The first game was a very violent affair called Stick Hockey in which Susan’s side beat Christopher’s by four goals to two, and it was followed by a relay race in which you rushed up and down and sat on balloons to burst them. Donald’s team won easily and he explained afterwards that he had picked all the heavyweights. Henry gave the major, Noel and Merry mugs of beer and then he removed Noel to join in a game where you passed matchboxes from nose to nose. Gay, who was captaining a team, picked them both hastily and insisted that they sat next to each other.
Outside it was growing dark. The major was seen carrying straw and paraffin. The members began to lose interest in the games, and in ones and twos they wandered out to the bonfire.
“Supposing it won’t burn?” said Martin.
“I shouldn’t worry about that,” Henry told him. “The Camp Commandant appears to have emptied a five-gallon drum of paraffin over it. I only hope it was paraffin and not petrol,” he added, “or there won’t be a camp next year.”
“Do you think the major will have another?” asked Noel.
“He’d jolly well better,” said Martin. “We can’t do without it now; besides, we’ve all decided to come again.”
“I reckon he will,” said Henry. “I haven’t heard anything official, but he seems to have enjoyed it as much as anyone.”
Gay appeared through the gloom. “Martin,” she said, “we want you over here.” As Martin followed her away Henry and Noel heard Gay telling him off. “Why can’t you be tactful? I told you the dark was romantic and then you have to go butting in.”
Henry laughed. “Well, that’s very thoughtful of her,” he observed. “We’re being thrown together, Noel; shall I propose?”
“I might accept you,” said Noel, “and then you’d be in a mess.”
“You might, might you?” said Henry, suddenly serious. “Would that I were six years older; I’d have a shot on the strength of that. Marrying before you’re a captain is much frowned upon in my future regiment and, unless there’s another war, it’s going to take me quite six years to get there. By that time you’ll have married someone else; girls marry so much younger than men.”
“I might not,” said Noel. “I might be sitting in a moated grange with the mice shrieking behind the mouldering wainscot and blackest moss all over the place saying, ‘he cometh not’.”
“You mustn’t do that,” said Henry, “I should be stricken with remorse; I should resign my commission forthwith and take a job in haberdashery to support you. Actually I reckon I’d do rather well selling ribbon to old ladies; you bow from the waist and say, ‘Good morning, Madam,’ in mincing tones.”
“I think you’d do better in the cavalry,” said Noel, “so long as you don’t get too keen on the deb type.”
“Don’t worry, they’re too well-upholstered and too brainless and they have a horrible habit of reading the fashionable book. Often, when I’m being the town Henry, I think of West Barsetshire and stableyards and Noel with straw in her hair. And I think of the times when ‘the watery fields have grown brown and dim’ and we’ve hacked home from hunting…”
“Oh shut up,” said Noel, “you’re making it all much worse—”
Henry said, “I’d gladly throw away six years of my life at this minute and yet, before we know where we are, we shall be crying out for our lost youths—”
Henry spoke again into the silence that followed. “I’ll give you a kiss if you like,” he said.
“That’s jolly nice of you,” answered Noel.
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?” said Henry, laughing.
At last the major admitted that it was dark and lit the bonfire and a wild shout went up from the members as it burst into flames. They took hands and danced round singing. They sang “It’s a long way to Tipperary” and “Pack up your Troubles” and “Daisy,” and they gave view holloas and blood-curdling shrieks. Then they got their second wind and sang “ She’ll be coming round the mountain” and “Clementine” and “John Peel” and “Ten Green Bottles.” Then, exhausted, they threw themselves down and gazed into the flames. Mrs. Quayle collected the section leaders and sent them round with food. There was soup and hot sausages on sticks and chocolate biscuits. Gradually people drifted into groups and the younger group sang hearty songs like “One man went to mow” and “John Brown’s body” and the older people who were feeling sad and romantic sang songs about broken hearts and partings; they sang “Auf Wiedersehen” and made Noel and Henry feel worse than ever.
