Six Ponies

by Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  At last, when he was exhausted from hopping, Richard suggested that Jill should have a try while he held Rufus. Jill didn’t like the idea of this at all, and she was just about to refuse when Richard said, “Oh, well, never mind if you’re afraid. You’d better run along and play with your dolls, Baby.”

  “I’m not a baby,” said Jill, stamping her foot at him, “and I didn’t say I wouldn’t try.” Flinging the halter-rope at Richard, she rammed her foot into the stirrup and, digging her toe in Rufus’ side, which made him leap forward, she landed with a crash in the saddle. Rufus braced himself for a buck, but Richard just managed to pull his head up in time to prevent it.

  “Jolly good,” he said. “Now hold tight and I’ll lead you round a bit.”

  Now that Jill’s rage had evaporated, she felt very nervous, and knowing this made Rufus feel more frightened than ever. Neither of the children spoke a reassuring word to him. The pinching girth, the tight bridle and the unaccustomed weight on his back were almost unbearable. He tried to buck, but Richard held him in an iron grasp. Rufus wondered how he could get rid of all these horrible contraptions. He wished he were back in the big field in Hampshire. Suddenly he felt so miserable and lonely that he stopped to neigh. He neighed to the five other ponies to ask if they were being treated like this, but his neigh wasn’t loud enough. It didn’t reach to the lush pastures of Basset Bottom, where Jet, having eaten her fill, was lying, replete and sleepy in the thin autumn sunshine; nor to Sunset, waiting, bored stiff, in her box for Susan to come and ride her. Rocket and Romany, racing up and down their field, heard nothing but the wind in their manes and the drumming of their hoofs; while Grey Dawn, resting a leg in the paddock at Dormers and listening enthralled to one of Golden Wonder’s anecdotes of the show-ring, had no ears for anything but the story. The neigh only startled the respectable Rhode Island hens, and was borne away on the breeze towards Friar’s Fenchurch.

  “Come on, can’t you,” said Richard crossly as he dragged Rufus forward, “and stop making that beastly row.”

  Chapter V

  JUNE was the only horse-breaker whose pony was far advanced enough to be ridden loose by the end of the summer holidays. Evelyn Radcliffe tried to ride Romany one day when none of her family was about, but she was bucked off twice, and then she gave up. The rest of the Pony Club members remembered Major Holbrooke’s advice about making quite sure that their pony understood the leg- and rein-aids before trying to ride without an assistant to help, if he became excited or started to play up. The Major had pointed out that there was nothing brave or clever in riding a pony off the lead-rein before he was ready. It was asking for trouble, and, when trouble came, the only way to control a pony which didn’t know the aids was by strength. That, he had said, was the old-fashioned rough-rider’s method, and quite out of place in modern horsemanship, where our aim was to produce, through a series of suppling and balancing exercises, a well-schooled animal with free action, good head carriage, and, as would automatically follow, a good mouth; not a bucking broncho careering about on his fore-hand, quite unstoppable because he had learnt to fear, and then to avoid the bit before being taught how to obey it.

  Certainly neither Jet nor Rufus understood the aids, and John and Richard went back to their boarding schools grumbling bitterly about the unfair advantage the girls would have because they would be able to school their ponies every week-end throughout the term: for all of them were at day schools except Hilary and Evelyn, who were weekly boarders at St. Crispin’s, in Gunston, a cathedral town some twelve miles from Brampton. Susan also went to school in Gunston, but, as Mrs. Barington-Brown thought boarding schools an unnecessary expense, she was driven in daily by Cookson. June, and now Noel, went to Pinelands, in Brampton, which June loved, as you played games all the time and never learned anything, and Noel hated for the same reason. Jill Morrisson went to a very babyish school at Upper Basset, where you made raffia mats. Margaret and James Radcliffe were there too, but they were lucky, for they had to go only in the mornings, because Dr. Radcliffe didn’t approve of people of their ages—which were seven and nine—learning too much, so in the afternoons they were allowed to ride Pixie and Darkie in the small field or out with Mrs. Radcliffe if she took the dogs for a walk, on the days when she didn’t go to London, where she had a dress-designing business.

