rupert as well as the four who were in the quiz team packed into the loosebox, it was a tremendous squash, but Lizzie sat in the manger and Oliver and Hanif and Alice astride the partition. Lesley said she must stand beside Julia as she wanted to watch, and then she would pull Stardust’s mane herself.
“Initials,” said Julia. “Someone is bound to get ‘what do these initials stand for? BHS. BSJA. BFSS. NH. RSPCA!’”
They all shouted out the answers at once. British Field Sports Society was the only one no one knew. They went through the name of the Chairman of the pony club, the whereabouts of its headquarters, and the names of their own district commissioner and secretary. They listed the names of the grooming tools, the names of the tools used in shoeing and what they all looked like and were used for. They went through the markings a pony could possess, from races and blazes to eel stripes and ermine marks. Then points of the horse from ergots and chestnuts to stifles and gaskins and hamstrings. By the time Rosie’s mane was pulled, most people’s heads were reeling with the weight of so much knowledge. Rosie seemed to enjoy the mane part, but when it came to pulling her tail her co-operation ceased. She kicked out angrily and Rupert had to try to divert her attention with pony nuts and conversation, while Julia, standing well to one side, pulled away at the tail hairs.
Afterwards they all sat on upturned buckets in the yard and Julia went through her list of questions, quizzing everyone in turn. Lesley and Tina were the best on stable management, but Alice knew most about foreign breeds and was good on horses in history and in books. Hanif was very vague on questions about how many pounds of hay or oats or anything else should be given to his pony—he always answered in scoops and haynets, which Julia said was useless—but he knew what FEI stood for and he was a lot better than Rupert. No one knew much about racing and Julia said they must memorize the names of the classic races. The fact that the Derby was for three-year-old colts and was run at Epsom. The Oaks was for fillies. The names of the horses who had last won these races and, of course, the Grand National. “There’s bound to be at least one question on racing,” she said as she handed out books.
“Thank you,” they shouted after her as she mounted her moped and rode away. “Thank you, Julia. Thank you very much.”
“Look at Rosie,” said Rupert, leading her out into the yard. “Doesn’t she look civilized. No longer a country bumpkin, but a slick show pony.”
“That’s going too far,” objected Lesley. “But she does look a lot better.”
They met at Waterford Farm on Sunday morning and found themselves lined up in a water meadow and minutely inspected. Julia advised on manes and tails and even snipped at a few on the spot. The rules of the competition banned plaiting, so there was no way of disguising messy manes. David inspected the tack and grooming. Several people were told to polish up their buckles, and to get grease off saddle flaps or the inside of their reins while dusty rumps and muddy briskets abounded.
Chess was found to have a risen clench, which would go against him in the turnout, but Mrs Rooke said she would send for the blacksmith first thing on Monday morning.
David grumbled about muddy and unpolished boots and Mrs Rooke threw both teams into confusion by asking about riding jackets and gloves. “Polo necks for the cross-country, white shirts and pony club ties for the quiz, riding jackets for the dressage and the turnout,” she announced firmly.
“But I’m only an individual,” objected Tina. “Won’t my anorak do?”
“I’ve outgrown my jacket. Lizzie’s got it,” protested Rupert. “Can’t I wear my polo-neck for the turnout too?”
“My jacket will do for the turnout, but as it’s miles too small I can’t possibly wear it for dressage,” added Alice. “Honestly, Mrs Rooke, I can’t move my arms in it, and Aunt Margaret’s in no mood to buy me another.”
“We could pass jackets round for the dressage,” suggested Hanif, who owned everything, even gloves. “You can have mine, Alice, but that’s no good for turnout if we all go in together.”
“Now let me deal with this, Harry,” said Mrs Rooke sharply. “When I’ve made a note of what everyone needs I’ll go home and see what we have in our secondhand shop. Netti, your boots are all to pieces. I’d better see what I can find for you. Lizzie’s crash cap is green with age. I’ll make a note of your size. Alice, if there’s a jacket to fit you, you swop it for your old one, so your aunt won’t have to worry about the expense, and I’m sure there’s one that Tina can borrow just for the day.”
“Now we’re going to do everything the wrong way round.” said David when the inspection was over. “We’re going to do our jumping and messing about in the river before we go on to Harry’s field for dressage. It’s not a procedure I’d recommend, it’s just convenient this morning. Alice and Harry, can you lead the way through the ford, please.”
