Mrs. Barnes said, “Shoo, you tiresome horse. Go on in now and don’t be so silly.” Whereupon Secret, to my great surprise, obediently followed me in.
“Thanks awfully, Mrs. Barnes,” I said. And Mummy said, “I didn’t know you were good with horses.”
“My father was a stud groom,” Mrs. Barnes told us, “so it’s in the blood. She’s a beautiful thing.”
“She will be, when she’s fatter,” I answered, as I unsaddled. I rubbed Secret down, rugged her up and made sure that she had a drink before I fetched her feed from the workshop part of the garage, where we had installed a corn bin and saddle bracket. I gave her a bucketful of oats and bran, because, though it was more than Claire advised, I was determined to get her fat and fit in the shortest possible time. But now she was too excited to eat properly. She dashed from manger to door, gazing about her, neighing and spilling oats everywhere. Luckily she showed no inclination to jump out, so after watching her for a few minutes, we went indoors to lunch.
I spent the whole afternoon on stable management. First I cleaned my tack, then I took Secret for a walk round the garden and showed her her private paddock. After that I gave her a really good groom before I mucked out her stable, using my brand new pitchfork, broom and wheelbarrow. It was tea time before I had fed her and filled her haynet and water bucket for the night and by the time everything was done I was in a state of collapse. “There,” said my mother as I flopped into a chair, “I knew that it was going to be too much for you.”
“Oh, no, it isn’t,” I answered, sitting bolt upright and assuming what I hoped was an energetic expression. “I shall soon get into training and, besides, today I did everything up to a very superior standard. I shan’t always groom her twice and I needn’t clean my tack every day—the cousins don’t.”
“Oh, cousins,” exclaimed my mother, “I forgot to tell you I met them all in Eastbridge this morning and I confessed about Secret. Of course they’re mad to see her so I invited the whole family to lunch on Sunday. I don’t know how we’re going to fit them all in the dining-room and I’m sure there aren’t enough plates, but I felt I had to do something to make up for our dreadful behaviour; I mean buying a horse and all that goes with it, without asking their advice or even telling them a word about it.”
“I wish Secret was fatter,” I said.
7
On Saturday, April beat March’s lamb-like exit with a day of golden sunshine and I, after feeding, mucking out and grooming Secret, made a course of jumps. They weren’t very elegant-looking jumps, but I told myself that I would save up and buy some posts and poles and that eventually I would make myself a gate and wall. Until then I had to be content with six oil drums, two wooden boxes, five rather miserable little poles and three old chicken coops I had found in a corner of the garage. The paddock looked an awful mess by the time this collection was erected, but I told myself with great firmness that beggars couldn’t be choosers and went to saddle Secret. I had decided that I wasn’t going to be the light-hearted and foolish owner that Claire expected. I wasn’t going to spoil my horse by thinking only of jumping. I would school for precisely half an hour and then jump. I walked, I trotted, I circled. I even attempted a couple of not very successful turns on the forehand. I cantered with long stirrups and tried to sit down in the saddle. Then I looked at my watch; it was still ticking and yet it insisted that only ten minutes had passed; I felt as though I had been riding for at least half an hour. I schooled again, Secret was still very fresh; she shied at imaginary snakes in the grass and at the jumps: she was awfully stiff, but I put it all down to the strangeness of her new surroundings. At last my watch admitted that half an hour had passed so I was able to shorten my stirrups and ride round at the Italian canter in preparation for jumping. Secret seemed fresher than ever. She simply hurtled at the jumps and flew over, until she came to the chicken coops, then she stopped dead, at the very last moment, and I went up her neck. I didn’t quite fall off, but the suddenness of the refusal had jarred my leg; I had to sit and curse for several minutes before I could jump again. At the second attempt I rode at a trot and, though Secret threw up her head and fought me during the approach, she didn’t refuse. I put all the jumps up a few inches and then went round again. Secret was still taking them rather fast and often her head was in the air, but she jumped a clear round so I patted her and took her in. I gave her another huge feed and refilled her haynet; somehow I had to get her fatter for my cousins’ visit next day.
