In the next field there was a yellow direction arrow. “Everyone see that?” asked Mr Roberts, “and do you all know that it’s there to help you? It doesn’t matter which side you go of it, or anything like that. You must always jump between the flags on the fences, of course, and leave the red on your right and the white on your left.”
“Number three’s the quarry,” announced Sarah as they obeyed the arrow and turned right. They came to a grassy hollow surrounded by thorn bushes. A low but very stout pole was followed by a slope. The pony club members looked at it doubtfully.
“No problem,” said David. “You just pop over. It’s exactly what you’ve been doing on Coppice Hill for the last week. Come up slowly, or half-halt if you can, pop over and start looking for the next fence.”
A yellow arrow pointed into a thicket of thorn bushes and the pony club members ran down to look. A large tree trunk, on a bend in the path, was hidden by thorn bushes until you were almost upon it.
“It’s a good jump,” said David when he caught up with them. “A test of impulsion. You all ought to do it all right. Come round the bend slowly but with plenty of energy, make sure your pony knows there’s something exciting ahead. Now go back to number three and make sure you know where to look for four as you jump it.”
Number five was a rustic gate built into the next fence, and then they had to swing right-handed towards a spinney.
“Don’t cut the corner,” said Mr Roberts as they approached. “Always walk the way you mean to ride. You head for the direction arrow and then turn, that’ll bring you in to the fence at a good angle.”
David was waiting by the post and rails into the narrow wood.
“The fence is easy,” he told them, “but ponies don’t like jumping into woods. They don’t like jumping into the dark, so you’ll have to ride twice as hard as usual. This spinney’s not particularly dark as there aren’t many leaves on the trees yet, but don’t take chances.”
Another post and rails took them into a ploughed field and a direction arrow sent them left, along the headland beside the spinney.
“Keep on the headland,” said Mr Roberts. “The plough’s very holding and will tire the ponies.”
The spinney ended at a brook and there was a ford with a gravelled bottom to cross.
“It’s not nearly as wide as the Vole,” remarked Lizzie cheerfully. “I don’t think Ra will mind that.”
“It’s numbered eight.” David, who had crossed by a narrow plank bridge, pointed out from the other side, “So it counts as a fence and dithering on the brink will go down as a refusal.”
On the far side of the brook, number nine was a bank with a pole on top.
“No problem as long as you have plenty of impulsion and look where you’re going,” said David. “People looking down into the ford could have a stop; Lizzie, please note, and it could be difficult for the little ponies if they’ve run out of steam.”
Mr Franklin had had to leave the car on the other side of the brook and he fussed round David who insisted on limping all the way to number ten. It was a grid, and the pony club members, who had gone on ahead, didn’t like it very much.
“They’re jolly short distances for a big one like Ferdie,” complained James, pacing them out.
“It’s a double bounce, isn’t it? Just land and take off,” observed Paul.
“It’s where Rosie falls flat on her nose. She’s never done three jumps in a row before,” said Rupert gloomily.
“At least they’re good solid telegraph poles and wired to these great lumps of tree trunk: they’re not going to break or fall down,” announced Hanif approvingly.
“The secret of success is to look at the last one,” said David, hobbling up. “Look at it and ride for it. Ignore the other two. If you do run out you have to re-take them all—it’s numbered as one jump, you see. But you won’t have any trouble if you come at a slow canter with plenty of impulsion, a feel on both reins, and look at the last one.”
After the grid, the course turned left-handed and they were on their way home. Number eleven was a steep, muddy slide down to the brook, which they then had to wade across, before jumping out over a tree trunk on the far bank, which was numbered twelve.
The pony club members looked down the slide despondently.
“Ugh, the ponies aren’t going to like that.”
“Ra will be horrified.”
“The slide’s nothing,” said David firmly, “but don’t let them dither because it counts as a fence. The problem is how to explain to the ponies that you don’t expect them to jump the brook and the tree trunk all in one. If you ride straight at the water they’ll think that’s what you want, and as it’s too wide for them they’ll refuse. So you go down the slide, slant them at the water. Make it quite clear you’re not interested in getting across, then, when you’re in the water, show them the jump on the far side. Do you understand what I’m getting at? It’s important, because this is where a misunderstanding between horse and rider could arise.”
