“Yes, she was nervous at first,” I said, “and I let her head come up, but she jumped the last fences beautifully. Did we hit the stile?”
“No,” answered Mummy, and her answer was confirmed a moment later by the microphone which announced that Number 76 had had four jumping faults and no time faults.
I loosened Secret’s girths and then we stayed in the collecting ring for a time watching the other competitors jump. A girl on a black horse asked me if this was Secret’s first outing and a man on a chestnut told me that she was a nice little mare. Then, as it was becoming very hot and the flies were making Secret fidget, I began to wonder whether we had better start on our journey home.
My mother helped me load my possessions into the car. I gave Secret a few oats, devoured my sandwiches and took out her studs before we set off slowly homewards. As I rode out of the show ground all my elation vanished. I had looked forward to the show for so long and now it was all over so quickly. Oh, why didn’t I keep Secret on the bit? Just a little more leg and I could have stayed to jump off, instead of going home at one o’clock.
I rode along at the walk feeling very dismal until I remembered that it was only eleven days to Bank Holiday and the Eastbridge Show. There, I would keep Secret on the bit at all costs. There, I had two classes: the local Grade C and the local Fault and Out. Two goes; one was such a dreary business that it was hardly worth going to a show. I began to feel positively happy at the thought of jumping again and, deciding that Secret must have digested by this time, I cantered along the track through the woods, for we were in familiar country now and I could take short cuts.
I hardly reached home before my mother appeared in the stable with an enormous carrot for Secret.
“Aunt Una’s thrilled,” she exclaimed cheerfully, “and she says that the girls will be wild with excitement when they hear.”
“Mummy!” I exclaimed in horror. “You haven’t told Aunt Una?”
“But of course, darling. I knew she’d be pleased so I rang her up the minute I got home.”
“Oh, really. You are the limit,” I said. “I go and make an awful muck of everything; I don’t even get into the jump-off and you have to go and pour it all out to Aunt Una as though I had done something wonderful.”
“But Charles,” protested my mother, “it was wonderful. Most people had far more faults than you did. After all, neither of you had ever jumped in a ring before; I fully expected you to have three refusals.”
“If I had,” I answered, “I should have come home and shot myself.”
“But lots of people do have three refusals,” my mother told me. “ I’ve seen your cousins, more than once.”
“Proper show jumping people don’t,” I answered.
“But, darling, you’re not in that category yet.”
“No, I know I’m not,” I agreed; but I didn’t add that I soon meant to be.
12
Even Claire was irritatingly pleased by my four faults, but she was nothing to my cousins, who rode over at the week-end to congratulate me. As if anyone wants to be congratulated on having four faults.
I said as much to Patience, though I put it as politely as I could, but she only laughed in an indulgent way and said, “Oh, really, Charles, what did you expect to do at your first show—win?”
“No,” I answered, “but I should like to have jumped one clear round; one’s got to jump two to win.”
“Oh, really, you are a scream,” Patience told me. “You’ve only been riding six months and you’ve got your eye on Harringay already.”
“The higher you aim, the farther you fall,” said Prudence crushingly.
“Nothing venture, nothing win,” I counter attacked.
Patience said, “Well, we shall look forward to seeing you on Bank Holiday. You are going to Eastbridge, aren’t you? It isn’t nearly such a big show as the agricultural one, but it’s fun; and we shall expect to see a clear round.”
“Oh, don’t be silly,” I answered. “I do wish my mother hadn’t rushed round telling everyone about Wednesday. I jolly well shan’t let her go to any more shows.”
“You can’t stop her on Bank Holiday,” Patience told me, “all the parents for miles around go; it’s quite a social occasion.”
Everyone was talking about the Bank Holiday Show. Masses of people from the village were going, Mrs. Barnes among them. Dozens of Claire’s pupils were riding in the gymkhana events and quite a few in the more serious classes, so at the riding school, the first few days of the summer holidays were all feverish gymkhana practices.
Claire wouldn’t let me bend or potato race Secret. “She’s quite hot enough now,” she said. “If you’re going to show jump you can’t afford to be frivolous, you’ll simply undo all your work.”
