“Well, I’m sure Mr Hunt needs to go to hospital.
Isn’t there anyone with a car who could take him?” asked Anna.
Mrs Hoylake went back into the house for a macintosh and, putting it over her shoulders, came out to the cart. “I’m so sorry to hear about this, Mr Hunt,” she shouted. “Such a dreadful night and the doctor’s out the other side of Balton.”
“Evening, Mrs Hoylake,” Mr Hunt put on a cheerful voice but when Tom held the lantern so that it shone on his face, they could all see that he was obviously in great pain.
Mrs Hoylake became brisk and competent. “Never mind. I can look after you until he comes. I’m a trained nurse, remember? Now, how can we get you down?”
Laura explained about a stepladder, and Mrs Hoylake rushed into her kitchen and emerged with a stool that turned into steps. She and Tom and Laura helped him down while Anna held the ponies. He refused to be taken into the sittingroom, protesting that he was too wet, so Mrs Hoylake sat him down in the kitchen and then joined Tom and Laura on the doorstep.
“He really is quite poorly,” she said. “It looks like a broken collar bone to me, which isn’t serious, but he’s not a young man and I think he’s quite severely shocked. Do you think you could go to the police house and ask Mr Fox to call an ambulance? He can radio through to Bruminster police, you see, and they can pass the message on.”
Laura and Tom looked at each other. They’d both thought their adventure was almost over: they’d seen themselves trotting home. Now it seemed they had to battle on through the storm.
“Yes, we’ll go.”
“It’s in Upper Milford, isn’t it?”
“Yes, next door to the shop. I wouldn’t ask you – it’s a dreadful night for children of your age to be out – but I’ve no one else to send and I really think we ought to get him to hospital as quickly as possible.”
Laura shouted the purpose of their new errand at Anna as Tom turned the trap. Treacle and Ambrose, thinking they were going home, tore along at their fastest trots, but when they were asked to pass Mill Lane and go on to Upper Milford, they both jibbed. Ambrose’s was only a mild protest at the madness of his rider, but Treacle’s was outright rebellion. She swerved about the road and ran backwards and was only persuaded to go on when Laura led her, and Ambrose, trotting ahead, began to disappear into the darkness.
It was very dark below the hanging wood. They were sheltered from the worst of the rain but the wind, tearing and rending at the treetops, sounded like a wild and stormy sea. There were constant cracks as boughs were torn from trunks and old trees, no longer able to bend with the wind, split and keeled drunkenly against their fellows. The frightened ponies trotted faster and faster, trying to escape from the dark and terrifying tunnel of wind-thrashed branches. It was a relief to all of them when they emerged and, rounding the bend, saw the lights of Upper Milford ahead.
Tom seemed willing to talk to Mr Fox. “It’s your turn to drive now,” he said, handing the reins to Laura. Jumping down, he ran up the path and rang the police house bell. Anna followed, leading Ambrose. Laura turned Treacle and waited. She felt very wet and rather miserable. The water had gone down her neck and her hands were cold. She comforted herself with the thought that this was the end of it; in a moment or two they would be trotting home. Tom and Anna came down the path and, with Tom aboard, Laura gave the impatient Treacle her head.
“He’s radioing through at once,” Tom shouted. “He was a bit doubtful until Anna explained that it was a message from Mrs Hoylake. He said we were to get home as fast as we could and stay there.”
“Treacle agrees with him,” Laura shouted back.
They re-entered the dark tunnel below the wood. Anna was trotting ahead, swinging the beam of her torch across the road. At the Willow Lane turn she stopped. She shouted something back towards the cart and vanished into the dark.
“Did you hear what she said?” shouted Laura.
Tom shook his head. “Perhaps she wants to go home that way, but it’s not much good for the cart,” he shouted back.
“Whoa!” Laura slowed Treacle to a walk and as they looked down the lane in the light of Anna’s torch, they could see that it was completely blocked by a fallen tree. The huge, silver-grey trunk of a dead elm lay across the lane from crushed hedge to crushed hedge, and beyond the tree they could see the square silhouette of a cattle truck. Tom jumped out and ran to join Anna. Laura turned Treacle into the mouth of the lane – there was just enough room for the cart. She unhitched the lantern torch and shone it down the lane. There seemed to be a second cattle truck, parked behind the first.
