Six Ponies (3 page)

However, John wasn’t the last member to arrive. In spite of living only half a mile away, Susan Barington-Brown was late. It wasn’t really her fault, for at the last moment she discovered that Bob had put Beauty’s bridle together all wrong. She had spent ages taking it to pieces and putting it together again, only to find that it was still wrong, whereupon she had put it on in despair, for it was already time for the rally to start. Last of all were the Morrissons. They both arrived in very bad tempers—Richard because his mother had made him ride over with Jill, and Wendy, besides being a much slower walker than Peter, had stopped to graze at intervals, and Jill, because Wendy had been so naughty, and Richard, instead of helping her, had ridden on, stopping occasionally to shout remarks about her feebleness or Wendy’s manners. They joined the other Pony Club members in the big flat field behind the house, and they were just in time to hear the Major finish a short explanation of the day’s programme. Then he asked them all to walk in single file round the four whitewashed posts which marked out a “school” in the middle of the field. At first Major Holbrooke merely told them not to bunch and that there should be a horse’s length between each of them; then he began to look at the riders individually. The standard of horsemanship really was rather low,
but it wasn’t altogether the children’s fault, for up to now there had been no one who really knew anything about riding to teach them. Mrs. Maxton, who ran the riding-school at Basset, had rather old-fashioned ideas, and though she taught her pupils to stay on and to control their ponies, they lacked elegance, were bad at jumping, and knew nothing of more advanced equitation. Miss Lamb, who lent Noel Topsy, and Miss Mitchell, the secretary of the Pony Club, were both indifferent riders, and neither of them had studied horsemanship enough to be able to explain it to any one else.

The first thing which caught Major Holbrooke’s eagle eye was Susan’s bridle. He showed her how it should be, and put it right. Then he called a brother and sister, whose names were Anthony and Felicity Rate, into the centre, and explained to them that if they wanted their ponies to walk
they must give them a loose rein and allow them to extend their necks. Anthony, who thought he was too old to be taught anything—he was seventeen—tried to argue. He said that Tinker and Topper always jogged, and that if you didn’t hold them on a tight rein they bolted. He was told, quite sharply, that no pony would walk with him hanging on to its head, and that, if they did gallop off, they were only trying to escape from their aching neck muscles.

Then Major Holbrooke made Anthony and Felicity walk round him, and when their ponies jogged—through force of habit—he said, “Pull them up to a walk,” and when they walked, “Now, quickly, give them a loose rein as a reward.” After a few minutes Tinker and Topper seemed to understand, and when they were sent back to their places they only jogged occasionally. This caused a general loosening of reins, for a good many members had thought it necessary to have a firm “feel” on their ponies’ mouths. Then the order to trot was given, and straight away Noel was called in and told not to lean so far forward and not to rest her hands on Topsy’s withers. Noel, overcome by embarrassment, was unable to say anything, and she felt sure the Major thought she was like Anthony and didn’t want to be taught. Several of the smaller children—Jill Morrisson, Simon Wentwood and the Minton boys—were corrected, and then the order was given to canter. Major Holbrooke let those who
had
got their ponies to canter, canter half-way round the school, and then he called everyone into the middle and asked if
any one
besides June knew the correct aids to canter on the off leg. Most of the members looked rather blank, and for a bit no one answered. Then a girl of about eighteen, called Joan Melton, said that you pulled with the right rein and kicked with the right leg.

“Well, that’s one way of doing it,” said the Major, “though in my opinion it’s the wrong one. The aids you use,” he said to Joan, “are what are called lateral aids—that is, using the rein and leg on the same side. Now I don’t want to go into controversial subjects to-day, but I much prefer the diagonal aids—that is, to make your pony lead
on the off leg you would ‘feel’ your right rein and press with your left leg. To lead on the near leg you would, of course, reverse your aids—‘feel’ the left rein and press with the right leg. Now you,” he said, pointing at Susan, “make your pony canter round on the off leg.”

“Oh, dear,” thought Susan, “I know I shall make a mess of it,” and she gave Beauty a kick with both legs and forgot to “feel” either rein.

“You’re on the right leg,” said Major Holbrooke. “But that was your pony—you didn’t give any aid at all.” And he patiently showed her all over again. This time Susan understood, and she made Beauty lead off correctly to either hand. Several more people tried with varying success, and then Noel, who, after making a complete muddle of it, was forced to admit that she didn’t know her right hand from her left, the near side from the off, and hadn’t the faintest idea how you told which leg you were on. Major Holbrooke explained, to the relief of several of the people who hadn’t tried, but who instantly pretended they had known all along. Noel wasn’t very successful, for Topsy much preferred the near leg, and she obstinately went on it, in spite of the most violent aids to lead on the off one. When she had had about a dozen tries, the Major said it was hopeless, and called the next person. Noel did feel disheartened; even Simon Wentwood seemed a better rider than she, and she thought drearily that she was doomed to go through life a third-rate horsewoman, when she had so wished to be good, and in day-dreams had conceitedly imagined herself as an M.F.H., the fastest woman over sticks in Leicestershire, or winning the open jumping at Olympia.