  It was in the second week of the term, on one of Mrs. Radcliffe’s London days, that Margaret told James that they must begin to teach Rocket and Romany their circus tricks.

  “But won’t Hilary and Evelyn be cross?” asked James. “You know they said we weren’t to touch them.”

  “Of course not,” said Margaret. “You wait till they see the ponies doing their tricks—they’ll be simply amazed. When they said we weren’t to muck about with them,” she went on, “they only meant we weren’t to ride or lunge them, ’cause you know how fussy Doc. is, but now I’ve helped Evelyn I know all about it. Besides, you know Major Holbrooke said the ponies needed handling in the term-time; and if we don’t handle Romany and Rocket in the week, June’s pony will beat them easily ’cause she’s a daygirl, and can train it every evening, while Hilary and Evelyn only have the week-ends.”

  James, all his doubts allayed by Margaret’s arguments, entered into the idea at once. They planned wildly as they collected some halters and a bucket of oats, and by the time they reached the field they had visions of Rocket and Romany standing on tubs and leaping through flaming hoops. Besides the Orchard, where they kept the hens, ducks, geese, bantams, and rabbits, the Radcliffes had three fields: there was the little paddock at the back of the house, where Hilary and Evelyn rode the youngsters and Margaret and James were supposed to ride if they were alone; the square flat field where they jumped; and the five-acre one, which they called the hill field, because it ran up the side of the hog-shaped hill from which the Priory had got its name.

  “Now,” said Margaret as they reached the hill-field gate. “I’ve bagged Romany, so you’ll have to have Rocket. Here’s his halter.”

  They caught the ponies easily enough, and then, as Margaret thought it would be the simplest trick to start with, they began to teach them to shake hands—picking up their hoofs, shaking them, and then rewarding the ponies with oats, actually in exactly the same way as they had seen Roger teach Roly and Poly, the dachshund puppies, in the Easter holidays. For a little while they were each intent on their pupil, then suddenly James shouted excitedly, “Look, Marga! Quick, look!” Turning, Margaret saw Rocket waving his forefoot wildly in the air. “Jolly good,” she said. “That’s fine.” But at heart she was not so pleased; she felt that James had beaten her, which was annoying, for she thought that, being the elder, she should naturally be the best at everything.

  “You are stupid,” she told Romany. “You’re not half as intelligent as Rocket. Now for goodness’ sake attend and shake hands!”

  A few minutes later there was another shriek from James. “Look,” he said, “I’ve taught him another trick; he’ll follow me anywhere.” And he ran a short way to demonstrate. Rocket trotted after him, his ears flat back, and a threatening expression which plainly said, “Give me those oats, or I’ll kick and bite you to bits,” written on his face. Unfortunately, as each time James stopped running he rewarded him with a handful of oats, Rocket really believed that his blackmailing faces were having the desired effect. Margaret was even more annoyed when she saw this new trick. “Will you come on, you obstinate old thing,” she said, giving Romany’s halter an impatient jerk. “Rocket’s learnt two tricks, and you’re so jolly silly you can’t even do one yet. Jim,” she went on, “do come and help me with this brainless animal; you can tie Rocket to the gate.”

  James tied Rocket up and went to Margaret, who said:

  “You slap her leg at the top while I push her weight back.” And to Romany, “Now will you come on, shake hands?”

  So far Romany, who did not in the least understand what she was supposed to do, had stood meekly while Margaret thumped a
nd pushed her, but the combination of James slapping her leg and Margaret jerking the halter-rope was too much; feeling she could bear it no longer, she reared. For a moment both children were speechless with amazement. Then Margaret said:

  “Oh, isn’t she wonderful! Just like a real circus pony. You are a clever little pony; that’s a much better trick than either of Rocket’s.” And she gave Romany several handfuls of oats.

