by Stacy Gregg
In the ring competitor number thirty-one, Sybil Hawley, was just completing a round that left the audience with their hearts in their mouths. Sybil had a strange style, galloping wildly between fences and then yanking Caprice in the mouth, before throwing the reins away right before the fence. Poor Caprice! The grey mare was clearly being driven mad by her rider’s busy hands and spent most of the round trying to getabove the bit, her head held high and the whites of her eyes showing. It was seat-of-the-pants stuff over every jump, but somehow they got through.
“A clear round for Sybil Hawley and Caprice. Can competitor thirty-two, Georgina Parker and Tyro, please enter the arena!” The announcer’s voice boomed over the tannoy.
As the two girls rode past each other in opposite directions through the narrow entrance to the arena, Georgie gave Sybil a smile but it wasn’t returned. When she recalled this later, Georgie thought she saw Sybil out of the corner of her eye, surreptitiously raising her whip. She didn’t see what happened next, but suddenly Tyro had shot forward underneath her, bolting into the arena. Did Sybil hit Tyro with her whip? All Georgie knew was that Tyro was calm one moment and then he’d gone like a rocket.
“Hoi! Tyro!” Georgie was so totally focused on hanging on to her pony she had completely stopped paying attention to the loudspeaker. When she finally had Tyro settled into a steady canter, she noticed that the warbling banter which normally poured outthrough the tannoy between rounds had stopped. There was only deafening silence as the crowd waited for her round to begin. Georgie began to panic. Had they rung the bell to start and she hadn’t noticed? Had she missed her cue? She wasn’t very experienced at showjumping but she knew that if they had rung the bell, then she only had a minute to cross the start line or she would be eliminated! She looked around at the audience, trying to find Lucinda. There was no sign of her trainer and still no sound from the loudspeaker. They must have rung the bell already!
In a mad panic, Georgie turned Tyro and headed back up the arena towards the start line. She did a quick loop at a brisk canter and then rode the black pony forward. She was half a stride over the line when she heard the bell ring out. She hadn’t missed it after all! Well, that was fine now–she was off!
At the first jump, Tyro’s stride was too long and he leapt from too far back. Georgie was certain that he would drop his hind legs over the back rails and drop a pole, but he only contacted the rail gently with his fetlocks and the pole stayed in its cup.
At fence two she was back in control and rode the pony perfectly into the jump, taking it neatly. Tyro gave a little buck, flinging his legs up in high spirits as if to say, “piece of cake!”
By the time they reached the bogey fence, the treble, Georgie had hit her stride. The final spread was really huge and she felt her tummy tie up in nervous knots, but she did what any good rider does when they are scared–she kicked on. “Come on!” she shouted at Tyro. He lifted up into the air and took the jump. They were still clear!
Then before she could even think about it, she was over the green plank upright and the last jump, a wide oxer made of pale blue rails, and then Georgie was through the flags and the crowd was clapping. It was the third clear round of the day!
“Oh well done! Well done!” Lucinda raced up to her as she emerged from the arena.
“He was genius, wasn’t he?” Georgie enthused. “Did you see the way he took the treble?”
“You were both brilliant!” Lucinda told her with a huge grin on her face. “You’re through to the next round.”
“I don’t think so!” a voice boomed out. Georgie looked up and saw the orange face of Mrs Hawley bearing down on them. If Mrs Hawley had looked thunderous earlier in the practice ring, now she looked positively volcanic.
“You’re a cheat!”
These words were said with such venom that Georgie and Lucinda were dumbstruck. Unfortunately, Mrs Hawley wasn’t and she continued with her vicious rant. “I’ve reported you to the selector!” Mrs Hawley raved. “I’m going to see to it that you are eliminated!”
“What are you talking about?” Lucinda Milwood was baffled.
“Your daughter broke across the start line before the bell,” Mrs Hawley snarled. “Everyone saw it.”
“She’s not my daughter,” Lucinda corrected her, “and this round wasn’t being judged on time. Who cares if she crossed the line early?”
