Pony Club Cup (Woodbury Pony Club Book 1)

by Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  “You did very well,” David told her. “I didn’t expect a clear round from old Safety First at his first outing.”

  “Rupert’s doing brilliantly so far,” Netti told her sister.

  “He’s over the ditch—no trouble there. He’s going pretty fast. I hope he remembers to slow up for the pen. Too fast, he’s in, but he’s not going to turn, he’s going straight on. No, he’s refused. Well, he’s collided with the straw bales. He’s turned and he’s out,” shouted Mr Franklin.

  The pony club members were all climbing back on their ponies to see Rupert finish.

  “Isn’t Rosie going fast.”

  “I didn’t know she could gallop like that.”

  “Good old Rupert,” shouted Oliver as his brother jumped the last.

  “Will him to go through the finish,” shrieked Netti.

  Rosie went through the flags so fast that it was some way before Rupert could pull up, but then he dismounted and led her back, looking round vaguely for David.

  “That was terrific,” he said, “I did just about everything wrong, but it was still terrific. I wish we could come back tomorrow and have another go.”

  “Did you have any refusals?” asked Lesley impatiently.

  “Dozens, I should think. I got lost in the quarry. We hit the last pole of the grid a fearful clonk, but I think it stayed up. Then we went down the slide too fast and practically fell in the river. We took that pen thing too fast as well and she refused the straw bales, which was a bit of luck really as we weren’t meant to jump them. While she was stationary I managed to haul her round and point her at the wattles and she was terribly pleased to see an easy way out. Poor old Rosie,” he went on, patting her, “I’m afraid you had a lot of frights.”

  “But how many refusals did you have?” asked Lesley in an exasperated voice.

  “Did you circle or turn round in the quarry?” asked Lizzie.

  “I don’t think so, I just got lost and wandered about in the bushes. And in the pen we sort of collided with the bales. I don’t think I turned round.”

  “You’ll have to wait and see what the judges say,” David told Lesley. “He didn’t have any time faults. You did well,” he told Rupert, “and Rosie’s got the makings of a good cross-country pony. She needs experience and a bit more education. Now you’d better all water and feed while we’re waiting for the results.”

  “Hold it,” said Oliver. “Julia sent me to tell you that one of the Froggie ponies isn’t going. It’s gone lame, so she persuaded the collecting steward to put Tina in the space. They went dashing off for a practice jump, but they’re back now.”

  “Oh we must stay and watch Hobby,” said Lizzie.

  “I think Tina’s going to mess things up,” Oliver sounded gloomy. “Her teeth keep chattering and she’s gone pale grey with fright.”

  “I’ll go and see if l can cheer her up,” said David, limping off towards the start.

  The pony club members turned their attention back to the course. The Frogmorton team had taken off their black jackets and donned polo necks like everyone else, but their elegant little ponies didn’t seem at home on the cross­ country. The first one had gone so slowly that the second one caught up with it and they came through the finish together. Then the third one set off and Tina took her place at the start. Julia checked her girths. David said, “Take it steady. Just try to get round.”

  Tina could only nod miserably, as she tried to control her chattering teeth.

  “You’ll be all right once you get going,” David told her. “I can remember feeling ghastly before my first race.”

  Tina set off with fumbling hands and weak legs, her mind taken up with how awful she felt. Hobbit knew his stable companions were all in the collecting ring. He didn’t want to leave them and go out in to the unknown, and sensing that his rider also disliked the expedition, he went slowly and without his usual zest. He came to a stop at the first fence.

  “I knew it,” groaned Oliver.

  “Oh go on, Tina, don’t be feeble,” said Sarah.

  “Legs!” added Alice.

  Tina suddenly woke up to the horror of her situation. She might not even get over the first fence. Ollie would never forgive her. She shook herself into action and gave the surprised Hobbit a whack.

  “Short run and legs,” she told herself. Hobbit, finding that she did want to go after all, decided to oblige. He jumped the brush and cantered on towards the crossed rails. By the time they reached the quarry Tina had forgotten herself and was concentrating on the course. Flying in and out of the spinney, a sensation of pleasure began to creep over pony and rider. Hobbit forded the brook willingly, jumped the grid neatly and then they caught up with the third Frogmorton pony, dithering with horror at the top of the slide.

