Pony Club Challenge (Woodbury Pony Club Book 2)

by Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  James’s ride dismounted gratefully. Rupert, pretending that his legs wouldn’t hold him, collapsed to the ground.

  “Weakling,” said Hanif, prodding him with his whip.

  “You’ve got the longest legs, you ought to find it easy,” Alice told him.

  “But Rosie’s the youngest and least educated pony; even David admits that,” Rupert pointed out.

  “I wish we could get on and do something new,” grumbled James. “I hate going over and over the things we know already.”

  “That’s because Ferdie’s well-schooled,” Lizzie told him. “The rest of us are teaching our ponies as we go along; we’re bound to take longer.”

  “Bowie looks well-schooled, but he doesn’t seem very happy,” observed Alice, who was watching the other ride.

  “He’d better be good,” said Rupert. “They are expecting to decorate every room in the Rookery with his rosettes.”

  “His ears keep flashing back, but perhaps he prefers jumping,” suggested Hanif.

  “He’d be too well-bred for us,” said Lizzie. “I’m sure he couldn’t sleep out in the winter.”

  “No, he looks too flimsy and fragile, the sort of pony that would melt in the sun or be washed away by the rain,” agreed Rupert.

  “Stardust’s looking very supple,” observed Lizzie, watching the pretty, white-socked chestnut admiringly. “I wish Ra went like that.”

  “And Lynne’s not trying at all,” said Alice disapprovingly. “I’m sure Berry could leg-yield a bit.”

  But David’s cries of, “Sit up, feel the inside rein, turn her head in a little. Now, push the quarters out, but keep going on the same circle,” were given in vain. Giggling and shrieking, Lynne charged about the centre of the school.

  “All right, take back your stirrups and pull them up for jumping.” said David wearily. “Next time everyone who’s mastered leg-yielding can go on to shoulder-in.”

  “At last,” said Paul, pulling up his stirrups.

  “I wish we could start shoulder-in today,” snapped Lesley, who didn’t really like jumping.

  “We’re going to do some cantering before we jump,” David told them. “As you know, I don’t believe in slowing the canter too soon. Some of our ponies are too green, and not many of our riders are sitting deep enough for a school canter. If we try to force it, you’ll all be holding the ponies back with the reins and they’ll go behind the bit. So we’ll stick with the cross-country canter for the moment; in your stirrups, riding forward, lots of impulsion.”

  They cantered fairly sedately at first, until David called to James to enlarge the school and then go fast down the long sides and slowly along the short ones. They flew round, most of the riders and ponies enjoying themselves, though Bowie was becoming excited, and Sarah was yelling, “Steady, Bowie, steady!” in a far from calming voice.

  “Ride forward,” David shouted to her. “Remember that you can only control lively ponies by riding forward. Come on, Sarah, use your legs, put him on the bit. You’re not on Chess now.”

  “I know I’m not on Chess. I’d be dead stupid if I didn’t,” said Sarah as loudly as she dared. David pretended not to hear.

  After the cantering, they trotted over the cavaletti five or six times and then they started jumping. “Straight round the course,” said David. “Keep going smoothly, circle if you get out of control.”

  “I wish we could have the jumps six inches higher,” grumbled James as he warmed up. Circling Ferdie, he set off on a neat, controlled round. Hanif, who was next, also went clear, but Jupiter rushed round treating the fences with contempt; taking off anywhere, he made huge careless leaps.

  “Disgraceful,” said Hanif, riding back with a crestfallen expression. “He’s so arrogant, he thinks he knows everything about showjumping and totally ignores me.”

  “Yes, he’s the sort who breaks your neck over a two foot fence,” agreed David. “And your schooling has to progress a stage further before you can control him. Showjumping demands a better balanced, more obedient horse than the basic cross-country stage we reached at Easter. But even when he’s schooled you’ll have to pick large, solid, well-built courses for Jupiter. These very bold horses despise small, flimsy jumps.”

