Six Ponies (7 page)

As they walked back across the fields, Major Holbrooke explained about lungeing. He said he expected they had all seen it done, but, for the benefit of any one who hadn’t, it was simply making a horse walk, trot and canter on a long webbing rein fixed to his head-collar and held by the trainer who, by standing more or less in the same place, causes the horse to go round in a continuous circle. Lungeing was, he said, an excellent thing for the young horse, as it balanced and suppled him, thus improving his head-carriage and making him stride out properly, besides teaching him the words of command, which were so important when you first started to ride him.

When they reached the stables they found that Blake had The Merry Widow ready in a head-collar and lunge-rein. The Major led her out to a small paddock on the west side of the house and started to lunge her, first of all at the walk. He pointed out the way in which he held the rein and whip, and said that of course they mustn’t expect their ponies to go as well at first, as The Widow had been broken in six weeks and knew all about it. When he had lunged The Merry Widow at the walk, trot and canter to either hand, Major Holbrooke asked if any one would like a try. “Me,” said everyone but Noel, who was keeping well out of sight.

The Major handed the lunge-rein and whip to Evelyn, who had spoken most loudly. While she had been watching, Evelyn had thought lungeing looked easy, and as she knew she was a very capable person, she had expected to be able to do it straight away, but, to her chagrin, The Merry Widow, who had behaved perfectly with the Major, refused to walk round at all. After she had tried for a few minutes,
with very little success, Major Holbrooke pointed out that she was standing absolutely still in the centre and expecting the horse to walk round her, while she should move round with the horse, though on a very much smaller circle and slightly behind her, with the whip out, ready to send her on if she should try to stop or turn, in exactly the same way as one used one’s legs when riding.

When Evelyn got the idea of this she managed the Widow much better, and when she had made her walk and trot round to either hand several times, the Major said it was someone else’s turn, and Richard took the rein. He was quite good, but he would show off and try to crack the whip. Susan, who had the next turn, tangled the lunge-rein round her legs and was nearly pulled over; but apart from this she controlled The Merry Widow well, as did Hilary. When Hilary had had her turn, the Major said The Widow had done enough, and he sent John for Black Magic. She was more difficult to lunge, for not only had she a more excitable temperament, but she had barely been broken in a month. In spite of this, both John and June managed her well. Then, since she didn’t come forward, Major Holbrooke asked Noel if she didn’t want a turn.

“Oh, I should love one,” said Noel, “but I’m not having a pony.”

“That doesn’t make any difference,” said the Major. “Come on.”

So Noel gave Beauty, whom she had been holding, to Susan, murmuring, “I’m sure to do something silly—I’ll probably let her go.”

“What’s that?” asked the Major.

Noel blushed and said, “I was only saying that I’d probably let her go.”

“You are a Uriah Heep, aren’t you?” said the Major, handing her the lunge-rein. Noel felt even more embarrassed. She went scarlet in the face and dropped the whip. Oh, goodness, she thought miserably, why ever did I come?

“What does Uriah Heep mean?” asked Susan of no one in particular.

“Susan!” said Evelyn in shocked tones.

“Gosh!” said John.

“Do you mean to say you don’t read Dickens?” asked Richard in an incredulous voice.

“Oh, it comes from Dickens, does it?” said Susan quite unabashed. “I’ve never read any of his books—they look awfully dull.”

“Don’t I know it,” said John. “I’ve just read
Great Expectations
for my holiday task.”

“Do you mean to say you don’t
like
Dickens?” asked Richard.

“I do,” said John. “I think
Oliver Twist
and
David Copperfield
are the best, but I’d rather read something by Robert Louis Stevenson or the Scarlet Pimpernel books any day.”

“But you
can’t
dislike Dickens,” said Richard. “I mean he’s famous—everyone likes him.”

“Of course he can dislike him if he wants to,” said Roger. “What’s the point in pretending to like an author just because he’s famous or other people like him? The other people may be wrong.”

“The Scarlet Pimpernel books are only suitable for people of ten,” said Richard scornfully.

“Well, how old are you?” asked Roger in a pointed manner.