“It’s against the rules!” Mrs Hawley’s face was puce with rage beneath the orange tan. “The girl should be eliminated from the competition. You’ll see! I’vealready taken this to the highest level. The selector is on her way over here now!”
Through the crowds came a slender woman wearing dove grey jodhpurs and a navy blouse, her walnut-brown hair held back by a pair of stylish black sunglasses.
Mrs Hawley looked smug as the selector approached. The smugness rapidly vanished when the woman in grey jodhpurs took one look at Lucinda Milwood, shrieked with delight and gave her an enormous hug.
“Lucy!” she exclaimed. “My God! Lucy Milwood! It’s been such a long time, but you haven’t changed one bit!”
Georgie’s trainer laughed. “You neither! It’s so good to see you!”
Mrs Hawley was gasping like a goldfish. This was not the result she had been hoping for.
The selector ignored Mrs Hawley and turned her attention to Georgie. “So this must be Ginny’s daughter?” She had a strange expression on her face as she stared hard at Georgie. “You are the spitting imageof your mother. Let’s hope you can ride like her as well.”
“Georgie,” Lucinda smiled, “I’d like you to meet the only rider who ever beat your mother around the crosscountry course at Blainford Academy.
“Say hello to Tara Kelly.”
Chapter Four
The fact that Tara and Lucinda were clearly old friends only made matters worse as far as Mrs Hawley was concerned.
“Blatant favouritism!” she fumed.
Tara Kelly had been chief selector at Blainford for long enough to know how to handle pushy parents. “Mrs Hawley,” she said firmly, “as Blainford’s chief of admissions and head selector, I can assure you that I am completely impartial at all times.”
Mrs Hawley had a malicious glint in her eye. “So does that mean you’ll disqualify her?”
“The rules clearly state that if a rider in any way gains an advantage by crossing the line before the bell then they will be disqualified,” Tara said.
Georgie felt her heart pounding in her ears. This couldn’t be happening. It was bad enough to lose her chance of going to Blainford with that freak accident at the water jump. Now, to be eliminated again because of some crazy rule! Georgie looked at Sybil who was smiling wickedly from behind Tara’s back and waggling her whip at her.
“But I didn’t hear the bell,” Georgie protested, “it wasn’t my fault.”
Tara ignored her. “As I was saying,” she continued, “riders are disqualified if they have gained an advantage by crossing the line early. But since this round wasn’t a jump-off against the clock the time didn’t matter. Georgie gained nothing by crossing the line early.”
“So.?” Mrs Hawley bristled.
“There will be no elimination. She’s going through to the next round.”
Mrs Hawley stomped off angrily as Tara looked at her watch. “I’d better get back to the selectors’ tent,” she said. “There are still sixty riders to get through the first phase before lunch break.”
“Why don’t you come and meet us at my lorry for lunch?” Lucinda offered.
Tara shook her head. “I don’t think that would be wise. We don’t want to give the Mrs Hawleys of this world a chance to cry favouritism again, do we?” The chief selector turned to Georgie. “I’m surprised to see you here today, Georgina. I didn’t think Ginny’s daughter would be a showjumper.”
“I’m an eventer, really,” Georgie said, “at least, I want to be one.”
“Good!” Tara said brightly. “So if you make it through the auditions I can l
ook forward to having you in my cross-country classes.”
Georgie felt quite pleased until Tara added, “It’s the toughest course at Blainford. If a rider isn’t good enough they’re gone. Only half the students who start the year with me will make it through to the end. It’s dangerous too–the cross-country department holds the record for more broken bones than the rest of the school put together. Perhaps you might like to reconsider and take up showjumping–it’s a much safer option.”
And with that, Tara waved a brisk goodbye and headed back to the selectors’ tent. Georgie was wide-eyed as she watched her go. “Broken bones? Is she running a cross-country class or Accident and Emergency?”
