Pony Club Challenge (Woodbury Pony Club Book 2)

by Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  “The timber wagon’s enormous and there are two streams.” Oliver, disappointed by David’s lack of reaction, came rushing back.

  David drove over. “Can you all fit in the Land Rover as far as the start? No, not you, Oliver; just the riders and Mr Roberts.”

  “The scores must be up, look at all those people round the board,” shrieked Sarah. “Do stop, David. It won’t take a minute.”

  “No, let’s concentrate on the essentials,” said David, driving past at a brisk pace. “Scores can wait. Very tempting,” he added, stopping the Land Rover beside the first fence, a natural thorn hedge, clipped low and reinforced with a post and rails behind it. “But do make sure they know they’ve got to jump; collect them and then ride hard as it’s a first fence.”

  They crossed the field, Mr Roberts walking with the members, David driving. The second fence was a straightforward one too, a hogsback of rustic poles set in a wire fence, but the wire had been made safe by two wings of brushwood.

  “Keep them straight and keep riding,” said David. “Remember that they’re still going away from home and friends.”

  Hanif and Rupert tried to rock the top pole. “Great, it’s solid. We don’t have to worry about knocking that down,” said Hanif.

  “There are no faults for knockdowns,” Lesley snapped at him.

  “That looks like the opening and shutting gate,” said Alice, pointing across the field, and they hurried on towards it. It was a free-swinging hunting gate, fastened by a square metal band which had to drop over the post.

  “No use slamming that and hoping,” said David with a sideways look at Seb. “Do make sure that the fastening drops right down before you gallop on. If it sticks halfway you’ll almost certainly be eliminated; especially if the judge is a farmer.” He left them opening and shutting it in turn and went to find a wider gate so that he could take the Land Rover on the heath.

  “I just hope Jupe gives me time to shut it,” fretted Hanif as they followed the uphill path through heather and pine and came to a stout tree trunk, flagged and numbered four.

  “Nice, I like that,” said Alice.

  “It’s very uphill,” complained Rupert, “I hope Rosie doesn’t run out of puff.”

  “She’ll be all right, they’ll all get their second winds at the gate,” Mr Roberts told him and hurried them on to number five, which was over the crest of the hill. It was a sheer, sleeper-faced drop into a small hollow, followed immediately by a stout pole.

  “Ugh! Chess isn’t going to like that!” Sarah looked down in horror. Tina stood beside her, white-faced and quaking, while Lynne’s expression was full of alarm.

  “No problem,” said David, rejoining them. “It’s a test of the rider’s seat. Wasn’t it Seb who asked if you could lean back over drops? Well, if you lean back and let the reins slide here, you’ll almost certainly have problems at the pole. Sit tight, keep contact and look at the pole. It’s easy, the little ponies will just scramble and pop. It’s easier than our bank.”

  “Rosie will probably collapse on her nose, but with any luck she’ll get up again,” decided Rupert in a resigned voice, and he led the way on through the silver birch trees which had taken over from pine. A bend in the sandy track revealed the timber wagon, number seven.

  “Oh, it’s a real one,” moaned Lynne.

  “And it’s much more frightening than the one we made at Garland Farm,” added Sarah accusingly.

  James measured it against his waist. “It’s lower than the one the big ponies jumped.”

  “I like it,” said Alice.

  “Yes, it’s a good solid jump, the bold ponies will love it,” agreed David, “but it is slightly downhill and there’s no groundline, so take it with a holding rein; you want to stand back.”

  The track continued downhill and brought them to a tiny stream, babbling and bubbling at the bottom of a deep ditch.

  “If you just gallop on and hope to take it in your stride, you may get a last-minute refusal,” David decided. “I’d collect them halfway down the hill, look up, sit down and ride.”

  “At least there’s no black plastic around,” said Sarah with relief.

  “It’s hardly a jump, but you can hear the sound of water; it’s just the sort of silly thing Ferdie spooks at. I’d better have my whip ready,” resolved James.

  David had to cross the stream higher up, where there was a sleeper bridge, but the rest of them walked on unsuspectingly until they were suddenly confronted by fence nine, which seemed to tower above their heads.

