‘Who are you? What’s your name?’
‘I don’t know. I’m usually known as the black un,’ I answered.
‘And that’s no name at all,’ he replied. ‘But they’ll soon give you one, at least May will. I’m Warrior. You’ve come to a good place here. You’ll have every attention. Mr Bastable does a lot himself, though he’s a proper young gentleman and Miss May, she’s a sweet young lady.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ I answered.
‘And that will be good enough for them,’ he said.
The next morning a young lady came into the yard. She wore breeches and boots and a riding jacket. She came straight to my box. ‘And who are you?’ she asked.
‘Your birthday present,’ cried Richard Bastable bobbing out from behind a tree and hugging her. ‘Later we’ll drink your health in champagne, but now I want to see how you like him. He hasn’t a name. You must choose one for him. He’s only five, but he has a mouth like velvet and he jumps like a stag.’
‘I shall call him Black Velvet then,’ she replied making friends with me, patting my neck, finding me an apple from under the trees while Warrior leaned jealously over his door blowing through his nose and stamping his hoofs impatiently.
‘Can I try him now?’ May asked.
‘I don’t see why not. He’s had a good night’s rest.’
Bowles was busy with the car, so they tacked me up together, laughing and kissing one another, so that a happier pair it was impossible to imagine.
‘I’ll come out with you on old Warrior,’ said Richard Bastable. ‘He’s as jealous as a cat.’
May had light hands and a firm seat. ‘He’s behind the bit,’ she said after a time. ‘He must have been broken in with a dumb jockey poor darling, and now he’s afraid to extend himself at all. But his paces are lovely. I shall re-school him. I shall follow Santini’s advice and Caprilli’s and of course Paul Rodianko’s and in a month you won’t recognise him.’
‘I’m sure I won’t,’ laughed Richard. ‘But why you want to follow the advice of a bunch of foreigners I can’t imagine. But he’s yours so do as you like with him.’
Richard Bastable’s house was called The Grange. I was happy there. We were well fed and well looked after and best of all whenever the weather was nice we were turned out into one of the paddocks. Miss May’s schooling was hard work but pleasant. Slowly she undid all the harm the dumb jockey had done. She made me go forward driving me on with her legs, she taught me to do shoulder in and shoulder out and how to curve my spine. She taught me to rein back and circle with my neck and back flexed; after two weeks she pronounced me ready to jump and what a revelation that was! I wore only the plainest snaffle and, as we jumped, May leaned forward her hands going with me so that I could extend myself freely. I found I could jump far more easily in this way, my movements became smoother and more flowing, and though Richard would never admit it was a better way of jumping, I knew it was.
Winter came and on a lovely frosty afternoon May Chantry and Richard Bastable were married in the grey Saxon church in the village.
We horses were not needed, but we could hear the church bells ringing joyously and everyone seemed happy that day Bowles whistled and chatted cheerfully to the jobbing gardener who came three days a week. The housekeeper, Mrs Roberts, announced that there wasn’t a better matched pair on earth. ‘And I shall pray to God every night that they shall be happy,’ she said. ‘And have sweet children and everything they want.’
After the wedding they left in Richard’s yellow car and we three horses had a holiday. We had not been clipped yet so were turned out every fine day in the paddocks and brought in each night. We liked each other; Warrior was patient and Brandy the cob good natured, so that one way and another we got along very well together. Warrior had gone to the Great War as a four year old and was one of the few in his regiment to come back. Brandy had been a farmer’s cob. Neither had been ill-used or beaten and because of that they were happy and contented with no vice in them.
We were clipped before our master and mistress returned from their honeymoon and that winter they hunted us regularly, always bringing us home before we were too tired. Bowles would be waiting for us, the electric light shining out from the stables, our looseboxes deeply bedded in deep golden straw. The three of them would settle us for the night together and there were always hot mashes with salt and grated carrot in them. So the winter passed and spring came and I was very fit now and moved easily and well. I had jumped many a five barred gate in the hunting field and my master wanted to ride me in point-to-points, but this my mistress forbade.
‘Too many men have been killed racing,’ she said. ‘And I couldn’t bear to lose you, Richard, besides two races with you would undo all my schooling. No, Richard darling, I intend to show jump him this summer, if you have no objection.’
‘None at all, though I don’t suppose you’ll have much luck. I’ve yet to see a lady rider beat the gentlemen,’ he replied laughing.
‘Then I shall be the first,’ she replied.
So Bowles was put to building jumps and, while Warrior and Brandy lounged about the paddocks, my mistress schooled me, always riding me forward in the Italian style. I was very careful.
If I hit anything May would scold me and I would feel ashamed and jump better next time. She never lost her temper and when I jumped well she would dismount at once, reward me with sugar, and that would be the end of the lesson. She taught me slowly, never making the jumps too high or too difficult until I was ready for them. One day Richard was watching and he called out, ‘By jove he’s doing well. How about the local show next month, there’s a novice class and not too many entries I believe?’
‘How high are the jumps?’
‘Not more than three foot six, but they might go higher in a jump off, replied Richard.
