“What fun,” said Noel. “I love bonfires.”
9
ON MONDAY morning a startling change had appeared in the graph of the camp competition. At least, to Christopher’s fury, the Blues were still exactly six marks behind the Oranges, and the Blacks were now two marks behind the Blues; it was the lower half of the graph which had changed and Nicholas Lucien eyed it guiltily; the Reds were now seventeen marks behind the Blacks, instead of only five, and the Greens were one mark ahead of them.
Some of the Greens were jubilant, but not Donald. “You needn’t think that we’ve done anything wonderful,” he told the irritatingly complacent Martin. “It’s simply that Nicholas forgot to make his bed.”
“Yes, I know. It was a jolly good show, I wish he’d forget it again. But now we’re ahead, we’ll go right away from them; we’ve got today and tomorrow to catch up the Blacks. I’m going to fill up those water cans again now and then I’m going to see if there’s anything I can do for Henry.”
Margaret and Poppy, their enthusiasm re-kindled, tidied their own tents efficiently and then rushed across to the boys’ tents to inspect Donald’s and Martin’s efforts.
“I don’t call that tidily rolled bedding,” said Margaret, giving Donald’s sleeping bag a kick, “and here’s a sweet paper; how disgraceful.”
“Just look at Nicholas’s bed,” said Poppy, “those Reds really are a shocking lot.”
Then Donald appeared; he looked at them coldly and asked, “Would you kindly get out of this tent?”
“Why should we?” asked Margaret. “Marion and Judith often come across and inspect their boys’ bedmaking.”
“They’re section leaders,” answered Donald, “and they ask Henry first.”
“Oh, you’re unbearably fussy,” grumbled Margaret, “as if asking Henry made any difference, and we don’t think much of your bedmaking either.”
“And we’ve found a sweet paper on the ground,” added Poppy.
“Get out,” said Donald.
“Fancy getting in a paddy over nothing like that,” said Poppy leaving hastily. “Shocking I call it, really shocking.”
“These boys are all as bad as one another,” complained Margaret, “directly they get to be sixteen they think they can boss everyone—look at Christopher.”
“Still you can’t really grumble, you’re only twelve. It’s different for me. I’m nearly as old as Donald. I’m the same age as Marion, and she’s a section leader.”
The day was a degree or two less hot than its predecessors and the major, who arrived in camp while the members were grooming, announced that ties and coats would be worn on the picnic ride. He went on to give the order in which everyone would ride. Noel and Henry were to lead followed by the Blue, Black and Red sections, then Miss Sinclair and Merry followed by the Orange and Green sections and he would bring up the rear.
“I’m going to ride Doomsday,” he told Henry, “and, as you know, nothing short of a horse show or a hunting horn will wake him up. I think we’ll do rather well at the back.”
“It’s deeply unselfish of you, Uncle George,” observed Henry. “Noel and I will be delighted to lead, it’ll suit our wild gees down to the ground, but you’d better show me the way on the map again. I know the Roman road part because I’ve often ridden along there; it’s when we get into the wild haunts of the East Barsetshire that I am at a loss.”
“There,” said Gay, when she had heard how the ride was to be organised, “the major’s got tons more tact than the rest of you; he’s put them together. They’ll be able to ride side by side all day long; that’s terribly romantic. Hurrah, I do want them to announce the engagement at the party tonight.”
“Honestly, Gay, it’s all you think about,” complained Jean, “you’ve got marriage on the brain. Why should they marry if they don’t want to? I shouldn’t want to; married people have a jolly dull time if you ask me.”
Susan laughed kindly, “You’re too young to understand about falling in love,” she told Jean.
“Love,” said Jean contemptuously, “awful lot of sop. Every time I go to the cinema it’s all about love; I’m simply fed up with the stuff.”
“Hear, hear,” said James. “Those awful kisses that go on and on; I always shut my eyes until they’ve finished.”
Gay and Susan and Judith all began to giggle and James blushed as red as his carroty hair.
