Six Ponies

by Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  Major Holbrooke, his cousin, Colonel Shelbourne, and the three judges, Lady Wrench, Captain Barton, and Sir William Blount, stood in the middle of the ring looking critically at the competitors. The spectators hurried to the ringside, interested to see the fruits of the horse-breakers’ labours, and the gymkhana had really begun.

  Good gracious, thought Mrs. Cresswell, some of them have come on. June must be careful, and she felt quite ill as she saw how unwillingly Grey Dawn was going.

  “Doesn’t Rocket look lovely?” said James Radcliffe.

  “Much the nicest pony there,” agreed Margaret.

  “There’s Romany,” said Evelyn. “She looks quite different. I’m sure she’s grown. But why is Noel hanging back like that? She ought to be in the lead. Wait for the others to come round again,” she shouted to Noel as she passed. “You must take the lead.”

  “O.K.,” said Noel, pulling Romany up and waiting. June was annoyed when she saw what Noel was doing, though actually it was to her advantage, for Dawn was nappy and followed better than she led. Once Romany was in the lead she settled down and walked out with her longest stride, peeping coyly at the judges to see if they were admiring her. When the order to trot was given, Noel was filled with alarm. She began to wish that she hadn’t taken the lead; she felt sure that she would do something silly; then she remembered Romany. She used her legs and felt the curb rein.

  Jet was going well, thought John. Of course he hadn’t a chance, because she didn’t collect, but he felt sure that the Major would be pleased with her, and that, after all, was the main thing.

  “Canter on,” said one of the judges. All the competitors remembered the diagonal aids, and all the ponies, except Rufus, who had never been taught, remembered what they meant. Suddenly the people at the back of the line found themselves overtaking the ones in front. Romany and Grey Dawn cantered too slowly for the rest of them. Rufus put his head down and started to pull—he galloped, passed everyone, and took the lead. John, Hilary, and Susan passed Noel and June. Soon they were told to walk, and then they were all called into the centre. They lined up in no particular order, though June was careful to put herself at the top. Noel was between Susan and Hilary.

  “I got Sunset on the right leg,” Susan told her joyfully. “She was going awfully well. How did you get on?”

  “Not too badly,” said Noel. “Romany was rather excited at first, but she’s calmed down now.”

  “One can hardly recognise her,” said Hilary from the other side. “She’s much taller and not nearly so weedy. I’ve never seen her in a double bridle before; it suits her.”

  “Aren’t my plaits awful?” said Noel as Captain Barton came up to ask June to give a show. Now I’ll surprise them, thought June. So far she hadn’t paid much attention to the other competitors, but she felt quite sure that they had made complete fools of themselves as usual, and, full of confidence, she gave Grey Dawn a kick and rode out from the line. Grey Dawn wanted to be nappy. She edged towards the other ponies, but June kicked her into a canter, and saying angrily, “Come on, you stupid, lazy animal,” rode a figure of eight. Though Dawn dropped her nose and flexed her lower jaw, she did it without energy or impulsion. Her hocks trailed out behind her, and when June gave her the aid to change legs she only changed in front.

  “Disunited!” said Noel in surprise.

  “What?” said Hilary.

  “Is she?” asked Susan, both at once.

  “I think so,” said Noel, overcome with embarrassment on finding that she had spoken aloud. June pulled up and backed.

  “Her head’s too low,” said Susan of Grey Dawn.

  “Yes,” said Hilary. “I believe it is. In fact she looks over-bent to me.” John, who was next in the line, wracked his brain for an original show. Richard hit Rufus, who was trying to graze.

  “What is she trying to do now?” asked Hilary as Grey Dawn ran backwards across the ring.

  “A turn on the haunches, I think,” said Noel. “They should never be attempted by beginners,” she added with a grin at Susan.

  “Well, it doesn’t look much like one,” said Susan. “Not that I shall do any better.” June finished her show by riding passes at the walk, trot and canter, but, because Grey Dawn was behind the bit, her quarters were inclined to lead her forehand, which, of course, spoiled them completely.

  “Next, please,” shouted Captain Barton as June cantered back to her place.

  “Gosh, it’s me,” said John, riding forward.

  “Good luck,” said Susan. John gave a watery grin as he trotted off. He cantered a circle to either hand, pulling up to change legs in the middle. He back-reined, turned on the forehand, dismounted and mounted. Jet stood perfectly, and finally jumped the brush fence very neatly.

  “That was jolly good,” said Hilary in a surprised voice, and she tried to think of some more things for Rocket to do. Richard was supposed to follow John, but Rufus didn’t want to leave the other ponies, and each time Richard got him away he charged back with his mouth open and his head down. Richard’s face became red with rage and exertion as he tugged at the reins and kicked furiously, well aware that he was being made to look a complete fool, a disaster he dreaded nearly as much as Mrs. Cresswell. But he was unable to get Rufus under control, and after a few minutes Sir William waved to him to stop, and called for the next person. Richard’s feelings can be imagined, and while the other competitors gave their shows, he sat slumped in the saddle, feeling himself a target for hundreds of scornful eyes and trying to think of excuses.