I rose early on Sunday morning. I was determined that my stable management should be above criticism; that my horse should be perfectly turned out and my tack as clean and shining as I could make it. I didn’t want my cousins finding fault. They were coming at twelve because they were to see Secret before lunch and I was in a panic because I had washed rather a lot of her and she wouldn’t dry, so I couldn’t groom her properly. However, her tail looked lovely and so did she really in spite of her dampness and thinness and having a winter coat. Perhaps I saw her with the eyes of love, but anyway I felt that I would rather have her than any other horse on earth. Even so my heart sank as I heard Uncle David’s car turn down the lane. I knew that the whole family had come, not to admire, but to criticise; to tell us where we’d gone wrong and what we should have done. If there were faults in Secret I didn’t want to know them.
I put off the evil moment for a little by heading the relations into the cottage, where my parents offered them drinks. But Patience, Prudence and Jackie could not be put off for long.
“Where is she, Charles?” they asked. “Oh, come on, we’ve come to see your horse, not to make polite conversation.”
“Can we ride her, Charles?”
“Come on, it’ll be lunchtime in a minute and you know that we’ve got to go directly afterwards because Daddy’s asked some mouldy people to tea.”
Reluctantly, I led the way to Secret. She looked pleased to see me and bowed her head, hoping for sugar, which I produced.
“Oh, she’s rather sweet,” said Patience.
“What is she, an Arab?” asked Prudence.
“Anglo-Arab,” I answered, opening the loosebox door.
Secret made a rude face at me as I unbuckled her rug and immediately Patience was after me. “Charles, you’ve been pinching her with the surcingle,” she accused indignantly.
“No, I haven’t,” I answered firmly. “She always made rude faces long before she was mine.” I took off the rug.
“Oh,” they exclaimed in a disapproving chorus, “she’s much too thin.”
“Give her flaked maize,” said Patience.
“Boiled oats,” recommended Prudence.
“I bet he’s just starving her,” said Jackie. “I bet you don’t know how much hay a horse ought to have a day,” she went on, turning to me.
“She was poor when Claire Wentworth bought her,” I tried to explain.
“Worms,” said Patience, “or teeth; have you had them rasped, Charles?”
“Claire got her vet to look at them and she’s been wormed; she’s getting fatter every day—”
They wouldn’t listen to me. They insisted on inspecting my oats, bran and hay, but they couldn’t find anything wrong there so I was questioned and cross-questioned on exactly how much I was giving her to eat. They couldn’t find fault with my account of bucketfuls and haynets, especially when they saw the size of the bucket, so I think they just disbelieved me.
At last Jackie said, “Oh, well, let’s try riding her. I bet she’s awful and everyone knows Arabs can’t jump.”
“Really, Jackie,” scolded Patience. “At least you should try her with an open mind.”
“Jackie needn’t try her,” I said. “In fact I don’t mind if no one tries her, because I expect you’ll all say she’s awful. I think she’s wonderful and I don’t care what anyone else thinks.”
“Don’t take any notice of Jackie,” Patience told me. “You know she’s only a child.”
“I’m not,” answered Jackie. �
�And don’t be mingy, Charles, I want to ride her and we’ve always let you ride our horses.”
“You haven’t,” I told her. “Patience and your parents have let me ride theirs, but I’ve never ridden Oriole.”
“That’s different,” said Jackie. “She’s jolly excitable and you’ve got a funny leg.”
“A jolly funny leg,” I said in sarcastic tones as I saddled Secret. There was a silence and I realised that Patience and Prudence were embarrassed by Jackie’s remark. Prudence changed the subject. “You won’t be able to show in that saddle, Charles.”
“I’m not interested in showing,” I answered, picking up the bridle. “I want to jump, so I’ve got a jumping saddle. Shall I ride first, or do you want to?” I asked Patience.
“Oh, me, please,” she answered. Jackie began to wail, “Can I try her next, Charles, please. I won’t say a word against her.” Prudence shut her up.