  “Clear the course,” shouted the jump judge. “Stand to the side, number thirty-four. Let the next pony through.”

  “Get out of the way and I’ll give you a lead,” shouted Tina. Hobbit slid down carefully, splashed through the brook, jumped the pole and galloped for the ditch.

  Oliver gave cries of triumph as Hobbit reappeared, leading the Frogmorton pony home.

  “She’s clocked up a few time faults, I’m afraid,” said David, looking at his watch. “But they may let her off some of them if the other pony held her up.”

  The Wheelers all rushed to congratulate Hobbit, and a few minutes later the mothers began to emerge from the course.

  “I’ve been watching by that horrible slide.” Mrs Franklin was wearing green jeans and short yellow gumboots instead of her usual sari. “I am very proud of you, Hanif. You have done so well. Both our teams are doing very well.”

  Mrs Wheeler was looking at her children with new eyes. “I never knew that you were all so accomplished,” she said. “You’ve been telling me for years that Rupert was the most hopeless tack-cleaner on earth, yet he’s got seventy-five marks for turnout. You told me that Rosie and Ra couldn’t jump and then I find you flying round the most terrifying­looking course.”

  Mrs Spencer had rushed to hug Tina. “You were great,” she told her. “I nearly died when you refused the first one, but after that you got going and you were fantastic. The way you yelled at the little Frogmorton girl on top of that terrifying slide. Oh, Tina,” she hugged her again, “I never realised that when I joined you to the pony club it would lead to this.”

  “No,” agreed Tina, who was rather embarrassed by all the hugging, “and it wouldn’t have come to this if Ollie hadn’t lent me Hobbit.”

  “You must be proud of your elder daughter,” Mr Franklin told Mrs Rooke as they hurried back to the collecting ring area, carrying the latest scores, “To come out top in the dressage, that really is something.”

  “Oh yes, well, Lesley’s a specialist by nature, but Sarah has a more balanced character. She’s a real all-rounder. I expect you noticed that not many of the younger children took part in all four events.”

  “Lesley’s won the dressage!” Hanif shouted the good news as his stepfather handed a carefully marked score sheet to David, who had been sat down in the car and was being given coffee by Mrs Roberts.

  “Well done, Lesley.”

  “David said you were good.”

  “Will she get a rosette?”

  Then, to Alice’s amazement, her Aunt Margaret appeared. “You have done well,” she said, smiling her thin smile. “I had no idea you could do dressage and cross-country.”

  “I had no idea you were coming,” answered Alice.

  “Well, it hadn’t occurred to me, but then Clare suddenly arrived. She’s home from Turkey. I think she’s finished with her latest boyfriend, and she wanted to come. She said it would remind her of her pony club days—not that she ever attempted a dressage test. Ah, here she comes. She stopped to get your score.”

  “Hullo, Alice. Your lot are doing terribly well. You’ve acquired eight hundred and thirty-five marks without counting the cross-country,” said Clare, who had Uncle Peter’s rather square figu
re and Aunt Margaret’s decided manner, combined with a much more cheerful expression. “You’re lying second and the other Woodbury team are only ten behind you. And doesn’t Sandra Crankshaw’s Saffy look different? He used to have a dreadful skinny neck and charge about with his ears in Sandra’s face. I can’t imagine how you’ve persuaded him to do dressage.”

  All the other Woodbury members were pressed round David.

  “How are we doing?”

  “Did Lesley really win the dressage?”

  “Yes, with a hundred and eighteen points. Three ahead of her nearest rival. But the rest of you haven’t done too badly. James and Netti—a hundred and six. Lizzie, a hundred and four. Alice, a hundred and three. Harry, ninety-eight. Well, you can all see for yourselves in a moment.”

  “But how are we doing in the whole competition?” asked James impatiently.

  “It all depends on the cross-country. There are six teams more or less level-pegging at the moment. It looks to me as though the one with three clear rounds will win.”

