“The first thing I want to talk about is the legal position,” began Mrs Halford briskly. “The laws connected with air pistols. First of all it is illegal for anyone to carry a loaded pistol in a public place or on private land unless you have permission. If you are over fourteen but under seventeen you may not buy a pistol or ammunition. You may be loaned one, but you must only carry it about firmly shut in a box or gun cover.
“If you are under fourteen, and I believe that most of you are, you may not even be loaned a pistol, but you can shoot as a member of an approved club or at home or at a friend’s house, provided you are being supervised by someone over twenty-one. It’s important to remember these points as none of us wants trouble with the police.
“Now we come to safety. First of all, never, never point a gun at anyone. Doesn’t matter if it’s unloaded, these pistols aren’t toys and you mustn’t play with them. Never leave a loaded gun unattended even for a second: someone else may pick it up and not realize it’s loaded. A younger brother or sister might play with it and press the trigger. When you are pointing a gun always do so down the range or in a safe direction. When you carry a gun about in your hand it must be unloaded and pointed at the ground. When you are taking it from place to place it must be carried in a bag or box. Now, any questions?”
“It’ll be years and years before I can have my own pistol then,” said Oliver in disgusted tones. “I call that really mean.”
“Oh, I don’t know, the authorities don’t mind you shooting, but they don’t think you’re old enough to have the worry and responsibility of a pistol. That’s not mean, surely?” asked Mrs Halford. “Now, let’s begin. Has anyone shot before?”
“Yes,” James and Seb leapt to their feet and hurried forward to take up the pistols. They loaded and then, taking his pistol in two hands, James crouched, looking like an American cop on the television.
“No, no,” said Mrs Halford, hurrying over. “This is a competition, and you have to fire from an erect standing position. You are not allowed to support the pistol-holding hand or arm. Stand up straight, feet apart, extend your arm. Turn your shoulder towards the target. That’s better. Now, look along your arm and squeeze the trigger.” James fired, and Seb, who had copied his position, fired a moment or two later, just as James was starting forward to inspect his target. Mrs Halford grabbed him quickly.
“There, now you can see how accidents happen,” she told him, and, turning to the watching pony club members said, “To avoid this we must have a very strict firing drill. It may sound rather absurd to do everything on an order when you’re merely practising, but from the safety point of view it’s essential, and if you practise the correct drill at home you won’t have any trouble remembering it when you take part in competitions. The orders are: “Load. Are you ready? Stand by. Fire.” You have four seconds in which to fire, then I will say, “Stop. Reload. Are you ready? Stand by. Fire.” all over again. In your competition you have two series of five shots; two targets and you fire five shots at each of them. So, after five shots, I shall say, ‘Guns down. Change targets.’ And then you go forward together to look at your scores and there is no danger.” She looked at David. “It is very important that some one is appointed to give the orders whenever they practise.”
“Yes, I can see that,” he agreed. “We don’t want anyone shot in the back.”
When James and Seb had fired, they collected their targets and Mrs Halford called for the next two. “This morning I want to run straight through, letting you shoot one target each,” she explained, “and then, with the second one, I’ll give you more individual instruction.”
Paul and Sarah had rushed forward eagerly and, while they were being put in the correct positions, everyone else crowded round James and Seb to see how they had scored. David, who had produced a rule book, read out: “Ten for Bull, eight for an Inner, six for a Magpie, four for an Outer and two for anywhere on the target outside the outer circle. Then, for the purpose of the Tetrathlon you multiply your score by ten, so the two targets are worth a thousand points.”
James was looking modestly pleased. “Two Inners, two Outers and a Magpie,” he told David. “Not too bad for first go.”
“Three hundred,” announced Julian, peering through his large, dark-framed spectacles. “Shall I add yours, Seb?”
“Done it, a hundred and sixty,” answered Seb in dissatisfied tones.
“I wish we were allowed to use two hands,” complained Oliver, watching Paul.