  Susan, who followed Richard, started badly. Flustered, because she was called sooner than she had expected, she gave Sunset a terrific kick. Sunset leaped forward into a canter. Susan looked for the leading leg and cantered a circle on it, then she pulled up to canter on the other leg. Unfortunately, Sunset didn’t change, and, worse still, she didn’t notice that she hadn’t, but cantered gaily round until Noel shouted to her as she passed, then she pulled up and started again. Afterwards she turned on the forehand and backed. Now it was Noel’s turn. As she had watched the other horse-breakers’ shows, she gradually became sure that hers was too difficult. Considering the mistakes each person was making, she felt that it was conceited of her to suppose that she could possibly accomplish the show that she had mapped out. “You’ve bitten off more than you can chew,” she told herself. But it was too late to make any alterations. Captain Barton had called her for the third time. Suddenly her needle, which had been growing worse each moment, disappeared; she rode forward at the extended walk, changed to the collected walk, then the collected trot. She cantered a figure of eight, Romany made a perfect flying change. Noel patted her, overjoyed, for this was where she had feared a mistake. Pulling up, she back-reined, and rode full passes at the walk to either side, and half-passes at the walk, trot and canter. Romany’s collection was effortless, and it was obvious to everyone that she and Noel were in perfect time. As they cantered back to their place, there was scattered applause from the few onlookers who had been interested enough to come before lunch. Hilary, the only competitor left to give a show, had felt fairly confident of success until she had seen Noel’s performance. Now this was shattered. She trotted out from the end of the line, feeling sure that, however well Rocket went, she could only be second. She walked a circle, cantered a figure of eight, pulling up to change legs; she turned on the forehand, back-reined, and started straight off into a canter. To finish, she jumped the stile.

  “Jolly good,” said Susan as Hilary came back to her place.

  “Thank goodness it’s over,” said Hilary. “I think Noel’s got it, don’t you?”

  “Me?” said Noel in surprise. “Of course not. You, John, June, I should think.”

  “I do wish they’d hurry up,” said Susan.

  “I believe they keep us in suspense on purpose,” said Hilary. “Perhaps they think it’s good for our characters.”

  “I can’t imagine what Noel’s done to her,” said Evelyn, of Romany, to her family.
“She looks quite different—almost like a show pony. Honestly, I can hardly believe my eyes.”

  “She goes just like one of Major Holbrooke’s horses,” said Margaret. “But I’m sure Noel can’t have schooled her. I’m positive she’s been helped.”

  “Marga,” said Roger, “you’ll be saying that it’s not fair next.”

  “I shan’t,” said Margaret. “But it does look fishy, doesn’t it, Evelyn?”

  “Shut up,” said Evelyn crossly.

  “Why should I?” asked Margaret. “Surely a person can speak if they want to.”

  “Not on such controversial matters in public—it’s tactless,” said Roger.

  Mrs. Cresswell stood by her car at the ringside, twisting her fingers together in suspense. In her heart she knew that June had lost, but it was too late now to do anything—too late to avert the disaster that was upon them. The things that might have made a difference flitted through her mind in an endless, mournful procession. But the horrid fact remained: the only thing now that could make the judges award June the coveted first prize would be force of habit. As she watched Noel, Hilary, and John lined up, Mrs. Cresswell felt furious. It was only spite, she thought, that had urged them to improve their riding. They had all been determined to make June look a fool, and as the steward crossed the ring with the rosettes, she hoped that they were satisfied.

  No one was more surprised than Noel herself when Lady Wrench handed her the red rosette.

  “Gosh,” she said, “is this for me?” And when she was told that it was, “Thanks awfully.” As Hilary was given the blue rosette and John the yellow, it gradually dawned on Noel that she had won the best trained of the New Forest ponies’ class, she who had been afraid to ask for a pony and had certainly never dared to hope that Romany would even be third. But what had happened to June? she wondered. It was absurd that she, Noel, who a year ago had been falling off Topsy every time she swerved, should be placed above June. The fact of the matter was, she supposed, that there was something about Romany which made her easier to school; she had better natural balance, perhaps, and it wouldn’t have mattered who had schooled her—except Richard, of course—she would still have won.

  “Well done, you three,” said Major Holbrooke when Lady Wrench had finished presenting the rosettes. “I’m very pleased with you, especially Noel.” Noel blushed furiously—the Major had never said anything so complimentary before—and patted Romany to hide her confusion.

