Pony Club Challenge (Woodbury Pony Club Book 2)

by Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  “Of course she has friends, but you are the one who lives very near and it is natural that you should ride over to Garland Farm together,” said Mrs Franklin, who was wearing her pink sari.

  “It’s no use, Jupe,” said Hanif, dodging a cowkick and then a crocodile snap, “all this ancient mud has to come off. I’ve given in to you for far too long, but now I’m more frightened of Mrs Rooke’s glares and David’s piercing blue eyes than I am of you.”

  “The brush is too stiff, you are hurting him,” protested Mrs Franklin. “Why do you not wash it off?”

  “The Pony Club Manual says you remove mud with a dandy-brush,” argued Hanif, “but Jupe thinks that’s nothing less than torture, so I am using a body-brush and my hand. There, now don’t lie down in a muddy part of the field tonight or you’ll have to go through all that agony again tomorrow,” he lectured the powerful liver-chestnut pony.

  “And now you have finished grooming you will ring Alice?” asked Mrs Franklin. “I think she will be very hurt if you do not and it is the cheap time.”

  “Oh, don’t bully, Mum,” answered Hanif, putting his grooming tools away in their box. His stepfather was a great believer in tidiness. “If Alice wants me around she’ll get in touch.”

  “I think you are being proud,” said Mrs Franklin, but at that moment the telephone began to ring and Hanif raced towards the back door without answering.

  “Are you going to the rally tomorrow?” Alice asked.

  “Of course, I was going to ring you,” Hanif lied. “We’d better start early. Jupe is disgracefully fat.”

  “So’s Saffy, even his skinny neck. I don’t think he’ll be able to stargaze.”

  “Jupe still twirls, but at a slower speed.”

  “Nine o’clock, here then?” asked Alice, who had observed Aunt Margaret hovering in the hall and thinking of her telephone bill.

  “Great,” said Hanif. He put the receiver back and stood feeling pleased. Alice was still a friend. He was fond of the other Woodbury members, but, like his stepfather, they all seemed very English. Alice was different. With her brownish skin, rich golden hair and dark blue eyes, she could be Scandinavian, he told himself. He approved of her straight nose, big mouth and decided expression, and then she’d lived abroad and travelled a lot, as he had. And having no parents at all was far worse than having to cope with a stepfather.

  At Garland Farm, Lynne and Paul Roberts looked despondently at the broken-down jumps in Long Meadow. Living in the cottage and with their father running the farm for David Lumley, they felt a certain responsibility for the success of the pony club rallies, and no one else seemed to be doing anything about this one.

  “I know my practising hasn’t exactly improved them,” said Lynne, straightening the pig trough which filled in under a heavy pole on two oil drums, “but they never were very exciting jumps. I did hope we’d have one or two new ones for the summer.”

  “Dad and David have no time for the pony club,” sighed Paul, who was small and dark with a neat, serious face and grey eyes. “First it was the hay, now it’s the barley. Then it’ll be the wheat and then they’ll start ploughing. Since David got his specially adapted tractor he’s only interested in farming.”

  “Well, it is his work now,” Lynne pointed out. “The pony club’s only his hobby.” She was a year older than Paul, much larger and quite different. Her wavy, light-brown hair stuck out from her plump, cheerful face and when she laughed, which was most of the time, her hazel-coloured eyes disappeared into the plumpness and became slits. “Anyway, now we’ve got a student to help Dad, David won’t be so busy.”

  “Dad says Gary’ll never make a farmer,” said Paul as he kicked a broken straw bale into the hedge. “Give us a hand with this pole, Lynne, it’s one of the green ones and still weighs a ton. Then I’d better fetch some tools and mend the cavaletti you and Berry broke, David’s sure to want it tomorrow.”

  2

  The Challenge

  They hadn’t changed, thought Alice contentedly as she watched the pony club members gathering in the farmyard, shadowed by the great Dutch barns. Harry had dismounted to stop Jupiter’s twirling, and was rumpling his curly, blue-black hair as he listened to Netti’s account of his dropped noseband’s life since it had been loaned to Rupert. Paul and Lynne were discussing the urgent need for new jumps with Julia Cartwright, the junior instructor with a pony-tail hairstyle and a nice smile. Tina Spencer, small, reddish-haired and freckled, was stroking Oliver’s Hobbit and telling a worried-looking Lizzie that she didn’t mind being the only dismounted member.