Lucinda sighed. “Don’t be put off. Tara loves to come across as icy and strict when in fact she’s.” Lucinda paused. “Well, actually, that’s pretty much what she’s like. She’s a perfectionist–and at her peak she was ranked one of the best riders in the world. She’s a brilliant teacher. If you’re lucky enough to get into her class at Blainford you should jump at the chance.”
Although Tara turned down Lucinda’s offer of lunch, they had company as Olivia and her mum came over to join them. For dessert Mrs Prescott brought jam tarts and Lucinda produced her irresistible ginger crunch.
Olivia had two slices and then pronounced that the butterflies in her tummy now felt even worse than before.
“I’ve eaten too much! I won’t make it through in thejump-offs,” she groaned as she lay back on the ramp of the lorry holding her tummy.
“Yes,” Georgie agreed, “it was my cunning plan to invite you over to scoff all the ginger crunch.”
Olivia and Molly had put in a very professional round that morning, jumping the course so smoothly and cleanly they made it look easy, which it wasn’t. From the total pool of 116 riders, only a meagre fourteen had made it through to the next round. The rest were packing their horses into their lorries and trailers for the drive home.
“I can’t believe Sybil Hawley got through,” Georgie groaned. “Did you hear her mum shrieking on the sidelines?”
Olivia giggled, “Poor Sybil. I’d hate to have a mum like that.”
“What, noisy?” Georgie said.
“No, orange!” Olivia burst out laughing. Georgie collapsed with the giggles too. It had been really good fun hanging out with Olivia today. Georgie hoped that they would both make it through to the finals in Birmingham.
The next round that afternoon was a speed contest and the jumps had been raised to a metre twenty. Georgie was feeling confident about riding against the clock. Tyro was the fastest pony she had ever ridden and he was brilliant at tight turns. Georgie had walked the course and was planning on taking some very tricky, extreme shortcuts. The last two jumps were key for Georgie’s alternative route, cutting a corner to come in at the planks on a sharp angle. If they could pull it off this might slash their time by two whole seconds. It was a risky strategy, but worth it if they went clear.
At 2pm there was a briefing in the main arena for the remaining fourteen riders. They were told to arrive with their horses fully tacked up. “What is this about?” Georgie asked.
Lucinda frowned. “I’m not sure, but the selectors often like to throw a curve ball at this phase to test the riders. One year they made everyone take off their saddles and compete bareback.”
Georgie looked at the enormous jumps in the arena. It would be a nightmare trying to ride a course like thatbareback! Surely the selectors weren’t planning the same thing?
As the riders organised themselves, Tara Kelly walked into the arena and stood in front of them. “Can all the riders please dismount and run up your stirrups,” she announced. “We’re going to make some last minute changes.”
Georgie dismounted nervously. She felt her palms sweating as she gripped the reins. As Tara Kelly strode back and forth with arms folded across her chest, Georgie felt sick with anticipation, certain that at any moment they would be instructed to remove their saddles. But this year Blainford’s chief selector had another trial in mind.
“I know how hard you have trained to be here,” Tara said. “You’ve schooled your ponies and become a team.” She paused. “I want to see what happens when that team is torn apart.”
Tara stepped forward and began walking down the line-up, handing each rider a folded-over piece of paper. “A great rider should be able to mount up on any horse and achieve a clear round,” Tara continued as shewalked along handing out the papers. “This afternoon we’ll be testing your abilities on a horse that you’ve never ridden before.”
Tara handed out the last two to Olivia and Georgie.”On your piece of paper you’ll find the name of one of the horses in this arena.” Tara paused. “That’s the horse you’ll ride for the next round. As of right now, you are swapping mounts. The names have been chosen at random. There can be no complaints and no trading. You must ride the horse you have been given. The rules of the competition remain the same–a clear round in the fastest time will win. Two refusals in this round and you are out.” Tara looked at the line-up of stunned faces. “Please open your piece of paper.”
Georgie unfolded hers and felt her stomach lurch in shock.
Tara continued, “You may go and claim the horse.” No one moved. “Hurry up and find your horses!” Tara told them. “The first rider is due to jump in twenty minutes.”