Tom was standing on the trunk of the elm. “No damage done,” he shouted. “And it looks like Keith’s truck behind. I expect they’ve gone back to the farm for a saw.”
Anna was mounting and Laura had decided she would have to back the cart out of the lane when Treacle raised her head and neighed loudly. From the truck on the other side of the fallen tree a chorus of anxious neighs answered her.
Tom grabbed Anna’s torch, slid down the other side of the tree and ran round the cattle truck looking for a way in. Anna took the lantern torch from Laura, who found herself alone in the dark holding both ponies. The ponies in the truck were whinnying; Treacle and Ambrose answered them. Then Tom appeared, shouting and waving his arms and torch frantically. Laura couldn’t hear a word, but she knew that something awful had happened. She hitched the ponies’ reins round the elm’s broken boughs and climbed over the trunk. Anna and Tom were at the rear of the truck. Arms above their heads, they were unscrewing the wing nuts that held the ramp closed.
“Our ponies are inside,” shouted Tom. “All four of them. Somebody’s trying to steal them!”
“Hurry,” screamed Anna. “The thieves may come back.”
“See if the keys are in the ignition,” Tom shouted at Laura. “If they are, chuck them over the hedge.” Laura took the torch from him and ran round the side of the truck, squeezing between it and the hedge. Then she stumbled over something, something soft. She pitched forward and almost fell. Picking herself up, she shone the torch downwards and saw a body – a man’s body.
She felt like running, like screaming, but she forced herself to take a closer look. She saw that it was Keith Williams lying there and there was blood on his face.
“Keith,” she shouted, pulling at the sleeve of his anorak, “Keith, are you all right?” To her relief he stirred and groaned.
“I didn’t hear the clock,” he said sleepily.
Anna was holding Jonjo and Sheba in the lane. “Quick, get Rocket,” she shouted. Tom was untying Goldfinder. Laura ran up the ramp and as she untied Rocket she told Tom about Keith.
“He’s hurt, there’s blood on his face and he’s lying there half conscious.” They gave the ponies to Anna.
“Come on,” she said, vaulting on Goldfinder. “We must get away before the thieves come back.”
“Wait a sec. Keith’s hurt,” Tom shouted at her, as he followed Laura round the side of the truck.
Keith seemed asleep again. Laura shook him, with more confidence this time. “Keith, wake up, tell us what happened,” she shouted.
He sat up slowly and gazed at them stupidly. “Late again, am I?” he asked.
“We’ll have to take him to the doctor’s. We can’t leave him lying here, he’s soaking wet,” said Laura, standing up. “I’ll take him if you can help me get him to the cart.”
“Perhaps Anna could manage the four ponies on her own.”
“Supposing the thieves have gone to the farm for a saw and she met them coming back? If you’ve got two ponies each you could gallop away; but with four she’d be helpless.”
“You’ll have Ambrose, too, we can’t get him over the log. And suppose you come to another fallen tree?”
“If you get the ponies home safely you can come and look for me,” said Laura, pulling at Keith’s arm. “Come on, Keith, up you get, it’s morning.”
“I’d better tell Anna,
” shouted Tom. “She’s getting in a state over Jonjo.”
Laura managed to pull and persuade Keith to his feet. He kept mumbling that it wasn’t all that late and surely he could have another five minutes, but she said “no” very firmly. Then he tried to get into the thieves’ truck, and Laura had to drag him away. She told him that his was parked in the road and he had to climb over the log, but he stood staring at it stupidly and said that he was very tired and couldn’t he knock off now. Then Tom came.
“Quick,” he said, “Anna’s panicking. She says the thieves will be back any minute and she could be right. Come on, Keith, don’t fool around. We’re in a hurry.”
They pushed and pulled him over the tree trunk and up into the cart. “I hope you’ll be okay,” shouted Tom doubtfully as he hitched Ambrose’s reins to the tailboard chain.
