Pony Club Camp
Josephine Pullein-Thompson
Contents
Josephine Pullein-Thompson
The Noel and Henry Series
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Jane Badger Books
Josephine Pullein-Thompson
Josephine Pullein-Thompson
The Ponies of Bunts
An Exciting Visit
Josephine Pullein-Thompson
A SHORT BIOGRAPHY
Born in 1924, the eldest of the three Pullein-Thompson sisters (the others being the slightly younger twins, Diana and Christine), Josephine grew up in a somewhat bohemian household in Oxfordshire. With her sisters, she wrote several short stories and ran a riding school before firmly establishing herself as a writer. It Began with Picotee was the sisters’ first novel, published in 1946, and was written jointly by all three although they wrote individually from then on. At first most notable for being the daughters of Joanna Cannan, a prolific writer whose work included children’s pony books and crime fiction, the sisters soon became well known as writers in their own right.
Josephine went on to write over thirty novels. Most are children’s books in the pony books genre that the sisters dominated in the post-war period, although she also wrote some detective novels and non-fiction. She lived in London and was active in the English Centre of International PEN, the writers' organisation which campaigns for authors’ freedoms under authoritarian or tyrannical regimes. Josephine Pullein-Thompson died in 2014.
Vanessa Robertson
The Noel and Henry Series
Six Ponies
Pony Club Team
The Radney Riding Club
One Day Event
Pony Club Camp
All available from Jane Badger Books
1
There was tremendous excitement in West Barsetshire when Major Holbrooke at last announced that he would run a pony club camp. For years a succession of members had suggested, hinted at and demanded camps and now, when at last the camp was promised, all was confusion. Parents, who had booked expensive holidays and found that their children would rather go to camp, were furious. Fussy parents were horrified; they said that it would rain and ignored their children’s promises to wear mackintoshes and gum boots. Poor pony club members dismally shook their money-boxes and wondered how on earth they could collect the six guineas, which it cost for pony and rider at camp. Members without ponies racked their brains for something to borrow or hire.
Susan Barington-Brown told her parents at tea. “Camp?” said Mr. Barington-Brown. “That’ll do you the world of good, Susan. You’ll have to get up in the morning for a change. Six o’clock, that’s the time.”
“Camp?” said Susan’s mother. “I’ve never heard of such a thing. Sleeping out in a field when you’ve got a perfectly good bed at home. There’ll be insects, Susan.”
“Well, I shall just have to put up with insects,” said Susan. “I don’t mind anything except earwigs and I don’t really mind them unless Christopher puts them down my neck. I’m not missing camp. I’ve been on at the major to have one for years and years and years. Write a cheque for six guineas, Daddy. I might as well send the whole lot at once.”
Henry Thornton, who had joined the regular army and was now at Sandhurst, soon received an invitation from his uncle to spend his next week-end leave at Folly Court to discuss the camp. A camp, oh lord, thought Henry. Now what is my dear uncle up to? I don’t like the idea of this at all; I’d better have an urgent engagement elsewhere for my summer holiday leave.
Major Holbrooke spoke to Noel Kettering out hunting. “You’ve heard about the camp, Noel,” he said. “I want one or two of you older members on the staff. Will you come as a junior instructor?”
“Oh, I couldn’t possibly,” objected Noel. “I can’t instruct; I’m hopeless; everything goes out of my head. And I can’t keep order; no one pays the least attention to anything I say.”
“Nonsense,” said the major firmly. “You’ve taken two rides perfectly successfully to my knowledge. You people who’ve had all the fun of the pony club for years have got to turn to and help, otherwise what’ll happen to the pony club of the future?”
“Oh, dear,” said Noel, “but I’ve never been to camp; couldn’t I come as an ordinary member just once?”
“No,” said Major Holbrooke. “If I let you off, I know perfectly well that Henry will refuse to be Master of Horse.”
At the Priory there was considerable annoyance among the older members of the Radcliffe family.
“The major’s the limit,” said Hilary. “He wouldn’t have a camp when we asked him and now, when we’re practically grown up and able to go abroad, he goes and has one for wretched undeserving people like Margaret and James.”
“Hear, hear,” said Roger, who was now a medical student. “It is the limit. We’d have given our souls to camp.”
“I shouldn’t have given mine,” objected Evelyn. “Too girl guidy for me. I don’t care for regimentation.”
“Ha, ha,” said Margaret. “Off you go to silly old Switzerland and James and I’ll go to camp. Which horse do you want, James? I’ll take Quaker.”
“Oh, no you won’t,” said her elder brother and sisters firmly. “Nor Sky Pilot; they’re ours. You’ll take Northwind or nothing.”
“You can’t stop me. You won’t know what I take,” taunted Margaret, “you’ll all be gone.”
“I won’t,” said Evelyn, “I’m not going till next day.”
“I shall take Rocket, of course,” said James.
Gay Millwood was delighted when Noel telephoned her at the end of the Easter holidays and offered to lend her Sonnet for the summer and camp. Since Jean, Gay’s younger sister, had become horsy they had to share their grey pony, Biddy, and though they had both put their names down for camp it had not seemed very likely that they would both be able to go.
