The Pony With No Name

by Tracey Corderoy

  Red greeted their ponies with a friendly nicker, and Bryony, who’d never seen him around other ponies before, was delighted to discover how friendly he was. (She might have guessed he would be as Red was so good-natured, but nonetheless it was great to see!)

  The riders stopped to let their ponies say hello to Red. There were two girls; one was on a Welsh Connemara cross and the other on a pretty palomino. There was also a boy riding a black gelding. Leading them was a lady on a large glossy chestnut horse.

  ‘Hi!’ said the lady. ‘I’m Abi, an instructor up at Seaview Stables. Are you new here? Your pony’s a real beauty!’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ said Bryony, feeling such a thrill to hear it. ‘I’m Bryony and this is Red.’ She didn’t have the heart to say that Red wasn’t hers.

  ‘Are you coming to have lessons at our stables?’ asked the girl on the palomino. She was blonde and reminded Bryony of her old friend, Becky.

  Bryony hesitated.

  ‘Oh, Alice!’ said the other girl, who had long black hair. ‘You shouldn’t just ask like that.’

  She looked at Bryony. ‘I’m Harita – but you can call me Hari!’

  ‘And I’m Finn,’ said the boy.

  ‘Oh, good to meet you all!’ smiled Bryony.

  Abi said she’d love to stay and chat but this early morning lesson had been an extra and she had to get back to the stables. They waved and headed off.

  ‘No pressure, Bryony,’ Abi smiled back, ‘but feel free to drop by the stables any time you like!’

  ‘Um . . . thanks!’ replied Bryony, trying desperately to make it sound like visiting was a real possibility. Of course it wasn’t. But if only Red were hers, she’d be up at Seaview Stables for lessons in a heartbeat . . .

  A soft nicker brought Bryony back to reality and the very special treat she’d promised Red.

  ‘Quite right, Red!’ she said. ‘We’re here to enjoy the seaside!’ She mustn’t let anything spoil that.

  Bryony turned Red around to fully take in the scene before they went down onto the sand. There we so many new sights, and sounds, and smells! But thankfully, as it was early, the beach was still quite deserted.

  The pale gold sand looked as soft as velvet and the sea was the prettiest blue. Sunlight sparkled on its surface like glitter, and above it seagulls soared through the cloudless sky.

  When Red seemed relaxed with all of this, Bryony took him along to the sandy sloping pathway and began to walk him down onto the beach. But as she did she became aware of the salty breeze blowing Red’s mane and little kiss curl. It was definitely windier here than Red was used to.

  Suddenly Red’s ears shot back and Bryony felt him tense. With a muffled squeal he backed away and clattered to the side skittishly.

  ‘It won’t hurt you,’ said Bryony, stroking his neck. ‘It’s just the breeze. I’ll keep you safe, I promise.’

  Red stopped and sniffed the air as waves tumbled and the gulls screeched out. His nostrils flared and he blew loudly, as if to say, ‘What is this place?’

  ‘It’s the seaside, Red,’ Bryony said reassuringly.

  Despite her calm words of encouragement, Bryony was getting a bit worried. Maybe all this was too much too soon? Perhaps she should take him back and try again tomorrow?

  She was just about to turn him back up the slope, when Red took a few tentative steps forward onto the sand.

  ‘Oh,’ said Bryony. ‘You want to stay? Good boy!’

  Red padded on, his hooves kicking up the sand. Later it would be burning hot, though now, Bryony imagined, it was still pleasantly cool. The tide was coming in so the waves were quite big. But there was plenty of sand between them and the sea for the moment.

  When Red seemed comfortable just walking along, Bryony led him into a gentle trot. He’d trotted on lots of hacks before so Bryony figured he’d be okay with that.

  At first she kept him well away from the sea, taking things nice and steady. Then, when she could see he’d got used to everything, she led him closer to the water and they trotted along the wet sand.

  ‘That’s the way!’ Bryony smiled. ‘Well done!’

  Red was doing so beautifully, Bryony was immensely proud! Then as he trotted on, suddenly she had a thought. Should she see if Red might like to try and canter?

  Whilst sitting in trot, she moved her right leg gently back, keeping her left leg in the normal position. Then Bryony sat up straight and asked Red to canter by giving him a small squeeze, remembering not to hold the reins too tight and to keep her back soft and supple. As Red’s rhythm changed, Bryony remained sitting in the saddle, her hips free and her thighs relaxed so that she could roll with the canter. She heard the distinctive three-beat canter stride as Red’s hooves hit the sand in stages. ‘Hey, well done, Red!’ Bryony called. He was doing it!