Sometimes I rather envied the people on ponies who were allowed to scoot about so light-heartedly, but I didn’t want to exchange Secret for any of their mounts, nor give up show jumping in favour of gymkhana events. I knew that Claire was right about Secret being quite hot enough already; if she became any more excitable I’d never be able to show jump her. However, Claire did relent enough to say that I might practise Musical Poles, provided that I didn’t give way to competitive spirit and start to ride “anyhow.” Secret turned out to be very good at it and we were second and third several times, though we never managed to beat Hazel on Swan Song, the pair who had won at last year’s Eastbridge show.
The days, in spite of being wet, passed quickly, and I soon found myself cleaning my tack extra well, polishing my shoes, and washing Secret’s tail for the show. Once again, my feelings were very mixed, but I did wish that there weren’t such things as spectators or at least the ones who know you; I don’t notice the other sort.
My cousins had another cousinly fit. They telephoned to say that I was to hack to the show by way of Underhill Farm, and to meet them at the top of the lane at eleven o’clock. The show began at eleven-thirty and Jackie was in the first class. I wasn’t in the first class, nor the second, in fact, I wasn’t riding until after lunch; but I agreed to go with them, for they said that there was an excellent place to tie horses up—they always tied theirs up—and I was still at the stage when I longed to arrive at the beginning of shows and stay till the end.
My parents said that they didn’t feel like that at all. They were only coming to watch me ride and they weren’t going to appear a minute before two o’clock, so I took all the things Secret and I were likely to need in a knapsack and only left the summer sheet to come in the car, for I could manage without it.
Of course, my cousins weren’t waiting at the top of the lane at eleven o’clock, so I had to ride down to the farm to find them. There seemed to be a panic on. Furious insults were being shouted across the yard. Oriole wasn’t bridled; Prudence was searching frantically for her cane and the saddle room looked as though a hurricane had hit it, by the time she remembered that the cane was indoors. Patience was bemoaning Copper Count’s plaits, which had, apparently, refused to come right. My appearance only added to the panic. “Here’s Charles,” they told each other. “I said he’d be waiting. It’s all your fault—” “Oh, what absolute nonsense. You know jolly well—”
“Don’t worry about me,” I yelled above the recriminations. “I’m not jumping until half-past two. I’ve got hours of time; it’s Jackie who’s going to be late.”
“Oh, it always starts hours late,” said Jackie sulkily. “Stand still,” she told Oriole in a cross voice as she shoved her double bridle on. A fearsome noise of slapping was coming from Hat Trick’s box, so I rode across and looked in. “The beast bit me,” said Prudence angrily as she rubbed her arm.
At last my cousins were ready and we set off for the show at an undesirably brisk trot. Fortunately Underhill Farm isn’t far from Eastbridge, or rather from the outskirts of Eastbridge where the show was being held, and my cousins knew a short cut, which took us there very quickly, but made us much muddier than going by the road would have done.
We were cantering across the show ground towards the ring just as the collecting steward began to make gurgling noises on the microphone. Evidently overcome with horror at his gurgling noises, he remained silent long enough for us to collect our numbers and tie Jackie’s on, and then he asked in blurred tones for all competitors in Class One to come to the collecting ring. Jackie hurried in, and I watched her casting a critical eye over the other competitors and their ponies. I could see that she fancied her chances and, as her spirits went up, her legs stuck farther and farther forward and her hands drew nearer to her stomach. She began to jockey for a position near the entrance to the ring and, when at last the judges were ready, she led the way in.
Then my attention was taken from the class because Patience and Prudence decided that I ought to make a late entry for the Best Riding Horse Class.
“ There’s nothing much here,” Patience pointed out, “except for us, I mean. You’d have to be third.”
“Yes,” agreed Prudence, casting a disdainful eye over the horses which were gathering for the second event. “No one could put that awful old cob of Miss Smithers’s or that poor old blood weed of the Vaughans’ up.”
