Pony Club Challenge (Woodbury Pony Club Book 2)

by Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  Then James heard the sound of hoofs. He looked back and saw Alice and Hanif coming out of the bridle path at Four Cross. They waved, shouted and urged their ponies into a trot. Then there were more hoof sounds, ahead this time, and as he bicycled round another bend in the narrow road, he could see the Wheelers trotting towards him. They met at the Garland Farm lane and rode up together, all talking at once.

  They were halfway to the farm when a car horn hooted imperiously behind them and turning in their saddles they saw Mrs Rooke, the pony club secretary, at the wheel, glaring at them through her thick-lensed spectacles.

  “Car,” shouted James as ponies and bicycles crushed themselves against the hedges and the car swept by towing a sparkling new trailer. Sarah Rooke sat beside her mother, Lesley, her older sister, in the back.

  “They looked very tense, I think there’s been another squabble in the Rookery,” announced Rupert with relish.

  “Yes. they were grim-faced. We didn’t get a single wave.” agreed Alice.

  “Terrific new trailer, though. A much newer model than ours,” said James enviously.

  “But no Julian,” observed Oliver. “I don’t like him much, but he’s the only boy in the pony club of my age even if he is a bit weird.”

  “His mother told ours that he was a mathematical genius,” announced Netti. “He spends all day at his computer. Mum says she goes on and on about how marvellous he is, like she does about Sarah and her riding.”

  “So Lesley’s the only one she doesn’t like?” asked Alice.

  “Yes, it’s terribly unfair; I’m glad our mother doesn’t favour Netti and Oliver,” answered Lizzie.

  “Life favours them though,” said Rupert gloomily. “They get beautifully schooled ponies, while you and I outgrow them, and we have to start all over again with dotty, new, green ones.”

  “I’d like a mother like James’s,” announced Oliver. “She cleans his tack.”

  The Robertses, Lynne and Paul, lived in the Garland Farm cottage. It was really two cottages knocked into one, built of red brick and covered in Virginia creeper. Mr Roberts ran the farm for David Lumley and Mrs Roberts had done a great deal to help David through the difficult time after his accident. Paul, who was small for his age, with dark hair and grey eyes, was feeling quite hopeful of being chosen for the Prince Philip team. Banjo, his black pony, was twelve-two, fast for his size, very handy, and good at most gymkhana events. But Lynne, who was a year older, much larger, and who looked quite different, with her wavy, light-brown hair, and wide, plump, usually cheerful face, felt very dejected. She was fond of Berry, her red roan pony, but she had to admit that her only talent was a fast trot and her habit of kicking other ponies had made her justifiably unpopular in the pony club. No one would want to be in a team with them.

  It was a shame, thought Lynne. I’m better at games and races than most of the pony club members; I love them and I’d be willing to practise really hard, but without the right sort of pony, I’ve no hope at all of being picked.

  Tina Spencer; small, reddish-haired and freckled, and Sebastian Fuller, who was tall with brown hair, brown eyes and a wide mouth, had ridden along the edge of the Downs and then through the woods to the rally. It was the same distance as going by the road, Seb had explained, but much more fun and, as it was only a boring mounted games rally, it didn’t matter if they arrived on muddy ponies.

  They didn’t talk much. It’s not going to be easy, thought Tina, as they rode side by side, Seb on skewbald Jigsaw, she on the smaller, bright bay Bowie. They were both embarrassed by their new relationship of stepbrother and sister. It was all very well for Mum and Mr Fuller, John, she corrected herself, to go on and on about how essential it was to communicate, about how they must talk everything through, and, if they were going to make a go of becoming a family group, each member must feel free to put a point of view or voice a complaint, but you had to find out what you really thought first. I keep changing my mind, thought Tina. Sometimes it’s great: having Bowie and living on the Downs is like a dream come true, sometimes it’s just O.K. and sometimes, when things are difficult or people are cross, I think we’ve made a terrible mistake. Better to keep quiet and see how things go, she decided as the ponies, sensing an occasion, pranced along the farm track and into the yard.

  “Hullo.”