  Saffron was flying round happily. The three feet fences suited him and Alice. Netti followed her, jumping round with equal ease. Banjo was next. He knew the fences well and jumped them all with his straight up and down, stag-like leaps. They were quite an effort for a pony of his size, but Paul knew exactly how to ride him. He was followed by sober, serious Rajah who peered at each fence cautiously, and Lizzie had to ride hard to get her clear round. Rupert rammed his crash cap on hard and, getting Rosie going at a brisk pace, followed his sister. Mealy nose poked out, and her large toad eyes full of alarm, Rosie took off too late and crashed through the first jump.

  “Sorry, that was only the practice jump,” announced Rupert, circling. “If some kind person would put it up, I’ll start again.”

  “Make sure she’s ‘listening’ to you before you start,” called David. “Impulsion on its own is not enough. Luckily it was a good heavy pole,” he went on, as Lizzie and Netti ran to restore the jump.

  Rosie, rather shaken by her crash, concentrated carefully and jumped a clear round at her second attempt. Rupert rode back patting her enthusiastically. “That reminded her how to take off,” he announced triumphantly.

  “She’s coming on,” agreed David. “She jumps off her forehand, but that’s due to her conformation so we can’t change it. Still, there’ve been quite a few famous horses who jumped the same way, though they’re never very comfortable rides. Luckily, sticking on isn’t one of your problems.”

  “‘His legs are so long and so aptly constructed,’” quoted Netti.

  David looked round at the remaining riders. “Sarah, do you want to go at this height or a bit lower?” he asked.

  “I don’t want them any lower,” snapped Sarah in a rude voice. “Bowie’s a good jumper; he’s won masses of rosettes.”

  “That doesn’t stop you jumping low fences until you’ve got the feel of him,” David pointed out mildly. “Off you go then.”

  Sarah, used to sturdy, sleepy Chess, gave Bowie a sharp kick, and the thin-skinned little bay laid back his ears resentfully. As she turned him for the first jump, Sarah kicked again and this time the pony stopped dead and began to run backwards, napping towards the other ponies.

  “Oh, come on, Sarah, give him a whack.” Mrs Rooke, wearing a beige dress, came hurrying from the paddock where she had been watching Julian. Sarah whacked Bowie hard. He retaliated with a half rear, swung round, reared again and then ran backwards even faster, as Sarah’s kicks thudded against his ribs.

  “Stop kicking!” David roared at her. Then he limped over and spoke quietly. “Look, Sarah, I’ve told you dozens of times that good riders don’t kick and that you should teach your pony to obey a light, invisible aid. When you had Chess you wouldn’t listen and now you’ve bought a sensitive, well-schooled pony who’s used to being given light aids. He’s been schooled by a good rider and he’s far too sensitive to be ridden by a beginner. If you won’t change your ways you’re going to ruin him. He won’t stand for whacking and kicking and general roughness. If you go on like this you’ll have a battle on your hands, and he’ll win.”

  Sarah sat sullen and silent. David turned to the other members. “Could we have those jumps down about six inches, please,” he asked. “I can’t help,” he added with an angry look at his limp arm.

  “Now, Lesley,” David went on when the jumps were ready. “I know Stardust can do the three feet fences, but she doesn’t really enjoy them, so I’d rather see her racing round a lower course and building up her confidence. She’s the opposite of Jupiter.”

  Lesley cantered Stardust round. She was going very smoothly and calmly.

  “Don’t put her to sleep,” called David, “we want a bit more life. Try cantering faster and slower as we did round the school.”
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br />   “You all canter these circles before you start,” David turned back to the other members, “and it looks very professional, but I sometimes wonder if you have any idea what you’re doing. You ought to be checking that your pony’s wide awake, full of impulsion, supple, obedient, on the bit, and not resisting you in any way. You certainly shouldn’t be calming him down to the point where his hindlegs are trailing behind him, as Lesley was. Nor should you canter round and round with a wrong bend as Paul does.”

  Lesley had woken Stardust up and they started full of energy. David called to Sarah, who was cantering a circle, to follow her sister and to sit still and try and learn from her pony. Bowie, seeing his stable companion ahead, set off willingly, and Sarah sat still and let him carry her round.

