Six Ponies (21 page)

“Of course she must,” said Mrs. Radcliffe. “But don’t you want to, Hilary?”

“No,” said Hilary. “It won’t be any fun without Evelyn, but I can’t think of an excuse.”

“Now you mustn’t be silly about it,” said Mrs. Radcliffe, sitting down on one of her elegant Sheraton chairs and lighting a cigarette. “I know it’s tiresome about Evelyn, but we can’t help that, and, even if you are twins, you mustn’t become inseparable. Think how awkward it will be if one of you marries.”

“What is the matter with you to-day, Mummy?” asked Roger. “You do nothing but talk about young men, love affairs, and getting married. Are you going to restore the family fortunes by forcing Hilary and Evelyn to make convenient marriages?”

“That’s right,” said Mrs. Radcliffe. “I’m going to marry them both to enormously fat stockbrokers, old enough to be their fathers. But seriously, Hilary,” she went on, “you
can’t give up schooling Rocket now; it wouldn’t be fair to him or Major Holbrooke. Besides, it’s not as bad for Evelyn as you seem to think. She’s not so interested in breaking and schooling as you are, and it’s obvious, though I don’t know much about riding, that while she is much the best of you at jumping unwilling ponies over impossible heights, or forcing nappy ones to go where she wishes, she’s too impatient, noisy, and abrupt in her movements to be good with young or nervous ponies. Except for the blow to her pride,” Mrs. Radcliffe went on, “I don’t think she feels the loss of Romany as much as you think, and I’m sure she doesn’t feel anything like you would over Rocket.”

“Besides, Hil,” said Roger, “I’m positive that you’re the only person who can beat June Cresswell. Rocket is well ahead of Jet, and the Barington-Brown and Richard are certain to be miles behind John.”

“I wish you children hadn’t caught this dreadful competitive spirit,” said Mrs. Radcliffe. “It’s all you seem to learn at school nowadays. After all, what does it matter if June wins? It won’t alter the fate of nations, and I expect it gives her a good deal more pleasure than it would any of you. Why can’t you say, ‘I strove with none, for none was worth my strife,’ like Walter Savage Landor?”

“You and Doc. will grumble if I say that when I take school cert.,” said Roger with a laugh.

“But that is quite different,” said Mrs. Radcliffe. “You won’t be trying to win anything, or beat any one; you’ll just be trying, I hope, to pass as well as you can.”

“It’s only because June is so beastly conceited,” said Hilary. “She needs beating, just to show her she’s not so good as she thinks she is.”

“Yes, she is irritating,” agreed Mrs. Radcliffe. “But you can’t blame her; it’s her mother’s fault. Anyway, you mind out that you don’t become winning children. I’m sure Margaret is going to—she rides much too well for her age.”

“Well, at least she hasn’t got a show pony,” said Roger,
“and we’re all pretty good at squashing people. You will go, won’t you, Hil?” he went on. “You’ve simply got to uphold the honour of the Radcliffes. I’d come with you as moral support and to squash June, but it’s the day Doc.’s promised to take me to that experimental place at Long Langton, and I can’t miss that, any more than you can give up learning about breaking and schooling from Georgie Holbrooke, or we’ll never be famous.”

“ ‘And lust of fame was but a dream that vanished with the morn,’ ” quoted Mrs. Radcliffe absentmindedly. . . .

“Letter for you, John,” said Colonel Manners when John came into the sunny, oak-panelled dining-room on Saturday morning. “Can’t you
ever
be in time for breakfast?” the Colonel added angrily, rustling the paper, which was full of the iniquities of the Government. “I know times have changed—changed for the worst—but this house isn’t a hotel, and I expect punctuality.”

“Sorry,” muttered John sulkily, as he helped himself to porridge, and then, sitting down, he read his postcard between the mouthfuls. Only a week, he thought. I shall never catch June Cresswell up in that time. This morning he would take Jet to the forge and then lunge her; tomorrow, he decided, he would go out for a ride and that would leave five days for schooling. He sighed despairingly. He knew Jet would seem untrained beside Rocket and Grey Dawn. Looking up, he found his parents eyeing him curiously.

“It’s from Major Holbrooke,” he explained. “About a Pony Club ‘do’ next Saturday for the young ponies. I wish it wasn’t so soon. I shan’t have much time to get Jet in practice again.”

“Huh,” said Colonel Manners, “Holbrooke’s back, is he? I shall have to go up and see him. There’s that new type of tractor I wanted to ask him about, and I must find out if he still wants the rick of mixture hay we made from the Bottom field last year.”