“I hope you’ll be okay,” Laura shouted back. “Walk on, Treacle.” It was very dark without Anna to ride ahead and light the way. The beam from the lantern torch only illuminated the ground immediately in front of Treacle, so they always seemed to be driving into a pitch-black wall of darkness. The wind was still roaring, the trees thrashing and crashing above her head but Laura, driving and watching that Keith, who had drifted back into his semi-conscious state, didn’t fall out and that Ambrose was still tied on behind, had no time to imagine or fear things that might happen.
She was almost at the village and preparing for a battle with Treacle at the Mill Lane turn when the yellow beam of car headlights lit the road from behind. She drove the cart close to the verge and looked back. It was a police car. She pulled and began waving frantically. She shouted, “Can you help me?” into the wind and pointed at Keith.
The car stopped and the policeman came across to her. It was too dark to see his face.
“If you’re Mr Fox, my brother spoke to you about Mr Hunt,” Laura shouted. “Now we’ve found Keith Williams hurt. There’s blood all over his face, but I don’t think it was the storm. I think the horse thieves must have attacked him – his truck was just behind theirs at the top of the lane.” She explained how they had found four of their ponies inside the strange cattle truck that had been trapped by the fallen tree, and how Anna and Tom had taken them home.
“Hang on there a minute, I’ll just report this on my radio,” said the policeman and ran back to his car.
Laura felt full of relief. At least he would be on the lookout now if the thieves returned with a saw and then tried to recapture the ponies.
The policeman came back. “Right, I’ll relieve you of Keith Williams,” he said. “I’ve told them to try and hold the ambulance at the doctor’s. We’ll keep an eye on the truck and I’ll pop down to your house later and check that your brother and sister had no further trouble. Come on, Keith, wakey-wakey. You’ll be a lot more comfortable in a real bed.”
Complaining that he was never allowed five minutes’ peace and quiet, Keith allowed himself to be helped down and transferred to the car. Laura let the car go first and then set off at a steady jog with her two ponies. She suddenly felt terribly tired and prayed that there were no fallen trees across the lane for she had no strength left to deal with new disasters. Then, as the lane seemed only to be littered with small boughs, she began to worry about Tom and Anna and whether or not they had reached home safely.
Treacle and Ambrose kept up their steady jog, even down the hill, and at last they turned in at the drive gate. The lights were on in the front of the house; but no one ran out to meet them so Laura drove round to the stables. A chorus of neighs greeted Treacle and Ambrose, and a whinnying Jonjo dragged Anna across the yard.
“There, now you’ve got your precious Treacle. So for goodness sake stop deafening me,” said Anna as the two ponies touched noses. Lottie took Ambrose. Ben and Tom began to unharness Treacle.
“Did you deliver Keith all right?” asked Tom as Laura climbed down. She nodded. She felt too tired to shout against the wind. She waited until Treacle was out of the cart and they were unharnessing in the cow byre before she explained about meeting the police car.
“I told the policeman about the thieves and how I thought they must have attacked Keith, and he’s coming down later to make sure you got home safely. You didn’t meet anyone?”
“Not a soul, but we’ve decided to put all the ponies in Hill field for the rest of the night. There’s only the one gate and we can keep watch on that from the house.”
“Yes, we’ve worked it out,” said Peter. “You can see the gate from the window at the end of the downstairs passage.”
“And we’re going to keep all the lights on all night to frighten them off,” added Lottie.
“I’m really glad you met the policeman, Laura,” said Ben. “Peter says six of us and two dogs could fight off two horse thieves, but I’m not so sure.”
The ponies seemed quite pleased to be put out in Hill field and were soon grazing. The rain had slackened and the wind was blowing with less ferocity.
Tom led the way back to the house, saying that he was starving and that he hoped there was still one of those huge cans of tomato soup. There was; and as Tom and Anna heated it, Laura sat down at the table and let her weariness take over. Peter was discussing the watches. “Four and a half hours each,” he said. “We change over at three. Who wants to be in the first watch with me?”
“Not Laura,” said Anna, handing her a bowl of soup. “She’s half asleep already. I think the Daltons look the most alert.”
“Right, all Brodies in bed,” said Peter, “and we’ll wake you at three.”