  Four giant steps, each about ten-feet wide and two-feet-six high, had been cut into the hillock in front of them and each wore a separate label: A B C and D.

  Halfway up, another group of pony club members surveyed the steps with hopeless faces. The Woodbury halted at the bottom and stood gasping with horror.

  “Oh no! We’re never going to get up there.”

  “Ra might do one or two, but not four.”

  “We’ll all be eliminated.”

  “David, what do we do about this?”

  “You jump up it,” said David calmly. “It’s a test of impulsion; you treat it like a grid. Get the pony going, ride dead straight and look at the last one. The lively ponies won’t have any trouble, just keep them straight and look where you want to go. Stardust, Rosie, Rajah and Vulcan will need a bit of stirring up. Collect them after the ditch, build up some impulsion, and then, when you get here some real cavalry charge stuff. The two little ponies will need to take a breather.” He looked at Sarah and Paul. “Ease them up the moment you’re over the timber wagon. And, if anyone does run out of steam, or nip out sideways you can either retake the whole thing or a particular step—it’s up to you.”

  “If we slow up too much we’ll have time faults,” objected Paul.

  “And if you run out of steam you’ll have penalties as well as time faults,” answered David. “It’s a junior competition so the time allowed’s quite generous; the bigger ponies should have time to spare.”

  “It doesn’t look much like a grid,” said Tina as they climbed the steps. “I do hope Bowie will understand it.”

  “I suppose they see it as four banks in a row,” decided Alice.

  A left-hand turn brought them to the chicken coops which looked comfortingly normal after the stairs, and they were followed by a pen of rustic poles with a sharp left turn for the out.

  “Now, here we do have problems; a lot of good ponies are going to sail straight through,” said David. “If that happens to any of you, come back through the little gap and just take the out; they’re numbered separately, so they count as two jumps. Now, to make it plain to the pony, take him as far to the right of the track as you can, get a bit of a left slant on the first fence, come slowly and, above all, look where you want to go.”

  James went back and walked along the extreme right-hand side of the track, planning his slant. Hanif was pacing out the pen.

  “It’s not as bad as the one we jumped at Easter,” he announced, “but I think I’ll trot if I can.”

  The course went on, steeply downhill and then over another tree trunk, followed almost immediately by another crossing of the stream, only here it had been dammed and widened into quite a respectable water jump with a pole over the centre.

  “This is quite a test for a rider,” said David. “You’ve got to keep the pony balanced on the bit when you jump down over the tree trunk or you’ll be in no position to take the water. A half-halt as soon as you land—imagine you’re on Coppice Hill and halting beside the final flag—then push on with a giving rein; you don’t want the ponies to stand back, for the pole is over the centre of the water.”

  The jump out of the heath was a narrow but stoutly built stile.

  “Take it slowly, sit up, plenty of leg,” said David. “You’re homeward bound so it shouldn’t cause trouble, but it is narrow.”

  Number sixteen was the slip rails. “I’m glad they’re so late on the course,” observed Hanif, “at least I
shall have had some fun before I get here, and, with any luck, Jupe will be a bit tired.”

  “Feet out of the stirrups, plenty of whoas and approach on a slant,” said David. “The ponies are now in the habit of jumping; their blood is up and there’s nothing to tell them that this fence is any different from the others; you’ve got to make it crystal clear.”

  A yellow arrow, pointing sharply right-handed, brought them to the last fence. It was part of the same hedge jump as number one, but here it had been filled out with gorse.

  “Look for the finish,” David reminded them. “It’s dead opposite so it’ll be easy to forget. Rupert, Tina, Lynne!” he roared suddenly. “Stop chattering and look. There’s the finish. You’d better all walk through it. Then go and tack up. When you’re ready, I’ll be over there by the practice jump.”

  Most of the Woodbury members took a short cut across the next field to the horsebox park, but James, saying that his mother would tack up Ferdie and that it wouldn’t take him a second to change, ran off towards the farmyard for a look at the scoreboard. Sarah and Paul, agreeing that they wouldn’t be riding for ages and that they mustn’t tire their poor little ponies by getting them out too soon, raced after him. They joined the crowd in front of an enormous blackboard, already teeming with numbers, and found themselves surrounded by Cranford Vale supporters all jubilantly noting down scores and telling each other:

  “We seem to have it in the bag.”