“Oh, I think they look lovely standing like that with their left hands in their pockets,” argued Lynne. “Trouble is my shorts don’t have any pockets.”
“Nor do mine. Next time we’ll have to wear special shooting clothes,” said Alice.
“Tetrathlons seem to need an awful lot of clothes,” observed Lizzie.
As Mrs Halford was only showing them how to stand and how to hold a pistol, and most people had already discovered this by watching the others, she got through the impatient queue quite quickly, especially as no one wasted any time, but darted forward the moment a pistol was put down.
“I got a bull,” announced Hanif, brandishing his target proudly at Alice.
“You’ve done better than me,” said James.
“Let’s see,” demanded Julian, “I’m keeping the scores. Three-twenty. You’re the best so far,” he added, writing it down.
“I bet my dozy brother’s got nought,” said Oliver sadly, as Rupert came over and Lesley and Lynne took up the pistols.
“An eight, three fours and a two. Terrific, Rupe.” Oliver patted his brother proudly. “I didn’t expect you to get any on the target at all.”
“I probably won’t next time,” said Rupert, collapsing on a straw bale.
“Sarah only got three shots on. She’s the worst so far,” Julian announced, “but I don’t suppose girls are much good at shooting.”
“Julian!” exclaimed Netti in shocked horror. “You male chauvinist pig.”
“I don’t suppose Sarah’s ever tried shooting before,” Hanif told him, “and all the boys except Paul have.”
“I’ve beaten you, Paul,” Lynne shrieked excitedly. “At least I think I have. I got all five on.”
“Not by much,” Paul told her as he inspected her target. “Oh, come on, Lesley, let me see yours—everyone else has,” protested Julian, as his sister folded her target carefully and put it in her pocket. “Please.”
“I wish you wouldn’t all go on and on about who’s beaten whom,” complained Hanif. “It’s not important, and my stepfather says that the whole point of a Tetrathlon is that you compete against your own score and not against other people.”
“They’ll calm down when they’ve done the running and swimming and find how the picture keeps changing,” David told him. “I want to start the running when we’re halfway through the second series, so, as you finish shooting, will you get into your running gear and come to the start in Long Meadow?” he asked. Then, struggling to his feet, he added, “I’m going to organize stopwatches and mothers.”
“Want any help?” asked Oliver.
Alice was quite pleased with her shooting for, though her total wasn’t high, all her shots had scored, and she found herself trying to comfort Lizzie whose aim seemed very wild and only two of whose shots had found the target.
“You’re too tense, that’s your problem, dear,” said Mrs Halford. “Try a few deep breaths before you start, and rolling your shoulders round will help to relax your shooting arm. Don’t worry, you’ll do better next time.”
Tina was tense too, and, gripping the pistol tightly, pressed instead of squeezing the trigger, which counteracted her careful aim. But Netti, cheerfully confident, hit a Bull and an Inner, and then, finding that she had equalled James’s score, pursued Julian round the barn with her target, saying she was going to make him eat it.
They began the second round, and Seb, who was preparing to redeem himself by an enormous score, was furious when Mrs Halford announce
d that they would practise “dry firing”: going through the drill and motions of firing, but without loading the pistol. “Simply blazing away won’t improve you, dear,” she told him. “We have to correct your stance and then your trigger control.”
He was even more enraged when she called for Lizzie to pair him and then made everyone watch while they went through the drill and she explained their faults. But when, finally, she allowed them some ammunition, they found they were far better; Seb produced a much more respectable score, and Lizzie put every shot on the target.
James and Hanif didn’t have to go through the indignity of a dry shoot, nor did Lesley and Netti who were called next, but Paul and Sarah who followed them were full of faults of stance and grip. Oliver appeared in the middle of their sorting out session.
“David’s going spare, he wants some runners. Haven’t any of you finished yet?” he demanded.
“Oh, we forgot all about running; this is just getting interesting,” said Hanif, collecting his holdall. “Lizzie, you’re ready dressed, can you go and calm David while I persuade the others to change?”