‘Well, I’ve jumped him over five foot in the hunting field and four foot six at home, so that should cause Black Velvet no headaches,’ said my mistress patting my neck. ‘Let’s enter him tonight, and if he jumps well there we can go on to something better before the summer’s gone.’
I felt very proud as I returned to my stables. Neither Warrior nor Brandy had ever competed at a show, nor had my mother.
‘We must win, Black Velvet,’ said my mistress taking off my bridle. ‘We must show everyone that the forward seat is best. People may laugh at me in the hunting field for the way I sit over fences, but they won’t laugh any more if they see us winning prizes. Then they may lean forward too and stop trying to hold up their poor horses by brute force, and there will be a lot of happier horses around.’
Warrior shook his head. ‘They won’t take a blind bit of notice of a lady,’ he said to me afterwards. ‘Now if it was the master things might be different.’
I knew he was jealous, so I said nothing more about it, but I made up my mind that I would do my best come what may.
6
A SHOW
MANY OF THE horses I had met hunting were at the show. The master’s bay, called Benjamin, was there and a subscriber’s flashy chestnut mare called Wildfire. There was the cob, Moonlight which carried an old lady to hounds, ridden by his groom and a roan pony of fourteen two ridden by a girl. May had plaited my mane. Bowles had groomed me till my coat shone like black ivory.
Of course, I had never been to a show before, so everything was new to me. But May was calm and kind. She talked to me and let me look around, so that when it was my turn to go into the ring I was quite at home.
I shall never forget that first competition. I felt so proud to be carrying my mistress. She was the only lady competing and I was determined to do my best.
The first jump was a brush fence, the second a gate. May allowed me to gallop on. I heard someone say, ‘It’s a lady, astride too, well I never.’
‘And what a pace she’s going,’ commented someone else.
Then we were turning towards the wall. It was painted red and grey and I snorted a little with surprise.
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br /> ‘Go on, it’s all right,’ said May. ‘You can do it, Velvet.’
I could feel the strength and determination in her hands through the reins. I increased my pace and then we were over the wall and cantering on towards the stile. This was a narrow fence and like all the other fences had thin slats of wood along the top, and, if you knocked one of these down, you were given half a fault. But I didn’t touch anything. An in-and-out followed the stile and then some rails. Another second and we were racing down the centre to the last and largest jump, the triple. May urged me on and then we were over and the crowd was cheering and someone shouted, ‘A clear for Black Velvet ridden by Mrs Bastable herself.’
Richard Bastable met us. ‘By jove, that was great,’ he cried. ‘Well done both of you!’
May slipped to the ground and filled my mouth with sugar.
In the ring the jumps were being put up.
‘There’s one other clear,’ said Richard, ‘so you’ll have to go round again.’
‘The forward seat must win,’ said May. ‘Leg me up again, Richard.’
The jumps were higher, but it didn’t matter. I think I could have jumped anything that day. Benjamin went first with the master of our hounds riding him, but he brought the slats down off the wall and refused the gate.
I was prancing to go in. I knew I could do it and I did. I came out to a great roar from the crowd and then May rode me in again to stand first in the ring.
‘That was pretty good for a lady, Mrs Bastable,’ said the judge lifting his bowler hat.
‘That was the forward seat in action, Colonel Rivers,’ replied May quickly. ‘It has nothing to do with being a lady.’
Benjamin snapped at me. ‘I can still beat you in the hunting field.’
‘We’ll see about that next season,’ I said arching my neck proudly.
After that we went to several shows and I was always in the first three.
At one a large man on a half-hackney half-thorough-bred offered three hundred pounds for me.
But May only laughed. ‘I wouldn’t sell him for all the tea in China,’ she said.
‘I could make him into one of the best jumpers in England,’ replied the man. ‘So don’t forget will you? The name is Chambers.’
‘I shall forget just as soon as I can,’ replied May. ‘Because you jump with the backward seat and I with the forward. If I sold Black Velvet it would be to a rider who practised the forward seat. Good afternoon, Mr Chambers.’
A year passed pleasantly, then another and another. They were happy years. We were content, well fed and well ridden. Then a blow fell on us all like a thunderclap out of the sky.
It happened one early morning when May was helping Bowles to groom us. Richard came rushing out of the house with a newspaper in his hand.
He didn’t see Bowles but rushed straight to May. ‘We are ruined,’ he said. ‘I’ve lost everything, I gambled it all and lost!’
‘But on what?’ she asked only half believing.
‘On pepper.’
‘On pepper?’
‘On shares, on pepper shares!’ he cried. ‘Oh what does it matter on what? It’s gone. All of it.’
May turned pale. She put my rug straight with trembling hands. ‘But there’s still my money,’ she said at last.
‘It’s gone too. I gambled it too.’
‘What, all of it?’
‘Yes, every penny. Oh I was mad, I see that now. I thought I was going to make a fortune for both of us. I can’t forgive myself.’
May shut my box door. ‘Will we have to go, leave, sell up . . .?’ she asked, her voice shaking.
‘Yes everything . . .’
I could see tears trickling down her face. ‘How could you? You fool,’ she said quietly. ‘How could you let us all down?’