At twelve o’clock the major collected the staff and all the members and they crossed hands and stood round the fire singing “Auld Lang Syne.” And there were many heavy hearts for it seemed that camp was really over.
Then Henry pulled himself together and called for three cheers for the Camp Commandant and Christopher insisted on cheers for the rest of the staff. The members recovered their spirits and began to dance round singing “For they are jolly good fellows.”
Henry fetched more beer from the barn and the members had glasses of lemonade or mugs of cocoa and they drank to next year, and the year after, and the year after that.
Then Nicholas and Jonathan gave a spirited rendering of “The Owl and the Pussy Cat.” Nicholas put on his spectacles to play the part of the owl and Donald was persuaded to appear in the character of the pig and say, “I will.” It was a quarter to one when the major sought out Henry and told him that Miss Sinclair had gone home and that he was feeling like bed himself. “Do you think you’ll get this lot off all right?” he asked.
“Oh yes, we can manage. They’re showing signs of exhaustion already,” answered Henry. And Noel said, “Penelope, Sally, Joy and Jean have just gone to bed of their own accord and some of the others are talking about it.”
“One other thing,” said the major. “Miss Sinclair insists on giving an individual prize in the camp competition; it’s to be awarded to the member or associate who is most generally helpful throughout camp. We are to vote on it. I don’t know if either of you have any ideas, but I thought you might like to sleep on it. Not that I see much prospect of you getting any sleep.”
Henry quoted, “‘Sleep that knits up the ravelled sleeve of care’.”
And Noel answered him with “Glamis hath murdered sleep—”
“You two seem very poetic,” said the major. “I’ll leave you to it. Good night.”
“Good night,” they answered. And, as he disappeared into the darkness Henry said, “Lord, I’d forgotten those ghastly marks. I hope I haven’t lost Miss Sinclair’s tent list.”
Mrs. Quayle joined them. “There are people all over the barn,” she said. “They’re dancing Highland reels. You’d better go and do your arithmetic in the caravan. I’ll come and revive you with tea in a minute.”
“Thanks awfully,” they said gratefully.
The Scottish dancing in the barn was rather disorganised. Only a few people knew the steps and everyone was beginning to flag a little; it had been a long day.
“It’s one o’clock,” said Carola. “Are you coming to bed, Poppy?”
Poppy yawned loudly. “Is it really only one?” she asked. “I thought it was much later, I’m tired out. I’ll never be able to get up in the morning, really it’s shocking.”
Martin, Guy, Jonathan and James surreptitiously finished up the dregs of beer and then, giggling that they were drunk, they took themselves off to bed. Marion took over the gramophone and put on a waltz. Nicholas waltzed with Gay and then he and Donald decided to go to bed, and Judith and Gay, agreeing that all the best people had gone, went too.
Only David, Christopher and Marion were left in the barn listening sleepily to the music.
“It’s been a wonderful camp,” said Marion.
“We’ve had a really super time,” agreed David.
“I wonder who’s won the camp competition,” said Christopher.
10
TUESDAY MORNING dawned as fine as all the other mornings. The sun shone, the sky was dazzling blue, bu
t a grey and drizzling rain would have accorded better with the moods of the pony club members as they emerged from their tents for the last time.
Mucking out, watering and feeding were accomplished in comparative silence; only Christopher looked for the graph and no one showed any interest when he told them of its absence.
“What does it matter?” they said. And “Camp’s over,” and they disappeared into their tents where they made a feeble pretence of packing.
“I’m going away tomorrow,” Lynne told her tent companions, “but who wants to go to the silly seaside, after this? Oh, I suppose it’ll be all right when I get there, but I’d rather have had a second week of camp.”
“It’s such ages to next year,” complained Margaret. And Gay said, “It has been fun. I’ve never laughed so much in all my life. I’m going to ask Miss Sinclair to put my name down for next year now.”
The idea spread and when Miss Sinclair arrived in camp she was besieged by people with names to put down.