“And the Philsons’ bay is gone in the wind; John Heath’s pony has two big knees and a curb behind; and Joan Dobbs’s awful old brute looks like a cow and moves like a hackney,” said Aunt Una’s voice from behind. “Go on, Charles, it’s only seven and six.”
“I haven’t got seven and six,” I said. “At least not for showing classes. I’m saving all my money for jumping entry fees.”
“Oh, go on; you’re bound to be third. Look it up, Mummy, and see what the third prize is,” directed Patience.
The third prize was one pound, so they all redoubled their efforts, but I hastily pointed out that I had only a forward cut saddle and a snaffle; that I had no idea how to give a show or how to lead a horse out in hand and that I didn’t want to enter even on the chance of getting a third rosette and twelve and sixpence profit.
Jackie was duly called in first, which attracted the Darlsworths’ attention from me, and Aunt Una rushed into the ring to do her stuff with the rubber.
However, these judges were being very brisk and they had evidently no difficulty in making up their minds. They didn’t have the ponies stripped and trotted up; in no time at all Jackie was cantering round with the red rosette and I was delighted to see that Feather was second and Barnacle fourth. I began to look round for Claire; surely she had some horses in the second class?
Jackie and Aunt Una joined me as Prudence and Patience rode into the ring. I congratulated Jackie, but not with much enthusiasm, and then I saw Claire on Grenadier entering the ring, some way behind the rest of the class, and Hazel on Swan Song, a stout little grey of fifteen hands, followed her. I pointed them out to the Darlsworths.
“Which is the Wentworth girl?” asked Aunt Una, “the fat one on the cob, or the thin one on the blood weed?”
“Claire is riding Grenadier, the big brown horse,” I answered rather stiffly. “That’s Hazel—she’s a sort of working pupil—on the grey.”
“What a wretched tubby little animal,” said Aunt Una. “I can just imagine its gallop.”
The class began to trot; I thought how much better Grenadier and Swan Song went than my cousins’ chestnuts, with their stiff necks and fussy mouths, but the Darlsworths didn’t seem to notice this; Aunt Una was busy dissecting the rest of the class. “Just look at that awful girl on the bay; isn’t she a lump? Why doesn’t she feed that wretched horse better? Is she one of the Vaughans, Jackie?”
“Yes, that’s Angela Vaughan, she’s awful,” answered Jackie.
“John Heath’s still wearing his old jacket. When is his mother going to get him a new one? Next year it’ll only cover his elbows. Poor Miss Smithers. You know if I had a figure like that I wouldn’t show it off in a ring,” said Aunt Una loudly as John Heath and Miss Smithers cantered by.
“Is John Heath a Pony Club member?” I asked Jackie.
“How on earth should I know? If he is, he never comes to anything. All the boys are afraid of Colonel Darcy—wet, drippy lot.”
“It’s all going to be altered now,” I told her. “There’s a new District Commissioner and Claire Wentworth is on the Committee. Probably it’ll be all boys and no girls now.”
“You’ve got a hope. Everyone knows boys can’t ride.”
“And everyone knows that some girls have such swollen heads that they think they’re a jolly sight better than they are,” I told her.
“Swollen head yourself,” said Jackie.
“Shush, Jackie. Look, they’ve called in Count,” Aunt Una exclaimed. “Now for Trick.”
However, to my intense but carefully concealed delight, the judges didn’t call Hat Trick in second; they called in Grenadier before him, and Swan Song after him, and then they lined the rest of the competitors up haphazardly.
“They must be mad,” said Aunt Una angrily. “Look at the daylight under that brown horse. Look at his great long back. He’s sickle-hocked, goes near in front and wide behind. I wouldn’t be seen dead on the brute. And Trick was going so beautifully.”
Patience rode out to give her show and Aunt Una was well satisfied with her performance. She seemed only to notice whether Patience was on the right leg or not. The fact that Count was above the bit, bent to the outside on circles and had no cadence in any of his gaits meant nothing to her. I thought that perhaps she’d see the difference when Claire gave her show. She gave a very elegant one; finishing up with a half pass and a rein back.