The fourteen riders suddenly began running in all directions, dragging their horses behind them in a madrush as they frantically searched for the horse they had been drawn to ride. Georgie hadn’t moved. She was staring at the paper in disbelief. She had drawn Caprice.
“Any tips for riding her?” Georgie asked as she walked over to take Sybil’s horse.
“You must be joking!” Sybil virtually flung the reins at her. “I’m not giving you any help!”
At least Sybil hadn’t been allocated Tyro, Georgie thought as she stood holding two horses. She was dreading handing over her beloved pony to some complete stranger and kept an anxious watch on anyone who approached her. Georgie was beyond relieved when Olivia came up positively beaming, waving Tyro’s name on her slip.
“I can’t believe I got him!” Olivia said. “Isn’t this the craziest thing you’ve ever seen?”
Her hands were shaking as she took Tyro’s reins. “I’ve had Molly for two years,” she explained. “I haven’t been on another horse for ages.”
“Tyro won’t give you any trouble,” Georgie reassured her. “He never refuses a jump, but he does rush fences sometimes so sit back between them.”
“OK.” Olivia was trying to take deep breaths. “I can do that.”
“He’s fast too,” Georgie said, stroking the Connemara’s pretty face, “and he’s good at correcting his own stride. Give him his head once you hit the treble and he’ll be fine.”
“Thanks!” Olivia said and smiled at Georgie. “I know he’s special. Don’t worry. I’ll look after him, I promise.”
Lucinda was thrilled with the horse-swap challenge. “I watched this mare jump in the last round. She’s very schooled and she’s got talent,” she said, adjusting the stirrups to fit Georgie’s legs which were much shorter than Sybil’s. “If Caprice can pull off a clear round with Sybil on her back then I’m sure you can get a clear round out of her too.”
Any reservations Georgie had about swapping horses disappeared once she was up on Caprice. She was a very positive pony with big paces and when
Georgie popped her over the practice jump the mare had her ears pricked and cantered on eagerly, taking the fence off a lovely forward stride.
As the riders warmed up, their names and numbers were called over the loudspeaker. Georgie was last to go. She didn’t know if this was good or bad. She had more time to warm up, but also more time to get nervous.
“Could rider number one, Ellie Trainor, please enter the ring,” the announcer called. Georgie watched as a girl on a strawberry roan came into the collection area looking tense. That morning the same girl had done a beautiful clear ro
und on a bay mare, but as she rode at the first jump she seemed to lose her nerve and the strawberry roan slammed on the brakes and skidded into the fence. The girl gave a half-hearted whack with her crop and swung the horse around to try again. But the roan had lost confidence in her rider and had no intention of trying to jump. She gave an outright refusal, propping and baulking, and the bell rang. The first rider had been eliminated.
On the sidelines Lucinda frowned. “You must ride atthe fences as if you really mean it, Georgie. If you’re half-hearted Caprice will sense your hesitation and you’ll fail.”
As each of the riders squared up to the first jump you could tell by the look on their face whether they would make it or not. There were some awful crashes as riders lost their bottle and ponies ploughed into jumps with last minute refusals. One of these riders was Sybil Hawley. The chestnut pony she was riding made a sudden stop in front of the jump–and Sybil didn’t. She flew over the pony’s neck and landed without a horse beneath her, on her bottom on the other side of the fence. Mrs Hawley would protest of course, but Sybil’s audition was well and truly over.
By the time Olivia and Tyro were up there had been no clear rounds at all. The best scores so far belonged to two riders with eight faults each. It was beginning to look like no one could make it clear on an unknown horse.
“Come on, Olivia!” Georgie called out from the sidelines. It was the strangest sensation, watching her own pony competing without her. Georgie felt a briefmoment of anguish as she watched Tyro take the first jump with ease and desperately wished she were the one on his back. But Olivia rode him beautifully and when they took the last fence for the first clear round, Georgie was clapping louder than anyone.
“You should be proud of that round,” Lucinda told Georgie.
“But I wasn’t the one riding!” Georgie said.