  They cantered halfway along the beach. The breeze was in their faces but Red seemed to be taking everything in his stride! The sun was warm and the waves tumbled softly as Red left his hoofprints in the dark wet sand. Bryony was having the time of her life, and Red was too! The sea to their left was sweeping by in a blur – like the scenery does in a train. A beautiful blur of deep blue turquoise silk!

  Then suddenly it struck Bryony that they were going really fast. She listened out for the three canter beats but now there were four . . .

  ‘We’re galloping!’ cried Bryony, sitting forward in the saddle. ‘Woohoo!’

  This was the best feeling EVER. Just like they were flying! Better than that time on Peppermint, better than on any pony before! The wind was blowing Red’s mane like a billowing black pirate flag, and Bryony’s wild curls were streaming behind her.

  She felt the warm sun on her face. Just her, and Red, and the empty beach – all of it for just them! The whole world was theirs and nothing could stop them. The sea, and the gulls and Red’s fast steady hooves leaving their mark in the sand. It was all that Bryony could ever want.

  ‘Oh, Red,’ she whispered into the wind. ‘We’re free!’

  *

  As they left the beach that day Red had a happy spring in his step and Bryony couldn’t stop smiling. Next, she rode him to see Grandpa, then Mum, and they were out and about for ages! She wanted to make the most of every second they had together, because even though she tried to not think about it, it was now a whole week since she’d started looking after Red. Georgina was bound to be starting to feel a bit better . . .

  It was late afternoon when finally they headed back to the Manor. They went in through the back gate, next to which stood a tiny cottage beside a huge ancient oak tree. On the cottage gate was a sign which read: ‘Gardener’s Cottage’.

  Red trotted past the cottage gate, but as they neared the tree a small fluffy bundle came tumbling from it and landed with a bump! in their path.

  ‘Pffffffffff!’ Red let out an anxious snort, his nostrils suddenly flaring.

  ‘It’s okay,’ gasped Bryony. But Red was clearly spooked. Snorting wildly again, he clattered backwards off the path, his head swinging this way and that.

  ‘Whoa . . .’ called Bryony, sitting tight in the saddle in case he suddenly bolted. Red continued backwards unevenly, as if about to take an ungainly tumble.

  ‘Steady, boy,’ soothed Bryony, and it took all of her skill to steady him and turn him away from the path in an attempt to calm and distract him. She walked him forward a few paces across the grass until he regained a more even footing. Then she brought him to a halt and dismounted.

  ‘It’s okay,’ breathed Bryony, patting Red reassuringly. She took a Polo mint out of her pocket and held it out to Red. He snaffled it up. Mints were great at calming him, or rewarding him every now and then. As Red was distracted sucking on the Polo, Bryony looped the reins over his head and led him to the cottage fence. She tied him to it, telling him she wouldn’t be long and to just be good for a minute. Then she hurried over to investigate what had fallen.

  The small fluffy bundle was still lying on the path, completely motionless. Bryony lo
oked closer. It was a tiny baby owl!

  An old wooden ladder was resting against the tree trunk and just above it was a raggedy hole. ‘Oh!’ Bryony said. The baby owl must have just fallen out of its nest in the tree.

  As her gaze fell once more to the tiny ball of fluff, Bryony suddenly caught a glimpse of someone looking down from one of the cottage’s upstairs windows. A girl, possibly? It was difficult to tell as she’d gone almost at once. Bryony knelt down by the owlet for a closer look.

  ‘Poor thing,’ she whispered. It still wasn’t moving. The fall had clearly been too much for it.

  As Bryony gazed down at its fuzzy white feathers rippling in the breeze, she heard the cottage door open and footsteps running towards her. She turned to see a girl kneel down at her side.

  Bryony went to say hello but her eyes suddenly widened as she saw who this girl was . . .

  ‘Emma?’ Bryony gaped.

  And now Emma looked puzzled too, like she didn’t immediately recognise Bryony. Bryony saw Emma glance across to Red and he must have jogged her memory because . . .

  ‘Bryony!’ cried Emma. ‘You’ve got Georgina’s pony?! And I see you’ve met Arthur too . . .’

  ‘Arthur?’ asked Bryony.