“I’m next,” she said, “we’ll ride in age.”
“It ought to be youngest first,” grumbled Jackie, as Patience rode round the paddock.
I was busy watching Secret; she was going terribly badly. She wasn’t either walking or trotting properly and her head was right in the air. Patience was being thrown about all over the saddle. Soon she cantered, which was just as bad, and then she tried jumping, which was quite horrifying. Secret took off all over the place and Patience, hopelessly left behind, hung on by the reins. I didn’t know what to do, so I averted my eyes and reminded myself that it would soon be lunchtime. Soon I heard Patience ask, “Want a go, Prue?” They held a conversation in low voices as they changed over and altered the stirrups. Patience didn’t say anything to me; she wandered about tidying up the jumps and humming softly.
My leg was beginning to ache, it had done a lot of work that morning, so I sat down on the grass. Secret went just as badly for Prudence until it came to jumping and then she refused to jump anything but the smallest of the pole and oil drum jumps. After a time Prudence gave up because Jackie was insisting that it was her turn. Jackie did ride a bit better than her sisters, mostly, I decided, because her legs were not stuck quite so far forward, but Secret’s head was still in the air and when Jackie tried to change from gait to gait she fought her wildly. Jumping was horrible. Jackie could get Secret to jump, but not in a style that would have pleased Claire and it certainly didn’t please me. She kicked and whacked and poor Secret flew about knocking everything down and was soon in a dripping sweat.
“It’s my turn now,” I kept telling Jackie, but she ignored me or shouted back; “Don’t be mingy. You ride every day,” or “You don’t have to go to school.”
Patience and Prudence came and stood beside me. “Jackie’s got her going much better already,” Patience told me. I felt like murder. “She jumped all these jumps clear yesterday,” I said, but they obviously didn’t believe me. I went over to Jackie and told her that Secret had done enough.
“Fat lot you know about it,” answered Jackie. “She’s jolly fresh and as naughty as anything. You’ve been letting her have her own way, anyone can tell that.” I took hold of Secret’s reins. “Get off, please,” I said in a voice that I could barely control. Jackie glared at me for a moment, but I was hanging on to the reins firmly and short of riding over me she could do nothing but dismount. “There you are then. Take your beastly bad-mannered horse,” she said and marched off towards her sisters.
Secret was upset. She wouldn’t stand still and Jackie’s stirrups seemed to be shorter than my schooling ones. I couldn’t mount until I had let them down. Secret twirled round and round and almost knocked me over several times. I had managed to mount, but I had had no time to put her back on the bit when my parents, Aunt Una and Uncle David appeared at the gate. Secret was flinging her head about; she wouldn’t walk, she wouldn’t trot, she ignored all my attempts to calm her. Everyone began to call me. “Bring her over here, Charles.”
“Let’s see her move.”
“Does she jump?”
Patience, Prudence and Jackie were all relating their experiences and giving their opinions and the snatches I heard were far from complimentary. Suddenly I could bear it no longer; I dismounted and, pushing through the crowd in the gateway without a word, I led her in. My father and Uncle David followed me; they were talking earnestly, but the female population, I was glad to see, had headed for the cottage. As I rugged Secret up I heard my father say in rather defensive tones, “Oh, well, we didn’t pay much for her.” But Uncle David didn’t hesitate to damn her; he spoke in the heavy tones of an authority, “A ten-year-old mare with a poor constitution can’t be a good buy.”
I don’t think I have ever disliked anyone so much as I did my relations that Sunday. I really felt villainously disposed towards them; I could understand the feelings of Guy Fawkes, Crippen and the French revolutionaries. I wanted a blood bath at Underhill Farm. A lunch that was all criticism of Secret or advice given in the sort of voice reserved for the not quite normal person, ended with Aunt Una saying, “Well, since you’ve got the animal, it’s no good crying over spilt milk; you’d better bring it over to Underhill and let Jackie school it for you.”
I scraped back my chair, making as much noise as possible and began to clear away the plates.
