Riding With The Lyntons

by Diana Pullein-Thompson

  We had lunch and tea in Pynemouth and drove back in darkness and rain lashing our windscreen.

  The next day I rode Firelight again and I met Mrs Lynton, a little dark woman with large brown eyes, very delicate, and partly an invalid. It seemed that she had to rest every afternoon from two till four, and that she always breakfasted in bed.

  The Lynton children did most of the housework, and took their parents cups of tea at eight o’clock every morning, and made breakfast for all. But at half-past nine a woman came in and worked in the house until tea-time. Mr Lynton remained a mystery to me for the time being. He seemed a temperamental and disappointed man, and he spent much of his time hedging, ditching, felling trees and so on.

  “Like Mr Gladstone and the Archbishop of Canterbury,” said Jon. “He enjoys that sort of labour.”

  During the next few days I spent a great deal of time with the Lyntons and Firelight was put completely at my disposal. I was allowed to turn up early in the morning now and help muck out. Jon was always later up than the rest, which annoyed Annette who was usually first out.

  I grew to know Gillian better; she seemed a quiet and thoughtful person, less reckless than the other Lyntons and very talented. She didn’t like jumping much and preferred to hack around the countryside by herself. She thought hunting cruel and wouldn’t even go to a meet of hounds, which I thought very strong-minded of her, considering the rest of the family were hunting mad.

  A mild spell set in and we were able to go for some fast cross-country rides. Donald, Annette and Gillian stayed at home on these occasions. Jon and Paulla seemed very reckless to me, they galloped like mad up hill and down dale, taking the most awkward fences in their stride – solid timber stiles with trees overhead, wide hedges on top of high banks with ditches on the landing side, gates, post-and-rails, anything jumpable which came their way. Most of the land was pasture, but when they had to cross arable fields they were immensely careful not to harm the crops.

  They seemed popular with the farmers and only once were we told off for trespassing. Firelight wasn’t as fit as Mercury and Buccaneer, and could not jump all the fences they jumped, nor was I as firm in the saddle as Jon and Paulla and I took several tosses. The Lyntons never gave me advice unless I asked for it. They did not consider themselves particularly good riders, although they were determined that as soon as they were grown up they would enter into big cross-country events like Great Auclum and Badminton. Jon’s ambition was to ride for England across country and I had the feeling that one day he would achieve it. He and Paulla spent much of their time preparing for their future in that field. They searched endlessly for a pond in which they could erect a fence, because the Great Auclum course had such an obstacle. They built jumps on terrifying slopes on the heath, until the Parish Council objected.

  I had missed that sort of riding in London and now I was delighted to find myself becoming firmer and bolder every day. But I was afraid because everything seemed too good to last. I had the feeling that life could not continue to be so wonderful for me and, considering what happened afterwards, I suppose that suspicion was a sort of premonition.

  Christmas Day dawned fair, clear and frosty, but a red sunrise promised rain later on. I wakened early and opened my stocking which was full of the usual exciting things: a tiny penknife, a handkerchief, a bar of chocolate, a tangerine and so on. The most important object was a pocket hoof-pick. I thought I could carry it with me riding on the chance that Firelight got a stone in her hoof and later on I would use it for my own pony.

  After breakfast we all opened our own presents. Mummy had given me a pair of yellow riding gloves with a woolly lining, and a fountain pen. Daddy had given me both the books for which I asked. Two of my aunts had sent me a pound each and the other two had each sent me ten shillings. John had sent me a book-token and Mary and Susan had joined together and bought me a very handsome riding-stick. As you can imagine I was terribly pleased with everything. I spent ages reading my books. I wrote with my fountain pen and I went for a walk in my yellow gloves.

  I had not given the Lyntons their presents yet, because they had invited me to tea, so I planned to do so then. I was rather afraid that Jon would not like the record; although Daddy was quite firm that the song was an old one and I was sure no one could take a dislike to the catchy tune.