“Not before Christmas,” she told everyone. “No, dear, no names before Christmas. Major Holbrooke was most firm about that.”
“Bother the major,” they said. And “Curse the man.” And “He’s inhuman.”
At breakfast Henry had some announcements to make. “The programme for today,” he said in a formal and gloomy manner, “is as follows. After breakfast you go to your tents and do as much packing as possible, which means nearly all of it, before the whistle goes for grooming. You must pile your possessions in a distinct and obvious pile, so that they don’t get pinched by anyone else’s Mamma, and Miss Sinclair has plenty of string for anyone who needs it.
“We shall ride for rather less time than usual. Lunch is at 12.30 and the results of the camp competition will be given at lunch.”
The ponies were being groomed in a very spiritless fashion when the major appeared in the camp and he soon observed the atmosphere of gloom.
He collected Henry and Noel. “Now look here,” he said, “we want to end on a good note and brighten the anticlimax. Don’t try to teach anything this morning. Think of something frivolous, but not dangerous for your rides to do, and for heaven’s sake try and look a little more cheerful yourselves.”
“Late nights and riotous living don’t suit us,” said Henry.
“That is evident,” said the major. “By the way, did you find a candidate for Miss Sinclair’s cup?”
“We didn’t think anyone was absolutely outstanding,” Henry answered, “but we thought of someone we would like to give it to, only we don’t think that you’ll agree.”
“Write the name down,” said the major. “There are a lot of people within earshot.”
Noel wrote down the name of their candidate and handed it to the major.
He read it and laughed. “I quite agree with you,” he said, “that’s my choice too.”
The news that Miss Sinclair had given a cup soon passed round the camp and everyone began to speculate as to who would be chosen.
“I should choose Christopher,” said Marion, “after all, he’s the best rider in the pony club and he’s been the best section leader; he’s organised his section better than the rest of us.”
“Yes, he’s the sort of person they’ll choose,” agreed Judith. “He’s so efficient.”
The younger members didn’t want Christopher to win the cup; they thought Susan would be a much better choice. “Christopher’s always bossing someone,” they complained.
“Grown-ups are so mad they think it’s showing leadership,” said Jonathan ruefully. “At my school we’ve got the bossiest lot of prefects on earth and the headmaster thinks they’re wonderful—poor sap.”
“Oh headmasters!” said James. “They’re even dimmer than parents.”
Having racked their brains for frivolous occupations Noel and Henry assumed cheerful expressions as they walked briskly to their schools.
“This morning you will all change horses,” said the major when the Dragoons had ridden round twice. “Susan will ride Jackdaw, Christopher Tranquil, Marion Frolic, Gay William, Judith Sonnet, Donald Crusoe and Poppy Seafire.”
Noel had adapted “What’s wrong,” a game she remembered from her extreme youth, to riding. Each in turn her pupils demonstrated a fault and the rest of the ride guessed what it was. One or two people took offence when faults other than the one they had intended were pointed out, but it was a popular game and Noel had great difficulty in stopping them playing it even after every known fault in equitation had been demonstrated and guessed. Then she organised a question Relay Race with frivolous questions and finished the morning with jumping.
Henry let his people each have a turn at taking the ride and he rode the spare pony if it was big enough, which not many of them were. Some people instructed in Major Holbrooke’s voice and manner and others imitated Henry. Carola reduced all of them to a state of giggling collapse by being Miss Sinclair “taking the tinies.”
By lunch time everyone possessed at least a veneer of good spirits and the results of the camp competition and the Sinclair Cup had become exciting again.
At lunch the forms kept giving way and depositing giggling rows of members on the floor. It was rumoured that some of the boys had discovered a way of setting them so that they looked all right until enough people sat down.
“I hope they forget how to do it by next year,” said the major.
“We might have the floor covered in sorbo,” suggested Henry.
And Noel asked, “There is to be a next year, then?”