“The wretch never had her foal after all,” Noel explained, “she’s terribly fat and perfectly sound. I’ve ridden her several times; she stretches one’s legs like mad she’s got so broad and she puffs when you canter a step, but I thought if you rode her a bit in the term you’d have her fairly fit for the camp.”
“Gosh, how super! I’ll ask my parents,” Gay said. “And it’s jolly nice of you, thanks tons.”
The Mintons were all going to camp. Their mother was in rather a fuss about the camp list. It was very expensive to produce three of everything. Three ground sheets, three palliasses, three sleeping bags. Three complete sets of grooming tools instead of the ancient and almost bristleless dandy brushes which were the usual grooming tool in West Barsetshire. Three sets of mucking out kit, six tin plates, three tin mugs and knives and forks and spoons.
Mrs. Minton grumbled about the expense but bought everything. Mr. Minton grumbled about the expense and suggested that they didn’t take their yearly seaside holiday, but the boys objected, they wanted camp and the holiday too. Christopher grumbled about having to ride old William. If only his parents would buy him a horse. David grumbled about Fireworks who, he said, was always so crazy at pony club rallies that he’d probably go quite mental in camp. And twelve-year-old Martin, the youngest of the Mintons, said that it wasn’t fair that he should always have to ride Mousie when everyone knew that she was no good at anything.
Marion Hunter was very pleased when she heard that there was going to be a camp. She had been filled with ent
husiasm the year before when she had been on the major’s cross-country course and she was determined to become a really good rider. As good as Christopher and Noel and Susan and Henry, anyway. Officially she and her sister Philippa shared Crusoe, their bright bay gelding, but it seemed as though Philippa’s enthusiasm for riding waned as Marion’s grew. Philippa didn’t want to go to camp; she was going to Cornwall with her parents, which, they said, was what Marion ought to be doing; they told her that she would catch cold, develop rheumatic fever and contract food poisoning in camp, but Marion remained obstinately silent and eventually they gave in. Major Holbrooke had said that he wouldn’t take more than twenty members for the first camp and by the end of the Easter holidays the list was full and there was a waiting list in case anyone fell ill or changed his mind. It was during the summer term that the major managed to collect all the people who were helping with the camp together at the same time. He took them up to Little Heath, an outlying part of his farm where there was a huge old barn.
“I thought we’d use the barn for meals,” he explained, “the members and resident staff will sleep in tents—we’ve ordered seven bell tents—except for Miss CliftonWainwright, who is second in command and an instructor, and Mrs. Quayle, who is in charge of catering; they will share a caravan. Miss Sinclair and I, owing to our advanced age, are going home at night.”
“Shame,” said Henry.
His uncle ignored him. “Miss Sinclair is Adjutant,” he went on, “and Merry is her assistant.”
“What’s this Clifton-Wainwright person like?” asked Henry suspiciously.
“She’s a very good instructress,” said the major, “and she’s used to camp life.”
“That sounds ominous,” remarked Henry.
But Major Holbrooke was explaining where the horse lines would be and took no notice.
On the following afternoon Henry borrowed one of his uncle’s horses—a grade C jumper called Doomsday—and rode over to Russet Cottage to see Noel. She was just saddling Truant, her bay Anglo-Arab gelding, so they decided to go for a hack.
“Uncle George has sent you a copy of the camp programme,” Henry told Noel. “It’s extremely military.
“Oh, dear,” said Noel. “I’ve got terrible needle over this wretched camp.”
Henry agreed, “I, too, am decidedly apprehensive. It’s on this Clifton-Wainwright woman that the balance hangs; if she’s ghastly, lord help us, we’re in for an agonising week.”
The summer holidays came at last. And with them a panic of preparation for those pony club members who were going to camp. There was always a queue at the forge, for the camp list stated that all ponies must be newly shod and it was the only statement in the list that was underlined three times, so everyone realised that it was of the utmost importance. Then there was Bank Holiday, which meant that the shops would be shut so that even if one wasn’t competing in the Brampton Annual Bank Holiday Show there was a shopping panic, for camp began on the Tuesday. Henry, complete with Evening Echo, his thoroughbred gelding, arrived at Folly Court on Saturday, but he didn’t go to the Bank Holiday Show; he spent the week-end helping his uncle with the camp’s finishing touches: putting up jumps, marking out schools, and driving the Land Rover laden with provisions across the fields from Folly Court.
On Monday evening Henry telephoned Noel. “The disasters have begun,” he told her. “The Clifton-Wainwright person has fallen on her head at her Bank Holiday Show and she’s been told to keep quiet for a week. Even Uncle George hadn’t the face to say that pony club camp was likely to be quiet, so now all is panic and upheaval.”
“Oh, dear,” said Noel, “What’s going to happen? He’s not going to cancel the camp, is he?”
