A Pony for Jean

by Joanna Cannan

  By this time we had reached the cottage and we went in. It made me very miserable to see Sally’s basket with no one in it. Shadow welcomed me as usual, but he looked rather subdued. Aunt Daphne did not look at all subdued. She was sitting in the drawing-room humming and looking at a catalogue of hats.

  I asked her, ‘Which wood were you in?’

  ‘What does the child mean?’ said Aunt Daphne to Mummy.

  ‘Where you lost Sally,’ I explained.

  ‘I didn’t lose her,’ said Aunt Daphne. ‘She ran away after a bunny rabbit, naughty little girl. Don’t worry, darling, she’ll come back all right.’

  ‘Not if she’s caught in a trap or stuck in a rabbit hole or shot by a keeper,’ I said coldly.

  ‘You’ve too much imagination, darling,’ said Aunt Daphne laughing. Yes, she laughed! She didn’t know what a crime it is to lose another person’s dog in the country.

  Then Mummy said that lunch was ready. I don’t know what we had, because I was thinking about Sally, but I know that Aunt Daphne ate a lot – it was all nonsense about her not touching potatoes. I was longing to be off, but she had a second helping and then ‘just a spot more of that delicious salad.’ I fidgeted so much that at last Mummy was merciful and said that I could go if I liked and not bother about pudding.

  I ran out and saddled up Cavalier, and I told him that we were going out to find our darling Sally. He put his head down and nuzzled me, and as soon as we were through the orchard gate he broke into a canter. Though I always tell him everything, I don’t believe that horses understand the actual words you say to them, but they know what you are feeling like, and he knew that I was anxious and in a hurry.

  We cantered over the fields and I looked alternately for rabbit holes and for Sally. When we got to the farm I rode round to the yard and asked Fred, who was loading manure into a cart, if he had seen anything of Sally. He said that he hadn’t, but that he would keep his eye open, and so would George and Dad and Mother and Mr Gammon, the cowman. He said that he supposed Aunt Daphne was a lady from London and that he had never thought much of folks from up that way.

  ‘CAVALIER AND I WENT DOWN THE TRACK’

  Cavalier and I went down the track that leads from the farm into Bottom Wood. I called and whistled as we went. Bottom Wood was looking rather lovely. The big beeches were bare still, but the baby ones that stood among them were green, and in the clearings you could see the new bracken, silver grey and curly, in the tumbled brown of last year’s. There were puddles in the track and there were no clouds, so they were blue.

  Beechwoods are quite good to look for dogs in because there is no undergrowth. None of the messy things that grow in other woods can grow under beeches, and people who live among them never like other woods that are full of brambles, and bushes where things lurk, and caterpillars. We once went to Epping Forest and it was awful. Brambles tripped us up and caterpillars fell off oak trees on our heads. The only people who do not like beechwoods are people who want to have pheasants.

  Cavalier and I went through Bottom Wood whistling and calling. It is a very big wood and it took us about half-an-hour or more to get to the other side. I had never been there before, and I felt quite excited, as you never know what may be waiting for you on the other side of a wood. Actually it was quite dull. There were some fields with pigs in them but no gate, so we turned to our right and rode along a track at the end of the wood till we found a place where the hedge was fairly low and we jumped it. Unfortunately there was a pig lying wallowing in the ditch under the hedge, and it leaped up under Cavalier’s hoofs with a loud squeal, and he shied and I fell off and landed just where the pig had been wallowing.

  I fell off where I usually do, over Cavalier’s shoulder. The ground was quite soft and I wasn’t hurt at all, but my clothes were wet and rather piggy. I was glad to see that Cavalier was standing quite still in the middle of the field, looking silly and embarrassed as ponies do when you fall off them.

  I remounted, and we rode through the pig field and then through a field with nothing in it, and then we came to a large and gloomy wood and there was a gap in the hedge, and two strands of barbed wire stretched across it, and a notice saying ‘Trespassers will be prosecuted.’ I wondered if it was the notice that Aunt Daphne had seen, but she hadn’t said anything about barbed wire so I was doubtful. Then I saw that some way inside the wood there was a patch of bluebells, so I was certain.