The pony club members made their plans and then went on to fence thirteen while Mr Franklin and Mr Roberts helped David over an even narrower plank bridge and back to the car.
Thirteen was a ditch with a pole above. It was quite a deep ditch and by the time David reached them the club members were all gazing into the bottom of it with fearful faces.
“Rule number one,” said David. “Never look into the bottom of a ditch. It’s the width that matters, not depth.”
“We’ll never jump that.”
“Of course you will. We’ve been practising for this.”
“Our ditch was brown and shallow, not deep and green with water in the bottom.”
“It’s on the way home and with the pole over the top ponies will take off the right distance away. They won’t even know there’s a ditch there, unless you’re all shaking and quaking so much they begin to think there’s something wrong. Just ride at the pole, look up, and throw your hearts over.”
Lynne began to say that she was glad she hadn’t got to ride round such an awful course, but her father told her keep quiet.
“I like it,” announced Alice. “Well, so far.”
“I don’t like that grid much, nor the second river jump,” said James. “They’re a bit trappy for Ferdie. He likes the sort of course where you can gallop on a bit.”
“So does Jupe, but I like a bit of trappiness to slow him down.”
“Your wish is granted,” Alice told Hanif as they came to the lambing pen. “You couldn’t have anything much more trappy than that.”
James groaned. “This is the end.”
The pen was an oblong, built of straw bales, with a wattle jump in at one end and then a sharp right turn out over more wattles.
“You can see the problem,” said David. “The larger ponies and the tearaways will jump in and then go straight on over the straw bales and be eliminated for taking the wrong course. You’ve got to slow right down to nothing, pop in, reins, legs, weight and eyes all turning him to the right as you land. If you jump in on the left it’ll give you a bit more room. Small ponies are a bit suspicious of pens and inclined to stop. You drive on hard. Harry, you’re the most likely to come to grief here.”
“I’ll creep and pop,” promised Hanif, pacing out the distance.
The last fence was a length of dry stone wall which had been built into the field fence.
“No problem,” said David, “unless anyone has a very tired pony. Now you go for the finish. Between those two flags over there. If you forget it you’ll be eliminated, so, when you land over the last, don’t think, ‘hurrah, I’ve done it’. Think ‘finish!’”
“Finish, finish,” said Paul, pushing Sarah.
“Rupert, are you listening?” asked Netti.
“What?” he asked.
“The finish!” they all shouted at him. “You must go through it. You’ll be eliminated if you don’t.”
“Look, over there.” They marched him towards the flags
.
David was waiting for them at the finish. “The bigger ponies will have no trouble about getting round in the time, but the little ones will have to keep going. They can’t afford refusals, as they’ll be clocking up time faults. You’re allowed three refusals at each fence, as it’s a novice event. If you lose count consult the jump judges. And be polite to them and all stewards. You can be eliminated for rudeness to officials, and the fact that you’re excited or upset is no defence. The supporters must not shout advice or instructions to the riders as that can get them eliminated too. It’s an easy course to find your way round, so you shouldn’t get lost, but don’t forget the finish.”
David looked at his watch. “They’re due to start in ten minutes, so we’d better get tacked up and think about a practice jump.”
They met Tina and Oliver in the horsebox park. Tina said that her turnout marks were awful—the worst in the Woodbury—her quiz questions had been lovely, except for one, and Hobbit had gone on the wrong leg in the dressage.
David drove over to give Julia some advice about things she was to be sure to tell Tina as they walked the cross-country, then he stationed himself beside the practice jump, a rustic pole on oil drums and waited for the Woodbury riders who were pulling on their polo neck sweaters and then tying on each other’s huge back and front numbers.