“I don’t agree with you, Richard,” said the Major, joining in. “Certainly they are not well written when compared with Dickens, but they have a spirit of adventure which can be appreciated by a greater mental age than ten, especially in these dull and rather colourless times, and I must confess I find them more exciting and no more ridiculous than the average present-day detective story; though this does not prevent me from enjoying Aristotle in another mood. After all, champagne and caviare at the Ritz do not take the pleasure from bread and cheese and beer at a country inn.”

“But all the same,” said Richard rather sulkily, “I can’t understand any one not liking Dickens.”

“I think that, to most people, the classics are an acquired taste,” said Major Holbrooke. “That’s why they make you read them at school. John will probably enjoy Dickens when he’s older, though I must admit I find a lot of his work infernally dull, while you have already acquired the taste. I expect you read him originally to please your parents, who probably thought it very clever, while John’s thought cricket more important.”

“That’s right,” said John. “Dad often says he doesn’t want me to become a learned guy with long hair and a fancy tie. He says it’s the games that count.”

“I’m afraid I don’t altogether agree with him,” said Major Holbrooke; and then to Noel, who, finding no one was paying the least attention to her, had ceased to worry, and had therefore managed Black Magic quite easily, he said:

“It wasn’t so dreadfully difficult after all, was it?”

“No,” said Noel, dropping the whip and tangling the lunge-rein round her legs. “It was lovely—she’s awfully good.”

“You had better have a turn now, Roger,” said the Major. And then, when Roger had finished, he told James and Margaret Radcliffe, to their annoyance, that they were too small, and, taking the rein, he showed the way to teach a horse to jump, beginning with a pole on the ground and working up to two feet six—the highest Black Magic had learned to jump so far.

Just at the end of the jumping, Mrs. Holbrooke, who had been good naturedly keeping Mrs. Cresswell out of the Major’s way by showing her round the immense aviary in which she, Mrs. Holbrooke, kept her collection of exotic birds, came into the paddock to point out to the Major that it was already half-past twelve, and that most families lunched at one.

“Oh, heavens,” said Major Holbrooke guiltily, “why on earth didn’t someone tell me before? Now I shall have hundreds of irate parents after my blood. Come on, all of
you; we’d better catch those ponies. Have you got your halters?”

“Oh, dear!” said Susan. “Noel, we’ve come without one.”

“If you were relying on Noel, I’m not surprised,” said the Major with a laugh. “Didn’t you know she’s anti-gardens?”

Noel felt fearfully embarrassed and again wished she hadn’t come, but Susan only laughed and said she hadn’t far to go home for one. However, the Major said of course he would lend her a halter, and he sent Noel to fetch one, for she knew where they were kept, and he asked Roger to put Black Magic away, as Blake would have gone to lunch. Noel helped Roger to settle Black Magic, and then they ran across the fields, to find that the others had already caught the ponies. They put the halter on Susan’s bay, and then, when everyone had thanked the Major, who said that any one who got into difficulties was to ring him up and that he would arrange another rally before the end of the holidays, and Mrs. Holbrooke, who promised to ring up and reassure Mrs. Manners and Mrs. Morrisson, the only mothers who were likely to worry about their children being late, Noel, Margaret and James mounted and, followed by the six led ponies, they set off for home. When they came to the drive, the Radcliffes took the back way, which led to the Hogshill road, while everyone else, except June, went down the main drive to the Basset-Brampton road. There John had a little difficulty in persuading his black mare to go alone to Lower Basset while all her friends were led off in the opposite direction, but he got her along in the end, though she neighed hopefully long after the others were out of sight.