  ‘Yep,’ Emma nodded. ‘His full name’s Arthur Twitt-Twoo – my little brother named him!’

  Emma pointed down at the tiny still owlet, no bigger than a small round earmuff! ‘Honestly, how many times can an owl fall out of his tree?!’

  Bryony watched, open-mouthed, as Emma scooped up the little thing and cupped him tenderly in her hands.

  ‘As I said, Will chose his name,’ smiled Emma. ‘And don’t look so worried – he isn’t – you know . . .’ She lowered her voice. ‘He’s not dead.’

  She explained that little Arthur had fallen from his tree three times that week, and twice the week before.

  ‘Dad said he gets hungry,’ Emma nodded, ‘when his mum’s out hunting, and sits too near the edge of his hole.’

  She pointed to the hole in the oak tree’s trunk. ‘Up there.’

  Bryony nodded. ‘So, um . . . what now?’ Arthur still wasn’t batting an eyelid!

  ‘He’s playing dead,’ said Emma, peering closer. ‘At least I think he is. Well, that’s what he did before, anyway. Best take him inside to check him out, though. Want to come?’

  Bryony nodded. ‘That would be great. But first I have to take Red back to his stable. Th-that’s the pony – I named him Red!’ added Bryony.

  Emma still looked confused as to why Bryony even had him, but Bryony said she’d explain it all later.

  ‘He just needs a quick brush,’ said Bryony, ‘and some tea – then I’ll be back!’

  ‘Okay,’ replied Emma, now cradling Arthur like a baby. ‘I’ll leave the cottage door open, just come on in when you’re done.’

  ‘Sure!’ beamed Bryony, delighted to have found Emma again.

  Bryony hurried to Red. ‘Oh, Red,’ she laughed, ‘the flying missile, it’s just an owlet called Arthur!’

  Red’s head moved up and down very quickly, which looked just like a nod! Red often seemed like he understood what Bryony was saying.

  When Red was happily back in his stable, Bryony gave him a quick rub-down, removing all traces of dried mud. Then she filled his net with hay and made sure he had plenty of fresh water.

  ‘I’ll pop back to say a proper goodnight later,’ said Bryony, giving him a quick kiss on his velvety muzzle. ‘See you soon!’

  Closing the stable door softly, she hurried back and slipped into Gardener’s Cottage through the open door.

  ‘Oh!’ said Bryony, suddenly finding herself in a small, low-ceilinged living room. How pretty it was, and so cosy! A little fire crackled in the grate, for although it was summer – and sunny earlier – the afternoon had turned chilly – as Miss Pigeon in the post office had told her could happen here . . .

  ‘Hi, come on over!’ Emma called.

  ‘Oh, thanks!’ Bryony smiled back.

  Emma was kneeling on the rug by the fire with Arthur flat out beside her.

  ‘I know it doesn’t look good,’ Emma said as Bryony knelt down too. ‘But, don’t worry, he’s a tough little acorn is Arthur!’

  ‘But he’s . . . very still,’ Bryony whispered.

  ‘Like I said, just playing dead,’ Emma nodded. ‘Barn owls do that, you know. But when he realises he’s safe he’ll perk up again. Watch!’

  Gently, Emma ran her finger up and down the owl’s soft tummy. As Bryony watched she could just make out his tiny chest moving up and down. Emma was right. Arthur was definitely alive!

  A few moments later, his big round eyes twitched, then opened halfway.

  ‘Wow!’ Bryony giggled softly. ‘That’s amazing. Hello, Arthur!’

  Emma placed him in an old shoebox on a bed of dry grass. ‘There we go, Arthur,’ she said. ‘Now let’s find Dad.’

  Bryony followed Emma into the kitchen with Arthur where Emma’s dad was taking an apple pie from the oven, the smell of which was divine! And Will, who looked about six, was playing with his Lego.

  Will looked up. ‘Dad – Arthur again!’ he giggled. ‘And Emma’s brought a friend too!’

  Mr Lawrence turned and put the pie down to cool.

  ‘Oh, pleased to meet you, um . . .’

  ‘Bryony!’ said Bryony.

  ‘Oh, right!’ smiled Mr Lawrence. ‘And hello to you toooooo!’ he said to Arthur.

  Bryony grinned. ‘I found him on the path.’

  ‘Ah, I see,’ Mr Lawrence replied. ‘Well, jolly good!’

  Emma’s dad took the shoebox containing Arthur from Emma.