  Then Rupert Wheeler, his blue shirt hanging out of his breeches, his cap on the back of his head and his long legs encased in a pair of hastily washed and very smeary boots, rode up and, sitting loosely on light bay, mealy-nosed Rosie, began to tease James.

  “Must you be quite so clean and shiny?” he asked. “You make the rest of us look even worse than we are. Couldn’t you rub a little mud on your stirrups or let Ferdie have a few mouthfuls of hedge?”

  “I don’t think we need worry, he’s so shiny he’ll dazzle the instructors,” decided Netti. “One look at James and they won’t see the rest of us, they’ll be blinking for the next ten minutes.”

  “It’s my mother,” explained James, his heavy face staying solemn. “She’s got a thing about washing and grooming and polishing, so it’s all done for me; it’s a bit embarrassing really.”

  “I wish my mother was like that, but no such luck,” complained Oliver. “I’d love to get up and find my pony groomed, my tack shining, and even stingy Janet Green giving me ten for inspection.”

  “Julia says that so many new members are joining that we may have to have three rides next week,” Paul told them. “She’s going to take the D-plus lot and Janet the real Ds.”

  “Great,” said Oliver. “I’ve had enough of being lumped in a ride with people of six.”

  James groaned. “We don’t want any more younger ones, we want some older people with good horses so that we can make up some decent teams.”

  “Here’s Mrs Rooke, quite late for her,” said Lynne, who was longing for someone to remark on the shining state of Berry’s red-roan coat.

  “And the rest of the Rookery coming up the lane behind her,” announced Rupert, standing in his stirrups. “They’re actually riding together!”

  “Bowie’s a bit silly in traffic,” Tina told him, “so Mrs Rooke said Lesley had to ride outside him. I do it when I ride Chess, but Julian’s not experienced enough.”

  They all gathered round to inspect Bowie.

  “He’s lovely, Sarah. You are lucky.”

  “Terribly well-bred and good-looking.”

  “He’s a bit spindly-legged. Does he jump?”

  “Of course he jumps. You don’t think we’d go and buy a pony that couldn’t jump, do you? We’re not that stupid. He’s won a lot.”

  “He’s been bought so that she can be in the Woodbury showjumping team,” sneered Lesley, who hated the way her mother pushed Sarah forward.

  “Here’s David,” said Alice, as he drove his specially adapted Land Rover into the yard.

  “Good morning, all,” said David, opening the Land Rover door to get a better look at the waiting riders. “Those ponies have put on a lot of weight.”

  He looked the same, thought Alice, except that his tanned face made him seem healthier. Dressed in jeans and a blue checked shirt, his thin, wiry body was still broken and twisted, his useless arm hung limply at his side. But his hair was nice—brown, thick and vaguely curly—and his bright blue eyes looked out of a face that was drawn and seemed older than the rest of him. He isn’t any better, thought Alice sadly. Though everyone had said last holidays that he wasn’t going to improve, she had hoped for a miracle on his behalf.

  David was looking at the milling ponies. “Could we have the D ride in the paddock, please,” he called. “Oliver, you lead the way.”

  “Tina, will you be my assistant?” asked Julia. “I’ve go
t one or two tricky ones I’d like you to ride.”

  Tina ran off delightedly, and as the Ds moved out of the way, everyone else mounted and rode into Long Meadow.

  “He hasn’t even noticed Bowie,” complained Sarah.

  “Oh yes he has. Those piercing blue eyes notice everything,” Hanif told her. “He’s reserving judgement until he’s seen you in action.”

  Sarah forced her way into the line of ponies, behind Jupiter and ahead of the two older Wheelers and her sister. Lizzie was too polite to object, but Rupert said, “Here, stop shoving.”

  “I’m not going at the back with the little ponies any more,” Sarah told him firmly.

  “Your pony may be bigger than Tristram but he’s still smaller than Stardust and Ra,” Rupert said accusingly.

