Six Ponies

by Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  “What?” asked Noel before his words had had time to sink in, and then, realising what he had said, she became flustered, and gave Beauty a kick which made her leap forward and bump into Rocket, which had just given another shy. Apologising to Hilary, Noel disentangled herself and took the lead. For a few moments all went well. They walked and trotted round the school, and Noel was just thinking that perhaps leading wasn’t so bad after all—she had always avoided it at both school and rallies, for there were usually plenty of people who wanted to lead, and she was content to hide herself in some inconspicuous place near the end of the line—when Major Holbrooke shouted, “Change the rein.”

  “What?” asked Noel, though she had heard perfectly.

  “Change the rein,” he repeated. Noel panicked. She knew that the Major meant her to go round the school the opposite way, for they had often done this at rallies before, but then she had blindly followed the person in front of her and never noticed how it was done. She wavered indecisively at the corner of the school. “Turn right,” shouted the Major, but Noel couldn’t remember which way was which; she took a chance and turned left out into the field. Susan, who was behind Noel and knew her right from left, turned right, and John and Hilary followed. Suddenly Sunset noticed that she was leading. She stopped dead, and Rocket and Jet, which were too close, ran into her. Giving an angry squeal, Sunset lashed out, catching Rocket on his forearm.

  “Can’t you people even keep off each others’ tails?” asked the Major angrily. “What is the good of me trying to teach you to school ponies when you can’t even ride round a school a length apart?”

  “Sorry,” said John and Hilary hastily.

  “Is Rocket hurt?” asked Susan anxiously.

  “He’s bleeding from this front leg,” said Noel, pointing. Hilary dismounted, and she and the Major examined the wound.

  “I don’t think it’s much,” said Major Holbrooke. “Just a cut. It was lucky she caught him on the forearm and not on the knee; I don’t think it’ll make him lame. You’d better take him up to the stables,” the Major went on, speaking to Hilary, “and ask Blake to bathe it, then bring him back and we’ll see if he’s sound.” Hilary led Rocket away and Major Holbrooke turned to the others. “Now, for goodness’ sake keep away from each other,” he said. “The next one may not be so lucky.”

  “No,” said Susan. “And I don’t want you kicked, do I, Sunset? Even though you were horrid enough to kick Rocket.”

  “Now,” said the Major, “where had we got to? Oh, yes, I remember,” he went on. “Noel had just tied everyone up in knots. Don’t you know how to change the rein?”

  “No,” said Noel miserably.

  “But we’ve done it at every Pony Club rally,” said the Major. “You must be half-asleep if you’ve never noticed.” Noel didn’t say anything; she stared hard at Beauty’s wet mane and felt herself grow redder and redder.

  “Well, lead on round,” said Major Holbrooke. “I’d better try to teach you.”

  Noel rode round the school, wishing she had never joined the Pony Club, and feeling that she would hate Major Holbrooke, Susan, and John for ever. Suddenly she realised that the Major was speaking. “Turn right,” he shouted. “Right, at the corner.” Noel felt near tears; she had forgotten which way was right again, and in despair she pulled Beauty up. Then John rode up beside her. “That way,” he said, pointing across the school.

  “Where?” asked Noel.

  “Look,” said Major Holbrooke, walking up and trying to speak calmly, “it’s obvious you don’t turn to the left, for that would lead you right off the school. Imagine you are riding in a covered school, keeping as close to the wall as you can. There will only be one way you can turn, won’t there? Inwards. When I tell you to change the rein,” he went on, “turn inwards, and ride diagonally across the school. Trot on.”

  The next time Noel muddled through somehow, and when she had changed the rein several times the Major tried to teach her the diagonal change of hand, which she recognised as the figure that June had ridden on Grey Dawn. But Noel was hopelessly confused, and the Major became more and more exasperated. Everyone was glad when Hilary returned with Rocket, and they were able to stop schooling while she trotted him up and down for the Major to see if he was lame. Happily he wasn’t, but Major Holbrooke gave Hilary another lecture about keeping off people’s tails, during which John would wink at Noel and Susan. Noel was too downcast to pay much attention, but Susan giggled until the Major heard. He thought she was laughing at him, so he was crosser than ever, and gave her a long lecture on how it wasn’t funny to kick another person’s pony, and how, if she had used her legs, Sunset wouldn’t have jibbed.