  “This is my cousin, Colonel Shelbourne,” the Major added, and, pushing him forward, “Go on, Harry, say something.” Cousin Harry, who was a stupid, kindly looking man, in spite of his soldierly figure and walrus moustache, seemed rather nervous. “By jove,” he began, and the Pony Club members hastily riveted their attention on their ponies’ ears and tried not to giggle. “You’ve done wonders, all of you. If every child’s pony was as well trained as these, we’d have a great many better child riders. I don’t know all the ins and outs of schooling myself, but I do know a well-schooled pony when I see one, and I’ve seen three to-day. I hope that you will never forget the lessons which you have learned from these ponies and my cousin, and that you will all break and school many more ponies and horses just as successfully.” The Colonel mopped his brow as he finished speaking, and, turning to Major Holbrooke, said, “ ’Fraid I’m not much of an orator, George, but I hope that will do.”

  “Yes, Harry,” said Major Holbrooke. “It was an excellent speech; you covered everything, and now I am sure that the children would like me to thank you for giving us this opportunity by entrusting us with your ponies.”

  “Yes, rather,” said Hilary and Susan.

  “Gosh, yes,” said John.

  “Thanks awfully,” said Noel. Richard and June didn’t say anything. Neither of them ever wanted to see a New Forest pony again, and they felt that the only thing they could thank Cousin Harry for was the humiliation that was upon them.

  “Well, I think that’s everything,” said Major Holbrooke, “so perhaps we could go on to the next event.”

  Noel led the canter round the ring and Romany, who seemed to know that everyone was looking at her, went beautifully. Her gay carriage and shining skewbald coat earned her extra applause from the fast-growing groups of spectators. Once out of the ring, all the horse-breakers, except Noel, hastily mounted their own ponies, for the next event was the showing class for ponies under 14.2 ridden by children under fourteen years.

  “I’m determined not to go on the wrong leg this time,” Susan told Noel as they waited in the collecting ring. “I let Sunset down, but I mustn’t do the same to Beauty.”

  “It might have happened to any one,” said Noel, who was entering Romany in the showing for fun. “And, if you ask me,” she went on, “winning is mostly luck. Look what a fluke it was Romany getting first! Rocket and Jet, if not Sunset and Grey Dawn, must be better schooled than she is.”

  “That’s rot,” said John, who was beside them on Turpin. “Any one could see that she was the best-schooled pony in the class. I heard Mrs. Cresswell telling Mrs. Holbrooke,” he went on, “that she had allowed June to hot Dawn up too much, because she had thought the ponies were to be children’s mounts, and that she hardly thought Romany would be suitable.”

  “And didn’t June look furious?” said Susan. “I’m sure she expected to win.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Noel, “I shall be unpopular. Do you think it was really unfair?”

  “Of course not,” said John.

  “Will class two come into the ring at once, please, instead of gossiping?” shouted the collecting steward.

  “Gosh,” said Noel, “where’s June? She always leads.”

  “Go on, Noel, you idiot,” shouted Evelyn from behind—she was showing Northwind. Collecting her scattered wits, Noel rode into the ring, but before she had gone far Captain Barton began to shout and wave his arms.

  “What did you say?” Noel shouted back.

  “Go round to the right,” he shouted again.

  “Which way?” asked Noel stupidly, wondering what on earth he was talking about.

  “The opposite way, you idiot,” said Evelyn. Behind, half the competitors had turned round and were going the other way. Pixie and Martin Minton’s pony, Sir Galahad, were having a kicking match.

  “Change the rein, Noel,” shouted Major Holbrooke. “She doesn’t know her right from left, Julian,” he told Captain Barton.

  “Really, Holbrooke,” said Sir William, “I do think you might teach the Pony Club members that before allowing them to embark on the finer points of equitation.”

  “My dear man,” said Major Holbrooke, “I’ve tried and failed. If you’d like to take her on you’re welcome. But, personally, I’d rather teach a cart-horse haute école.”

  Noel was feeling very depressed. Oh, dear, she thought, I am stupid. Of course one always goes round this way in a showing class. Why did that beast Evelyn make me lead? She might have known that I would only do something silly.

  “Wake up, Noel,” said Evelyn’s voice. “He said trot on.”

  The judges soon collected a long back row, and when there were only seven competitors left cantering round, they called them in and told them to line up.

  “Is this the back row?” Noel asked Richard, who was beside her.

  “Of course not,” he said. “Use your eyes. Can’t you see that June’s here?”

  “Oh,” said Noel, squashed, but still wondering what stroke of fate or fortune had got her there. Perhaps the judges hadn’t noticed her, or, horrid thought, perhaps they had told her to go to the back row ages ago and she hadn’t heard. She looked wildly round; she might be able to get there without any one noticing. She started to turn Romany, but the Major had seen her indecisive backward glances. “Stay where you are, Noel,” he said.

  June and Golden Wonder gave an excellent show, and Susan, who followed them, changed legs perfectly. Charles French, who was riding Mrs. Maxton’s Billy Boy, and Felicity Rate on Tinker, were both
hopeless. No one could understand what they were trying to do. Mary Compton’s weak seat spoiled Blackbird’s chance as usual; and then it was Noel’s turn. Once more she rode a figure of eight, passes, and back-reined; once more Romany behaved beautifully.