Six Ponies (23 page)

The Major went on to say that two of the things one had to look out for when teaching a young horse to collect, were that he might fight against the bit, before he understood that to obey meant relief from the discomfort it caused, or a very common habit, he might flex his jaw with his head
too low. But as neither ponies nor riders were ready to learn collection yet, he didn’t think they need go any further that day, and, if no one had any questions to ask, they would do some jumping.

“Oh, goody!” said Susan, who had not been listening to the answer to her question.

“That’ll be super,” said John, who had practised the forward seat a lot since the last Pony Club rally.

“Nothing very exciting to start with,” said Major Holbrooke. “Just a pole on the ground. Noel, lead over at a walk, please.” Noel, who felt glad it was no higher if she had to lead, gave Beauty a loose rein and walked quietly over. The others followed. When everyone had walked over the pole twice, the Major told them to trot, and no one was corrected, except John, who, in excess of zeal, pulled Jet up too sharply when she cantered.

“They all do that very nicely,” said the Major when each pony had had several turns. “Now we’ll try a jump,” and he led the way across the field to where there was a course of jumps of various types and sizes. He lowered a white bar to about one foot six and told Noel to lead on at a trot. All the ponies jumped it perfectly, but Susan’s legs were too far back and Hilary’s hands rested on Rocket’s withers instead of sliding up on either side of his neck.

“How high have you been jumping these ponies?” asked Major Holbrooke. “They’re all going very well, but I don’t want to overface them.”

“Rocket’s jumped two feet six,” said Hilary.

“Jet’s never jumped higher than two feet,” said John.

“One foot six is the highest I’ve ever put Sunset at,” said Susan, “but I’m sure she can jump much higher, only Noel said I would overface her.”

“Well, I don’t think two feet will hurt any of them,” said Major Holbrooke. “But wait a minute, we’ll give Noel something a bit more interesting first,” and he raised the bar to three feet. Noel and Beauty cleared it easily.

“Don’t let your hands touch your pony’s neck,” said the
Major. “To follow through properly and give her an entirely free head at every stage of the jump they must be self-supporting, and, for goodness’ sake, take that mackintosh off; it’s stopped raining and you look like an orphan.”

“May I take mine off too?” asked Susan.

“Of course, if you want to,” said Major Holbrooke.

“Oh, goody,” said Susan, and there was a general discarding of mackintoshes, which were hung on the park fence.

Then Major Holbrooke told Noel to stand aside while the young ponies jumped and he would give her something more difficult at the end. So Noel watched and tried to decide which was the best schooled of the three ponies. Rocket’s head-carriage was the highest and his jumping was excellent—he never tried to run out or refuse, but Noel thought he seemed lazy, and certainly Hilary had to kick hard to make him canter. Jet, on the other hand, though not so well balanced and apparently difficult to keep straight at her fences, was much more willing, and obeyed a more elegant leg aid. Sunset wasn’t as lazy as Rocket, but her head-carriage was lower, and she had an uncomfortable habit of cat-jumping, which unseated Susan over almost every jump. Noel was wondering what sort of a test the Major would give the horse-breakers in the summer and which of them would win, when she heard him say, “Come on, Noel, stop day-dreaming; here’s a nice little course for you,” and, looking up, she saw that he had raised all the jumps to a little over three feet.

“But they’re enormous.
I
couldn’t
possibly
jump them,” said Noel, speaking without thinking.

“Don’t be absurd,” said Major Holbrooke, looking distinctly annoyed. “In the first place, they’re not at all large, and, secondly, you’re riding a jolly good pony. Why can’t you jump them? Do you mean you don’t want to?”

“No,” said Noel, wishing she could cut her tongue off. “No, of course not.”

“Well, stop dithering, and come on, then,” said the Major. “The brush fence is first.”

Noel turned and rode Beauty at the brush fence. They cleared it, and went on over the five other jumps.

“Jolly good,” said Susan as they cleared the last one.

“A perfect round,” said Hilary.

“Gosh! Beauty can jump,” said John.