  “I bet Rocket could do that,” said James, defending his pupil. “I bet he could learn to lie down; but you shouldn’t teach them too many tricks the same day. Anyway, I don’t expect Romany will do it again.”

  “Yes, she will,” said Margaret. “Come on, old lady, you show him. Up, up,” she went on, jerking the halter-rope. After a few moments Romany realised what she wanted, and once again she reared up.

  “There you are,” said Margaret triumphantly. “I knew she would.” And she gave Romany another handful of oats.

  “Won’t it be lovely,” said James, “when they’re all trained? Roly, Poly, and Cinders, if Doc. will lend her to us, must all come in, and we must think of some tricks for the other ponies. Even the cats might come in, if only they’ll attend instead of always thinking about food. It’ll be an awfully big circus; we might even have a lion later on.”

  “Yes,” said Margaret, “it’ll be a simply enormous circus. Everyone will come miles to see it, and we shall all make our fortunes. I shall buy seven hunters and a pack of hounds. I suppose you’ll buy a silly yacht.”

  “I don’t want a yacht,” said James. “They’ve no guns. I shall buy a schooner, with lots of enormous guns, and scuppers for the blood to run in.”

  “Ugh!” said Margaret. “Think of hosing them out afterwards.”

  “The cabin-boy will do that,” said James airily.

  “I think I shall live in a caravan,” said Margaret, “a red and yellow one, and I’ll have two Suffolk Punches to pull it, so that it won’t be too heavy.”

  “Yes, it must be nice to be a gipsy,” said James; “nearly as nice as being a sailor; you can wear a spotted handkerchief and ear-rings, and cook rabbit stew over a camp fire.”

  “It must be a lovely life,” agreed Margaret—“all horses and dogs.”

  They both stood in silence for a few moments contemplating the future. James saw himself, a dignified figure, covered in gold braid, pacing the quarter-deck with a telescope under his arm; above, the Southern Cross gleamed, far brighter than any English star. Margaret saw a winding road, a gaily painted caravan drawn briskly by stalwart Suffolks between the tall hedges overgrown with dog-roses. Two of the carefully schooled hunters were tied behind and an assortment of dogs ran ahead. The vision faded, she said, “I suppose we’d better let the ponies go. I feel awfully empty. It must be tea-time.”

  On the following afternoon Margaret and James gave the ponies another lesson. Romany knew her trick perfectly: she would rear at the slightest jerk of the halter, but Margaret still could not persuade her to shake hands. Rocket began to paw the air wildly as soon as he smelt the oats, and, when rewarded with a handful, he was in such a hurry that he bit James’ hand, which made him cry. After that they swopped ponies, and while James tried to teach Romany to shake hands, Margaret did her utmost to make Rocket rear. She didn’t succeed, but she had one of her coat buttons ripped off and a hole torn in her pocket from his attempts to get the oats, which he knew she had in them. James managed to persuade Romany to pick up her hoof when asked to shake hands, but she would not wave it out like Rocket. Still, they were very pleased with their pupils’ progress, and they constantly thought what a lovely surprise they were going to give Hilary and Evelyn. On Friday they had a dress rehearsal. They decorated the ponies with ribbons and coloured feathers from a Red Indian headdress belonging to James, and they plastered their own faces with flour and their mother’s lipstick in an attempt to look like clowns. Unfortunately Rocket was even more excitable. He bit James’ pockets every few seconds. He shook hands so wildly that he hit him on the arm with his hoof and reduced him to tears, and later, when he was supposed to be following James, he barged his quarters into him, knocking him over and upsetting the bucket of oats which he was carrying. James began to cry again; he said that Rocket had trodden on his toe and hurt his arm.

  “You are feeble,” said Margaret crossly. “Do stop crying, it’s so jolly baby-ish. Why don’t you stop him eating the oats instead of lying there? You’re just letting him get his own way, and you know Hilary and Evelyn said it was the worst thing you could do.”