Jupiter was so delighted to see a jump at last that he flung himself over as though it was a four-foot triple, but Hanif found that he didn’t mind that sort of behaviour any more. He just laughed and took him round again, until after three jumps and a good deal of cantering about, Jupiter settled down.
Rosie, in a vague mood, looking around her and at the other ponies, forgot to take off and, tripping over the jump, nearly landed on her nose, but, as Rupert said, this seemed to do her good, as she then jumped much more carefully than usual.
Alice, pleased to have her martingale on again, was feeling quite cheerful about everything but the lambing pen. She kept rehearsing how she would jump it in her mind, but with Saffron feeling so calm and confident beneath her, she couldn’t be too worried.
Lizzie was anxious: so much seemed to depend on her doing a good round, and David kept roaring at her to look up.
“Except for the first two and the last they’re all fences where looking ahead is essential,” he told her.
“I really will try terribly hard,” promised Lizzie.
The Wonders, on their more seasoned ponies, didn’t have to do so much warming up, and when they had all had a couple of practice jumps, Berry and Stardust were left in the charge of the horsebox driver and the whole Woodbury part moved up to the collecting ring.
The scene had changed. There were spectators and jump judges beside the fences, more spectators and mounted runners hurrying about in between.
Lesley and Lynne, who had stayed to watch the early competitors, came running to meet their teams. “The Brackenhurst did very well, they had three clears, and the first two from the South Barset went well, but the one who’s coming in now has had masses of refusals and the last one to go has been ages in the quarry.”
“Shush,” said Lizzie, “You mustn’t sound so pleased.”
“Why on earth not?” snapped Lesley.
“Because we don’t want people being pleased when we fall in the water,” answered Rupert.
David had Mrs Morgan and Mr Roberts checking girths. Mrs Roberts was handing out barley sugar to non-riders. James had gone to the start, and Netti circled, waiting for her call. The last of the South Barsets had fallen off at the grid. There was a delay until the pony was caught.
At last Ferdinand was on his way. He started fast and made the first two fences look easy, then he vanished down the slope into the quarry. He reappeared, heading for the rustic gate, jumped that and disappeared again into the spinney.
Mr Franklin had produced a pair of binoculars and, standing on the seat of his car with the roof open, was trying to give a running commentary.
“Ah, here he is, out of the ford and up the bank. He’s steadied for the grid, one, two, three.” But then Netti started, and with two of them on the course, no one knew where to look. Sarah was called to the start. David told Paul not to canter Banjo round and round, he had more than enough work ahead of him. Mr Franklin announced that James was through the lambing pen and Netti just coming up the bank.
Lizzie and Rupert were walking round together, reciting, “Look up!” and, “Finish!” to each other.
James galloped through the finish and then rode over to David, his solemn face suddenly transformed by a huge smile.
“It was great,” he said breathlessly as he patted Ferdinand. “I didn’t have any trouble that I know of. He was brilliant over the streams and that pen thing. I don’t think he even noticed the ditch.”
“Well done, you looked very good from here,” David told him.
“How’s Netti doing?” asked James as his mother rushed up with a handful of pony nuts.
“Terribly well, but Sarah’s being rather slow. Get off, darling, and loosen his girths.”
“Netti’s over the pen, but Sarah’s stopped at the spinney. Ah, it’s all right, she’s over this time,” announced Mr Franklin.
Paul was looking grim, he had to be clear.
“Don’t go mad, you can’t do more than you can,” David told him.
Netti came galloping in. “Oh, he was brilliant!” she shrieked, dismounting and patting Tristram excitedly. “He was really brilliant and I enjoyed every minute. The jumps are lovely, Lizzie, Rupert, I promise you. The jumps are really gorgeous.”
Mr Franklin was making disapproving noises. “Silly girl. She’s turned round on top of the slide, but Paul’s going very well. That little black of his has a surprising turn of speed.”
The starter was calling Hanif.
“Keep calm, you’ve a few minutes’ wait yet,” David told him. “Sarah’s taking her time and Paul’s not going to keep that speed up for long.”