  “Good,” shouted David. “That was well ridden, Lesley. Sarah, we’ve got to get you using your legs correctly on the flat, then you won’t have any problems jumping. You see, you have to use your legs quietly and every stride on a sensitive pony, you must never surprise him with a great kick out of the blue. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” Sarah scowled as she rode away. “I hate sensitive ponies,” she told Paul and Netti.

  “But David—” Mrs Rooke had hurried forward.

  “Half a sec, we haven’t had Lynne round the jumps yet,” said David, waving his good arm.

  Lynne kicked Berry into an uncontrolled canter. She got over the first fence, jumped the corner of the second, and ran out of the third. Laughing cheerfully, Lynne circled away from the fence and then ran out again.

  “Berry hates the tyres, she really hates them. I always have a job to get her over,” she told David with a giggle.

  “Well don’t circle her away from the fence. When she runs out stop her dead and turn her back into the jump. It’s bad riding to run out. Now try again and this time have a dead refusal. Then, when she finds she’s not to be allowed to run out, she might begin to think about jumping. She might make plans to take off.” David spoke in a patient, bored voice. He’d told Lynne so often before. Why bother to repeat himself if she was too pig-headed to listen?

  Lynne tried again, holding Berry into the fence. The roan pony refused.

  “Good, now a short run, left rein, right leg. Keep her straight and she should go,” said David.

  Berry did go, with a large unseating leap. Lynne lost both stirrups and her crash cap, but she was still laughing as she rode on round the course. As soon as they turned for home and the other ponies, Berry began to jump willingly—the height was no problem to her.

  “She ought to have had a clear, we practise round these jumps enough,” said Paul critically. “But Berry’s not much of a jumper. Luckily Lynne doesn’t mind; she likes grooming and that sort of thing.”

  Mrs Rooke had gained David’s attention. “He’s a good pony, a first-class jumper. He’s won over sixty rosettes—I saw them with my own eyes. Surely we can get him going better than this?” she protested. “I expected to see Sarah flying round a big course, not jumping two-feet-six with Lesley and Lynne.”

  “Get her riding correctly and she will fly round,” answered David. “You’ve bought a good pony and she must learn to ride him. She can’t go on flapping and tugging like a gymkhana kid, he’s a sensitive, thin-skinned pony and he’s not going to stand for rough aids. She’ll have real trouble if she doesn’t improve her riding.”

  “You mean she should just sit there quietly?” asked Mrs Rooke. “But that’s not Sarah, she’s always been such a live wire, always got the stickiest ponies over. I’m sure Bowie’s only trying it on. New ponies do, don’t they? I expect, as you say, they’ve got to get used to each other, and it’s wiser to keep the jumps low for a day or two.”

  David sighed as he turned away. “Now I want to talk to you about the next three weeks of the holidays,” he said, looking at the pony club members. “So could you all come a bit nearer, please.”

  “We’ve been invited, no, it was more of a challenge, to take part in a competition,” he went on as they gathered round, “but I wanted to see how the ponies were going before I gave my O.K. Having seen them, I’m quite happy about it, but the final decision is up to you as you’ll have to give a lot of time to practice and training.”

  “Decision about what?” asked James, as David paused.

  “Shush, he’s coming to it,” said Lizzie.

  “It’s a junior Tetrathlon competition,” David went on. “The Cranford Vale Pony Club are running it and they said, rather condescendingly, that we could enter as many teams as we liked and gain some experience. They’re inviting all the pony clubs in Area Ten.

  “Tetrathlon?” The pony club members looked at each other.

  “You run, ride, shoot and swim,” David told them. “The teams are to be of either boys or girls, you’re not supposed to mix the sexes. The shooting is fairly elementary. You use air pistols, and the Woodbury Rifle Club say they can find me an instructor. The riding phase is a mile-long cross-country, no fence over three feet. The swimming is up to the individual, as many lengths as he or she can do in three minutes. The running is across country, fifteen hundred metres—that’s less than a mile.”

  “What’s the age limit?” asked James.

  “Under fifteen,” answered David. “I know you’ll all enjoy the cross-country riding,” he went on. “Shooting, well you’re either a good shot or you’re not. The question is whether you’re prepared to train for the running and swimming. I can’t do much about that.”