“We’ll sleep in our clothes,” said Tom, “so you’ll only have to yell for reinforcements if they do come back.”
It was daylight – morning – with bright sunshine slanting in at the window when Laura woke. The storm, she thought; and then, in a panic, the ponies. She was up in a second, searching for her shoes, imagining the ponies recaptured by thieves while she overslept. Tom and Lottie’s beds were empty. Why hadn’t they woken her? Shoes in hand, she ran downstairs.
Her mother was in the kitchen, leaning against the cooker and drinking coffee. Tom, Lottie and Ben sat at the table eating. There was a delicious smell of bacon.
“Oh, Laura,” her mother hugged her. “Oh, darling, I’m so sorry you had such an awful time and that we made this muddle and left you on your own all through that ghastly storm. We just couldn’t get back.”
“Do stop feeling guilty, Mum,” said Tom through a mouthful of bacon and egg. “I keep telling you we were okay; we coped.”
“But the ponies,” asked Laura, “are they still there? The Daltons never woke us at three.”
“They’re fine,” answered Ben. “We didn’t wake you because Mr Fox came round soon after you went to bed. He said that they were sending another police car out from Bruminster to keep watch for the thieves and there was no need for any of us to stay up. Anna told Tom, but she didn’t see any point in waking all of you.”
“Here, sit down and eat this, darling.” Her mother handed Laura a plate crowded with bacon, egg, tomato and fried bread. “I know you coped, Tom. You all seemed to have been very brave and resourceful, but I still think it was putting far too much responsibility on children of your age.”
“We were all right,” said Lottie. “Peter looked after Ben and me while the others went up to the village with Mr Hunt. He was very nice. We played Monopoly and he made us buttered toast.”
“Where are Peter and Anna?” asked Laura.
“Anna’s tubbing Jonjo’s hoof – he’s a bit lame – and Peter’s gone into Bruminster with Stephen. When they’ve done the shopping, they’re going to call at the hospital and find out how Mr Hunt and Keith are. We tried to ring up, but the telephone’s still not working,” explained Tom.
“It was a freak storm; the worst for fifty years, they said on the news,” said Laura’s mother. “It hit the whole of the west of England. Dozens of roads are blocked by fallen trees, and practically all the telephones have packed up – we�
�re lucky to have electric light and a roof. I can’t tell you how terrified Stephen and I were, coming down on the train and seeing all the damage.”
“You expected to find six mangled little bodies in the ruins of Milford House,” mocked Tom.
“Shut up, don’t be horrible. It’s too near the truth for joking.”
“And poor Mr Hunt was a bit mangled,” said Lottie.
When they had finished breakfast, the Brodies and Ben went out to see the ponies. They took the contents of the bread bin and some apples and, when the other ponies weren’t looking, they gave Treacle the lion’s share; because as Laura said, Treacle had been the heroine of the night.
Oh, Cobweb, How Could You?
Josephine Pullein-Thompson
The Hayford and District annual show was in full swing and almost everyone from the neighbouring villages was there. Some had come to watch, but others were showing their onions, their hamsters or their home-made marmalade. There was a large entry in the competition for the dog with the waggiest tail and for the gymkhana, but the main crowd was gathered round the ring where the jumping events were being held.
The Scotts and the Eastwoods lived in Monksthistle, which was three miles from the showground, and because they were almost the same age and the only people with ponies in the village, Philippa Scott and Fiona Eastwood were almost forced to be friends; though they were quite different in character and didn’t like each other very much.
Fiona, who had curly blonde hair and a plump, pink and white, rather discontented face, was an only child. She had proud parents, who loved to show her off, and masses of pocket money, clothes and possessions. The only thing that Philippa really envied her was Cobweb, a lovely dapple-grey mare, a fourteen-two jumping pony, on whom Fiona competed in shows practically every Saturday throughout the summer. Fiona had had several ponies since she started riding, she had won prizes on all of them, and every rosette and cup she had acquired since her leading-rein days was proudly displayed in a huge, glass-fronted cabinet in the Eastwood’s sitting room.
The Pullein-Thompson Treasury of Horse and Pony Stories Page 31