“How is little Jet?” asked Mrs. Manners, trying to take
an interest. “You haven’t ridden her yet these hols, have you, darling?”

“No,” said John, “I’ve got to get her shod first. By the way, Mum, must you call them hols? It sounds so awfully prep. school. . . .”

Wherever one went round Brampton for the rest of that week one would have found people schooling ponies.

Susan, who had so often put off riding Sunset during the Christmas holidays and spring term, when the days were short and cold, now regretted it. She knew that she couldn’t possibly teach her all Dawn knew in seven days, and she wished she had taken her father’s advice, which was never to ride Beauty until she had given Sunset her lesson. When Susan told her parents that her postcard was from Major Holbrooke, Mr. Barington-Brown said that now she’d catch it. She’d have the Major after her, when Sunset turned out to be the worst-trained pony of the lot. Susan had to have somewhere to lay the blame, so she said that no one could possibly school a pony in the park; it was too full of trees and bracken, not to mention rabbit-holes and molehills. To her surprise, her father said he would make a bargain with her: If she would agree to school Sunset regularly, at least five days a week in the holidays, he would fix it with Hodges, the farmer who rented all his land but the park, that she should have the big flat field by the stables, and he’d tell Bob to mark out a school and put up some jumps. Of course Susan, who was delighted, readily agreed to her side of the bargain, and when Noel arrived at the Towers on Monday she was surprised to find a school neatly marked out by short white posts, while Bob and the other gardener’s boy were giving the finishing touches to four little jumps. Susan, who had caught, groomed, and saddled both the ponies so that the jumps might be finished, was delighted to see Noel’s surprise. She said that now they would be able to give June Cresswell a show, and that she hoped Noel agreed that her jumps were much smarter than June’s. Noel said she thought the jumps were lovely, but that she didn’t think that Sunset would put up a very good show—she
wouldn’t be surprised if she had even forgotten how to make turns on the forehand. Noel wasn’t usually so squashing, but lately she seemed to find Susan rather irritating; it was mainly envy, she supposed, but it did seem unfair that Susan should have two lovely ponies when she was too lazy to school them properly. Still, thought Noel, she is awfully generous, and she is always inviting me to ride Beauty. Besides, it’s probably very dull when your mother and sister won’t take any interest, but only argue over soulless things like curtains and furniture. So when Susan suggested having an equitation test, Noel didn’t say that she thought they ought to school seriously, she agreed and won easily on Beauty, who was really extremely well trained.

Sunset, as Noel expected, had forgotten everything: she dawdled at the walk, trotted much too fast, with her head low, and couldn’t halt, back-rein or turn on the forehand. Even Susan, who generally thought Sunset went rather well, was disheartened, and at the end of the equitation test she said, “What about having some races—at the trot, of course?”

“Don’t you think we ought to school seriously?” asked Noel, who really thought that this was a bit too much. “Sunset must be able to pull up and make turns by Saturday.”

“Yes, I suppose we ought,” said Susan with a sigh. “But it’s awfully dull, and surely we can invent some races with a lot of twisting and turning in them to make her more handy.”

“The experts seem to think schooling is better,” said Noel. “I mean, one never hears of people training horses by trotting races. Anyway, Sunset trots much too fast now, so I should think it would be definitely bad for her.”

“Oh, dear,” said Susan, “I suppose we’ll have to school then, but I’ve forgotten the aids for the turn on the forehand.”

Noel felt impatient with Susan. She thought, you
simply don’t try to remember; you know I’ll tell you; but I’m jolly well not going to. Aloud she said, “Your book is on the gate, and the turns are at the beginning of chapter three.”

“Oh, I can’t be bothered to get off and look it up,” said Susan. “Do tell me, Noel; I’m sure you haven’t forgotten.”

“Lateral aids,” said Noel, relenting. “The rein and leg on the same side.”

“Oh, yes,” said Susan. “Now I remember. I am silly. I know I shall never be a good rider.”

“Don’t be idiotic,” said Noel. “Of course you will; at any rate you’re much more likely to than me.”

“What nonsense,” said Susan. “If you rode as often as I do, you’d be as good as June Cresswell.”

“That’s a hypothesis,” said Noel; “and I know perfectly well that, even if I live to be a hundred, I shall never be able to ride like her. But come on, we must school.”

“Grey Dawn is sure to be first,” said Susan, “but I wonder which’ll be second.”

“Not Sunset, at this rate,” said Noel tartly. “Probably Hilary Radcliffe’s Rocket, I should think.”