  “And can they all swim?” asked Mrs Rooke.

  “I hate cross-country runs,” groaned Hanif.

  “Rupert always gets lost when he does them at school,” said Lizzie.

  “I wish it was showjumping,” grumbled Paul.

  “—or a junior one day event,” added James.

  “I’d be willing,” said Netti, “If anyone else wants to make up a team.”

  “Can’t we do the Prince Philip?” whined Sarah.

  “Not this year,” David answered patiently. “Janet Green’s going to start training a team for next year in the autumn. As for the main interbranch competitions, you’re simply not good enough, but when you’re all sixteen and the owners of large horses we’ll see what we can do.”

  “Does it mean lots of cross-country riding practices?” asked Alice.

  “Yes, I’ll fit in as many as I can.”

  “That would make even running worthwhile,” said Alice, looking at Hanif who seemed depressed.

  “I wouldn’t mind shooting and I’m not bad at swimming.” James’s voice suddenly became enthusiastic. “And there’s a boy at my school who’s coming to live over here; I think he’d join the Woodbury if there was something like this to go in for. He’s quite a good rider, he’s got his own pony, and he’s a brilliant swimmer. If Seb joined we’d have quite a decent boys’ team.”

  “And we’ve got a very good girls’ team,” said Mrs Rooke. “Sarah, Netti, Alice and one other. It’s either three or four to a team.”

  “Then, if we could find Tina a pony we could have two girls’ teams,” suggested Alice.

  “And we’ve got four boys already, without this Seb,” said Paul, who saw himself being pushed into a very junior team with Oliver and Julian.

  “We won’t begin by deciding the teams,” said David. “The first question is who wants to do it? The second, can you do it, or are any of you going away for holidays?”

  “Not till September,” answered James.

  “Not at all, our parents are too broke,” announced Rupert.

  “My aunt offered to send me somewhere, but I said I’d rather stay here and ride Saffy,” explained Alice. “I’d like to do it, David, only I’ve never tried shooting.”

  “Nor have we,” said Lizzie.

  “All right,” said David. “We’ll put it this way. Hands up everyone who would like to start training, with an escape clause that you can opt out at the end of a week if you hate it.”

  James, Netti and Alice put their hand
s up at once. The Rookes, getting an angry glare from their mother, added theirs. The older Wheelers looked at each other and raised theirs doubtfully. Lynne said, “We’d better, Paul, if everyone else is doing it.”

  “It’s all right for you,” Paul told her grumpily. “You’re good at swimming.” But he put his hand up.

  Alice felt rather sad that Hanif had waited until last and then raised his hand with such obvious reluctance.

  “Is it because you hate going in teams?” she asked, as Mrs Rooke counted the hands officiously.

  “No.” Hanif shook his head.

  “Of course, they’re sure to beat us easily,” said James. “The Cranford Vale are good at everything and they’ve probably been training for years.”

  “Years,” agreed David cheerfully. “They’re a large and very well-run pony club, but that’s no reason for us to put off starting our training any longer, is it?”

  “No, and who cares if we’re beaten,” demanded Netti, “so long as we’re all brilliant at cross-country.”

  “Have you put Tina down?” Alice asked Mrs Rooke.

  “Look out, Cranford Vale, here we come,” said Rupert, who had dismounted and was flexing his muscles and jogging on the spot.

  “And when do we start the training?” enquired James.

  “As soon as I’ve got my barley in,” answered David. “There’s a mounted rally next week, anyway, and as soon as I’ve found a shooting instructor and got hold of some pistols I’ll let you know. Meanwhile, you are all to start swimming and running.”

  3

  “I Hate Him!”

  “There’s a new jump.” Paul was greeting everyone with the news when they met the following week. “A proper bank, sleeper-faced and quite high. Dad and Gary, our farm pupil, made it. Well, David helped too; he had the bulldozer fitted to his tractor.”

  “Sleeper-faced—you mean like the one at Badminton?” asked Lizzie, looking anxious.

  “Yes, not as big, but it looks really horrible,” answered Lynne. “Berry’ll never jump it, not in a million years.”