Show Jumping Secret

by Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  By the end of the week I could jump three or four little jumps in the school and Claire had told me off several times for thinking of nothing but jumping. She explained that horses soon became bored and stale if they were overjumped and she threatened me with nothing but hacks when the thaw came.

  I was now riding Feather, an iron grey pony of fourteen-three, as well as Barnacle. Feather was younger and not quite so reliable, but he suited me because he enjoyed jumping more than Barnacle, who always seemed to look upon it as a duty.

  By Friday I had had ten of my twelve lessons and I was beginning to worry about what would happen next when my parents told me to book up another twelve.

  “But it’s so jolly expensive, you’ll be ruined,” I pointed out gloomily.

  “Oh, darling,” said Mummy, “don’t be so miserly. After all you enjoy them and they’re doing your leg good, what more could we want?”

  Daddy said, “Paying for them is our look-out; we’ll soon tell you when we’re broke.”

  “It’s jolly nice of you,” I said, and I really felt much more strongly than that, because my parents aren’t rich and I knew that they were doing this for me because they wanted to make up for the polio and the limp.

  If I hadn’t had another twelve lessons I should never have met Secret, for it was in the middle of the next week that she arrived at the stables. Directly I noticed that six of the looseboxes were occupied instead of the usual five, I hurried across the yard to see what was inside. A grey mare of about fifteen-two was standing at the back of the box in a very dejected attitude. She was a white grey with roan freckles scattered over her coat and she was much too thin.

  “That’s Secret,” said Claire’s voice behind me. “I bought her yesterday. She used to be a nice­-looking little mare; she’s won several hack classes, but they’ve let her go down a lot lately.”

  “She looks awfully miserable,” I said.

  “Yes, well I expect she is. You see her late owner bred her and so she’s lived on the same place all her life. I expect she feels very strange being sold at the age of ten.”

  I had my lesson on Feather, and Claire relented and let me jump—in fact she even let me jump the brush fence, which was two feet nine; as I didn’t fall off or commit the dreadful sin of jumping with the backward seat I was tremendously pleased with myself. Afterwards, when I had unsaddled and rugged up Feather—I was learning to do these things in preparation for the day when I had a horse of my own—I visited Secret and I tried to cheer her up. She accepted lumps of sugar listlessly, but she refused to look out over her door and join the eager heads of the other horses waiting for their lunchtime feeds. I talked to her for quite a long time, but she was still sad when I left to catch the bus.

  I thought of Secret a lot that evening and next day I took her an assortment of presents: carrots, the last of the apples and a pocketful of sugar. She was still standing at the back of the box resting a leg, but I thought that her eyes brightened a little when she saw me. I gave her half her presents before my ride and put the rest in the tack room to give her afterwards.

  “You’re riding Grenadier,” Claire told me. “Barnacle and Feather have done more than enough jumping lately.”

  “Gosh! Am I really?” I asked, because Grenadier is a large and rather superior sort of horse.

  “Yes, you are,” said Claire, “and tomorrow you’re going for a hack.”

  Grenadier is just as tall as Merlin and when I mounted him I realised how much more supple I had become; it was an effort, but not the scramble it used to be.

  I rode round the school feeling rather unsafe. He had such a long neck and his ears seemed to be in the distance and his elegant silky mane looked far too thin to hold on by in emergencies. I had the same feeling that I had on Merlin, that I wasn’t in real control; he was too liner-like.

  Claire was in a severe mood. She kept me schooling for ages and she decided that it was time I tried riding with longer stirrups. I let my leathers down one hole and found that she was right; that length didn’t hurt a bit.

  When it came to jumping, Grenadier’s long stride made him feel very different from the two ponies. I was always pushing at the wrong moment, getting left behind and then throwing myself forward in an attempt to catch up with him. Claire was very sarcastic about my seat and accused me of aping Martin Hastings, one of the well-known show jumping riders, who does strange acrobatics over the fences, instead of remaining quietly in his stirrups throughout the jump and merely following the movement with his hands in the Italian manner, of which Claire approves.