  James said Margaret was beastly, and that he hated her, and she said he was a cry-baby, and that she hated him. James said all right then, he wouldn’t help with the circus any more, and Margaret said she didn’t want the help of a snivelling baby. Then as James stamped off across the field in a rage, she shouted after him that he needn’t think he was going to help surprise Evelyn and Hilary next day, as she didn’t want everything spoilt by a cowardly fool. So when at lunch on Saturday Margaret told Hilary and Evelyn that she had a surprise for them, James stared moodily at his plate and said nothing. Afterwards, when Margaret had gone, telling them to follow in ten minutes, he collected his six favourite small boats and wandered off to sail them in the water-butt.

  Hilary and Evelyn were both very curious about Margaret’s surprise. As they changed their school clothes for jodhpurs they discussed what it could be.

  “I expect it’s something dull like a hut,” said Hilary. “You know how often we used to build them in the wood.”

  “She’s not going to drag us all the way up there just to see a beastly hut, is she?” said Evelyn.

  “Well, we can catch the ponies on the way back,” said Hilary. “I hope she hasn’t been messing about with them,” she added anxiously on second thoughts.

  “I shouldn’t think so,” said Evelyn. “Doc. forbade her to ride them until they were quiet; though actually Romany is pretty quiet now. I think I’ll ride her by myself to-day.”

  “I don’t think we’d better ride them together,” said Hilary, collecting her bowler hat and riding-stick. “I’ll stand in the middle while you ride Romany, and grab her if she starts to fool around, if you’ll do the same when I ride Rocket.”

  “I don’t suppose Romany’ll do anything,” said Evelyn. “But I don’t mind hanging around if you think Rocket’s likely to play up. Are you ready?” she went on, and when Hilary said she was, “Come on, then; let’s go and see this tiresome surprise.”

  When they reached the hill field, Hilary and Evelyn were not at all pleased to see Romany and Rocket, adorned with ribbons and feathers, tied to the gate.

  “She has been mucking about with them, then,” said Evelyn.

  “I hope she hasn’t done anything silly,” said Hilary.

  “Look here, Marga,” said Evelyn, when they were within speaking distance, “you know we told you to leave those ponies alone.”

  “All right, keep calm,” said Margaret, who had foreseen this. “I haven’t hurt them a bit, and when we’ve all made our fortunes you’ll have to be jolly grateful.”

  “Grateful for what?” asked Hilary.

  “Wait a minute and you’ll see,” said Margaret as she untied Romany from the gate. “Shake hands,” she ordered. And, as Romany obeyed, Hilary breathed a sigh of relief. “If that’s all,” she said to Evelyn, “she hasn’t done any harm.” But scarcely were the words out of her mouth when Margaret said, “Up, Romany, up!” and jerked the halter-rope. Romany reared high. Both Hilary and Evelyn gasped with what Margaret wrongly took to be joy and amazement.

  “Isn’t she good?” she asked, her voice full of pride. “Doesn’t she do it beautifully?”

  “Good!” echoed Hilary. “Good! Don’t you realise what you’ve done? Don’t you know that rearing is incurable?”

  “Well, of all the interfering, idiotic, silly, half-witted fools you’re about the worst,” said Evelyn furiously. “Why the dickens can’t you leave another person’s pony alone?”

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p; “You are beastly,” said Margaret, bursting into a loud roar “After all the trouble I’d taken to train them so as to give you a lovely surprise.”

  “A lovely surprise! Are you stark, staring mad?” asked Hilary. “What have you taught Rocket?”

  “Only to shake hands and trot after me,” replied Margaret through her tears. “But I jolly well shan’t show you now; you’re too beastly ungrateful. I hate you both.”

  “That’s nothing to what we think of you,” said Evelyn. “And to say that we ought to be grateful—grateful for having our ponies spoilt!”

  Meanwhile Hilary, who had untied Rocket and was taking the ribbons and feathers out of his mane, found, to her dismay, that the friendly expression which she had grown so fond of was replaced by a threatening mask, and the once gentle pony had been transformed into a bullying animal, which nipped her about a dozen times in the space of a few minutes.