  “You’ve come too. Great.”

  “Here are Seb and Tina,” The other pony club members gathered round, obviously pleased to see them.

  “How are you two getting on?” Oliver asked the question that the rest were too tactful to put.

  “We haven’t had a stand-up fight yet,” answered Seb, dismounting.

  “And we’ve given the parents a week off—they’ve gone to Venice,” Tina added. “We’ve Seb’s grandparents staying with us; they’re really nice and not a bit fussy.”

  “And when the parents come back we’re going to do some serious house-hunting. My father only rented the cottage for the summer and it’s much too small for four people,” explained Seb.

  “That’s Janet calling us,” said Netti, looking towards the paddock. “We’d better go. Come on, Ollie.”

  “We’re only spectators,” Rupert shouted to the waving figure at the paddock gate.

  “Perhaps we’d better go and spectate,” suggested James.

  “A great mistake to appear too soon, she’ll give us jobs,” warned Rupert.

  Sarah Rooke on piebald Chess and a stranger, a long-legged, long-haired girl who dwarfed her chestnut pony, were warming up. Paul, Netti and Oliver joined them.

  Alice and Lizzie were dithering. “Does Janet want some impossibles to ride against the possibles?” Alice asked Lesley Rooke, who was carrying a bundle of flapping flags on canes.

  “I’ve no idea,” snapped Lesley, glaring at them through her thick-lensed spectacles. “I didn’t want to come. My mother made me; she said I had to help. I can’t see why, there are plenty of other people standing about.” She glared at the group of boys gossiping by the gate. “Why don’t they help?”

  “I’ll help.” Lizzie dismounted.

  Alice looked from one Rooke to the other. It was unfair, she thought, that Lesley should be so much uglier than Sarah. It wasn’t just the thick glasses. Her heavy face had a bovine look, her nose was too wide. Sarah had a heart-shaped face, pretty beneath a fringe, a small nose and a neat mouth, though that was slightly spoiled by thin lips.

  “Who’s the new girl?” Lizzie asked Lesley as she helped with the flags.

  “Oh, you mean Lorna Mackintosh? She belongs to the Cranford Vale, but they always put her in their mounted games B team. Mother’s more or less promised she can be in our A team if she switches clubs.”

  “Is that allowed?”

  “I shouldn’t think so. But my mother will go to any lengths to get her darling Sarah riding at Wembley.”

  “They have to beat the Cranford Vale A to get there, don’t they?” asked Lizzie.

  “Yes, in the area competition. And if you get through that there’s the Zone round. They haven’t a hope.”

  Janet Green was blowing a whistle. Then she shouted, but she had a high voice which didn’t carry.

  “I think we had better round people up,” said Alice. “Janet looks a bit frustrated.”

  Alice rounded up Lynne and two small nervous-looking children who said that their names were Jason and Melanie Clark and they were usually in the D ride.

  Mrs Rooke was signalling to the gossiping boys by the gate. Hanif cantered over to explain that they weren’t taking part.

  “You’ve no business to be here then,” snapped Mrs Rooke. “Come along, Janet, do get them into teams. Sarah, Lorna, Netti and Paul are the A team. Who are you going to put in the B?”

  “The minimum number for a Prince Philip team is five and the normal number is six.” Janet’s voice was peevish.

  “But not every member of the team competes in each race. Anyone who’s chosen will have to be prepared to work really hard. We’ll pract
ise all through the term as well as the holidays. Winter and summer—because the area competition is held at Easter, the zone in the summer and, as Wembley’s in October, your parents have to agree to you taking time off school.”

  “Great. Mine will agree,” announced Oliver.

  “Puts me out,” said Alice. “I don’t suppose Aunt Margaret would want me staying home from boarding school.”

  To his fury, Oliver found himself in the C Team with Melanie, Jason and Tina. The B Team, Lizzie, Alice and Lynne, were a person short, so Alice galloped over to the gate and persuaded Seb to join in.