  “Six hundred points, that’s not a bad lead for Sandra after two phases.”

  “Our lot have certainly swept the board; it looks like an all Cranford Vale finish.”

  Sarah said, “I’m the best in our team. I’ve beaten Lynne by two points and you by more than a hundred, Paul. Poor old Tina’s last.”

  Then Oliver appeared. “Your sister’s done the best of the Woodbury, she’s even beaten James,” he told Sarah. “Rupert’s third best Woodbury,” he added proudly, “and Netti’s beaten Lizzie.”

  “It doesn’t matter who’s beaten who in the Woodbury,” James snapped at them. “Look at those Cranford Vale scores, all up in the seventeen and eighteen hundreds, and only two of us have made the fifteen hundreds.”

  “Yes, and the East Tulworth, the South Barset, the Brackenhurst and the Frogmorton are all ahead of us too,” agreed Oliver despondently. “I don’t think we’ve much hope of coming anywhere now.”

  “At least we’re not last,” argued Sarah defensively.

  “Your lot’s third from last,” Oliver pointed out.

  In the horsebox park, the parents were holding the excited and restless ponies while their riders tugged on boots and polo-necked sweaters.

  “I’m really surprised at you boys letting Lesley beat you in the shooting,” Mrs Rooke reproached Rupert and Hanif. “And your swimming really let you down again, Harry. As for Sebastian’s shooting, I think he must need glasses if he can’t do better than that.”

  “Don’t write them off yet,” protested Mr Franklin. “By my reckoning the boys are in seventh place and the girls eighth, but there are still two phases to go and they might move up a couple of places: a lot can happen in the riding.”

  “The Frogmorton, that’s my old pony club, say they’re third at the moment, but they don’t think anyone will catch the Cranford Vale now,” observed Seb gloomily.

  “Do you wish you still belonged to the Frogmorton?” asked Tina as she took Bowie from Mr Fuller.

  “No, not really. Anyway, they wouldn’t want me in their team with my pathetic shooting.”

  “Well, even if we’re not much good, I’m enjoying myself,” said Alice, “and I can’t wait to get at the cross-country.”

  “Yes, it’s really rather nice having no chance,” agreed Lizzie. “We don’t have to fuss about the riding.”

  “Look at Harry’s crash helmet,” exclaimed Netti as they all mounted. “I like the green silk and the matching sweater.”

  “Thanks, but I think it’s too posh for someone who may get stuck at the slip rail,” Harry muttered ruefully.

  By the time the Woodbury teams arrived at the practice jump, the cross-country was well underway. Competitors were thundering confidently away from the start and urging their sweating, blowing ponies through the finish. When the Woodbury had jumped, David inspected girths and reminded them that if their crash caps came off they must stop and retrieve them. Then they watched from the collecting ring, but it was only possible to see the first two and last two fences, the gate and the slip rails. All the fearsome fences on the heath were shrouded in trees and so, as there was no public address, only a steward with a loudhailer, it was difficult to know how the early riders were faring.

  David, with half an eye on his watch, said they all seemed to be taking their time about it. Then, just as the steward told James that he was next but one, Mrs Roberts and Oliver appeared, running red-faced and breathless across the field.

  “Hardly anyone’s getting over the staircase,” announced Oliver, as Mrs Roberts stood speechless, hand to her chest. “They’re all getting stuck. The judge tells them to have three refusals altogether and then on.”

  “It’s true, David, they’re having no end of trouble at those steps: some of them run out, and some of them just haven’t the energy to get all the way to the top. And there’s quite a lot of trouble at the other jumps too,” Mrs Roberts added breathlessly.

  “Well it proves that the Cranford Vale haven’t practised over the course,” said David calmly.

  “We thought we ought to come back and warn you. I don’t know if there’s anything you could tell our children …”

  “I’ve done my best,” answered David. “I think they all understand how to ride it. Impulsion’s the key: without that no pony could get to the top.”