  We ate a huge lunch of turkey followed by Christmas pudding, brandy butter, etc, and I had a glass of burgundy. Afterwards we went for a walk, and then it was time for me to go to the Lyntons.

  I could see their lighted Christmas tree in the dining-room as I opened their front gate; and their Christmas decorations looked very festive from the garden.

  Gillian opened the door to me.

  “Happy Christmas! You’re only just in time. We are starting on the tea-time Christmas tree now. It has a few extra small presents from the animals and that sort of thing. We opened our most important presents early this morning,” she told me.

  I thought it very funny that the animals should give them presents but I didn’t say anything except “Happy Christmas!”

  Mr Lynton then came in dressed up as Father Christmas and looking enormous, and started to cut the little packages off the tree and call out names. As the guest I was summoned first, to find Firelight had given me a yellow spotted tie; then each of the Lynton children were presented with presents from their favourite horses. Then the dogs’ gifts were handed out and, to my surprise, I found Toots had given me a mane-comb for my pony of the future. I dashed forward to thank him but he snapped at my hand and then turned away with a growl, which made everyone laugh.

  Now I presented the Lynton children with my presents for them, and they all said they were just what they wanted (although afterwards I found that Donald had a picture of the red horses already). Jon fetched the gramophone and played the record at once and it turned out to be one of Mr Lynton’s favourite tunes; in fact, he sang the song right through in French himself and insisted that the record should be played four times before we could have tea.

  “After we’ve eaten we are going to give you a very special present from us all,” said Paulla. “But we must wait until all the crackers have been pulled first.”

  “The children are very excited about what they have for you. I do hope you will like it,” said Mrs Lynton with a wan smile.

  “We’ll be furious if she doesn’t,” said Jon laughing at me with brown eyes.

  I thought this a wonderful Christmas; one of the best I’ve had in my life, and I decided the Lyntons were the most generous people in the world.

  The Christmas cake had been made by Gillian and the drop scones by Paulla.

  “Annette and I made some peppermint creams, but we had them for lunch – every single one,” Donald told me.

  We had great fun pulling crackers and we made a lot of noise with the trumpets, whistles and rattles which we got out of them. Then Paulla and Jon disappeared and, returning a few minutes later, they said, “Shut your eyes, Lesley, tightly. Don’t look or we’ll never forgive you.” I followed their instructions and suddenly something warm and wriggly was dumped on my knee.

  “All right. You can open your eyes now,” called Donald.

  I looked and there in my lap was a black Labrador puppy.

  “She’s from all of us and her name is Magic,” said Paulla.

  For a moment I was too pleased and surprised to speak. I picked up the puppy and kissed her and then I started to thank everyone.

  “She’s the most wonderful present I’ve ever, ever had,” I told them.

  “She’s not pedigree, actually. But I’m sure she’s purebred and we knew you were not that sort of person to be a dog snob,” said Paulla.

  “She’s perfect,” I said, “absolutely perfect. I shall buy her a collar and lead out of my Christmas money as soon as possible.”

  “Her mother has a marvellous wrinkly smile, so we hope she’ll develop it too,” Jon said.

  Presently it was time to go home and I set off
with my three presents, whistling the tune of “Le Fiacre”.

  My parents had planned to get a puppy in the spring. They felt it was easier to house-train dogs at that time of year, but I was sure they would be pleased to see Magic.

  Actually their reception of her was lukewarm at first. They looked at each other and then Mummy said, “She’s certainly a lovely puppy.” I thought they may have planned to have another breed of dog. But after Magic had rushed about for a few moments and had covered their faces with kisses, they both seemed to fall in love with her.

  “She had better sleep downstairs at first where there is a stone floor, until she’s house-trained. Afterwards she can have a basket in your bedroom,” Mummy told me.

  “She’s certainly got charming hazel eyes,” said Daddy, “and I’m told Labradors are very even-tempered which is a good thing.”

  I described the Lyntons’ Christmas tea to my parents and showed them my mane-comb and tie, and presently it was time to get dinner and after dinner I went to bed quite early, for suddenly I was very sleepy indeed and I wanted to be up in time next morning to muck out Firelight’s stable.