The river caused very little trouble. Saffron and Jupiter knew it so well that they were prepared to go backwards and forwards, encouraging the other ponies, and few made any fuss. Ferdinand insisted on trotting across at a very high cadenced trot which splashed everyone. Stardust teetered on the brink timidly and then decided to follow the others. Chess said he didn’t mind water, it was black plastic he couldn’t stand, and Berry caused the only uproar by trying to lie down. However, Paul raced to his sister’s rescue and walloped Berry on the quarters until she changed her mind. When all the ponies were splashing about happily and obviously enjoying themselves, Julia, assisted by James, who seemed to be the only rider with non-leaking boots, placed the two cavaletti David had brought on either bank so that whichever direction you came from, you jumped the first one into the water and the second one out on to dry land. The ponies, who knew now that the water was shallow and the bottom hard gravel, all enjoyed this too. “Right,” said David. “Harry’s going to guide you through the woods to his house. I’m going round by the road. See you there.”
Mr Franklin had worked on the dressage arena until darkness fell on Saturday night. The pony club members were suitably impressed. They admired the white lines round the outside and up the centre and the fact that they now had an X at which to halt. James paced out the distances and announced that they were absolutely correct. But it was Hanif’s jumps they really envied.
“Six real show jumps,” said Netti. “Oh, Harry,
you are lucky. Do you think David will let us jump them?”
“No. My stepfather suggested it, but David said we’d got to concentrate on dressage today. You’ll all have to come again another day and try them.”
“The arena’s exactly what we need though,” said James, looking pleased. “It’ll give us a really good dress rehearsal. Double our chances of doing well.”
“Please note that it belongs to a Woodbury Washout who is sharing it willingly with the Wonders,” announced Rupert loudly. “We do not have the dog-in-the-manger attitude that is sometimes noticeable among members of other teams.”
“What’s been going on then?” Alice asked Lizzie.
“Oh, it’s mostly Sarah. She didn’t want Netti to let me use her quiz book. She seems to want to beat us more than all the other pony clubs.”
“We’ll have the people who live a long way off first,” announced David as soon as he had parked the Land Rover at C. “That means that Harry, Alice and the Rookes can water and feed their ponies now. We won’t want them until this afternoon. Now, no whips, martingales or voices please. We’ll have James first as he looks as though he’s been riding in. Julia, will you come and write for me? I brought some dressage sheets so that we can give them my comments to digest.”
The dressage was rather dull and took ages because David sent people back for coming in crooked and made them repeat unbalanced transitions, over-large circles and shapeless serpentines until they got them right. The pony club members drifted away to try on the collection of jackets, boots, caps and even gloves that Mrs Rooke had produced.
Alice was delighted with her riding jacket and wanted to go home and fetch her old one at once, to cement the swop. The only one which fitted Tina was a rather revolting ginger colour, which didn’t go well with her reddish hair, but everyone agreed that when she had her crash cap on it made her look very smart. And they all felt that they looked much better riders when they wore jackets instead of anoraks.
Hanif was horrified when at lunch time his mother carried out a dish of samosas to the Land Rover and his stepfather followed her, bearing an assortment of drinks. But David seemed very cheerful and pleased with everything. He congratulated Mr Franklin on the dressage arena and Mrs Franklin on her cooking, and Julia said that the pony club had become much more fun for the junior instructors since Mrs Smythe gave up being D.C.
9
We'll Persuade Them Somehow
“It all seems very highly organized,” Hanif told the occupants of the Garland Farm cattle truck as they led their ponies down the ramp. “Alice and I got here first of the Woodburys, the posh horsebox arrived a few minutes ago and there’s still no sign of James. My stepfather and Julia have gone to get the numbers and find out if the programme is running to time. You’ve never seen so many highly polished ponies in your life.”
“What are the jumps like?” asked Rupert.
“I don’t know. The cross-country’s miles away. You can’t see any of it from here.”
“The turnout’s being judged in the farmyard and the quiz in the house,” said Alice. “The dressage has just started and it’s in that field over there.”
“Ollie, can you find the water brush? Rosie’s sat on her tail and completely ruined it in spite of the tail bandage,” wailed Lizzie.
“Here you are, but I’m helping Tina,” Oliver replied ungraciously and hurried away to the hired horsebox which had brought Netti, Tina and the Rookes.
“Rupert, do come and help,” wailed Lizzie.
“What with?” asked Rupert. “You’re dealing with the tail and the rest of her looks perfect.”
“You could give the tack a final polish or pick out her hoofs.”
“You polished the tack the whole way over here. It can’t need any more polishing. And her hoofs have been oiled so, if l pick them out, you’ll be screaming at me for having an oily white shirt.”
“Oh dear, I forgot they’d need picking out after the horsebox.”
“I’ll do it,” offered Paul. “I’m not in the turnout and I haven’t changed yet.”
“James has arrived,” announced Hanif, “so all the riders are here. Only David’s missing.”
“Mrs Rooke’s driving him. As he’s not really needed for the turnout and quiz she was planning to start a bit late,” explained Paul. “Mum and Dad reckon the dressage and cross-country will be quite enough for someone in his state.”