  “Don’t fuss, Mum. I’m going to slow right down after the timber wagon and give Banjo a breather. If the others are all refusing it won’t matter if I clock up a few time faults,” explained Paul.

  “Lynne and I are going to give our lazy ones a couple of waking-up whacks,” added Lizzie, who was looking more cheerful and relaxed than usual.

  “Well, I’m going back,” said Oliver as James went to the start. “It’s great over there, you can see the whole course from the top of staircase hill. Good luck, Rupe and Liz and Net; you’re going to need it.” He began to run.

  “I think I’ll go back too,” said Mrs Roberts. “Good luck, all of you.”

  James had set off at a good pace. He jumped the first two fences easily, opened and shut the gate and vanished into the heath.

  “I’m willing him to do well,” said Netti, shutting her eyes and screwing up her face. “Go on, James, impulsion.”

  “Can you will Jupe to stand?” asked Hanif. “My stepfather’s going to be over by the slip rails, but if I’m helped to remount it’s eighty penalties.”

  “Turn Jupiter to the left and stand him up against the fence before you attempt to mount,” said David, watching Seb jump the first fence. “Then he won’t be able to swing his quarters away.”

  “I’d make him really belt round the whole course so he’s longing for a breather by the time you get there,” advised Paul. “Whew, did you see that? Seb was quick through the gate.”

  “Don’t forget the finish,” Netti told Rupert.

  “Here’s James, over the stile,” shouted Lynne.

  “He hasn’t wasted much time,” said David, checking his watch.

  Rupert was started as James came through the slip rail. Rosie jumped the hedge well and then made a very large, cautious leap over the hogsback. No one watched Rupert through the gate, because the moment James was through the finish they all crowded round him asking questions at once.

  “Did you have any refusals?”

  “Was the staircase awful?”

  “Did he mind the ditch?”

  James patted Ferdinand and shook his head, then he jumped off and loosened the pony’s girth. “It was great,” he answered breathlessly and, leading Ferdinand o
ver to David, he repeated, “It was great. He tried to stop and look at the ditch, but I gave him an almighty whack and he shot over. The staircase was fine—I think we ought to make one on Coppice Hill. Except for having to haul him round a bit in the pen, I didn’t have any trouble. So I think I was clear.”

  “Good, well done,” said David. “And here’s Seb reappearing,” he added, as the skewbald pony sailed over the stile.

  Alice went to encourage the nervously circling Hanif. “Seb’s been so quick he can’t have had any trouble at the staircase either,” she told him.

  “It’s the non-jumps I’m worried about,” said Hanif, obeying the starter’s call. In a moment he was off, hurtling at the first fence. He let Jupiter have his head across the first two fields, hoping that he would then settle down.

  Lesley was being called to the start as Seb came galloping in. “Terrific,” he said, smiling broadly as he led Jigsaw over to the group by the Land Rover. “I really enjoyed myself. We almost ran out of steam on the staircase, we couldn’t have jumped another step to save our lives, but everything else was easy; it really made up for the misery of the shooting.” He patted Jigsaw lovingly. “How are the others doing?”

  “James thinks he was clear, Rupert and Harry were both a bit slow at the gate,” David answered.

  Alice rode over to encourage Lesley who, reins lying loose on Stardust’s neck, was polishing her spectacles. “I’m putting more anti-mist on,” she explained.

  “Here’s Rupert,” called Lizzie joyfully.

  “It looks as though the boys’ team are going to get three round,” said Paul, a note of pride creeping into his voice.

  “Lesley, wake that pony up,” called David. “Get her on her toes.”

  “I’m willing Rupert to remember the finish,” announced Netti, shutting her eyes.

  Stardust jumped the first fence cautiously, but Lesley was able to galvanize her into life for the second. Rupert came home fast, flew the last hedge and remembered to alter course for the finish.

  “I’m afraid I may have collected a few faults,” he said, throwing himself off his blowing pony. “She did the staircase O.K. We took it at a hundred miles an hour, but she spooked at the ditch and nearly fell flat at the drop. The worst thing was the pen. I had a terrific job to turn her and we got entangled with the red flag—I heard the pole snap. Does it count? Are we eliminated?”