Too Scared to Ride
Christine Pullein-Thompson
“Time to mount,” announced Christina Edwards. “Remember to tighten your girths.”
Ponies were untied and led out of stables.
“Come on, Louise, get going,” said Christina, who was tall and slim, with hair tied back in a knot and long legs in black boots. “What’s the matter?”
“I can’t. I’m sorry but I can’t.” Louise had flaxen hair and a smile which creased her face and a nose which turned up at the end. Her eyes were blue.
“What do you mean, you can’t?”
All the other riders were staring now.
“Don’t you want to trek? Why did you come if you don’t want to ride?”
“My parents sent me, didn’t they? I used to ride and then I got scared,” Louise said.
“Firefly’s marvellous. He is, I promise. He never puts a foot wrong. Don’t be silly, please,” said Christina. “Your father’s paid for you to ride, Louise. I can’t say you wouldn’t, can I?”
“No, definitely not.”
Someone was holding Firefly. He was a solidly-built, liver-chestnut with a small star. He stood resting a leg while Christina said, “We only walk. Nothing will happen.”
But Louise’s legs felt like jelly now; she was hot all over and there was a peculiar feeling at the bottom of her spine. She could not describe her fear. It was beyond description. As she looked at Firefly it grew until it was the largest thing in the yard, it took over, it made her hands tremble and brought tears to her eyes. It became reality; everything else was a dream.
“For goodness sake,” cried Christina. “You look like a zombie. Time is passing, Louise. We’re going out for four hours. You’ll love it, I know you will.”
But Louise could only remember Pedro, his elegant pulled mane, his shining neck, his thudding hoofs. The faces of startled pedestrians as she galloped by, the cars hooting, the truck which missed her by a centimetre. She could only remember pulling and nothing happening; the hill which went down and down and never seemed to end … the sheer terror of it. “I can’t. I’m sorry but I can’t,” she said, and ran for the house, into a warm old-fashioned kitchen with a flagstone floor.
“Come back,” yelled Christina. “Where are you going? We’ll go without you then – goodbye.”
Then Louise heard a boy ask scornfully, “Whatever’s the matter with her? I’ve only ridden once before and I'm not scared.”
She slammed the door after her and bolted it as though fear could be locked out, then sat on a chair, panting as though she had run a mile instead of a mere thirty metres. After the runaway her father had said she should get straight up again. He had told her to be brave and that he had fallen off in a steeplechase and cracked his skull and that life was full of knocks. Louise had not been able to explain that it was simply the terror of being out of control which had shaken her, not the toss at the end. She had never wanted Pedro. He had cost thousands. She had wanted to keep her round, sensible, dun pony, Honey; she hadn’t wanted to win rosettes.
An old lady sitting in a chair by the window turned to look at her. Her face was like pale brown leather.
“Haven’t you gone then?” she inquired. Her eyes were small amid the lines in her face, like birds’ eyes. “No, I’m staying here.”
“What are you going to do then, alone all day?” asked the old lady.
“Sweep up the yard, clean out the stables, give Christina a lovely surprise.”
“But you’re not paid to do that.”
“I don’t want to be paid. I like doing it. I always did it until Daddy became famous. I used to sweep our yard every evening.”
“Christina told me you were coming here. I’ve seen your father on television, haven’t I? He’s a very good-looking man. You must be proud of him,” said the old lady.
“I am, but I can’t live up to his expectations. I’m just not brave enough.”
“You’ve given up riding then, you’ve had an accident?” asked the old lady. To Louise she now seemed a very wise old lady.
“That’s right. I’m scared, yellow.”
“It will pass. Everything passes with time.”
“I’m just not good enough to be his daughter. I liked it when we were ordinary, like everyone else. Now everyone says, Are you really his daughter? You don’t act like him, you don’t look like him either.’ And I don’t … I’ve got spots and blackheads, and my hair is always in a mess, and I can’t act. I don’t even want to,” wailed Louise.
“What about your mother?”
“She’s beautiful. They’re in New York at this minute discussing some marvellous film. We have a groom-cum-everything because they’re never at home now, and I go to boarding school, which I hate.”
“Don’t be so upset. Life goes on. Don’t lose courage,” said the old lady. “Try, try again, that’s my motto.”
Louise was going out into the yard again.
“Come and have dinner with me, or do you call it lunch? It’s only a casserole. Do you eat casserole?” The old lady was out of her chair now and leaning on the table. She was tiny. “Your packed lunch won’t be enough,” she called.
“Yes, I eat casserole, thank you,” shouted Louise.