  John, the only unscathed member of the party, did not remain so for long. The Major, having asked them all to ride circles, soon discovered that John wasn’t loosening his outside rein, and was, therefore, preventing Jet from following the order—to turn her head and neck inwards, that his inside rein was giving. When he remembered to do this, John forgot to use his outside leg, so that Jet’s quarters, which should have been turned inwards, were straight with the rest of her and she wasn’t making a circle at all. When John had learned to circle properly, the Major told Noel to canter a figure of eight, an exercise which, he said, was too advanced for the young ponies at the moment. Noel rode the figure of eight with a flying change in the middle, and she was feeling quite pleased with herself until the Major said that she had ridden at the extended, instead of the collected, canter, and asked her whether she knew anything about collection. Of course Noel didn’t, so the Major went on to explain that she must sit down in the saddle and use her legs and seat to get her pony’s hocks under him. Once he was balanced, with his hocks in the right place, a schooled horse could, and should, be collected by a little finger. Strength was unnecessary and must never be used. Then Major Holbrooke told the horse-breakers that the young ponies weren’t ready to be taught collection yet, but he hoped that some, at any rate, would be advanced enough by the summer holidays. It was, he said, quite fatal to teach collection too early, for if a pony wasn’t balanced, you would have to pull his head in by force, and such severe use of the reins would, naturally, hurt his mouth. To avoid the pain, the wretched animal would recourse to some bad habit: pulling, stargazing, overbending—all ways of escaping too rough use of the bit. When their ponies were going well, the Major went on, in a balanced manner, which could be told by their head-carriage and the ease with which they could change from fast to slow paces, pull up, and back-rein—when they could walk, trot, and canter round the school, turn on the forehand and haunches, pass, and lead on the correct leg at the canter, then the horse-breakers might think of riding their pupils in double bridles. The only way to obtain balance and the improved head-carriage, which would automatically follow, the Major continued, was to keep on with the schooling, the balancing exercises that the school figures were designed to provide. Looking at Noel, the Major said that the diagonal, counter, and reversed changes of hand, half-voltes and circles, should all be practised. Lungeing, riding up and down hills and across rough ground or plough, were also very helpful in balancing a young horse.

  “Noel,” said Susan, when Major Holbrooke finished speaking, “June shouldn’t be riding Grey Dawn in a double bridle yet.”

  “Ssh,” said Noel, “the Major will hear.”

  “Now,” said Major Holbrooke, “has any one any questions to ask?” And, when no one answered, he said, “Come on, I’m sure you don’t know everything.”

  “If it’s so easy to spoil a horse by riding him in a double bridle, why not teach him to collect in a snaffle?” asked Susan.

  “Because only one horse in a thousand will collect in a snaffle,” said the Major. “But first let us make it quite clear what we mean by collection. We have already said that, first and foremost, our horses must have his hocks under him, he must be full of impulsion—that is, eager to go, and yet under complete control, between our legs and our little fingers. To allow us
to have this control our horse must bend his head at the poll, drop his nose, and flex his lower jaw to the bit, and that is where a double bridle comes in. As you know, a double bridle consists of a snaffle, or bridoon, as it is often called, and a curb bit with a curb chain. The snaffle’s job is to raise our horse’s head. Bring Beauty here, Noel, I want to demonstrate. Now look,” the Major went on, taking Beauty’s reins, “when I feel the snaffle rein she raises her head, but leaves her nose poked out. The curb, in conjunction with the curb-chain, will make her drop her nose, arch her neck, and flex her lower jaw. See, I feel the curb rein, the bit acts on the bars of her mouth, the chain in the curb groove, and instantly she drops her nose. I am going to feel the rein again,” the Major continued, “and this time I want you to watch the curb chain. Notice how it tightens and presses into the curb groove and you will realise why you must always make sure that it is flat and not twisted. Come a little nearer and you will see that the mouthpiece of the curb can slide up and down the cheek for about half an inch. This is very important. As you see, when the curb rein is loose, the mouthpiece lies at the bottom of the slide, but directly I tighten the rein it begins to slide upwards to the top, where it remains until I slacken the rein again. As the mouthpiece rises there is a greater amount of cheek below it, and therefore a greater leverage, which exerts more pressure on the bars of the mouth, and by means of the curb chain, in the curb groove. In fact, the longer the horse takes to obey the bit the more severe it becomes. Being an intelligent animal, he soon realises this, and, to avoid the increasing discomfort, he will flex at the lightest feel of the curb rein.”

  The Major went on to say that two of the things one had to look out for when teaching a young horse to collect, were that he might fight against the bit, before he understood that to obey meant relief from the discomfort it caused, or a very common habit, he might flex his jaw with his head too low. But as neither ponies nor riders were ready to learn collection yet, he didn’t think they need go any further that day, and, if no one had any questions to ask, they would do some jumping.

  “Oh, goody!” said Susan, who had not been listening to the answer to her question.

  “That’ll be super,” said John, who had practised the forward seat a lot since the last Pony Club rally.

  “Nothing very exciting to start with,” said Major Holbrooke. “Just a pole on the ground. Noel, lead over at a walk, please.” Noel, who felt glad it was no higher if she had to lead, gave Beauty a loose rein and walked quietly over. The others followed. When everyone had walked over the pole twice, the Major told them to trot, and no one was corrected, except John, who, in excess of zeal, pulled Jet up too sharply when she cantered.

  “They all do that very nicely,” said the Major when each pony had had several turns. “Now we’ll try a jump,” and he led the way across the field to where there was a course of jumps of various types and sizes. He lowered a white bar to about one foot six and told Noel to lead on at a trot. All the ponies jumped it perfectly, but Susan’s legs were too far back and Hilary’s hands rested on Rocket’s withers instead of sliding up on either side of his neck.