“Ignore them,” advised Jean, “honestly, I hope I’m not as silly as Gay by the time I’m fourteen.”
Henry, hearing sounds of laughter, came up the lines. “Are you people ready?” he asked. “You’re supposed to be saddled by now. We’re starting in five minutes.”
“Aren’t we going to be inspected?” demanded Christopher.
“No, we wooded instead of tack cleaning last night so there’s not much to inspect today,” answered Henry.
The members were indignant. “What a swizz.” “I wouldn’t have cleaned my shoes.” “I’ve made my arms ache for nothing.” “You might have told us before, Henry.”
“It’ll learn you not to do things for ignoble motives,” answered Henry. “Surely you want your ponies and yourselves to look elegant and be a credit to the pony club?”
“Oh yeah,” said David. And Christopher said, “There’s a lot of difference between being well turned out and trying to get the most marks.”
“You’re too competitive,” Henry told him, “that’s the worst of all you science people, no idea of Art for Art’s sake, it’s all push, hurry and grab and never mind who goes down in the process. Most ungentlemanly. Oh lord, Uncle George is nigh. Mount, please.”
“Henry talks more hot air than anyone I know,” said Christopher, mounting.
“You can’t deny he’s clever,” protested Carola.
“Can’t I? You girls are so jolly easily impressed, that’s your trouble. A windbag like Henry has only got to spout out a few sentences filled with long words, which you can’t understand, and you think he’s a genius.”
“My science master says that ‘Genius is an infinite capacity for taking pains’ ”, David told them.
The twenty-five horses and ponies made an impressive clatter when they turned out of the Folly Court drive on to the Hogshill road, and most of the riders had the feeling that they were starting on some special adventure. Everyone was talking gaily to his companion and shrieking remarks to the pairs immediately in front and behind. Noel and Henry were cheerful enough even to please Gay, had she been in their part of the ride.
Whenever a car appeared the motorist was greeted with cries of “Thank you” whether he slowed down or not, and every passer-by was wished “Good morning” by practically the whole cavalcade. Soon they left the road and took the track which led through the fields, some corn and some stubble, to the Roman road. It was a way that held many memories for Henry and Noel. “Do you remember?” they asked each other at intervals—“last summer holidays”, “the summer holidays before that”—“Actually,” said Henry, “I believe it was the first hack we ever went together; we came up here the first time I stayed at Folly Court; the time Uncle George had the dressage course, and we rode along here the day Christopher concussed himself. I rode Black Magic and you rode Sonnet.”
“Yes, I remember,” agreed Noel. “Some of the others came with us. It was a lovely day and we stood on the Roman road and looked at the view.”
“And when we got home Christopher was concussed. We let Aunt Carol’s Archie out and it turned out that we had spent the morning cutting up a field of Uncle George’s young grass. What dear little children we must have been,” said Henry sarcastically. The pair formation had been abandoned and people were riding in threes and fours, when they left the Roman road and took a winding white cart track across the downland. It was a clear day and they could see for miles across the grey-green downs, but as they rode along the changing contours of the hills constantly revealed new valleys, with farms and tiny villages sheltering in their depths. The people who liked v
iews were kept in a perpetual state of excitement, the people who didn’t, identified aeroplanes and wondered when the major was going to let them gallop. James told Jean that he wished the sea was nearer; he wanted to reach the top of a hill, look over and find the sea at his feet. Jean agreed that it would be wizard, they imagined a gallop along the sands; riding through the waves; perhaps even swimming the ponies.
They picnicked in a hollow below a wood, which afforded shade for the ponies; the place had been pre-arranged and Mrs. Holbrooke and Mrs. Quayle were waiting there with lunch.
They ate, holding their mounts, which for the most part, grazed contentedly. The people with quiet ponies were able to sit on the grass, the others stood in chattering groups, like guests at a cocktail party.
When all the lunch was eaten they turned for home along another white cart track which led up the spur of a parallel down; James produced a compass and announced that they were heading due west. On the top of the down the track suddenly widened and became a broad sweep of turf between fenced cornfields.