  I got off and looked at the barbed wire. It was rusty but good and the posts were quite firm. I wished that I had had the sense to bring wire-nippers, but I hadn’t, so it was no use wishing. I looked at the wire again and saw that it was attached to the posts by staples, and that the wood of the posts was damp and mossy. I took out my knife and opened the tool for boring holes.

  It is a good strong tool and the staples flicked out sweetly one after another. Then I pulled the wire to one side and led Cavalier into the wood where trespassers were prosecuted.

  We rode up to the bluebell patch, whistling and calling. This wasn’t a nice wood like Bottom Wood. There were all sorts of trees, thick ones like yews and hollies, and there were brambles and rhododendrons which I heard afterwards had been planted on purpose as cover for the pheasants by the owner of the wood, who was Lord Highmoor. It seemed an awful place to be lost in, and after I had called and whistled for ages and nothing had happened I began to despair.

  LOOKING FOR SALLY

  I despaired for a bit, and then I thought how silly it was when I hadn’t looked for Sally for more than two hours, so I rode on. The tracks in that wood were all small and brambly and apt to stop, not like the nice big tracks with wheel ruts in Bottom Wood, and several times we had to turn back. After a bit I shouldn’t have known which way round I was except for the sun.

  An hour passed. I couldn’t tell the time by the sun, but I could tell it by my tummy, which said in an uncomfortable way that it was half-past-four, which is tea-time. However, this was no time to think about tea, so we rode on. Suddenly we came out into a ride, and standing in the ride with a gun under his arm was a man who looked like a gamekeeper.

  I rode towards him to ask if he had seen Sally, and he walked towards me. When we were near enough I was just going to begin but he spoke first.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing in this ’ere wood?’ he said crossly. ‘Do you know as you’re trespassing, Miss? This ’ere’s private property. Can’t you read, or what do you think them notice boards is for? Plain enough, ain’t it – trespassers will be prosecuted?’

  He had asked so many questions at once that I couldn’t think which to answer, so I said, ‘Have you seen a small black cocker spaniel bitch, please?’

  He said, ‘No, I ’aven’t. If I ’ad, I’d ’ave given ’er a taste of this ’ere,’ and he patted his gun.

  I said, ‘Oh, please don’t. She wasn’t hunting or anything. And it wasn’t our fault. My aunt from London took her out for a walk and lost her in this wood and I’m looking for her.’

  ‘That may be so,’ said the gamekeeper. ‘But you can’t look for no dogs ’ere. This ’ere’s private property. Trespassers will be prosecuted. By order of ’is lordship, that is, and ’e’s a magistrate. Now you get out of this, Miss, quick sharp, and I means it.’

  ‘What lordship is it?’ I asked him.

  ‘Lord ’Ighmoor,’ said the gamekeeper.

  I tried to look dignified.

  ‘Oh, well, then,’ I said, ‘there’s nothing to bother about. I’ll make it right with his lordship. You needn’t worry, my man.’

  I don’t know whether I did look dignified, but anyhow it worked. The gamekeeper said, ‘Oh, well, if that’s how it is … But I’d be obliged if you’d keep to the paths, Miss.’

  ‘Of course I will,’ I said. ‘I’m not a London person. I know quite well that pheasants mustn’t be disturbed. And would you keep your eye open for a small black cocker spaniel bitch, please?’

  He said he would, and he showed me which way he was going, an
d I rode off in the opposite direction. For ages I rode about that wood whistling and calling. The sun went down and I began to feel cold and awfully hungry, and the only consolation was that I was so far from home that no one could call me to come in before I had found Sally. Cavalier began to get tired, and when I wanted him to hurry, because I knew that it would soon be dark and I should have to go home, he wouldn’t. And, worst of all, my mouth got dryer and dryer until I could hardly whistle.

  I was just thinking that I should have to turn home, and wondering where the bluebell patch and the gap were, when I thought I heard a little noise somewhere to the right of the path that I was following. During that long and awful afternoon I had heard lots of little noises that might have been Sally whining, but had turned out to be trees creaking or cock pheasants calling, and I had seen lots of little black things that might have been Sally lying exhausted, but had turned out to be patches of mud or gaps in the brambles, so that I didn’t feel in the least hopeful, but I noticed that Cavalier had pricked his ears and thrown his head up, so I stopped him and we stood and listened. Everything was quiet for a minute and then the little noise came again, and it really did sound like Sally yapping. It seemed to come from behind some rhododendrons, so I slipped off Cavalier and buckled the reins round the branch of a tree and went crashing through the brambles.