  “Can I have your attention, please?” David had parked the Land Rover in the centre of the school, climbed down, settled himself on his shooting stick and was studying each rider and pony in turn.

  “First of all, we’ll run through the schooling we did last holidays and see how much of it has stuck. The ponies are all looking very well, though on the fat side. The ones which haven’t been ridden at all during the term will be very unfit, and we must be careful not to overdo them. No galloping for at least a week and then only for a very short distance. And watch out for girth galls. These string-type nylon girths are a great help, but it’s a good idea to bathe the girth area with salt and water or dab on surgical spirit—they both act as a preventative. You can also pull each foreleg out in turn after you’ve girthed up. This ensures that there are no folds of skin trapped under the girth.”

  Alice, who was the only member who hadn’t ridden at all during the holidays, asked, “Can I stop and check Saffy’s girth? He’s terribly fat and podgy.”

  “Yes, come into the centre. Now, are the rest of you overtracking? I know it’s a warm day but that’s no reason for riding without impulsion. Remember that when you’re on your pony you ride forward the whole time. If your legs need a rest, stop and get off. Beginners should be passive riders, but you’re past that stage. You have to ride every stride.”

  There was a good deal of leaning over and peering down to make sure that the ponies’ hind hoofs were at least stepping up to the print left by the forefoot on the same side.

  Then they trotted, circling and serpentining with David giving angry roars at those who let their ponies look the wrong way. Alice was pleased with Saffron. He hadn’t forgotten anything he had learned at Easter, and it seemed much easier to keep him on the bit and prevent him stargazing. She took a quick look back at Hanif. He seemed quite cool and calm, and Jupiter was trotting steadily and making no attempt to run away, as he had at the first rally last holidays.

  We’ve stayed improved, thought Alice triumphantly, as they changed the rein and serpentined again. What David used to call “the lunatic ponies” are behaving quite normally.

  But when David called them to a halt and lined them up in the centre of the school he didn’t seem very satisfied.

  “I know I mustn’t work you too hard, that you and the ponies are unfit,” he began, “but when you’re riding at the sitting trot very few of you are sitting deep enough. Remember that to produce impulsion you have to influence the hindlegs. At the slower paces you sit deep, drive the hindlegs under the body. Sarah, you are trying to pull your pony’s nose in with the reins because you think that makes him look right, but you’re actually preventing him using his hindlegs and coming on the bit. Would you pedal a bicycle with the brakes on?” He turned to look at the second half of the ride. “If you want to go on riding like beginners, fine, sit on top of your saddles and kick away. But, if you want to progress and become active riders, able to influence and school your ponies, you have to learn to give the correct aids and to sit deep.”

  He turned back to James. “Come over here and demonstrate, please. James. I think you’re riding a bit short for schooling,” David went on. “It’s more than likely that you’ve grown. Has that occurred to you? Have you checked your stirrup lengths lately?”

  “No,” James admitted, hanging his legs down. “You’re right, I have grown. I think they’d better go down two.”

  All the other riders began to check their stirrup lengths guiltily and there was a good deal of letting down.

  “Now,” said David. “We want a rider who is tall above the saddle and tall below, sitting in the centre of the saddle, not the back, and not with the stirrups so long that he or she tips forward with a weak ‘fork’ seat.” He made James demonstrate both the incorrect seats and then the right one again. “Now, Netti and Paul, you come and show us, please.”

  Netti, sitting tall and elegant on grey, Welsh Tristram, was told, “Good, you’ve got it.” But Paul was criticized for sitting on top of his saddle and told to lower his knees, straighten his back and grow.

  “Right, cross your stirrups,” said David, turning back to the ride, “and we’ll try to give you the correct feeling.”

  “Oh, David, must I?” wailed Lynne. “You know what Berry’s trot is like.”

  “You can go round a couple of times,” David told her. “Hold on to the pommel of the saddle, pull yourself down, try to relax and sit deep.”

  They trotted on slowly. Lizzie, struggling to influence sturdy, dark chestnut Rajah, was told that she was trying too hard, that her knees were too low and she was sitting with a fork seat.