“Why?” asked Susan.

“I don’t know,” said Noel reflectively. “Hilary’s always struck me as being a good rider, that’s all.”

“Yes, but we thought Evelyn was a good rider,” said Susan, “and she’s had to give up.”

“We don’t know why,” said Noel. “It may not have been her riding.”

“Well, I think John will be second,” said Susan, “and I hope Richard is last.”

“He never talks about Rufus,” said Noel. “So perhaps he’s marvellous, and Richard is keeping it a secret so that he can give everyone, including June, a terrific surprise.”

“I hope not,” said Susan, “because, then, Sunset will be the worst of all.”

“You are a defeatist,” said Noel. “But for goodness’ sake let’s get on with the schooling.”

John thought over his schooling programme while he held Jet at the forge. To his annoyance, she was just as nervous as she had been the first time she was shod; the smoke especially seemed to frighten her. In the moments when she was reasonably quiet, John decided that he would have to give up driving the tractor and getting up late if he was going to give Jet at least one hour’s schooling, as well as riding Turpin, every day. He had, he thought, so many things to do: Pat, the Labrador’s five puppies, and his ferrets—Slink and Sly—to feed and exercise, as well as the hens and ducks and their families, which he was supposed to look after in the holidays. Still, it was worth while getting up early to beat June Cresswell. But he was going to have a job to catch up with Rocket, and he thought the best he could come would be third, unless the Major handicapped the people who could ride in the term. . . .

Richard enlisted the help of Clayton, the jobbing gardener, on the three days a week when he worked at Orchard Cottage, and, while he held Rufus down, Richard rode him round and round the hen-run. Clayton, who was very dark, and locally supposed to be descended from gipsies, had one theory on the treatment of animals, and that was, to show them “ ’oo was master.” This meant that if Rufus dared to look about him he received a savage jag in the mouth, and each time he tried to puzzle out an unusual order a blow on the nose was his reward for not obeying quicker. After three days of Clayton’s help Richard rode Rufus, with only Jill near-by, in case he started to buck. But he was too cowed to play up; he just walked sorrowfully round the hen-run, his head low and his eyes dull and sad. On Friday Richard took him to be shod.

By Friday, Susan, with Noel’s help, had retaught Sunset all the things she had learned before, but forgotten: to walk fast, trot slowly, canter round the field on the appropriate leg, to back-rein, turn on the forehand, and jump one foot six quietly. They didn’t ask her to canter round the school, because the author of Susan’s book wrote that you should never make your young horse canter slowly, or in a confined
space, until he was really well balanced at the trot, for there was a distinct danger of forcing him behind the bit and shortening his stride.

John, too, found that his pony had forgotten most of what she had learned in the Christmas holidays. The first day that he had schooled Jet he had lost his temper because she wouldn’t back-rein. He had beaten her furiously, which, as might be expected, had upset and muddled her more, and it wasn’t until John cooled down and thought of making her face a hedge, as Major Holbrooke had told them to do when they first taught the ponies, that she remembered what the aids meant, then she backed perfectly. On the whole John was most pleased with Jet’s jumping. He began with a pole on the ground and raised it daily, until by Friday she was jumping two feet perfectly, and it was only by great strength of mind that he prevented himself from raising the jump another six inches.

At first, Hilary had slunk guiltily away by herself to school Rocket, but when Roger discovered this, he decided that he wasn’t going to have another holiday spoilt by Romany lurking, an unmentionable skeleton, in the stable cupboard, and he said at lunch that, if Hilary intended to school Rocket that afternoon, he would join her on Sky Pilot, who, he said quite truthfully, was getting a bit slack about obeying the aids. Mrs. Radcliffe tactfully suggested that all the ponies needed to brush up their manners, and pointed out that Rocket ought to get used to being ridden with a crowd, if he wasn’t to be upset by the other ponies at the rally.

To Hilary’s surprise everyone agreed, including Evelyn, who said that Northwind was getting disgustingly fat and lazy, and must improve his jumping before the gymkhanas.

They spent a very pleasant afternoon riding in the flat field. To start with, they had a competition for the best-mannered pony, which Rocket won; then a jumping contest, in which Sky Pilot had the jumps at three feet six, Northwind at three feet, and the three smaller ponies at two
feet six. Sky Pilot and Pixie both jumped clear rounds, and Rocket was third with one fault. Then, while the others rode bending and potato races, Hilary practised turns on the forehand and back-reining, as well as teaching Rocket to open gates and lead in hand.