  ‘Come on, then, little sausage!’ he said to the owlet. ‘Home you go – again.’

  ‘Want to watch?’ Emma asked Bryony and Bryony quickly nodded.

  ‘Oh, yes!’

  Outside, the sky was darkening as Emma’s dad climbed the ladder and popped Arthur into his nest hole.

  ‘There!’ grinned Will. ‘And no more falling out, Mr Twitt-Twoo!’

  Mr Lawrence and Will went back into the cottage but Emma stayed outside with Bryony.

  ‘I need to go and say goodnight to Red now,’ said Bryony, and told Emma why she was looking after him. Emma then explained that her dad was the gardener at Brook Dale Manor and that’s how she knew Georgina.

  ‘Ah! So you’re not friends, then?’ Bryony asked.

  ‘Oh, no!’ Emma shuddered. ‘Just sometimes,’ she said, ‘Mrs Brook invites me round. Or Georgina, well . . . comes looking for me because I don’t think she has, um, many friends.’

  ‘Hmmm . . .’ muttered Bryony under her breath. Why wasn’t she surprised?

  Emma went down to the stables with Bryony, and as they walked, Bryony was delighted to learn that Emma was ten too and would be in the same class as her at school. When they got to the stables, she introduced Red to Emma. Then, as Bryony pitchforked some fresh straw around to make sure Red’s bed was nice and cosy, the little pony watched her, his eyes bright.

  ‘He seems to adore you,’ Emma said.

  ‘Well, I adore him too!’ replied Bryony. And she told Emma how much she was loving looking after him.

  ‘Unfortunately, though,’ Bryony said, ‘soon it’s going to end. Chickenpox doesn’t last for ever.’

  ‘So will you still come when Georgina’s well?’ asked Emma.

  ‘Yes!’ Bryony answered. ‘I will.’

  She patted Red’s head and kissed him goodnight and he let out a low, deep snort. He was happy and sleepy from their seaside adventure.

  ‘Sleep tight, Red,’ Bryony whispered softly.

  Now she’d had this time with him, she couldn’t imagine life without him.

  The next day, on her way to Red’s stable, Bryony briefly bumped into Bella.

  ‘I’m so sorry to say,’ Bella said dramatically, ‘but Georgie still has a few blisters!’

  ‘Oh, no worries! I mean – how horrible for her but tell her . . . not to worry . . . about the
pony.’

  Bella nodded. ‘I will! And if you don’t mind, Red’s yours for a few more days, at least?’

  ‘I don’t mind!’ squeaked Bryony, desperately holding in a cheer. ‘And I hope Georgina’s, um . . . not too itchy a-and scabby!’

  The day had started well, and it got even better when Emma dropped by to say hello as Bryony was grooming Red in the paddock.

  ‘Hi! Do you mind if I watch?’ asked Emma.

  ‘No, not at all!’ smiled Bryony.

  Emma said she was really nervous around ponies but wanted to get over that and learn about them.

  ‘I really like animals and nature,’ she said.

  ‘Brilliant!’ replied Bryony. ‘Well, Red’s the sweetest pony you’ll ever meet!’

  For the rest of the week (when she wasn’t minding Will) Emma spent all her time with Bryony and Red. Bryony found Emma so easy to talk to, and they chatted about all sorts of things.

  They took Red out for walks, and picnics too, taking it in turns to ride him. Red was such a little star! He was so calm and gentle when Emma was on his back – quite on his best behaviour. It was like he knew he needed to help her feel extra secure.

  Then one warm evening, after a ride to the river, they were taking Red back to his stable, when Emma stopped near the old oak tree beside her cottage.

  ‘Bry, do you want to know a secret?’ she whispered.

  ‘Sure!’ Bryony nodded back. It felt so nice that Emma liked her enough to share a secret with her!

  Emma pointed to a thicket of trees down the bank.

  ‘That’s a secret short cut,’ Emma whispered, ‘down to the orchard and stable block. It’s called Pheasant Walk and only me, Will and Dad know it’s there.’

  ‘Wait, not even the Brooks?’ Bryony asked.

  ‘No.’ Emma shook her head. ‘Not even them.’

  Bryony imagined how furious Georgina would be if she knew that Bryony knew something about her land that she didn’t!

  Emma explained that Pheasant Walk was now a wild overgrown track but used to be where lots of pheasants roosted a long time ago.

  ‘It brings you out by a side gate near Red’s stable,’ she whispered.