  “But both our teams are in the first six,” added Mr Franklin proudly. “And the other six are right out of it.”

  “Go and put the ponies away,” said David when they had all had a look at the score sheet. “It’s bound to take some time to sort out the cross-country scores and do the final adding up.”

  The ponies knew they had done well. They accepted their owners’ praise and cosseting graciously, feeling that it was theirs by right. Ferdinand and Jupiter looked very superior in their dark blue, fishnet sweat rugs. The cattle truck ponies were all wearing rugs of some sort. Lesley was bandaging Stardust’s legs. Alice had no rug, but she brushed out Saffron’s saddle mark and gave him an enormous feed. She was feeling desperately sad. She knew this was really the end of the holidays. The course was over, soon she’d start school. Saffron would be sent back. Supposing Mr Crankshaw sold him? She loved him so much, she thought, swallowing tears. She’d never love another pony so much, even if they could find one to hire next holidays. Hanif was calling her—his mother had made far too much tea. He pleaded with her to come and help him eat it. She went over, trying to force a cheerful smile on her face.

  They were still eating when Oliver came running. “David says there are rosettes to six places so he thinks both teams will get them. You’re all to come up looking tidy, wearing jackets and crash caps,” he told them.

  “I needn’t bother, need I?” asked Tina, who had already put her borrowed jacket in Mrs Rooke’s car.

  “He said ‘everyone’,” answered Oliver, “so I expect you’d better.”

  They all walked up together.

  “If only we’d had one of the Washouts in our team, we’d have had a really good chance of winning,” complained James, who had borrowed his mother’s score sheet and studied everybody’s marks. “If we’d had you, Alice, we’d certainly have won, and with Lesley too, we’d have been streets ahead of all the other teams.”

  “But it wouldn’t have been so much fun, because the rest of us would have been nowhere,” Lizzie pointed out.

  Mrs Rooke bustled round inspecting them. “Rupert, your shirt’s out, your tie’s crooked and you can’t wear your cap on the back of your head like that,” she snapped. “Paul, there’s orange juice on your face. Do up your jacket buttons, Alice.”

  David was sitting in the Franklin’s car, and, as they gathered round, he asked, “Do the boys all know they have to take off their crash caps if they’re given rosettes? The girls only have to say thank you and smile.”

  “Rupert, did you hear,” demanded Netti. “You take your cap off.”

  Oliver rushed up. “They’ve taken down the scoreboard and they’re adding the cross-country marks,” he announced, and rushed away again.

  A moment later he reappeared, waving his arms excitedly. “They’ve given Rupert a clear. You’ve six hundred cross-country points.”

  The Washouts looked at each other and hope grew.

  “Great!”

  “Fantastic!”

  “That means you didn’t turn your back, then.” Lesley looked at Rupert accusingly.

  “It means they’ve beaten us,” moaned Sarah.

  “We knew that. We both had two clears and one dodgy round, but they were already fifteen points ahead.” No one listened to James.

  Lynne, Paul and Sarah raced after Oliver. David had climbed out of the car and the others walked beside him as he headed slowly towards the table that had been set up for the rosettes.

  Mrs Franklin appeared with a picnic chair. “Will you sit down, please,” she said, offering it to David.

  “No, I’m all right. I’ve been sitting in the car.” David waved her away.

  “Persuade him to sit, Hanif. He must, he is exhausted.”

  Hanif opened the chair. “It’s no good, David. She’s a terrible bully. You’d better surrender with dignity because she’ll win in the end.”

  “Put it round to the side then,” said David with a sigh. “I don’t want to sit bang in the middle, looking like a presiding judge.”

  With David sitting, most of the Woodbury members collapsed on the ground around him and tried to wait patiently for the final results. They didn’t have to wait long. Suddenly Mr Franklin and Mrs Rooke detached themselves from the crowd round the scoreboard and hurried over. Mr Franklin was trying hard not to look too pleased. “First and third,” he told David quietly. “They’ve labelled your lot Woodbury A,” he added, turning to Hanif, “so don’t be thrown into confusion when they call you.”