  “How high have you been jumping these ponies?” asked Major Holbrooke. “They’re all going very well, but I don’t want to overface them.”

  “Rocket’s jumped two feet six,” said Hilary.

  “Jet’s never jumped higher than two feet,” said John.

  “One foot six is the highest I’ve ever put Sunset at,” said Susan, “but I’m sure she can jump much higher, only Noel said I would overface her.”

  “Well, I don’t think two feet will hurt any of them,” said Major Holbrooke. “But wait a minute, we’ll give Noel something a bit more interesting first,” and he raised the bar to three feet. Noel and Beauty cleared it easily.

  “Don’t let your hands touch your pony’s neck,” said the Major. “To follow through properly and give her an entirely free head at every stage of the jump they must be self-supporting, and, for goodness’ sake, take that mackintosh off; it’s stopped raining and you look like an orphan.”

  “May I take mine off too?” asked Susan.

  “Of course, if you want to,” said Major Holbrooke.

  “Oh, goody,” said Susan, and there was a general discarding of mackintoshes, which were hung on the park fence.

  Then Major Holbrooke told Noel to stand aside while the young ponies jumped and he would give her something more difficult at the end. So Noel watched and tried to decide which was the best schooled of the three ponies. Rocket’s head-carriage was the highest and his jumping was excellent—he never tried to run out or refuse, but Noel thought he seemed lazy, and certainly Hilary had to kick hard to make him canter. Jet, on the other hand, though not so well balanced and apparently difficult to keep straight at her fences, was much more willing, and obeyed a more elegant leg aid. Sunset wasn’t as lazy as Rocket, but her head-carriage was lower, and she had an uncomfortable habit of cat-jumping, which unseated Susan over almost every jump. Noel was wondering what sort of a test the Major would give the horse-breakers in the summer and which of them would win, when she heard him say, “Come on, Noel, stop day-dreaming; here’s a nice little course for you,” and, looking up, she saw that he had raised all the jumps to a little over three feet.

  “But they’re enormous. I couldn’t possibly jump them,” said Noel, speaking without thinking.

  “Don’t be absurd,” said Major Holbrooke, looking distinctly annoyed. “In the first place, they’re not at all large, and, secondly, you’re riding a jolly good pony. Why can’t you jump them? Do you mean you don’t want to?”

  “No,” said Noel, wishing she could cut her tongue off. “No, of course not.”

  “Well, stop dithering, and come on, then,” said the Major. “The brush fence is first.”

  Noel turned and rode Beauty at the brush fence. They cleared it, and went on over the five other jumps.

  “Jolly good,” said Susan as they cleared the last one.

  “A perfect round,” said Hilary.

  “Gosh! Beauty can jump,” said John.

  “They weren’t quite so enormous as you thought, were they?” asked Major Holbrooke as Noel rode back, patting Beauty. “It wasn’t a bad round,” he went on, when she didn’t reply, “but you took the parallel bars too slowly and only just cleared them. And now, I am afraid, we must stop,” and, turning from Noel to the official horse-breakers, he said, “I want you to remember that the main object of schooling is to teach your pony the aids, and to balance and supple him so that he can obey the lightest possible aid in the shortest possible time. There are no short cuts to this. You can make a horse look balanced by the use of the side reins and dumb jockey, but that’s not what we want. When you school, don’t bore yourself and your pony by riding aimlessly round and round. Ride the school figures, invent new figures, but always do them properly; don’t get slack and cut the corners. When you’re out for hacks, don’t stick to the lanes and roads; every hill, whether you ride up or down, will improve your pony. As for jumping,” the Major went on, “at the moment they are all going well, but don’t forget that lungeing over fences is invaluable, especially if you are a trifle heavy for your pony, and remember that breadth, rather than height, should be your aim. By the way,” he finished, “Mrs. Maxton is kindly organising a picnic ride on Friday, and there will be an instructional rally here to-day fortnight, to which you can bring either your own ponies or the youngsters. Now it’s very late, so good-bye and thank you for coming.”

  “Thank you for having us,” said the horse-breakers in one voice, and, following him out of the field, they said good-bye, and took their different directions down the drive; Noel, John, and Susan together, Hilary alone.

  “He wasn’t in a very good mood to-day,” said John to Noel and Susan as soon as they were out of earshot of the Major.

  “Poor Noel caught it,” said Susan. “And so did the rest of us when we rode on each other’s tails.”

  “What about th
e blowing up I got when I didn’t circle properly?” said John.

  “Didn’t Beauty jump well?” said Susan. “You were awfully good on her, Noel; much better than I am. I know I should have fallen off over those jumps. I think they were enormous, and I don’t care what the Major says.”

  “They didn’t seem so big when you got close to them,” said Noel. “And Beauty was marvellous. I only had to sit there while she did everything, but I’m sorry I held her back too much at the parallel bars.”