Scarcely any one managed to get their pony on the right leg the first time; in fact, June Cresswell and Mary Compton were the only ones, and they sat and watched the other members getting hot and bothered with what John Manners told Richard Morrisson were conceited smiles on their faces. John felt particularly cross, because he had always despised this sort of thing and termed it show riding. As he told
Richard, his father had never bothered about which leg he was on in India, and he’d been pretty good at polo and pigsticking. Richard said that this fancy stuff was safe and suitable for girls, but for those who weren’t nervous, races were much more fun.

“I can’t understand what the Major sees in it,” said John. “You can’t say he’s a cissy—I mean he’s jolly good at jumping and all that sort of thing, but he’s awfully keen on this stunt too.”

“I suppose there’s something in it,” said Richard, “but I’m blowed if I can see it.”

“Nor me,” said John. “And anyway, what’s the good of it in the hunting-field? I jolly well wouldn’t stop to put Turpin on the right leg when the hounds were running.”

When everyone, except Noel, Jill Morrisson and the Minton boys, who were all dismissed as hopeless, had mastered the diagonal aids, the Major taught them to ride circles, and then they tried some jumping.

The jump was only a small one—in fact, several people were heard to remark that it was “potty”—but Major Holbrooke found fault with everyone’s seat. Even June was corrected. To the great delight of most of the other members, she was told to shorten her reins and put more weight in her stirrups.

“Of course Major Holbrooke believes in the forward seat,” said Mrs. Cresswell to Mrs. Radcliffe, who was beside her, “but it’s quite impractical for showing purposes, and I’d so much rather that June rode with her reins on the long side than too short, like that queer Kettering child.”

Mrs. Radcliffe, who disliked Mrs. Cresswell and was only polite to her because she was one of Dr. Radcliffe’s patients, said that
she
thought Noel looked rather nice. Mrs. Cresswell gave an affected laugh, and said that of course it was a matter of taste, but she was sure that she would die of shame if her daughter was dressed in such appalling clothes or mounted on such a scruffy pony.

“Well, in my opinion,” said Mrs. Radcliffe, “children get just as much, if not more, fun out of a pony like Topsy
than they do out of one that costs three figures and wins at Olympia.”

“Of course I always like to get June the best,” said Mrs. Cresswell. “But I grant you that it’s not every child that can manage a pony with blood in it—a thoroughbred pony like Wonder.”

But it was John who did the worst jump of all; for though he had heard everyone else told to lean forward, he decided that his father knew just as much about riding as Major Holbrooke, who, after all, was only a major, and would have to do as dad told him if they were still in the Army. So when his turn came he jumped with the backward seat as usual. The Major gave a loud roar, which meant, apparently, that the jag John had given Dick Turpin’s mouth was enough to put a pony off jumping for the rest of its life, and that he
must
lean forward, keep his legs back and his hands down.

“But that’s the forward seat,” said John, deciding that he wasn’t going to be shouted at for nothing, “and my father says it’s hopeless for hunting—if your pony pecks you can’t help going over his head.”

“Oh, heavens,” said Major Holbrooke rather wearily, “I thought that tiresome old theory had died out long ago!” And he went on to explain that a lot of people thought, quite wrongly, that any one who leant forward was jumping with the forward seat, and unfortunately, in England, the number of people who really jumped with the forward seat was very small compared with those who tried to imitate it without knowing the principles. These people generally jumped in “advance” of their horses, with their legs too far back and very little balance or knee grip. They were therefore liable to come off it if anything unexpected happened; but with the correct seat you were perfectly secure, and, borrowing Anthony Rate’s Topper, the Major gave a demonstration, laying special emphasis on the position of the leg and foot, which was, he said, the keynote to the whole seat. From the horse’s point of view he likened the rider who jumped with the forward seat to a well-balanced,
firmly-fixed knapsack, while riders like John were satchels, bumping their horses’ loins as they jumped. As for jagging a pony’s mouth, the Major couldn’t believe that the most old-fashioned of fathers thought that a good thing, for it needed very little imagination to realise how painful it must be.

John was furious. He was too conceited to realise what a bad rider he was, and so, instead of feeling grateful for the Major’s corrections, he thought he had been spitefully set upon and made to look a fool in front of all the other members, who, he was sure, were laughing at him. For a moment he thought he would ride away and never come to a beastly Pony Club rally again; but then the Major asked him whether he would like another try, and John, resolving to show he could jump with the forward seat if he wanted to, rode at the jump, hurled himself forward, and banged his nose on Dick Turpin’s hogged mane, which was very prickly, and made his eyes water. However, Major Holbrooke, who was already haunted by remorse for having been so squashing, said that that was jolly good, and John would soon pick it up.

When everyone had done at least one jump fairly well, the Major said it was time to stop. He showed them where the water-trough was, and told them they might tie their ponies to the park rails while they ate their picnic lunches.

Noel had forgotten her halter, so she had to tie Topsy up with her stirrup leathers; and Jill Morrisson forgot to loosen Wendy’s girths. But this was soon pointed out to her by June, much to Richard’s annoyance; for once he took Jill’s part, telling June that she hadn’t forgotten, but was just about to loosen them. However, June squashed him by saying that you should see to your pony before you even
unpacked
your lunch, and though throughout the rest of the afternoon the most sarcastic replies occurred to him, at the time he said nothing.

The Radcliffes rescued their mother from Mrs. Cresswell, and then they ate their lunch lying on the grass in the park,
except for James and Margaret, who climbed one of the giant oaks, which they said was a lighthouse, and made the rest of the family hand their food up to them.