My mother exclaimed, “What a very kind offer,” in false tones and rose to help me. We both made a dash for the kitchen and above the noise of the taps which I turned on with full force, we told each other what we thought of the whole family of Darlsworths.
When they had gone and my father had protested because my mother would refer to them as your relations, your sister and your brother-in-law, he asked me whether I thought Secret was really as bad as they made out.
“She looks all right to me,” he said, “except that she’s a bit thin, but I’ve never heard such a tale of woe as Patience emitted when I asked for her opinion. And, by the way, what on earth is a martingale? Apparently you need several.”
“If they used their legs properly they wouldn’t need martingales,” I answered. “They ride all wrong, that’s the trouble. At least, I think so and they think that they’re right and I’m wrong. But I’m going to ride Claire’s way and they can go to the devil.”
“Ah, so there are two schools of thought,” said my father more cheerfully. “That might explain the outcry. There’s always more bitterness between the schools of thought than there is between the ignorant and the expert.”
“Just like your relations,” said my mother, “too stupid to realise that more than one road leads to Rome.”
8
It is quite easy to resolve never to speak or communicate with your cousins again if they live in Australia or even if there are fifty miles between you, but, with the Darlsworths living in the next village and shopping at the same shops in the same town and riding on the same bridle paths, I soon realised that it was no use my trying to sulk; I resolved to prove them wrong instead. Now that they were all on holiday they rode every day and there were perpetual invitations for me to join them. So thick were their own skins, that I don’t think that it had entered their heads that I might not have forgiven their remarks about my horse.
The day after their visit I had done my best to put Secret back on the bit, but I hadn’t been very successful. She was terribly fresh; she shied and tore about with her head up and a stiff back; my leg ached and, altogether, I felt very disheartened. I grumbled loudly about the damage my cousins had done to Secret’s education with their bad riding, but inwardly I was not at all sure that this was the true reason for Secret’s deterioration and, even if it was, surely I should be able to repair the damage by a day’s work. Inwardly, I felt that I was already riding much worse than I had under Claire’s eye and yet I had no idea what part of me had gone wrong. My heels were still down—I looked in Hampden End post office window to see—and my hands appeared to be in the right place. It wasn’t as though I’d ever been very good, but I had been able to ride Secret.
The only bright spot durin
g the next few days was that I was certain that Secret was getting fatter. I looked anxiously at her ribs every morning and every night and they seemed to be becoming more and more difficult to find.
I refused to hack with my cousins on Tuesday, try their jumps on Wednesday and go to tea with them on Thursday, but I succumbed to a very pressing invitation to accompany them to a Horse Show on Saturday. I wanted to go to a show; I couldn’t remember going to any but the Royal Show, since the famous gymkhana where I won the bending race. And, also, though I didn’t actually admit it to myself at that time, I was so disheartened with Secret’s schooling that any excuse to get away from it for a day was welcome.
Saturday was fine so I decided that she could be turned out in the paddock and my parents agreed to bring her in after lunch or earlier if the weather changed.
I dressed in corduroys and my riding jacket, borrowed a tweed cap of my father’s so that I should look the part, pocketed my sandwiches and walked to the cross roads, where I was to meet the horse box which was taking my cousins to the show. It was a lovely day at that moment, but the number of small flying clouds seemed ominous; I told myself off for not bringing a mackintosh. The horsebox was late and when it did arrive my cousins were all in a panic. “Oh, do hurry, Charles,” they began as soon as they saw me; really one might have thought I was the late person.
“What happened?” I asked, when I had been safely hauled into the groom’s compartment. Prudence answered, “That little beast Oriole wouldn’t box.”
“Trick and Count were as good as gold,” Patience told me. “I don’t know what came over Oriole, we had the heck of a time.”
“And now we shall be late for my class,” said Jackie tearfully. “Oh, I could kill her.”
“Poor Oriole,” I said, instantly developing a fellow-feeling for her—I knew what it was like to have all three girls going on at you at once.
Show Jumping Secret Page 5