  After the lesson Secret and I consoled each other—I needed consolation after all Claire’s rude remarks. Secret was pleased with her presents; she stretched out her neck and bowed her head in a very polite way as she accepted them and she was beginning to prick her ears and look a little more cheerful.

  On the following day I actually did go for a hack.

  I rode Barnacle, and Claire, Secret. In spite of her poor condition Secret was fresh. She jogged and shied at the walk and when we trotted or cantered she went wildly with her head in the air.

  “She doesn’t go on the bit,” Claire explained to me; “she doesn’t understand it so she fights it. Her previous owner rode her with too much hand and not enough leg—that’s what caused the trouble.”

  “Will you be able to put her right?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes, but it’ll take time.”

  “How much time?” I inquired anxiously.

  “Well, if everything goes according to plan, she’ll probably be a nice ride in about six weeks, but it would take a year to turn her into a dressage horse.”

  “Do you think I could ride her some time?” I asked after a pause.

  “I don’t see why not except that I’m not too keen on having other people on my horses when I first start schooling them. Until you get a horse into the habit of going well, all your work can be undone in half an hour.”

  “My father said the same thing about my riding with my cousins while you were trying to teach me,” I told her.

  “He’s quite right; it’s amazing how quickly riders can go back into their old ways, but I think you’d be all right now. You’ve begun to sit correctly without thinking about it—what you want now is some experience and so the more horses you ride the better for you, if not for them.”

  “Are you going to keep Secret?” I asked, bringing the subject back to her. “I mean will you use her for pupils or what?”

  “I haven’t made up my mind yet. You see I don’t really need her. I bought her because I don’t like a good horse going down in the world and she wasn’t expensive. I thought I’d school her a bit and then, when I find a good home, I’ll sell her.”

  “Do you think I’d be a good home?” I asked.

  “You?” said Claire in surprised tones. “Do you want her?”

  “I like her awfully,” I said rather drearily because Claire sounded as though I wasn’t the right person for Secret at all.

  “Well,” she said at length, “I don’t think she’s the horse I’d choose for you. I’m looking at it from the riding and schooling angle; she doesn’t seem to me the horse for an inexperienced rider.”

  “I’d soon get experienced if I had a horse of my own.”

  “Well, anyway, I’m not going to sell her just yet, she’s got to look a bit fatter and go a lot better. I don’t want to ruin my reputation by selling her as she is.”

  I didn’t argue with Claire any more, but I decided that if it was only lack of experience that prevented me from having Secret I would soon remedy that. I made plans all the way home in the bus. My next lesson with Claire was on Monday, but a great deal of experience could be gathered in two and a half days. Immediately I reached home I explained to my mother that I was now to gain experience, but I didn’t tell her why I was in such a hurry to begin gaining it; then I telephoned Patience. She said that of course I could ride that afternoon, all the horses were short of exercise, and that everyone
had missed me while I was taking lessons. I must say my cousins are very kind-hearted and generous, especially Patience. I always wish I could like them better; if only they didn’t talk so much or in such a boring way.

  My mother said that I was becoming a fanatic, that I should exhaust myself by riding twice in one day and be as cross as two sticks all evening but, nevertheless, she obligingly got the car out and drove me down to Underhill Farm.

  Patience and I had a lovely ride. We galloped at a furious speed along a track which runs through some fields my cousins call the down, and we jumped a little stile into a wood and out again. Merlin refused once and I nearly fell off twice.

  Patience said that I had improved tremendously. “You’ll be able to come hunting soon,” she told me. “Merlin’s as quiet as a lamb with hounds and you could go home at two.” At that moment my leg had begun to protest about riding for two hours in a violent fashion and the thought of hunting from eleven to two quite horrified me.

  “I’m not experienced enough yet,” I objected. And then I asked, “Do you think I could ride Bruce sometime? He’s fairly quiet, isn’t he? I do need some experience.”