As Sarah rode in, Hanif started out. He let Jupiter gallop on over the first two fences and then slowed him right down for the quarry. Mr Franklin took his eyes off his stepson for a moment and announced that Paul was safely over the grid, then he went back to Hanif. “Harry’s going great guns,” he told David. “I hope the pony’s not running away. No, he’s steadied him for the spinney, he’s in. And Paul’s over the ditch, coming up to the lambing pen, but the pony’s slowed down a lot. Oh dear, he’s stopped.” A groan went up from the Wonders.
“Harry’s over the grid,” shouted Mr Franklin excitedly, “and Paul’s got going again.”
David had sent Mr Roberts to pull up Alice’s girths.
“Get them up another hole if you can. That’s the sort of pony which loses weight on a long gallop.”
Paul came in slowly. He seemed very cast down. “He just wouldn’t go any faster. I suppose I’ll have time faults as well as a refusal.”
“Jump off, loosen his girths and turn his head to the wind,” said David, looking at the blowing pony. “He went as fast as he could.”
Mrs Roberts arrived with barley sugar and a handful of oats.
“Harry’s managed to slow down for the lambing pen, he’s gone to the left, and he’s trotting. He’s done it,” shouted Mr Franklin, sounding like a radio commentator who’s just seen a vital goal scored in the World Cup. “He’s only got to do the wall and he’s home.”
No one heard how Alice was doing because Mr Franklin left his post and rushed to the finish to welcome Hanif home, but she was enjoying herself. She loved the feeling of galloping over the grass, looking for the next fence. There seemed to be lots of time and plenty of space between them. She felt clear-headed and happy. Saffron felt happy too. A pop, he seemed to agree, when he saw the way into the quarry. Now where? He followed her gaze.
He didn’t mind the spinney; the ford he took as a matter of course, the grid carefully and neatly. The slide and the brook he summed up quickly. I know how to do that, he told her. He didn’t notic
e the ditch. He let her slow him right down for the pen, popped in, and then, realising what was wanted, turned and jumped out. They galloped for the stone wall and the finish.
Mr Franklin, suddenly remembering Hanif’s team mates, rushed back to watch. He was in time to announce that Lizzie, who had started well, had stopped at the spinney, but was over at the second attempt and that Alice was finishing very fast indeed.
“Good luck and don’t forget the finish,” David told Rupert as he took a suspicious glance at his girths.
“Lizzie’s done the grid,” shouted Mr Franklin.
“Any trouble, Alice?” asked David as Rupert set off towards the first fence.
“No, it was lovely. He jumped every one perfectly.” She gave Saffron a handful of pony nuts.
“Lizzie’s over the second brook, heading for the ditch,” reported Mr Franklin.
“How’s Rupert doing?” asked Hanif. “Lizzie had a stop,” he told Alice.
“I’ve lost him, he must still be in the quarry,” answered Mr Franklin. “No, there he is. He’s over the rustic gate. He’s cut the corner a bit. He’s giving her a very short run, but he’s done it.”
“I don’t suppose we’ll ever see him again. Knowing Rupert, he’ll forget to turn left,” said Lesley.
“Lizzie’s crawling up to the pen. She’s in, and she’s out. Now she’s really galloping.”
“We can see her. Tell us how Rupert’s doing.”
“He’s over the brook, approaching the grid.”
“Rosie’ll never do it,” said Netti, standing in her stirrups and trying to see.
“She’s having a try,” reported Mr Franklin. “Heavens! Something went wrong over the last one—she practically stood on her head. How that boy stayed on …”
“He always does. ‘His legs are so long and so aptly constructed,’” Netti chanted triumphantly.
“Touch wood,” shrieked Lynne.
Lizzie came galloping in as Rupert disappeared down the slide, and the first of the Frogmorton team started.
“Oh, that was fantastic!” said Lizzie, dismounting. “I never thought he’d go so well, but I’m afraid I’ve let the Washouts down though, because I did have one stop. He insisted on a good look before he would jump into the spinney.”
Pony Club Cup (Woodbury Pony Club Book 1) Page 18