  “We’re beginning with the Potato-picking Scramble,” squeaked Janet Green. “Each team has a bucket. When I blow the whistle, two riders from each team ride to the pile of potatoes in the centre, dismount, pick up a potato, remount, gallop back and drop it in the bucket. Then they go back for another. When I blow the whistle, those two riders stop and the other two from each team begin. When I blow the whistle again that pair stops and we count the potatoes to see which team has won. Is that perfectly clear?”

  “Yes.” The pony club members, bored by the long explanation, surged towards the buckets. Mrs Rooke was lecturing Lynne on keeping Berry away from the A team as she didn’t want their ponies kicked.

  “Doesn’t matter about the rest of us,” grumbled Seb. “You look out, Tina. You know she hates Bowie.”

  The race started and it soon became apparent that those riders who could vault on were doing far better than those who had to use a stirrup to mount. Mrs Rooke, in her beige dress and sensible shoes, was encouraging the A team, clapping Sarah’s better shots and admiring their vaulting ability. She ignored the problems of the Clarks, whose ponies took an instant dislike to the game. Tiger stopped dead and with a mean twist, tipped Jason over his shoulder. Grey Twilight stood midway between bucket and potato pile, ignoring Melanie’s kicks, whacks and cries, and refused to move in any direction. Tina and Oliver went to the rescue of their team mates. Tina caught Tiger. A dun with black points, he was a miniature Saffron, except for his small, wicked, rolling eyes. Oliver administered a ferocious whack to Twilight’s plump quarters and followed her, preparing to deliver another if she dared to stop again.

  In the third team, Lizzie was proceeding at a stately pace, but Lynne’s efforts to keep Berry away from the other ponies meant that she had to wait until there was a clear space at the potato pile, a handicap which soon left her trailing.

  When the whistle blew for the third time Mrs Rooke hurried forward to count the A team’s haul. Lesley, one eye on her mother, was surreptitiously adding extra potatoes to the other teams’ buckets, before taking them to Janet for counting.

  “Twenty-two,” announced Mrs Rooke proudly.

  “Eighteen and twelve,” announced Janet, looking puzzled.

  Alice and Seb, who had seen Lesley’s action, began to giggle. Mrs Rooke gave them a glare and sent them to bag up the left-over potatoes. Lizzie was helping Lesley to arrange a row of dustbins opposite heaps of squeezy bottles with the tops cut off.

  “This is the Litter Race,” squeaked Janet, handing out long canes. “On the whistle, the first rider in each team gallops to the squeezy bottles, picks one up on the lance, rides on to the litter bin, drops it in, gallops back and gives the lance to the next rider.”

  Oliver decided to go first for the C team. “You’d better go next, I don’t think they’ll be able to do it,” he told Tina, pointing at the quaking Clarks with his lance. The B team sent Lynne first, working out that this would give Berry least opportunity to kick their ponies. Netti went first for the As and this time the B team gave them a much better race. Alice and Seb rode fast and the bigger ponies had a slight advantage. But Oliver, to his chagrin, was left miles behind. He wasn’t experienced enough to ride fast with one hand, nor was his seat strong enough for the sharp turns and rapid halts the others made. Then, when he handed over to Tina, Bowie fled from the lance in terror, shooting off across the paddock as though pursued by a demon.

  “Drop it, Tina, drop it,” shouted the other pony club members.

  “Stupid pony,” sneered Sarah. “Don’t let him come again, Janet. He’ll spoil the mounted games like he spoiled the tetrathlon, him and beastly Berry.”

  Tina dropped the lance and rode back on the still trembling pony. “Sorry,” she said. “I’ll practise at home. I think if I tried with a shorter one first I could get him used to it.”

  “Don’t bother, we don’t want him in the team,” said Sarah spitefully.

  “Don’t you think you could weed out a few of the duds now,” Mrs Rooke suggested briskly. “Tina, Lynne and the two little ones are quite hopeless.”

  “Yes,” agreed Janet weakly, “but I’ll keep Oliver for the Grooms’ Race; we need all the small ponies. Get into your teams,” she squawked. “Numbers one and three stay here, two and four down the other end. No, that’s wrong. Lesley, we want the bending poles.”