  The rhododendrons were very thick, but I pushed my way through them, and there, on the other side of them was a rickety iron railing running round the top of a chalk quarry. I am an awful coward about heights. I hate places like Beachy Head and I quake when Aunts or Uncles say, ‘Take my hand, dear, and look over,’ so I went very gingerly towards the edge and held on to the railing and called, ‘Sally!’ From far below came a little yap and from behind the rhododendrons Cavalier whinneyed hopefully.

  For a minute I couldn’t think what to do. In books, when things fall down cliffs you run for the coastguard, or you are frightfully brave and climb down, cutting handholds with your clasp knife. I thought of both of those things, but the first was no use because I wasn’t by the sea so there was no coastguard, and the second was no use because I am not frightfully brave but only ordinary. Then I remembered that, of course, there is always a way into quarries where carts go to get the chalk, or whatever it is, at the bottom. I looked over a bit more and could see the way in, though I still couldn’t see Sally.

  I ran back to Cavalier and rode him down through the wood and turned to the right towards the quarry. Soon we struck a path with wheel ruts in it, and in another minute we were in the quarry. I hated going in because I was afraid that I should find Sally bleeding to death or with all her legs broken, but instead of either of those awful sights I saw what for a moment seemed worse – nothing.

  Cavalier stopped of his own accord, and I called, ‘Sally!’ There was a hateful echo and it went on calling, ‘Sally!’

  I heard nothing for a minute except the beastly echo and then I heard another little yap, and I saw her.

  She was on a ledge quite near the bottom of the steepest part of the quarry. It was a horrid little sloping ledge with grass on it and a tiny thorn bush. Sally was dancing about and squirming and wagging her tail at me and I was terrified that she would fall off, so I didn’t call any more but rode up to her. Cavalier had been very good all day, but now he was tiresome. He wouldn’t go sideways up to the cliff, but edged away from it. It took me ages to get him to stand just under the ledge, but at last I managed it. Then I stood in my stirrups and held my arms out and called Sally.

  She danced and wagged her tail and came right to the edge but she wouldn’t jump. Several times she looked as if she was going to, but at the last minute she said, ‘Oh dear, I can’t face it,’ and squirmed away. Then Cavalier got tired of standing and walked off, and I had all the trouble of getting him sideways to the cliff again. Night was falling and I was getting colder every minute, and at last I got cross and shouted, ‘Come here!’ angrily, in Daddy’s voice. Sally jumped at once and I missed her, but I managed to claw the skin of her back as she fell between Cavalier and the cliff. That broke her fall and she slithered quite gently to the ground. I dismounted and picked her up in my arms.

  She was awfully pleased and licked my face all over, but, as I have said before, night was falling, and this was no time for kissing. I held her under my left arm and tried to mount. It was an awful struggle, but Cavalier stood like a rock and at last I managed it.

  I sat back in the saddle and put Sally in front of me. It was terribly uncomfortable; her legs kept slithering on the saddle and I couldn’t hold her with one hand, so I knotted the reins and rode Cavalier with my heels and knees. It wasn’t at all difficult, not because I am a good horsewoman but because Cavalier is so handy. Sometimes I think he must have been trained as a polo pony.

  We rode through the dark wood in what I hoped was the direction of the bluebell patch, but I couldn’t be clever about the way because there was no sun, only one star shining. One of my uncles, who is the sort of person who likes instructing you, had told me a lot about the stars once, but I hadn’t listened, and I must say, as time passed and still we didn’t come to the bluebell patch, I was sorry. Other stars came out and I suppose my instructive uncle could have found his way quite easily, but they looked a muddle to me, and presently I had to admit to myself that I was alone and lost in that huge dark wood.