  “He pulls like a train, but otherwise he’s quiet enough,” answered Patience. “I’ll ask Daddy, though, because Bruce belongs to him; I don’t suppose he’ll mind.”

  I arranged with Patience that I should go over again on Saturday and ride Bruce if Uncle David had given the O.K. Then I walked up the lane, which took a long time because I was so stiff, and caught one of the rare buses that go from Grey Marsh Hill to Hampden End.

  I was certainly tired when I reached home, but even my mother had to admit that I wasn’t cross, especially when I had given her a triumphant and slightly boastful account of my ride.

  Triumph, however, was short-lived. I found on Saturday morning that Uncle David had consented to my riding Bruce and that my cousins had planned a two-hour ride. We set off in high spirits, but I soon began to find Bruce rather broad. He seemed to be stretching my left leg in a very uncomfortable way and added to this he refused to walk a step unless he was in the lead. Unfortunately, Golden Oriole also wanted to lead so my cousins told me to keep Bruce back. They said that I was upsetting Oriole, that she was a high-class show pony and if she fell and broke her knees she’d be blemished for life, and that she was always allowed to go first. Bruce didn’t seem to understand my aids; he wouldn’t drop his nose and go nicely on the bit like Claire’s horses, he just opened his mouth and pulled and pulled and my arms ached madly.

  We left the lanes at last and trotted up through vast beech woods until we came out on the top of the hill. There were fields all around us; most of them were still stubble, awaiting the plough. A cold wind was blowing across the hill-top and the horses began to jog; suddenly my cousins began to gallop and Bruce didn’t wait for an aid to follow them. His gallop was very rough, but he seemed fast enough and soon I realised that I hadn’t a hope of stopping him. We sped past Hat Trick and Copper Count and drew up beside Oriole, who promptly began to buck.

  “Go away,” yelled Jackie. “Why can’t you keep behind? Oriole, stop it,” she told her pony and she jerked her in the mouth. But Oriole’s head was between her knees, she continued to buck and I, powerless to stop Bruce, forged ahead.

  It was quite fun really except that my leg was hurting and I knew that Jackie was going to be furious. I didn’t know where we were supposed to be going, but when the stubble fields came to an end a thick hedge barred our progress, I hauled Bruce round in a large circle and eventually he slowed up and stopped.

  My cousins soon joined me; they were far from pleased.

  “Honestly, Charles, you’re a menace,” said Patience.

  “Why on earth didn’t you sit back and pull?” asked Prudence in scornful tones. “No one can ride a horse by sitting half-way up its neck like a monkey on a stick.”

  “That silly riding school hasn’t done you any good, you ride worse than ever,” Jackie told me in her usual downright way.

  “It isn’t a silly riding school,” I answered as soon as I had enough breath, “it’s a jolly good one. And I’m not going to sit back, I’m going to ride with the Italian seat. And you shouldn’t pull on the reins—ever.”

  “That caps it,” said Prudence, “he knows everything after twelve lessons.”

  “But Charles, don’t for goodness’ sake pay any attention to these funny foreign ideas,” begged Patience in a kind voice, “everybody knows that the English hunting people are the best natural riders in the world.”

  “That’s what they think; I don’t agree.”

  “Well, the proof of the pudding is in the eating,” said Patience. “You can’t stop Bruce, and Daddy, who’s never had a lesson in his life, can manage him easily.”

  “What a cranky riding school it must be,” said Jackie as we rode on again. “How can any body stop anything if you’re not allowed to pull on the reins—ever? I suppose you all say whoa, whoa, please stop. Or else the horses are all so badly fed or overworked that they’re always longing to stop.”

  “They’re very nice horses,” I told her, “but they’re properly schooled and when you ride them into a halt they obey.”

  “Well, if you don’t like the way our horses are schooled you know what you can do,” said Prudence, and Patience added, “You did ask to ride Bruce, Charles, but tomorrow it’s Merlin or nothing.”