“Oh, lord no. I’ve got to take the middle ride—the Lancers, isn’t it? And my dear uncle says that you and I can easily control our respective ends of the camp at night; that Mrs. Quayle will be there and that he is only just across the fields if we need him. I think it’s all a bit steep. I’ve got to control eight boys including Christopher and you’ve got twelve girls and that deplorable debutante, Merry Hemlock-Jones, on your hands.”
“Oh, dear,” said Noel. “I’ve got the most terrible needle—much worse than for dressage tests—I know that no one will do as I say.”
“Well, if they don’t,” said Henry, “You’ll just have to send for me. I’m assuming the character of a regimental sergeant-major especially for the occasion.”
2
EVERYONE WHO was going to camp was up very early on Tuesday morning. The members who lived near Folly Court had been asked to exercise their ponies before taking them to camp and those who lived farther afield had been asked to hack over. This was to prevent any ponies being too lively for their first night in lines. Actually, most of the ponies were still exhausted from the Bank Holiday Show.
As well as getting oneself and one’s mount to camp there was all the luggage, the mucking out kit, the grooming kit, buckets, suitcases and bedding and many a reluctant father found himself delivering a carload on his way to his office.
Mr. Millwood was the first parent at the camp, but Henry and Mrs. Quayle were already there and helped him unload Gay’s and Jean’s possessions.
The Radcliffe shooting brake was full of people as well as possessions, for Evelyn and Andrew, as well as Margaret and James, had come with their mother to take a look at the camp. They all rushed about peering in the tents and arguing where James and Margaret would sleep until Henry appeared with a camp list and told them that Margaret’s tent was Number Two and James’s Number Six.
“Who’s in my tent?” demanded Margaret.
“Susan Barington-Brown, Gay Millwood and Lynne Aldworth,” answered Henry, reading from his list.
“Who on earth’s Lynne Aldworth?” asked Margaret. “What an awful name—I bet she’s ghastly. Can you change your tent if you don’t like the people in it?”
“No,” said Henry with great firmness.
“Don’t be tiresome, Marga,” Mrs. Radcliffe told her, “the poor girl can’t help her name.”
“Of course she can. If you’d given me a soppy name like that I’d change it.”
The Barkhams’ aunt brought their luggage. Guy and Sally spent their holidays with her, for their parents were farming in Kenya. Henry helped her to unload and she told him that she had hired ponies for her nephew and niece from the riding school at Gunston and that she did hope that they would arrive safely for they had never had ponies of their own own: even ridden alone before. Henry promised that if they hadn’t arrived by four o’clock he would telephone her and send out a search party for them. Then Noel arrived in rather a frantic state. “I’m sure I’ve forgotten something,” she told Henry. “Bed, blankets, clothes and tin dishes. Oh, well, if I have I shall just have to go home for it, that’s all. I’m going to fetch Truant now; my Mamma’s waiting for me. I won’t be long, I’ll dump him at Folly Court and then fly up here to help you.”
“O.K.,” said Henry. “There’s no hurry; don’t flap; everything’s under control at present.”
All through the morning parents continued to arrive with carloads of luggage. Henry blessed the fact that it was fine for already the possessions had overflowed the tents and were stacked in heaps outside. In fact Henry began to wonder where the owners were going to sleep. By lunchtime, there were only three lots of luggage left to arrive, so Henry left Mrs. Quayle, who was cooking her lunch in her caravan, in charge and drove across the fields to Folly Court in the Land Rover.
“My last meal in civilisation for a whole week,” he grumbled to his aunt.
“Never mind, you can come down for baths,” she told him, “and you know that you’ll enjoy it once it begins.”
“I know nothing of the sort,” objected Henry. “Here’s me, totally unversed in child management, left with eight wretched little boys to look after. And I’ve observed that you are keeping well out of everything, Aunt Carol, so don’t try to put it across that you think camping’s fun.”
“My dear Henry, you forget that your uncle and I are grandparents.”
“Exactly the sort of staff we need, persons experienced in locating wet socks.”
The staff horses, Evening Echo, Truant and Merry Hemlock-Jones’s Quaver, were being stabled at Folly Court and the major had said that, as the staff would have plenty to do at the camp, his grooms could feed, muck out and perhaps even strap their horses. Noel put Truant next to Echo and was pleased to find that he settled down quite happily, for he was a temperamental horse and given to jumping out of strange loose boxes. She put her tack in the major’s saddle room and set off across the drive and along the cart track through the fields to the camp. All the way the hedges and hills brought back memories of last year’s cross-country course. It had been fun. She wished the major would have another, but of course he was quite right when he said that he couldn’t spend all his time on the older people or the pony club would soon cease to exist.
As Noel crossed the last field before the camp, a car horn tooted behind her and Henry drove up in the Land Rover.
“Why on earth didn’t you come to the house? I could have saved you ‘these high wild hills and rough uneven ways.’ ”
“I like walking,” Noel answered.
“You won’t by the end of the week,” Henry told her.
Judith Quayle’s Frolic was the first horse in the lines. She had arrived before the official time of two o’clock because Judith was having lunch with her mother in the caravan.
Pony Club Camp (Noel and Henry Book 5) Page 1