  I said, ‘Go home,’ to Cavalier, and stopped guiding him with my knees. If he had been a pony in a book he would have taken me home, of course, but, being a real pony, he just stood still and began to eat brambles. I rode on, and suddenly I saw that there were no more trees ahead of me but rising ground with dark shapes on it, which must be gorse bushes, and above the ridge the sky, blazing with stars. I rode towards the ridge and then I saw a broad beam of light swinging over it, and I knew that the light was a car’s headlamps, and that I was coming out on the high road where it crosses the common on the cousins’ side of the village of Hedgers Green.

  When we reached the road and all our adventures were over, Cavalier suddenly made up his mind to be helpful. He swung round to the right and set off at a brisk trot before I could stop him. I nearly fell off when he swerved, and then I grabbed at the reins and nearly dropped Sally. The car, which was coming towards me, stopped and a man jumped out and shouted ‘Whoa,’ and ‘Steady.’ I thought he might be a bandit or a kidnapper until I saw by the light of the headlamps that it was only Daddy.

  ‘Hullo,’ I said. ‘I’ve found Sally.’

  Grown-ups are funny. He didn’t say anything about Sally. He said, ‘Oh, Jean, you did give us a fright. We’ve all been out looking for you.’

  ‘What on earth for?’ I said. ‘Mummy knew that I was looking for Sally.’

  ‘We thought you might have had a fall,’ he said. ‘The pony might have put his foot into a rabbit hole. Give me that dog and I’ll go on ahead and tell your mother.’

  He put Sally into the car and drove on. It was lovely not having her slithering about on the saddle. We walked down the hill and then we clattered like a troop of Prince Rupert’s Horse through the silent village.

  When we got to the cottage, Daddy and Mummy rushed out and helped me unsaddle. They said that I ought to have come back before it got dark, but I explained that that was when I found Sally. I told them about the ledge and they agreed with me that she must have fallen from the top and that she might have starved to death there.

  I ate an enormous supper of eggs and bacon. When I said good-night to Daddy, he said, ‘Well, you’re a persevering little bloke, anyhow.’ I felt pleased with that because he generally says that I am an idiot. When I said good-night to Aunt Daphne she said, ‘I’m sorry I lost the dog, but I really didn’t know you were such fusspots.’ When I said good-night to Shadow he gave me a paw and said, ‘But for you, I should have been a lonely widower.’ When I said good-night to Sally she said nothing, but snored in her basket.

  Mummy said the best thing of all. She said that tomorrow I needn’t go to
Miss Pringle.

  ‘TRAINED AS A POLO PONY’

  VI

  WHEN Aunt Daphne had gone back to London, we began to think about the Easter Holidays. I don’t believe that I was looking forward to them much that year. It would be nice, of course, to have no lessons but, on the other hand, Miss Pringle wasn’t bad, and holidays for me meant holidays for the cousins and Pony Club rallies and being a ‘little one’ with Rosemary. I must say I spent a lot of time dreading the Pony Club rallies, which was silly of me, because who can tell what the future may hold?

  The future held German measles. Nobody knew how I got them. Daddy said I got them buying Easter eggs for the dogs in Melchester; and Mummy said I got them the day that he took the car when she wanted it, and I had to go in to the dentist by the country bus. Miss Pringle said that I got it giving some undeserving village children rides on Cavalier; and Mrs Beazley said that I got it from leaving my combinations off before the end of May. Anyhow, I went to bed for a few days, which was annoying, because some chicks hatched out and I couldn’t see them, and then I got up and was allowed out, but not near other children.

  It is rather nice to feel quite well and yet to be infectious. The cousins never came near me, and when Mrs Jones came to call in white kid gloves and asked if I would go to tea with Rosemary, Mummy didn’t have to invent an excuse; she just said that I had German measles and Mrs Jones rushed out of the drawing-room and leaped into her car and drove away at fifty. I spent the time making jumps and whitewashing them. I made a stile, and I made a bush jump with some gorse that Mr Perks kindly cut for me on the common, and I made my old jump into a proper adjustable bar. I also made a wall out of an old chicken-house door, which was lying about, and some wall paper, imitating bathroom tiles, which I found in the attic cupboard. I am not a very good carpenter and the stile used to fall down a good deal, but one day when Fred Higgins came with Cavalier’s straw he put it up with some long nails that he kept with a lot of other useful things in his pockets, and after that I never had any more trouble with it until that idiot Rosemary came to tea and tried to climb over it and broke the bar.