The word to halt was sent forward from the back and the major announced that there would now be a gallop for those who wished to gallop. Everyone wanted to gallop; even totally unsuitable people like Joy and Sally, Martin and Penelope; they were organised into a perilous party which was to proceed at a slightly more sedate pace and be accompanied by the major and Miss Sinclair, whose chestnut pony, Sandy, was very steady.
Henry, Noel and Merry were to lead the main party and the major looked severely at the non-perilous members and said that they were not to pass the leaders.
“Optimist,” muttered Henry. “We’ll have to go like scalded cats,” he told Merry and Noel, “and if they try to break through we’ll close up towards each other.”
At first all went well; they slid from a canter into a steady gliding gallop and all the riders were enjoying the wind in their faces, the exhilaration of speed and the thunderous pounding of their horses’ combined hoofs. Then Nicholas and David began to vie with each other; they urged on their mounts. Fireworks and Wonder were delighted, they began to gallop really fast; they were soon unbalanced and out of control. They passed Marion, Christopher and Susan; shot between Merry and Henry, taking them both by surprise, and took the lead. The ponies behind surged forward. “Close up in front,” shouted Henry. “Close up, or we’ll lose the lot.”
Christopher and Marion had been carried away by the urge of speed and were racing in pursuit of Nicholas and David. Merry had followed them but seeing her wrench ineffectively at Quaver’s mouth Henry realised that she was an unintentional deserter. Susan closed up and Donald and Gay; between Noel and Henry they made a solid block.
“Slower,” shouted Henry, they steadied their horses and with them the ponies behind.
The last part of the gallop was uphill and that slowed up everyone, even Fireworks, and resulted in an orderly though breathless finish.
“We’ve arrived,” said Noel in triumphant tones, “and no one has fallen off.”
“Touch wood,” shrieked Susan.
“Never have so many been obstructed by so few,” observed Henry. “For your timely help, Susan, Donald, Gay, many thanks.”
Donald said, “Please don’t mention it.” Susan giggled. Gay was making meaning faces at the people round Henry and Noel.
The non-perilous people were still exclaiming, “Gosh, what a pace,” and “Wasn’t it supersonic?” when the perilous people arrived.
“Most orderly,” said Henry as they cantered up in elegant formation.
“Gosh, how boring!” observed Margaret.
“I’m glad I wasn’t with that lot,” remarked James.
“Dr. Livingstone, I presume?” said Henry to his uncle. “Your party showed ours up, Uncle George.”
“Super!” “Smashing!” said the perilous people breathlessly, as they patted their ponies.
“It seems remarkable that we are still intact,” said the major, looking round at the members
“You’re telling me!” said Henry ruefully. “We nearly lost the lot.”
“Form up the ride,” said Major Holbrooke. “We are now leaving the downs and we shall be riding through the outskirts of Brampton, so please keep in your pairs and behave in an orderly manner, as befits the pony club.”
The lively ponies were now hopelessly over-excited; they jogged and jogged and their owners whined, grumbled or cursed according to their age and temperament. Joy got in a rage with Tommy and jerked his mouth for which she was thoroughly told off by Guy and Nicholas. David Minton grumbled ceaselessly at Fireworks who was pulling as well as jogging. Poppy nagged at Jackdaw, Martin whined at Mousie. Only Lynne bore her discomfort with fortitude.
As they left the hills behind them the front half of the ride began to sing. Miss Sinclair hushed feebly, as she felt that singing was disorderly, but nothing short of a roar from the major would have quietened the members. The back half of the ride joined in, except for Donald and Gay who were riding one on either side of the major. Gay turned the conversation from hunting to matrimony.
“Do you believe in marrying young?” she asked Major Holbrooke.
The major looked startled. “It depends what you mean by young,” he said. “Are you contemplating marriage yourself?”
Gay giggled. “No,” she answered, “I mean at about seventeen and nineteen.”