We watched them go into the house together, filled with foreboding.
‘We will be sold,’ Brandy said. ‘I shall pull a hay cutter and you will be worked to death.’
‘I shall go to the kennels,’ said Warrior. ‘I’m good for nothing else.’
The house had been mortgaged. The mortgage couldn’t be paid. May came to the stables and wept. Men appeared with vans and took the furniture away. Bowles stopped coming. The yellow car was driven away by a strange man in a peaked cap.
Then one morning, May came into the stable and stood weeping with her face buried in my name. Richard soon followed. He seemed a changed man.
‘I will be master in my own house,’ he shouted. ‘I tell you Velvet will go to Mr Chambers whatever you say. We can’t refuse three hundred guineas.’
‘You gave him to me. He was my birthday present,’ wept May.
‘That was years ago. Things were different then.’
‘Yes, they were,’ replied May with much misery in her voice.
‘Well I’ve sold him anyway,’ replied Richard roughly. ‘Mr Chambers is fetching him after lunch and a dealer’s coming for the other two. Black Velvet will have a good home. He will become a champion jumper and he loves jumping, and just forget about the forward seat . . . It’s not important.’
May fed us the last of the oats. ‘I can’t bear to see them go,’ she said in a broken voice. ‘You must load them up, or send them off which ever it is, Richard. I can take no more. If only you had given me time, I could have found them all good homes.’
‘There is no time,’ Richard replied. ‘I owe everyone money and they must be paid somehow.’
‘But why did you have to gamble? We were so comfortable,’ she said. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t know myself. It’s like a madness,’ he said.
So we all went our different ways. A horse box came for me, and Mr Chambers himself led me up the ramp. He was a heavy man with a red face and a loud voice.
‘Tell your Missis, he’ll be all right with me and that she’ll see him jumping at Olympia before I’ve done with him,’ he said.
‘I will, I will,’ replied Richard Bastable in a distraught voice.
I had never travelled in a horse box before. I found it rough at first, but after a time I learned to keep my balance and travelled comfortably enough.
Mr Chambers kept a farm with six or seven looseboxes for his show jumpers. The boxes were comfortable though the doors were too low for a horse of my size, and if I was scared suddenly I frequently hit my head on the roof. However there was plenty to eat and good company and I thought at first I would be happy. I liked show jumping and, though Mr Chambers was much heavier than my late mistress, I was determined to do my best and win him many prizes.
7
A BEATING
SOMETIMES DETERMINATION AND goodwill are not enough. I wanted to win and I did, to begin with. I could jump round novice classes from a walk. But when the jumps were over four foot I needed to stretch myself, to go on a bit. May had taught me to jump like that and I could jump anything given my head. But my new master had other ideas. He liked his horses to jump with precision. He rode at the fences at a slow collected canter and he never let go.
Even when we were in the air we could still feel his heavy hands on our mouths. Without being snobbish, I must say that his other horses were not as well bred as I am. Most of them had carthorse blood and they could stand heavy hands and pain better than I could.
I fought my master and because I fought him, I couldn’t attend to the jumps and knocked them. I grew careless and disheartened, all I wanted was room to extend myself, nothing more. But he wouldn’t give in to me. He changed my bit for a stronger one which hurt my mouth. I stuck my head in the air to avoid the pain, so he attached a martingale. I fought against the martingale, so he attached another one. I shook my head, so he changed the bit to a curb.
I went on hitting the jumps so he attached hedgehog skins to them to prick my legs. The pricks from the skins made me more frantic, because I wanted a chance to jump in my own fashion and avoid them; so my forelegs were bandaged with tin tacks in the bandages. Sometimes I thought I would go mad. The other horses were
friendly enough. ‘Go the way he wants. Stop fighting. Humans are stronger than us. Give in,’ they said.
I wished I could. I wished I could jump the fences slowly like they did, but I wasn’t built that way.
I couldn’t jump out of a slow canter. I had not their short springy action which made it possible. Soon I was dreading shows and even more the endless practising beforehand. Mr Chambers was an obstinate man. He had paid a good price for me and he didn’t mean to be done. When the hedgehog skins and tin tacks failed, his groom would rap me as I went over. Bert the groom was not a bad man, he merely did what he was told. He never gave us a kind word nor did he beat us or ill use us in the stable, our boxes were none too clean but they were mucked out once a day and there was no shortage of food or bedding.
I don’t think he liked the rapping. I heard him say once, ‘It won’t do any good with a high spirited horse like Velvet.’ But my master didn’t listen. He didn’t listen to anyone, not to his poor frightened mouse-like wife, the vicar nor anybody else. He was a law unto himself.
So Bert ran with a long stick and as I jumped, he hit my legs trying to make me jump higher.
And soon I was looking at him instead of the jumps so that sometimes I hardly jumped at all.
One day, my master lost his temper completely and beat me viciously. He swore and shouted and said that if I didn’t jump he would shoot me, while I stood dripping with sweat and trembling all over, my head strapped down, my bandages full of tin tacks, my legs bleeding. His wife chose to come across the field then with a mug of tea for him, but he knocked it straight out of her hand.
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