  “If you feel weak and ineffectual you’re not sitting correctly,” David told them. “You should feel tall, proud and in control. I’m trying to teach you to recognize the right feeling for yourselves. A good rider isn’t someone who needs an instructor bawling at him or her the whole time, it’s someone who’s learned to see and feel and so knows what he or she is doing. Relax, Harry, hold on to the pommel. Go on, experiment, don’t just sit there grinning and bearing it. I think you’re still gripping. Relax, let the forces of gravity hold you down.”

  Alice was pleased. Last holidays she hadn’t been allowed to sit to the trot, because whenever she did, Saffron had stiffened his back and stargazed, but now he was jogging along with his head quite low and didn’t feel in the least worried.

  David was roaring at Sarah to sit deep, but, like Paul, she had discovered that it was comfortable if you kept your knees high and gripped hard, and she wasn’t going to try any other position, whatever David said.

  Rupert’s long legs were dangling satisfactorily. “Good!” David shouted to him. “You’ve got the idea. Sitting correctly won’t have an immediate effect on your mare, because she’s young, she’s got to develop the right muscles, but in time it will.”

  He looked along the line of riders. James and Netti were good. Lesley had the pretty, light chestnut, Stardust, going well. “Good, you’ve got the little mare really working,” he called to her. Lynne was flopping about and giggling. Paul was sitting comfortably, but uselessly, on top of black Banjo, whose sweet-itch was as bad as ever. He ignored them—it was no use wasting breath on people who wouldn’t listen—and called the ride to a walk.

  “Give the ponies a pat, but don’t take back your stirrups. We’re going to do some leg-yielding next, and I want you sitting deep.”

  Everyone groaned. “Remember it’s the first day of the holidays, David; show some pity,” protested Hanif.

  “Yes, and some of us haven’t ridden for three months,” added Alice.

  “I’m about to launch the Society for the Protection of Pony Club Members,” announced Rupert. “The SPPCM will only permit riding without stirrups for one minute per rally, and there will be inspectors with stopwatches at all rallies to make sure the rule is enforced.”

  “Good idea,” agreed Paul. “And there’ll have to be at least an hour’s showjumping.”

  “Compulsory cross-country,” shrieked Netti.

  “Trotting races,” demanded Lynne.

  “The DCs and Instructors would soon resign,” observed Hanif. “They don’t enjoy teaching unless they torture us a bit
.”

  “I’m not torturing, I’m stretching you,” David told him. “It’s an effort to use muscles you’ve never used before, and most people won’t make the effort unless someone roars insults at them. Once you’ve been shown what you can do, then it’s up to you whether you make use of the knowledge or not. Now we’re going to divide into two rides.” He limped over to the Land Rover. “We’ll have James, Alice, Harry, Rupert and Lizzie in one, and Lesley will lead the other. Two circles, each using half the school, please.”

  “He said I was to lead,” Lesley snapped at her sister.

  “I’m not deaf and there’s no need to push and shove,” Sarah snarled back.

  “Yes there is, with you about,” answered Lesley, taking the lead.

  “We’ll begin by making the circles smaller using only your outside aids,” said David. “Outside rein and leg,” he repeated. “Any fool can make a circle smaller by pulling on the inside rein. Good, that’s small enough. Now make them larger, using the inside aids. Ask the pony to move away from your inside leg. Very gradually, Paul, I don’t want to see your aids. Sit straight, Lizzie.” David was looking from one circle to the other. “O.K. Now do it again, slowly. Good. You’ve all remembered that. Now, can you remember leg-yielding?”

  “Yes, of course we can.”

  “We practised on the way here.”

  “Even Rosie’s remembered it,” said Rupert proudly. “Look at this!”

  David was limping about the centre of the school, trying to watch both rides at once. “Look up, Lizzie. Sarah, use gentle aids. Explain what you want; don’t be impatient with that pony, he may not have leg-yielded before.”

  “He jolly well ought to know how; he cost enough and he’s supposed to be well-schooled,” stormed Sarah, giving the bay pony a sharp kick.

  “Right, James’s lot can stop and have a rest,” said David. “You keep going, Lesley.”