  The Washouts gave no shout of triumph, partly because they didn’t quite believe they had won, and partly because they didn’t want to crow over the defeated Wonders.

  Then Oliver rushed over and broke the tension by shouting, “Tina’s sixth in the Junior Individual. You are,” he repeated, seeing the blank look on Tina’s face. “You’re sixth and you get a rosette, I asked the secretary.”

  “Oh Ollie, you shouldn’t bother officials …” Lizzie began but they shushed her as the Area Representative began to speak.

  “She was a famous showjumper when she was young,” Paul told the others. “I’ve got a photograph of her in one of my books.”

  She was telling them what they already knew, that the Area Cup was a new idea especially to encourage pony clubs which couldn’t produce teams of the standard required for the main inter-branch events, and to bring on the younger members. Then she thanked the organizers, congratulated them on their efficiency, and came at last to the winning teams.

  “First, Woodbury A. Second, East Tulworth. Third, Woodbury B. Fourth, Brackenhurst. Fifth, South Barset. Sixth, Northdown.”

  Walking forward in a row, the five Washouts had to believe that they had won. This was no dream.

  “Congratulations,” said Jill Donaldson five times as she handed them their red rosettes and, “Many congratulations,” as she held out the large silver cup. “You must all be very proud that the Woodbury will be the first name on it.”

  Lesley and Lizzie took the cup; the boys’ hands were too full of crash caps and rosettes to carry any more. Everyone clapped and the photographer told them to hold it high. Then, as the East Tulworth were called in, they rushed out and Lizzie handed it straight to David.

  “You really won it,” she said. “None of us would have come anywhere at all without you.”

  David looked from the cup to Lizzie and then smiled. “Well, let’s say it was a combined effort,” he suggested. “I couldn’t have done it without five people prepared to put up with my roars of rage and really work. Here, come on, clap the Wonders, all of you, I can’t.”

  James and Netti came back carrying their yellow rosettes and trying to stifle feelings of disappointment and envy, but Lynne and Paul, who were truly delighted, rushed to show theirs to their parents. Sarah gave hers a look of disgust and stuffed it in her pocket.

  The senior individuals had been given their rosettes. The juniors were called forward and Tina took her place at the end of
the line. She came back smiling. “The first thing I’ve ever won, but it’s yours, Ollie. They go with the pony.”

  Oliver looked at the rosette in horror. “Why did it have to be pink? Ugh, it’s a colour I can’t stand. You keep it, Tina. I’ll wait until next year and try to win one myself.”

  The Area Representative was explaining that so many people had tied first in the quiz, turnout and cross-country sections that it was impossible to award special rosettes, but in the dressage two riders had been outstanding: Lesley Rooke of the Woodbury and Amanda Goddard of the East Tulworth, and would they come forward for their rosettes. Everyone but Sarah clapped enthusiastically, and Netti and Lynne shocked by this unsisterly attitude, each took one of Sarah’s hands and clapped them for her.

  Lesley came back looking rather dazed, and took the large red and white rosette with Special across the centre to show David.

  Mrs Rooke swept up bossily. “You look all in, David. I’ve sent Mr Franklin to fetch my car and I’ll take you home at once.”

  “Oh, I’m O.K.,” said David, struggling to his feet. “I’ve enjoyed it and there’s nothing like a little success to drive away the aches and pains. Well done, all of you,” he told the pony club members. “I’m very pleased with the way you all went.” He looked round at their faces, “Don’t you think, Mrs Rooke, that there’s something about our pony club? They look much nicer than anyone else’s.”

  “They performed better today, and that’s what counts,” snapped Mrs Rooke, opening the car door.

  Alice’s relations reappeared. “Congratulations Alice. We’re bursting with pride,” said Clare. “If only I’d done something like this in my pony club days, but teams and cups and red rosettes seemed an unattainable dream. I’ve been telling Mum that she must get a move on and arrange to buy Saffy from old Crankshaw. I imagine he’s what you want most in the world?”

  “Oh yes, the only thing really. But it’s difficult about money,” explained Alice sadly.