  Mrs Rooke made James and Rupert each stab a row of spiked poles into the ground, while Janet tried to explain to the baffled pony club members where they and their ponies were to go. “Number one starts here, leading number two’s pony down through the bending poles. Number two is down there, holding number three’s pony. She vaults on her own pony, bends back here leading number three’s. Which means that number three stays here holding number four’s pony. When number four gets her pony she gallops back here and that’s it.”

  It took a long time to get organized. The pony club members wandered up and down with each other’s ponies, arguing. Janet squeaked peevishly, Mrs Rooke glared. At last they were ready, and this time the people with small ponies had a huge advantage, vaulting on easily and racing away. It was becoming obvious that Hobbit was wasted on Oliver and that Netti would do even better on a smaller, quieter pony.

  “Poor Ollie. Well, Hobbit was mine first,” said Netti, trying not to feel guilty as she took over her brother’s pony.

  “Janet’s finished with all of you. She’s going to start training the team,” said Mrs Rooke, gesturing the others away. “You can’t expect her to waste her time on the bunglers and also-rans,” she added, when Alice, who’d been enjoying herself, gave a sorrowful groan. “She has to concentrate on the good ones.”

  “We’re the duds, the cast-offs,” Alice told Hanif as they joined the group by the gate.

  “You knew Saffy was too big,” Hanif told her, “but you would come.”

  “Why don’t some of you try those two little titchy ponies?” suggested Rupert. “If Netti’s riding Hobbit, Tina could ride one of them.”

  “Oh yes, please do.” Melanie and Jason brightened up. “It would do them good, they’re getting worse and worse with us.”

  “I’ll have a go,” offered Oliver. “Come on, Tina, the others are all too heavy.”

  “O.K. Would you like a ride on Bowie, Lynne?” Tina suggested, worried by Lynne’s despondent face.

  “Thanks, but I’d better put Berry away first in case she kicks someone.”

  Tina and Oliver had appropriated a few poles and were teaching Tiger and Twilight to bend. Lynne was riding a dressage test in an imaginary arena on Bowie. Rupert was lying on the grass and Hanif was trying to persuade Alice that all the excitement was over and they could now go home, when David Lumley, in his specially adapted Land Rover with the disabled sticker, drove into the paddock.

  “Good morning all,” he said, pulling up beside the group of ponies and riders, “How have things been going?”

  “Boringly,” said Hanif.

  “We’re the cast-offs,” added Alice.

  “Janet needs six people, but she’s only found four so far,” explained Lizzie.

  “Lynne would be good if she had a decent pony,” said James.

  “We’d all be all right if we had smallish nippy ponies,” protested Seb.

  “I’ve had a thought, something the rest of you might like to do,” said David, looking round at the bored and disappointed faces. “What about a tr
ek? A short one, say three days. You could ride over the Downs to the forest and back. I think I could fix up fields for the ponies and you could take tents.”

  “A trek?” Alice’s face lit up. “What a lovely idea—but do you mean these holidays?”

  “I don’t see why not. September’s a good month.”

  “It sounds great,” said James in a practical voice, “but how would we carry the tents and food and cooking things? It’s not much fun riding with a backpack.”

  “Pack ponies,” suggested Rupert.

  “I thought a rota of parents could deliver the tents, grub for humans and ponies and all the rest of it, to each campsite in turn. You’re too young to be left entirely to your own devices, so we could look you over night and morning, but otherwise you’d be on your own.”

  “I think it’s a terrific idea,” said Alice enthusiastically. “Don’t you, Harry?”

  “I was wondering how Jupe would fit in,” answered Hanif.

  “Berry wouldn’t. She’d spoil it for everyone,” said Lynne sadly.

  “No problem. If you want to go you can take my Vulcan,” David told her. “He’d love it. We’d need two fields each night, one for mares, one for geldings, otherwise there’II be jealousy and kicking.” He went on thoughtfully, “I think it could be done; I’ve some useful friends scattered about in that area.”

  Seb had called Tina over and was explaining about the trek. Rupert got up and brushed the grass from his clothes. “I’m willing,” he said. “When do we start?”