She could see the trekkers in the distance, riding along a ridge in single file. Firefly whinnied anxiously from his loose box when she crossed the yard which was covered with wisps of straw. Louise found a broom and started to sweep. A cat sat on a bucket watching her. Bantams scratched on the muckheap. Sweeping slowly, Louise hated herself. She hated herself for not being up there on the ridge with the others. She dreaded their return, and imagined the scathing remarks they would make. They must be wondering why I’m here and why I didn’t say no to my father, she thought, sweeping, and, as she swept, her tears watered the yard.
She started to tidy the muckheap, throwing the spillings up, and the sun came out and warmed her back. She thought, how am I going to bear a whole week here? And how am I going to pretend I rode every day when I get home again? And what if my parents ring up and say, “How is Louise doing?” And Christina tells the truth?
When she had finished tidying the muckheap she filled up the water buckets, while the cat followed her, purring round her legs. She thought, my father will have to face up to the truth one day. He must know sooner or later that I will never ride again. He must have noticed that I am too frightened now to put a foot in a stirrup and mount and that the very sight of a pony turns my legs to jelly and my hands to pulp. Surely he knows that I never wanted Pedro and I just wanted to keep Honey.
Louise couldn’t see the riders any more now; they had vanished among the sombre hills, among the sheep and the grey walls. Her father had said, “It will do you good. You’ll learn history, too. Look out for Hadrian’s Wall; you might even find some remains if you dig. I expect you to be brown and disgustingly healthy and on a horse when we return. All right, poppet?”
And her mother had said, “Look after yourself, darling, don’t worry, we'll be all right.” And they had both looked wonderful, smart and scented, rich and brave.
It’s no use. I'm no good, Louise thought, putting away the broom. I’m not like them. She looked at the yard before she went indoors and everything seemed in its place and the wisps of straw all gone. She knocked on the door, lifted the latch and went in.
“Am I too early? I haven’t got a watch,” she said. The table was laid for two. A casserole bubbled on an ancient Raeburn cooker. There was a bottle of cider on the table and two glasses. A clock by the Raeburn said ten minutes to one.
She stood and looked around and it was then that she saw the old lady lying in a heap by the door which led upstairs. Her heart seemed to rush into her mouth and she wanted to run outside and fetch someone, but there was no one to fetch, so she went forward gingerly and knelt beside the old lady and said, “What’s happened? Are you all right?”
A ridiculous question, she thought afterwards.
The o
ld lady’s mouth looked twisted, but she managed to say, “Get a doctor. I need a doctor.”
Louise put her coat over her, which smelt of horse. “Don’t worry,” she said and looked for a telephone.
“There’s no telephone here,” whispered the old lady, following Louise with her eyes. “You’ll have to go to the kiosk. The doctor’s number is 3362. Tell him I’ve had a stroke. Take some money out of my purse.”
“I’ve got some money, where’s the kiosk?” Louise couldn’t bring herself to look at the old lady again.
“A mile down the road, turn left outside the gate.”
“Can’t you move?”
“No, dear, not at all, not any more. Please hurry.”
And Louise suddenly knew what she had to do; it was as though it had all been planned, because if she was to be quick there was no other way. She was no longer afraid, because suddenly the old lady mattered much more than her fear–her condition completely overshadowed it and made it nothing. She ran to the tack room and found Firefly’s tack. Another minute and he was ready.
Louise put her foot in the stirrup as she had so many times before, automatically. She swung Firefly round without thought, turned left outside the gate and pushed him into a gallop, and all the time in her mind she was imagining the old lady dying alone in the kitchen because she had taken too long to fetch the doctor. The first kiosk had the receiver ripped out, so she galloped on, and the wind was soft on her face and straight from the hills and the air was as pure as mountain air.
She found another kiosk, dialled the number and pushed in a coin and said, “Is that a doctor? The old lady at the trekking centre has had a stroke. Please come at once. I think she’s dying.”
The voice at the other end said, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
And Louise said, “There isn’t much time. She’s lying on the floor and I’m afraid to move her.”
And he repeated, “I’ll be there as soon as I can.” How soon is that? Louise wondered.
Standing outside the kiosk afterwards she waited for the fear to come back, and it was like waiting for the return of a pain which isn’t there any more. Then she patted Firefly and mounted and saw that the trekkers were coming home along the road.
“Good heavens, what are you doing here?” cried Christina. “I thought you were too scared to ride.”
“The old lady has had a stroke. I’ve just phoned for the doctor. You go on ahead, I’ll be all right. I’ll look after the others,” she said.
“Oh no, not another stroke. Is she very bad?” cried Christina.