“The cardboard ones are to be worn on the backs for turnout, quiz and dressage,” said Mr Franklin, handing out numbers. “There are real cross-country ones for this afternoon and they’ll be in the back of the car.”
Julia appeared. “For the turnout, the ponies are to be tacked-up, but they’re shown dismounted. You lead them in, stirrups run up, reins over the head. It’s all running to time at the moment, so would the humans get dressed, please. Don’t forget your crash caps and gloves.”
“Rupert, your shirt’s hanging out and your tie’s crooked,” snapped Lesley as the Washout team assembled.
“Here, you tuck the shirt in, I’ll deal with the tie,” said Mr Roberts, who had just finished brushing and polishing Lynne.
“I think we all look incredibly smart,” said Hanif, looking round.
“Almost unrecognisable,” agreed Alice. “Look at James! I don’t know whether his boots or Ferdie’s coat shine the most.”
“Some of Chess’s white bits are still sticky,” moaned Sarah.
“You and Berry look perfect, absolutely brilliant,” Netti told Lynne. “If only Sarah or I were as good as you and James we’d be bound to win.”
“One of the team that’s being judged now has a risen clench,” Oliver reported with pleasure.
“But have you seen that team over by the scoreboard?” asked Tina. “They’ve got black jackets and buttonholes.”
“Too got up,” said Julia firmly. “They don’t look like pony club members. Come on! The collecting steward is waving at us.”
The turnout judges were very thorough and very slow. One judge inspected the pony, a second the tack, while the third peered critically at the riders. Then they all wrote their marks on efficient-looking forms attached to clipboards before moving on to the next pony. It was very dull standing in line and waiting for them. The ponies became restive and would rub their spotless bridles against their elegant owners, who became bad-tempered and afflicted with aching legs.
The Woodbury Wonders were inspected first, and as soon as the ordeal was over they hurried out, talking excitedly.
“All three judges said ‘Excellent’,” James told his mother. “But I couldn’t see what marks they were writing down.”
“I was told I’d left saddle soap in my noseband buckle,” observed Netti ruefully, “and the grooming judge made tiresome noises about Tristram’s brisket. I really had body-brushed it for hours.”
“They said I was ‘Excellent’ too.” Lynne was all smiles. “The tack judge said I had kept my saddle beautifully.”
Sarah wasn’t so happy. “One of them said I ought to have scrubbed Chess’s white bits harder and the other one complained my reins were stiff. I thought they were beastly judges.”
“Look, will you tie the ponies up and start thinking about the quiz,” ordered Julia. “They want you at the house as soon as soon as you can make it. You’re going against the South Barset team and they’ve done their turnout.”
“Are the Washouts against the ghastly team with black coats and fancy browbands?” asked Oliver. “They’re next in the turnout.”
“I expect so.”
Mr Roberts and Mrs Morgan chivvied the Wonders back to the horseboxes, while Mr Franklin and Julia waited for the Washouts, who came out of the judging area giggling.
“They said the Woodbury had some exceptionally good boys,” explained Rupert. “I nearly said it was all Lizzie and Mrs Morgan and that only Harry actually did any work, but I managed to control myself. What did they say to you, Alice?”
“Oh, they asked if Saffy was
Connemara and if he was my own. They seemed quite pleased, but they didn’t go into raptures.”
“The tack judge talked to me very slowly; she thought I didn’t understand English,” said Hanif in an offended voice, “but she admired my saddle. What about you, Lesley?”
“One of them asked me if Stardust was part-bred Arab. Silly question: it’s obvious, isn’t it? I don’t think they were terribly impressed by my tack.”
“Well, put the ponies away and get ready for the quiz,” said Julia. “I’ll go in with the first lot.”
Though James wasn’t in the quiz, he had collected his team together and led them towards the house, making encouraging remarks in an attempt to keep up their spirits. “The South Barsets look very old and brainy. They’ll beat us easily,” moaned Netti.
“Nonsense, you girls are all brilliant, you know everything,” James told her firmly.
The quiz didn’t seem to take nearly as long as the turnout, and by the time the Washouts had swopped bridles for headcollars, tied their ponies to horseboxes and the trailer, taken off their jackets, caps and glove, tied on each other’s numbers and wandered over to the house, the Wonders were emerging.
“What was it like?”
“How did you do?”
“Were the questions hideous?” they all asked at once.
“They were terribly good, quite as brainy as they looked.”
“Yes, they were brilliant. They knew who wrote the books about Mr Jorrocks, which we didn’t,” added Netti.
“We lost by two marks and one was my fault—I forgot the St Leger,” said Lynne sadly.
Pony Club Cup (Woodbury Pony Club Book 1) Page 16