  Chapter Six

  It was wonderful to rush downstairs next morning to find Magic to greet me with several apologetic squirms and the hint of a smile on her pink-lined mouth.

  I took her for a run round the garden before breakfast and then my parents, who were determined to spend a peaceful Boxing Day, said they would look after her while I was at the Lyntons’ place.

  It was a wet day; the lane was inches deep in mud and the sky dark and overcast; a heavy depressing morning, bad for human tempers and for energetic exercise.

  For the first time the Lyntons seemed unsociable. Apart from Gillian the children were annoyed because the Boxing Day Meet was not in hacking distance. They mucked out the stables in gloomy silence and were not at all interested when I told them how Magic had breakfasted.

  “We all stayed up too late last night, that’s the trouble,” said Jon at last. “Daddy’s in a bad temper, too. Nothing seems right for anyone today.”

  Their mood was infectious; gradually I became depressed too. I found myself cursing Firelight for moving around while I mucked out his box.

  By ten o’clock we were mounted as usual, all six of us, and we set out for a two-hour hack. The weather made the horses lethargic too, and we had to work hard to keep them up to their bridles.

  “I do think the Pynemouth Foxhounds might meet in our direction more often. Do you know they only come within hacking distance three times a season, and we simply can’t rise to a horse box,” complained Paulla.

  “We had one hunt in November and now we’ve got to wait till March for the next one,” grumbled Jon. “And it’s good country round here, too, with lots of jumps.”

  “Can’t you write to the hunt committee or something?” I suggested, feeling rather irritated by their dissatisfaction.

  “We have – that’s just the point,” said Paulla, “and it made no difference at all.”

  Presently Annette and Donald started to quarrel about which of them should lead the way through the woods. In the end Jon in a fit of exasperation pushed them both aside and took the lead himself.

  “Beastly bully,” said Annette. “Just because he’s bigger than us he thinks he can shove us around as he likes.”

  “You are a horrible, horrible beast, Jon,” shouted Donald.

  I had noticed before that, although Donald and Annette might quarrel with one another like mad, when any of the older children interfered, the two youngest always sided with each other immediately, forgetting their disagreement of only a moment before.

  Soon we left the wood and took a track through open fields.

  “I’m going to give Buccaneer a gallop to wake him up. Nobody is to fall off. Right, let’s go,” shouted Jon at the head of the column.

  In a few seconds we were hurtling down the track, spattering each other with mud; the warm southerly breeze in our faces; the thud of hoofs on turf in our ears and somewhere the creak of wintry branches in the wood at our side.

  This is life; this is heaven, I thought, intoxicated by the joy of speed, urging Firelight faster and faster to keep in view Buccaneer’s flowing black tail. Faster and faster and the clouds in the grey sky seemed to be racing with us and now Firelight had overtaken Mercury and we were right on the heels of Buccaneer. A dog was barking in the distance and the cackling of hens told me we were approaching a farmyard; the track wound upwards over the crest of a hill, a pale green shoulder meeting the dark skies. And still Buccaneer was galloping at breakneck speed, as though Jon knew that only speed could cure his own bad temper. And still I stayed just behind him; gallant Firelight had outpaced the rest and speed went to my head like wine. Upwards we raced now, upwards towards the dramatic sky and the top of that smooth green shoulder; and the breeze blew harder in our faces and rushed past our ears drowned by the thud of hoofs. There is nothing in the world as wonderful as this, I thought, nothing, nothing, nothing. Oh to gallop on and on for ever. Oh to gallop faster still, to overtake Buccaneer and to look down into the valley first. Come on my gallant Firelight, faster, faster. And my bay mount thrust forward more quickly still; his little ears flat against his neck, sweat glistening beneath the reins.

  And then Jon was at the top and I was half a length behind him; and down below we could see the land lying like patchwork; squares of soft brown, of grey and green, and, here and there, a cottage or a farmhouse and a group of outbuildings. And trees, everywhere trees, in lines or standing individually looking very tall against the wide hedges which separated the patches in the quilt.