“Miss Sinclair tells me that the whole camp has been trying to put its name down,” answered the major, “so I suppose we shall have to make it an annual affair. Provided, of course, my Junior Instructor and Master of Horse are prepared to give their services again.”
“We’ll come, won’t we, Noel?” said Henry. “But what about that Clifton-Wainwright person? She may not fall off again next year.”
“I sincerely hope she doesn’t,” said the major, “but since we’ve managed without her this year, I don’t see that we shall need her next year.”
“Cheers,” said Henry. “I know I’m being disgustingly insular, but now that we’ve established our traditions, we don’t want outsiders with pre-conceived ideas.”
“It looks as though they’ve finished,” said the major. “I’d better get on with the results.”
The members silenced themselves as he rose to speak. “The results of the camp competition are extremely close,” he began, “and I feel that all the sections have done very well indeed. There have, we know, been occasional lapses of memory”—“Nicholas,” shrieked the Reds and Nicholas bowed in acknowledgement—“but on the whole, this has been a pleasant and well-run camp. Thanks to you. Make no mistake; however good and hard working the staff, the camp would have been a failure, but for your co-operation. Now the results:
“First the Orange section:
“Second and only three marks behind them, the Black section. Third, the Blue section, four marks behind the Blacks.”
An outburst of cheering and table thumping drowned the major completely, but when it died away he continued, “The Red and Green sections tied for fourth place.”
“That’s a very polite way of putting it,” observed Donald.
Susan said, “It’s much nicer to tie than to be last by oneself.”
“We shall have equally nice characters now,” said Nicholas.
“Will the winners come up for their rosettes, please,” said the major.
Mrs. Holbrooke presented the challenge cup for the best section to Judith and rosettes in the pony club colours to the whole section.
“Three months each,” said Judith, brandishing the cup.
“Isn’t it wizard?” said Gay.
“Mummy’ll probably collapse with surprise,” observed Penelope heartlessly, “she thinks I’m the untidiest person on earth!”
David said, “Gosh! If I go on like this, I’ll soon have as many cups as Christopher.
”
The Blacks had been given their rosettes. Marion took success calmly, but Jonathan, Gay, and Lynne were delighted and soon had the rosettes pinned in prominent positions on their chests.
The Blues were less enthusiastic. Christopher was disgruntled because even at the eleventh hour he had hoped to win and his displeasure had spoiled the competition for Carola, James and Jean, who would otherwise have been happy enough with third place.
“And now,” said the major, “the Sinclair Cup, very kindly presented by Miss Sinclair, which is awarded to the most generally helpful member or associate, to be voted by the staff. This year, we were in complete agreement and by a unanimous vote, the cup goes to Donald Edge.”
There was a startled gasp from the members and from Donald, who got to his feet and went up for the cup and a rosette.
“Well done indeed, well done. A very fine effort, dear boy,” said Miss Sinclair.
Donald said, “Thank you very much. It was most unexpected.” The Greens were delighted that one of their number should be honoured. “Jolly good, Donald,” they shrieked, and, “What a smashing cup.”
“Can’t think how they chose him,” said Christopher, “unless it was for catching Joy.”
The major got up again. “The Inter-Branch team,” he said. “I would like the following, subject to holidays and personal commitments, to go into training. Associates: Noel Kettering, Susan Barington-Brown; Members: Marion Hunter, Christopher Minton, David Minton, Gay Millwood, Nicholas Lucien and Donald Edge. Eight may seem rather a large number to train for a team of four, but apart from accidents, I am thinking of the future.
“Now, one last duty falls to me. I wish to thank, on your behalf, the members of the staff. First Mrs. Quayle and Mrs. Ritson for their wonderful cooking.” Everyone cheered and clapped and banged and it was some time before he could go on. “Secondly, Miss Sinclair and Merry whose work behind the scenes has made the camp run smoothly and last, but not least, Noel and Henry.”
Pony Club Camp (Noel and Henry Book 5) Page 15