Mrs. Cresswell and June had great difficulty in getting the grey into the trailer. The Major and Blake, who had come back from his lunch, had to help, and the Major, who was feeling hungry, and therefore rather cross, became very annoyed with Mrs. Cresswell, who would wave her arms and say, “Shoo!” to the pony, which, of course, only upset her the more. At last Major Holbrooke could bear it no
longer. He gave Mrs. Cresswell a lecture, and, taking the halter-rope from June, who was trying to pull her pony in, he picked up each of the grey’s fore-feet in turn and put them on the ramp; then, holding out a cow-cake, he walked up in front of her. Finding that the ramp was quite firm and didn’t collapse as she had expected, the grey followed him into the trailer. Mrs. Cresswell thanked the Major effusively, and then he, muttering, “Not at all,” and “Don’t mention it,” hurried into lunch, to find Mrs. Holbrooke also in a bad temper, partly because she was hungry, partly because Mrs. Matthews, the cook, was in a rage as the lunch was overdone, but mainly because she had had to spend the whole morning making conversation to Mrs. Cresswell.

“If only,” she said as she finished her cinder-like cutlet, “that dreadful woman could talk of something else but June and Golden Wonder!”

Meanwhile, as Mrs. Cresswell and June drove home to their lunch, which was to be sausages and mash followed by bread and butter pudding, they discussed the events of the morning.

“Wasn’t it a good thing I got the grey,” said June, “and not the cart-horsy old skewbald or the dull bays and black? I wouldn’t have been seen dead on the skewbald.”

“The grey is certainly the pick of the bunch,” replied Mrs. Cresswell, “and I’m very glad you got her, June, for I hardly think those other children would have done her justice. Of course, the chestnut was a showy little animal.”

“Well, he soon won’t be,” said June. “Hilary Radcliffe is sure to spoil him. Why, she doesn’t even know how to change legs, so what’s the good of her trying to break in a pony?”

“That’s quite true,” said Mrs. Cresswell; “and really,” she went on, “after the exhibition those children made of themselves at the Pony Club rally, I don’t know how the Major can bring himself to entrust them with his cousin’s
ponies. I suppose he thinks he can chase round after them all showing them what to do, but in spite of the nasty way he spoke when we were boxing her, he can rest assured that one pony—and probably only one—will be properly trained.”

“Susan,” said Noel as they parted from the Morrissons and turned up the drive to Basset Towers, “I know I shall upset something.”

“That’s all right,” said Susan calmly. “I often do. Mummy makes rather a fuss, and Valerie says my table manners are disgusting, but they won’t be able to say anything to you—you’re a guest.”

“But it’s so awfully embarrassing,” said Noel.

“I don’t see why,” said Susan. “Everybody upsets things sometimes.”

“Not as often as I do,” said Noel. “I hardly ever go out without upsetting something.”

“I say, Noel. What does Uriah Heep really mean?” asked Susan, changing the subject.

“He’s a character in
David Copperfield
,” said Noel. “He had clammy hands and was very ’umble.”

“ ’Umble?” said Susan. “But why did the Major call you Uriah Heep?”

“Because I thought I would let Black Magic go, I suppose,” said Noel.

“I see,” said Susan, who didn’t.

By this time they had reached the stables, and the bay pony, which had led perfectly all the way, suddenly refused to go any farther. In vain did Susan try to tempt her with apples or pull her along. In vain did Noel take Beauty on ahead. They pushed and pulled and tempted her for about ten minutes, and then, just as they were despairing, Mr. Barington-Brown came rolling up the drive in his Daimler, driven by Cookson, the chauffeur. The pony didn’t take any notice of the car; she just stood, her fore-legs braced out in front of her, and refused to move. Cookson brought the black, shiny and very respectable looking Daimler smoothly
to a standstill, and Mr. Barington-Brown jumped out and said in jovial tones:

“ ’Ullo, Susan. Won’t the bucking broncho go?”

“Oh, Daddy, you’re just in time.
Do
come and help us.”

So Mr. Barington-Brown, who in the days of his youth, long before he became a rich shoe manufacturer, had looked after a pony called Snowball, belonging to his father, a greengrocer, pushed, while Susan tempted the pony and Noel rode ahead on Beauty. Suddenly the bay gave in and walked quietly into the stable. They put her in the box next to Beauty, in which she looked very small and forlorn, for it was the old-fashioned type, with iron bars all round, so that she couldn’t look out or speak to Beauty next door. To Noel she seemed like an unjustly sentenced prisoner, and lines from the ballad of Reading Jail came into her mind.