  Considering how rude I had just been I felt that the offer of Merlin next day was more than I could reasonably expect, so I hastily said, “O.K., I’ll ride Merlin. I think Bruce is too wide for me, or something; my leg just doesn’t seem to work.”

  It was an excuse, but I felt that an excuse was necessary.

  Patience was overflowing with sympathy at once. “Oh, poor Charles,” she said, “why didn’t you tell us before? It must be causing you agony.”

  “No, not agony,” I told her quickly, but sympathy flowed on. Really, Patience is terribly kind. Before long she was offering me Hat Trick.

  “He’s much narrower,” she said, “and he’s going fairly quietly today.”

  The desire to try Hat Trick was too strong for me. I agreed to change though I knew that the thought of having me on her horse horrified Patience and that she had only offered from the noblest and most unselfish motives.

  “If I do anything wrong tell me at once,” I said, “and I’ll change back; I don’t want to spoil him.” Prudence and Jackie obviously thought their sister quite mad, but they didn’t say so. They waited while we changed over and then they both rode with their reins in one hand, the other hand was obviously ready to grab my reins when I got out of control.

  Hat Trick was very narrow and he moved beautifully. I felt perfectly happy on him though his mouth was most peculiar. He didn’t go on the bit, in fact he lurked miles behind it and if you tried to take up a contact with his mouth he fussed and fidgeted with his bits and began to throw his head about. I rode him with a loose rein because I distrusted my cousins’ double bridles and, anyway, even if I had known how to begin schooling him, he wasn’t my horse.

  I think that my cousins were surprised that I could ride him. At first they trotted very steadily and they all kept their eyes on me, but when they saw that everything was well they suggested a canter. In fact, the ride became a success; we all returned home in the best of tempers and everyone was convinced that I couldn’t ride Bruce because of my leg—except me. I knew that it was because he didn’t understand my aids and that I wasn’t a good enough rider to explain them to him.

  On Sunday I rode again, this time on Merlin. We jumped two hedges, six logs, a broken-down gate and some slip rails. I fell off over one of the hedges and I nearly fell off over the gate and the slip rails, but, to my surprise, falling off didn’t hurt my leg a bit, in fact, I decided afterwards that it had made it work better. And I wasn’t at all disheartened by my performance, because everything, except the logs, was higher than I had ever jumped before.

  5

  On
Monday morning I told Claire all my week-end adventures, both good and bad, and asked her advice about stopping Bruce. She thought a little before she spoke and then she said, “Well, up to now you haven’t really had to stop a horse that didn’t want to be stopped. All my horses are fairly obliging; they know their job in the school and they do it without much prompting from the rider. I know what we’ll do with you, though; we’ll go out on the Common and practise control.”

  Claire saddled Secret and I mounted Barnacle and we rode out the two miles to Lestonbury Common on which there are several steep grassy slopes, a legacy from the days when it was a golf course. “Now,” said Claire, shortening her stirrups, “first we’ll ride up and down all these hills at a balanced trot. You must keep Barnacle two lengths behind me, but not by pulling on the reins. You see, they come off the bit by stiffening themselves somewhere along the spine, it may be at the poll, the back, the loins, the effect is the same, the horse begins to resist you; he pulls. Keep your rein contact and drive him back on the bit with your legs.”

  “O.K.,” I said.

  “Secret is stiff in her loins,” Claire went on, “her poll is perfectly supple, you’ve probably noticed that at times she overbends; but when she’s going forward with impulsion she shoots one out of the saddle and gets her head in the air.

  “Will you be able to cure her?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes, I expect so, but it’ll take schooling and time.”

  When we had trotted up and down all the hills on the common we went round again at the canter and this time I did have to use my legs to keep Barnacle on the bit and two lengths behind Claire, in fact my legs were aching like mad by the time we pulled up.

  “Well done,” said Claire. “Now I want you to go round by yourself so that I can see you.”

  Barnacle was easier to control without a horse in front of him and I was able to keep him balanced with less leg. I enjoyed myself tremendously now that there was time to notice the wind in my face and the pleasure of controlled speed.