“They weren’t quite so enormous as you thought, were they?” asked Major Holbrooke as Noel rode back, patting Beauty. “It wasn’t a bad round,” he went on, when she didn’t reply, “but you took the parallel bars too slowly and only just cleared them. And now, I am afraid, we must stop,” and, turning from Noel to the official horse-breakers, he said, “I want you to remember that the main object of schooling is to teach your pony the aids, and to balance and supple him so that he can obey the lightest possible aid in the shortest possible time. There are no short cuts to this. You can make a horse
look
balanced by the use of the side reins and dumb jockey, but that’s not what we want. When you school, don’t bore yourself and your pony by riding aimlessly round and round. Ride the school figures, invent new figures, but always do them properly; don’t get slack and cut the corners. When you’re out for hacks, don’t stick to the lanes and roads; every hill, whether you ride up or down, will improve your pony. As for jumping,” the Major went on, “at the moment they are all going well, but don’t forget that lungeing over fences is invaluable, especially if you are a trifle heavy for your pony, and remember that breadth, rather than height, should be your aim. By the way,” he finished, “Mrs. Maxton is kindly organising a picnic ride on Friday, and there will be an instructional rally here to-day fortnight, to which you can bring either your own ponies or the youngsters. Now it’s very late, so good-bye and thank you for coming.”

“Thank you for having us,” said the horse-breakers in one voice, and, following him out of the field, they said good-bye, and took their different directions down the drive; Noel, John, and Susan together, Hilary alone.

“He wasn’t in a very good mood to-day,” said John to Noel and Susan as soon as they were out of earshot of the Major.

“Poor Noel caught it,” said Susan. “And so did the rest of us when we rode on each other’s tails.”

“What about the blowing up I got when I didn’t circle properly?” said John.

“Didn’t Beauty jump well?” said Susan. “You were awfully good on her, Noel; much better than I am. I know I should have fallen off over those jumps. I think they were enormous, and I don’t care what the Major says.”

“They didn’t seem so big when you got close to them,” said Noel. “And Beauty was marvellous. I only had to sit there while she did everything, but I’m sorry I held her back too much at the parallel bars.”

“Well, she cleared them,” said Susan, “and that’s all that matters.”

“But if she wasn’t such a good jumper she mightn’t have cleared them,” said Noel.

“You’re as bad as the Major,” said Susan, “always bothering about small details. I can’t see much fun in riding if you’re going to be so particular.”

“Nor me,” said John. “I see now that it’s important not to jag your pony’s mouth or bump on his loins, but as long as he’s comfortable, what does it matter whether every little detail is right or not?”

“It depends on whether you’re an artist,” said Noel.

“But riding’s got nothing to do with painting,” said Susan.

John grinned, and Noel said, “No, but you can be an artist at practically any job; it just means that you take such a pride in your work that you can’t bear anything but perfection, and I should think that is how Major Holbrooke feels about riding.”

“Yes, I expect he does,” said John. “But I don’t see why he should try to force us to do the same.”

“He’s not trying to force you,” said Noel. “You wanted to have Jet, and it’s not the Major’s fault if you’ve changed
your mind now that you’ve found that there is so much more in schooling than you supposed.”

“But I haven’t changed my mind,” said John. “It’s only that I can’t see much point in being such a fusspot.”

“Oh, John,” said Susan, “he’s not a fusspot; he’s only a bit too particular.”

“Well, that’s the same thing,” said John as he pulled Jet up in the gateway, and, changing the subject, asked, “Are you two coming to the picnic ride?”

“Yes—rather,” said Susan.

“I don’t know,” said Noel. “I shall have to see.” She was thinking that such a long ride would be too much for Sunset, as Susan would be riding Beauty, and as Simon was almost certain to go, she wouldn’t be able to borrow Rusty.

“I haven’t decided yet, either,” said John. “What’s Mrs. Maxton like?”

“Awfully nice,” said Susan. “Not nearly so particular as the Major, except about trotting too much on the roads and that sort of thing.”

“Nothing like that awful Mitchell woman, I hope,” said John.