  For a moment, Jon and I slowed the pace, as if in mutual admiration for the scene before us; and then Jon was plunging down the hillside, following still the winding track, and I was on his heels. Every second the farmhouses and the cottages were drawing nearer to us, every second the patchwork quilt was becoming more like real fields and meadows and less like quilt. And then suddenly something was happening, Buccaneer was somersaulting over and over and Jon, a tiny bundle, was rolling away from him; and then I was trying to stop Firelight, but trying in vain, so that in a moment I was past Jon and past Buccaneer. It was yards further down the hill before I came to a halt, and as I rode back, I could see that Paulla and Donald had already reached Jon; they had dismounted and to my relief they were helping him to his feet. Buccaneer was up again too, holding a foreleg in the air with a pathetic expression in his big eyes. Jon seemed pale and rather shaken, and Paulla was looking at his arm.

  “I suppose it’s bust,” he said in dismal tones as I drew near. “It hurts like anything. That means no more riding these holidays. For goodness’ sake, don’t touch it.”

  “Why on earth did you go so fast?” asked Gillian, arriving on the scene and dismounting. “Cloudy was puffing like a train.”

  “I suppose it got in our blood,” said Jon, grinning at me.

  “But what’s up with poor Buccaneer? He’s holding up a hoof. Can someone look at him?”

  “I expect he’s wrenched a tendon,” said Paulla, running her hand down the black’s foreleg. “It feels hot.”

  “Here’s the rabbit hole, which must have tripped you up,” shouted Donald. “Look, it’s yards back. You must have rolled quite a way. My, what a fall.”

  “It might have been worse on the flat,” said Gillian.

  “I’m going to sit down,” said Jon.

  “Not on the wet grass,” expostulated Gillian.

  “I’ve got thick jodhs to protect my seat, and I can’t stand any longer,” said Jon, collapsing on to the ground, and holding his right arm protectively in his left hand.

  “We ought to take your coat off to have a proper look” Paulla told him, anxiously watching his white face.

  “Don’t you dare! It would hurt like anything. I know the wretched thing’s broken, because it made the most ghastly crunchy sound when I got up and moved it by mistake. The point is how am I going to get home.
Buccaneer’s lame. Should I ride one of the others?” Jon suggested.

  “If you think you can; otherwise we had better try and find a telephone and ring up for a car,” said Paulla.

  “Of course, I can ride. I’ve still got my left arm,” said Jon.

  “Listen, supposing you ride Mercury and Paulla leads you from Firelight, and I walk slowly back with Buccaneer?” I suggested.

  “I don’t see why you should do the walking,” objected Jon.

  “Because I’m not one of the family, and so I won’t be particularly useful when you have to make arrangements for the doctor when you get back, and because Firelight is a sensible pony to lead Mercury from. I mean he doesn’t kick like Cloudy does, and the little ponies are too small for Paulla,” I said.

  “You could ride Cloudy and I could do the leading,” Gillian suggested.

  “For goodness’ sake don’t let’s argue,” I said, exasperated. “There’s no time to waste. It will be difficult to get a doctor today. Please let me take Buccaneer.”

  “OK, if you’ve set your heart on it,” said Jon. “Thank you very, very much. Can you hold the stirrup while I clamber on to Mercury, Paulla please?”

  We helped him up, and then Paulla sprang on to Firelight; and the column started slowly back the way we had come with such speed so cheerfully only a few minutes before.

  Presently Jon said he thought he could manage a trot, if he still nursed his right arm with his left hand and saved it from jolts, and so the others went on faster and soon I was left alone with Buccaneer, who limped painfully, and could only walk slowly.

  It was quite a long tramp back and it took me the best part of an hour. The woods were wet and depressing; the trees dripped incessantly overhead; the air was thick and heavy. The mood which Jon and I had so successfully overcome with our gallop came back to me now and I saw everything at its worst.