“These professionals and their fancy dressage stuff,” said Aunt Una contemptuously. “But I still maintain that that long-legged brute isn’t a patch on Trick.”
Prudence’s show was worse than Patience’s for Hat Trick was feeling excitable and she endeavoured to control him with six jerks in the mouth. I was horrified, I felt that I would like to disown my cousins for ever; to do such a thing, and directly under Claire’s eye!
Hazel gave a very neat show; but even I had to admit that Swan Song was not a show horse though, as I told Aunt Una, she was first class at gymkhana events.
Only one of the judges rode the horses, the other wasn’t dressed for riding so he watched them being trotted out. The riding one seemed to be a much better rider than most judges are. He evidently knew how to put a horse on the bit and his leg position looked quite perfect to me. Not that he got Copper Count to go on the bit, I should imagine that that would take six months in a snaffle; but he rode Grenadier excellently, and I wasn’t surprised when, after a consultation, they put Grenadier into first place and Count stood second. I was glad that Aunt Una was in the ring, wielding the rubber, so I escaped her fury, but I was sorry for the judges, for, as the winners cantered round with their rosettes, she went up and spoke to them. I wondered if she was telling them that they were mad and I felt terribly glad that my surname was Ravenscroft and not Darlsworth. Supposing Daddy and Uncle David had been brothers and we all had the same surname? It was a horrible thought.
I kept well away from my relations. I watered Secret and then I tied her up near Claire’s horses to eat her feed. She was quite calm for they were her old friends, in fact really she knew them better than she knew the Darlsworth horses. I congratulated Grenadier and Claire, who said that the judges had told her that Grenadier wasn’t the best-looking horse in the class, but he was the best schooled and that was how he had come up. And then I ate my lunch sitting beside Secret. As soon as we’d both finished, I began the gruesome task of putting in her studs, but, to my surprise, they went in quite easily and I was ready by half-past one, which was much too early to begin exercising, considering that we had hacked over. I wandered back to the ring to see if the fences were organised for the Juvenile Jumping yet and was at once spotted by Aunt Una. “Charles, Charles, come and have some lunch,” she called. “We’ve enough to feed an army here. Come on, don’t argue. I tell you, we’ve masses of food.”
I knew that
it was useless to argue. I did remark that I had just eaten a packet of sandwiches, two apples and a bar of chocolate, but no one took the least notice, my cousins merely forced sausage rolls and sandwiches upon me, while Aunt Una loosed a torrent of information.
“That new judge, what’s his name, Prue? Oh, it doesn’t matter. You know, Charles—the long-legged fellow—he tells me he’s on the new Pony Club Committee. He says we’re all out of date round here. He’s got a sauce saying so, but I dare say he’s right. He said that Count and Trick were the best-looking horses in the class, but that training and riding count too and they’re not well enough trained. That’s one in the eye for Misses Patience and Prue. What did I tell you he said, Prue?”
“You said that he said that they had no mouths,” answered Prue in a surly voice.
“Yes, that’s right, no mouths. Can’t see it myself. I always thought they had mouths of velvet; they never pull except when they go scatty, and then what horse doesn’t?
“Still, you young people must move with the times, so I suggested to Patience and Prue that they took a few lessons with your Miss Wentworth—they’re not a bit pleased.” Aunt Una laughed. Though I thought that a few lessons would do Patience and Prudence the world of good, I felt sorry for them; Aunt Una has such a horrid way of putting things. I tried to be tactful. “I’m sure they’d enjoy riding with Claire,” I said, “she makes it very interesting and she has a lot of quite grown up pupils, who go on taking lessons because they want to become really good. I hope that I shall be able to go on for ages yet, if my parents don’t go broke.”
Neither Patience nor Prudence spoke, but Jackie had to shove her oar in. “He didn’t say that Oriole had no mouth; he gave her first, so I’m jolly well not taking any lessons. And I can’t pass any more Pony Club tests until I’m sixteen, so I’m not going to any instructional rallies either. Well, what’s the point?”
Show Jumping Secret Page 9