David had stationed himself just inside the Long Meadow gateway which was decorated with two cardboard notices announcing START and FINISH. He was sitting impatiently in the Land Rover with a row of stopwatches in front of him. “Here’s the map,” he said, showing it to each of the runners as they appeared. “It’s quite easy, just a square. Down this field, vault or climb over the gate in the left-hand corner, along the headland of the next one, keeping off my wheat. Through the slip rails straight on across a grass field until you come to a pond and a turning flag. Go outside the flag, and Mrs Rooke is there to make sure you do. Turn left along the hedge, over a gate into a stubble field straight to the copse in the corner. We’ve flagged the path through the copse, and Mrs Roberts is there to see no one gets lost. Then you turn for home and come back across two stubble fields and into the paddock. You can see the flags, and this gateway is the finish.”
“I’m positive that’s more than fifteen hundred metres,” complained Seb.
“It may be,” agreed David. “I’m incapable of pacing a course out so I had to guess. But even if you measure properly it’s difficult to work out a correct bogey time, because you have to allow for hills, gates and slip rails to slow the runners down. Anyway, it’ll do for a start. The important thing is to get you all running.”
“How long are we supposed to take?” asked James, who was limbering up by running on the spot.
“The good runners should do it in five minutes, forty seconds,” answered David. “If they take a longer or shorter time you blame the course. Right, I’m supposed to send you at one minute intervals, but since Oliver and I are both new to the job, I think we’ll just have two on the course to start with. So James and then Lizzie please. James’s starting time will be zero plus one, Lizzie’s zero plus two, and then you write their finishing times in when I yell them out,” David told Oliver. “O.K., James? On your marks. Go.”
As James ran swiftly down Long Meadow, Paul and Sarah appeared in shorts and track shoes.
“How did you get on?” Hanif asked.
“Much better second time,” Paul answered. “Mrs Halford said I’d be all right with a bit of practice.”
“I hate her,” said Sarah with a scowl. “She’s so bossy. I’m sure we’d get on better if we were just left to practise on our own.”
“No you wouldn’t, dear, you’d just blaze away.” Seb tried to imitate Mrs Halford’s brisk, high voice.
Lizzie giggled. “I think she’s good though, I wouldn’t have got any better on my own.”
“Ten seconds to go, Lizzie,” called David. And then, as she raced away, long legs eating up the ground in long strides, and her flaxen plait flying, “You’re next, Harry, then Seb, but I’m going to allow two minutes before I start you. They’ll be zero four and zero five, Oliver.”
“Yes, I’ve got it.”
Netti was the next of the shooters to appear.
“How are things going in the barn?” David asked her.
“Great, Mrs Halford seems quite pleased with us; everyone’s improving. But Lesley’s the star.” She looked at Sarah. “Your sister’s brilliant, her two cards came to some terrific score. Julian’s furious that a girl has beaten all the boys.”
“There’s still Rupert to go; I hope he beats her,” said Sarah spitefully. “When Lesley wins things she becomes more hateful than ever.”
“I expect her glasses give her an unfair advantage. They probably magnify the target,” suggested Paul. “I shouldn’t think they’re allowed in proper competitions.”
“Oh yes they are,” David told him.
“Does anyone know the course?” asked Netti, changing the conversation as they watched Hanif start.
“If you come up here, you can see almost the whole course and the poor devils panting their way round,” Seb told her from his perch on the five-barred gate. “James has disappeared into the wood, Lizzie’s approaching the pond.”
“And you’re wanted at the start,” said David. “Oliver, can you give Netti the map?”
“Thanks.” Netti threw herself down on the grass to study it. “Shooting’s fun but exhausting. Good luck, Seb.”
“Hinge end,” said Paul to Sarah as they both climbed on the gate. “We don’t want a rocket from David.”
“Come on, James, faster,” called Sarah.
“He’s had it, he’s getting slower and slower,” said Paul.
“What’s his time like, David?” asked Netti, getting up to look.