“I don’t know. I don’t know anything about strokes. She’s in the kitchen on the floor. She can’t move but she is talking. I didn’t know what to do.”
The riders watched Christina gallop away along the grass verge, and a boy said, “I thought you were too scared to ride. Were you pretending?”
And Louise didn’t know how to answer. “No, I was scared, but I’m not any more,” she said eventually, pushing Firefly with her legs.
“Can we trot?” asked a girl on a piebald.
“No, not the last mile home, never the last mile home,” replied Louise.
In a way it was the end of a nightmare, for now Louise could see her runaway in perspective. And she knew now that it was an isolated incident; and if she improved her riding it would never happen again. She decided that her fear had been like an illness and that with luck it would never return.
“Christina Edwards is cantering,” insisted the girl on the piebald.
“It’s an emergency for her. You can even canter on roads in an emergency,” Louise said.
“I wish it was an emergency then,” the girl answered, and Louise could recall being just like that, when a canter was better than a birthday cake or being given a whole lot of money, when a canter was suddenly paradise.
When they reached the trekking centre, an ambulance was parked in the yard and the old lady was being carried out on a stretcher. She had a striped blanket over her, and when she saw that Louise was riding she gave a thumbs-up sign.
“I’m better,” she croaked, “and you are riding. Isn’t that lovely?”
“Yes. Get well soon,” called Louise. “I want us to have our lunch together before I go.”
Untacking Firefly she said to Christina, “The old lady is never afraid, is she? She lives alone and she’s not afraid. I hope I’m like that one day.”
“We are all afraid some time in our lives,” answered Christina. “People who are not afraid are not really brave because they have nothing to be brave about. Most likely your father has been afraid hundreds of times. But because he’s an actor he can disguise it better than the rest of us, that’s the difference.”
“So I’m quite normal?” asked Louise.
“Very much so. If a horse ran away with me I would be scared stiff. Losing control of anything is terrifying. Did you sweep the yard and tidy the muckheap? It’s marvellous.”
“Yes, it was me. You don’t despise me then?” asked Louise.
“For goodness sake; you’re brave. You’ve just saved an old lady. You ought to have a medal. Your father would be proud of you. Okay? And I mean it,” cried Christina. “I’m not sucking up. It’s true – and I’m going to tell your parents all about it. And if you want to, you can work for me next year, because you’re marvellous with a broom too. And you are going to be beautiful,” continued Christina. “And you ride very nicely.”
Louise felt as though she was being given too much to eat. She could not swallow so many compliments, but suddenly she was happy.
“Just be yourself, Louise,” said Christina, beginning to laugh. “And don’t forget your famous parents. You are a chip off the old block. Don’t worry. It sticks out a mile!”
More Pullein-Thompson Horse Adventures
We hope you enjoyed this ebook. You can discover more stories by Christine Pullein-Thompson in the six-part Phanton Horse series.
1. Phantom Horse
I gazed in wonder at the view. Suddenly I saw something moving below us. It was a horse, riderless and alone. He moved beautifully and with tremendous grace. It was a wild palomino.
After Jean’s family moves to America, her life is soon changed forever when she encounters the wild horse, Phantom.
2. Phantom Horse Comes Home
“I’m not going to leave without Phantom! I refuse to leave!”
When Jean learns that her family is soon to move back to England, all she can think about is Phantom, the wild palomino horse she has tamed. Will she have to leave him behind?
3. Phantom Horse Disappears
“You’re fools! Why couldn’t you leave things as they were? Why did you come here?”
When Jean and Angus discover the terrible secret of Aunt Mary’s house, they are caught up in a dangerous plot to kidnap their beloved horse, Phantom.
4. Phantom Horse in Danger
I imagined Phantom twisting, kicking, rearing, ropes round his quarters, a blindfold over his eyes. The thought sent tears running down my cheeks like rain.
When their horses are in mortal danger, Jean and Angus hatch a desperate plan to save them. Will they be in time?
5. Phantom Horse – Island Mystery
The idyllic island where Jean takes Phantom with her on holiday hides a dangerous mystery. Why have most of the inhabitants left, and why are horses being secretly flown to the island?
When Jean is plunged into another perilous adventure, can Phantom save her?
6. Phantom Horse Wait for Me
“Jean, darling, there’s no point locking yourself in your room. It won’t bring Phantom back…”
When Phantom goes missing, little does Jean suspect that her horse is the bait in a plot to capture her. In a race for their lives, will they escape in time?
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The Pullein-Thompson Treasury of Horse and Pony Stories Page 35