“I hadn’t got Beauty when she ran the Pony Club,” said Susan, “so I don’t really know, but I shouldn’t think so.”

“I suppose I’d better be going,” said John, looking at his watch, “though I’m late for lunch already, so it won’t make much difference. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” said Susan and Noel as John left them and rode towards Lower Basset.

As Hilary rode homewards through the faint drizzle to which the earlier torrents of rain had degenerated, she thought over the rally. Roger had been right in saying that no one, except perhaps June, would ask tactless questions about Romany, she thought. Even the Major hadn’t mentioned the subject, and, on the whole, the rally had been much more fun than she had expected. Rocket, apart from being nappy at the beginning, had gone well, but she wished
that June had been there, for she would have liked to compare him with Grey Dawn. The Major obviously thought that Richard and June had used the dentist as an excuse, and Hilary felt glad that her mother and Roger had persuaded her to go. It would have been awful if three of the horse-breakers had had appointments with their dentists, especially as there were only two in Brampton. As Hilary turned and rode under the grey stone archway into the Priory drive, Evelyn’s head appeared at the nursery window. “Do buck up and unsaddle him,” she yelled. “I’m making lino cuts and it’s simply marvellous fun. Do be quick and come and help.” She shut the window with a slam and disappeared from Hilary’s view.

It had stopped raining by the time Noel reached home, and a thin, watery gleam of sunshine was filtering through the clouds. Mrs. Kettering, who was planting out sweet-williams, looked up at the sound of the gate shutting and said, “Hallo, did you have a good time?”

“Yes, thank you,” said Noel. “I learned quite a lot. But why did it have to rain?”

“Are you very wet?” asked Mrs. Kettering.

“No,” said Noel. “The Major was a bit fussy and would lend me a mack, so I’m fairly dry. Beauty jumped marvellously,” she went on. “She did a clear round, and it was quite a high course—at least three feet.”

“Good heavens,” said Mrs. Kettering. “You are getting on with your jumping; I must come and see you at the next rally.”

“I don’t suppose I’ll be able to borrow Beauty for the next one,” said Noel. “I expect Susan will ride her, because it’s for everyone, not just horse-breakers. I do wish,” she went on, “that I could have Romany. It does seem such a waste for her to be turned out at Folly Farm and never ridden. I’m sure she can’t be very naughty; she’s so nice and friendly to talk to.”

“Why don’t you ask the Major?” said Mrs. Kettering.

“I’m not nearly a good enough rider,” said Noel. “I wouldn’t dare.”

“But he can’t say more than no,” said Mrs. Kettering. “And that won’t kill you.”

“I’m sure he’d think I was awfully conceited,” said Noel.

“My good girl,” said Mrs. Kettering violently, “what does that matter? If no one ever thinks anything worse about you than that, you’ll be jolly lucky. You can’t go through life weighing up what people will say or think to every action before you make it. Think of all the great books that would never have been written, the great pictures that would never have been painted, and the lands that would never have been discovered, if the writers, the artists, and the explorers had stopped to wonder what people might say or think. That’s the trouble about the modern generation, they pride themselves on not being rash or hot-headed. ‘Look before you leap’ is their motto, caution is their watchword. They smile contemptuously at the mention of Raleigh, Drake, Nelson, or Disraeli, but I, who would ‘rather see England free than England sober,’ gaze upon their level-headedness with horror, especially when you seem to be catching it. If you want Romany, for goodness’ sake ask the Major and stop dithering.”

As Noel ate her belated lunch, it occurred to her that this was the second time she had been told to stop dithering that day.

Remembering his mood of the morning, Mrs. Holbrooke tactfully let the Major eat his lunch and start drinking his coffee before she asked, “Well, and how did the rally go?”

“Not too badly, considering the weather,” replied Major Holbrooke, more cheerfully than his wife had expected. “The ponies all seem quiet enough and I don’t think Cousin Harry will be able to grumble by the time we’ve finished with them. The Barington-Brown child’s pony kicked Hilary Radcliffe’s Rocket, but luckily it was only a slight cut, and perhaps it will teach them not to ride on each other’s heels.”