“Too young,” said the major firmly. “People of that age are still romantics. Marriage isn’t romantic so you need to become slightly cynical before embarking on it.”
“Oh,” said Gay in rather disappointed tones. “Still a long engagement would be all right, I suppose? I mean you could get cynical while you were engaged?”
“It would be dangerous, I think,” said the major. “Supposing one got cynical before the other?”
“Of course, I’ve no experience of marriage,” said Gay.
“No, naturally not,” said the major in a very serious voice, which sent Donald into an hysterical attack of the giggles.
“It’s really essential to be cynical, I suppose,” said Gay, giving Donald a contemptuous glance. “I mean people in books often marry young and everyone seems quite pleased.”
“Yes, but that sort of book ends abruptly with the wedding,” said the major,” they never make the heroine start shopping and dusting.”
“Well, thanks tons for your advice,” said Gay.
“Not at all,” said the major, “let me know when it’s coming off and I’ll send you a wedding present even if you are rather young.”
Gay giggled. “Honestly,” she said, “it isn’t me.”
Through the outskirts of Brampton the members sang in modulated voices and reasonably in tune, but as they approached Folly Court they abandoned all refinement and yelled lustily.
Mrs. Quayle and Mrs. Holbrooke, who were walking round the aviary, heard them coming and drove hastily to the camp to see about tea.
By the time the ponies had been watered and fed and the members had changed their clothes and put their tack away it was time for the high tea, which had been planned so that supper wouldn’t interfere with the party.
The people who hadn’t been completely exhausted by the picnic ride were beginning to get excited about the party.
“When do we light the bonfire?” they asked.
“It isn’t dark till ten,” the younger members pointed out. “What time have we got to go to bed?”
“You haven’t got to go at all tonight,” said Henry rashly. “Noel and I aren’t going to bother any more. It’s our last night as nannies and we’re going to abandon you. You can dance round the dying embers of the bonfire until dawn, for all we care. We shan’t say a word, shall we, Noel?”
“No, not a word,” agreed Noel who was beginning to feel sad. Everything was nearly over; she didn’t feel like a party. Soon they would all be going home, she thought dismally, and she had enjoyed camp.
The major had said that the party would begin with races on the feet and that Henr
y and Noel could organise them when they had finished tea.
“I don’t believe we shall have any competitors,” said Noel as they discussed the programme. “I don’t see how anyone can have enough energy left.”
To her surprise, practically everyone wanted to race. Except for a few of the older members, they rushed about enthusiastically and were delighted when Henry announced a steeplechase for people under four foot six and one for people over that height. Margaret, Gay and James were the winners of the small class and Christopher, David and Lynne of the taller event. They were in the middle of a pair jumping competition with marks for style when the major came across to say that the barn was ready for games when they were, and that he’d remembered the beer.
“Oh brilliant, Uncle George,” said Henry. “I insisted that we couldn’t whip up our party spirits without alcoholic assistance,” he told Noel. “I know it is a sign of old age, but there you are; no one can help the passage of time. Uncle George,” he went on, “do you think it would be a good idea to fill all the haynets again in a minute, before we are carried away by hilarity?”
“Yes, right you are,” said the major, “I’ll collect those people standing about over there and make a start while you finish off this competition.”
The pair jumping was won by Marion and Judith who danced round in the most elegant way and finished with a curtsy to the judges. Christopher and David were second; they had proceeded at a hackney trot; third were James and Jonathan. Most of the other pairs had amused themselves by snorting, bucking, refusing, running away and kicking their partners.
When the ponies were all settled for the night everyone trooped down to the barn where Mrs. Holbrooke and Miss Sinclair were waiting to organise games.
The major called for silence and said that before they began he would like to mention two points, that the ponies were not to be upset and that meant no running or shrieking near the horse lines; people could make as much noise as they liked in the barn or in the field behind where the bonfire was. And secondly, that no one was to play about with the tents on pain of being expelled from the pony club.
Pony Club Camp (Noel and Henry Book 5) Page 14