“On the slow side, he’s not going to get his thousand points,” answered David.
“He’s practically walking.” Sarah sounded shocked. “We’re not going to do very well if even James can’t get round in the time.”
“Seven-fifty,” David told Oliver, as James jogged wearily through the gateway and collapsed by the hedge. “Come on, Netti, you can work his score out; deduct one because he started at zero one. Then deduct the bogey time—five forty. Multiply what’s left by three, subtract the answer from a thousand and you’ve got his score.”
“Not so fast. You’re being mean, David. You’re trying to muddle me.”
James got up. “It seemed like miles,” he complained, “that last field nearly killed me. What did I get, Netti?”
“Wait, I’m still struggling ... “
“You see, you do need Julian and his calculator. They say boys are better at maths than girls,” teased David.
“No we don’t, come and check this, Sarah. He was seventy seconds over. That’s two hundred and ten points, which from the thousand leaves seven hundred and ninety. Agreed?”
“Lizzie’s coming quite fast,” Paul announced from the gate. “She doesn’t look as blown as James.”
“She’s like Rupert, she’s got long legs for her size,” said Netti. “Come on, Lizzie,” she shouted. “You’re doing brilliantly, keep it up.”
Lizzie finished fast and then stood, bent double, trying to get her breath.
“Eight ten,” said David. “And she started at zero two.” Everyone began to work out her score.
“You only lost ninety points, Lizzie. Brilliant,” Netti told her.
“I’m starting you in twenty seconds, Sarah,” called David.
“Harry’s in sight,” announced Paul from the gate. “He looks fast too.”
“You’re next, Paul,” called David, as Sarah started. “Then Netti, at one minute intervals.”
“Shall I take over the scoring?” asked James.
“Yes, fine, but could you round up Lesley first? Tell her she’s due to start in three minutes.”
Hanif’s time was even faster than Lizzie’s and he also beat Seb, who was three seconds slower than James. Sarah and Paul had slow times which annoyed them. They scowled at their scores and eyed the stopwatches suspiciously.
“Be reasonable,” David told them. “People of eleven can’t run as fast as people of thirteen, who are
normally taller as well as physically stronger.”
“You mean we haven’t a hope of winning then,” snapped Sarah. “In that case, why go to all this bother?”
“And it’s under fifteen,” Paul pointed out, “which means that half the competitors will be older than James. It’s not fair to lump all the age groups together like that.”
“In three years’ time you’ll be the older ones,” said David, one eye on the stopwatch, for Netti was racing towards the finish. “You’ll be pleased then that you started training young, and the Woodbury will have some cracking teams.”
“Anyway, we don’t expect to win,” Hanif told Sarah.
“No, we’re entering for fun,” agreed Lizzie.
“I want to jump a superb cross-country round,” decided Alice, “l don’t mind much about anything else.”
“How did you do in the shooting?” asked Sarah suspiciously.
“Quite well, much better the second time, but I wasn’t brilliant like your sister.”
“I was very nearly brilliant,” said Rupert, knotting his broken shoelaces. “Blazeaway said my trouble was lack of concentration, and that I must try to visualize a button for ten seconds at a time. I forgot to ask what sort of button.”
“Well done, Netti.”
“You finished full of running.”
“You’re much the best of the younger people,” Oliver, who was looking over James’s elbow, told her proudly.
“I think I started too slowly, I didn’t want to run out of steam at the end,” gasped Netti, “but I could have gone faster.”
“Rupert, on your marks,” called David. “Haven’t you got those shoelaces organized yet?”
“Sorry, they’re a bit rotten.”
“Well, buy some new ones before next time. Are you ready, or shall I send Alice?”
“I’m ready,” Rupert jogged on the spot. “Prepare to be broken, Woodbury records. Here I come.”
“He’s got long enough legs,” said Paul, as they watched him run down the meadow, “he ought to be the fastest of us all.”
Pony Club Challenge (Woodbury Pony Club Book 2) Page 6