Henry said, “Margaret, you are the world’s most complete and utter nitwit. If Colonel Manners comes up in a fury to see my dear uncle there won’t half be a dust-up. You know the old boy’s fussy about that bull and there’s an enormous ‘get out and stop out’ notice by the stile.”
“Well, we didn’t hurt his silly bull; in fact it probably did it good to have some amusement,” answered Margaret. “Of course bulls toss people when they have to lead such boring lives. He ought to be grateful to us for giving it something to look at.”
“Optimism isn’t in it,” said Henry. “Well, we’d better go back to camp before they send out another search party.”
By the time Margaret and Nicholas reached camp, buckets of water and haynets awaited their ponies in the lines. The major and Miss Sinclair were both ready to check their finds and everyone gathered round to see what they had brought.
“Frills,” said Margaret, flaunting a nylon petticoat before the major. “It’s Evelyn’s and she’d be livid if she knew I’d got it.”
“It counts as furbelows too,” Nicholas reminded her. “Figs, syrup of,” shrieked Margaret excitedly, as she produced a large bottle.
“And this is a fetish,” said Nicholas, dragging a small, wooden, eastern-looking figure from his pocket.
“Flagon,” said Margaret, “and it’s no use Christopher getting excited because it’s empty. Forceps, I pinched them from the surgery; Doc’d be furious if he knew.”
“A fact which causes you no dismay,” observed the major.
“Well, he shouldn’t be so fussy.”
“Flintlock,” said Nicholas, drawing an antique pistol from his belt.
“File, fuchsia, foxglove, faggots, firewood, flint, fruit, feather,” said Margaret, “that’s the boring ones, now Nicholas, where’s your zoo?”
“Frog,” said Nicholas with pride as he produced a large one out of a sugar carton.
“Bet it’s a toad,” said Christopher.
“No, it isn’t, I got it out of Dr. Radcliffe’s lily pond.”
“You could have saved yourself the trouble,” Jonathan told him, “your horse has got four—one in each hoof. Nicholas is awful,” he told the bystanders, “he hardly knows a single point of the horse.”
“Oh, well, never mind, I never grudge a little trouble for a good cause,” said Nicholas gazing lovingly upon his frog.
“Fleas,” said Margaret, proferring a closed match-box to the major, “Mind they don’t jump out.” The major retreated hastily. “It’s all right, they’re only pig fleas. I got them off Colonel Manners’ sow,” giggled Margaret.
“Margaret, are there some in there, honestly?” asked Jean.
“ Yes, of course there are.”
“Henry, a present for you,” said Major Holbrooke, handing him the box.
“Oh, no, the checking of this competition is entrusted only to senior members of the staff, Miss Sinclair,” said Henry, passing on the box.
Miss Sinclair gave a shrill shriek as she jumped away and the box fell to the ground.
“You’ll make them sea-sick,” protested Gay picking up the box and looking inside. “Two lovely fat juicy ones. Who’d like them, Poppy?”
A shrieking Poppy fled across the field with Gay in pursuit.
“One more thing,” said Margaret, and delving in her pocket she produced a very large white ferret with small pink eyes.
“Isn’t she a dear little girl?” asked Nicholas looking round at the bystanders.
“Oh, Margaret, let me stroke him.”
“Isn’t he sweet?”
“What’s his name?”
“Margaret, you are a mean beast,” James told her. “You’ve been jogging poor Ferdinand all over the country and you know he hates riding. Roger would be furious if he knew.”
“You’re only jealous, because you didn’t think of it.”
“I’m not.”
“Quiet, please,” shouted the major. “Here are the results…”
“Ow! He’s bitten me,” yelled Sally. “Ow, it’s bleeding.”
“You must smell awful,” Margaret told her, “he never bites me.”
“Dear me, dear me. They shouldn’t bring dangerous animals like that into camp,” protested Miss Sinclair. “You’ll have to make a rule next year, Major Holbrooke.”
“Noel,” said the major, “remove the casualty and cope, please.”
“O.K.,” said Noel. “Who’s got the first aid box?”
“I have,” answered Guy, who was inspecting his sister’s finger. “It’s quite a nasty bite.” Noel, Guy and Sally went off to Noel’s tent and the major announced the results of the competition:
First: David Minton & Guy Barkham
Second: Donald Edge & Jean Millwood
Third: Carola Birkett & James Radcliffe tied with Gay Millwood & Jonathan Lucien
“The Holbrooke prize for the most original collection goes to Margaret Radcliffe and Nicholas Lucien and the booby prize is awarded to Poppy Newland and Martin Minton. The prizes will be presented at tea. And now, will you please tidy up,” he went on, raising his voice to be heard above the growing buzz of conversation.
“Objects of value will be put back where you found them, rubbish will be put in the rubbish bins. Fleas, frogs and captive flies will be released into the hedge, well away from the horse lines and the tents, now, at once. Henry, can you take the ferret home in the Land Rover before it bites anyone else?”
“Yes, of course. Shall I take Margaret?”
“Yes, and you’d better take Susan and her fish as well, but be as quick as you can, it’s practically time for tea.”
The pony club members were uproarious all evening. When the prizes, bars of chocolate and packets of sweets, were presented at tea they clapped and cheered and banged their hands upon the tables. When a form gave way under some of the seniors, they cheered again. When Henry announced that after tea there would be jumping competitions on their own feet for those who cared to take part, the cheers became noisier than ever.
After supper they sang as they cleaned their tack. After being cleaned for three days in succession the tack was much less dirty and the buckles and billets could be undone with ease. Most people had learned how to put their bridles together, but those who hadn’t merely wailed, “Noel” or “Henry” and had it done for them. One or two people were heard to say that they now positively enjoyed cleaning tack, but there were no boys among them. The boys cleaned it in a defiant manner. “There, Major Holbrooke,” said Donald as he ran up his stirrups, “My tack is clean and so are my shoes, and I shall take a very dim view of any complaints from you in the morning.”
“If this doesn’t please Henry, he’s unpleasable,” announced Nicholas as he gazed at Golden Wonder’s bit with admiring eyes. “Noel,” he demanded, “isn’t this a superb shine? Isn’t it the best shine you’ve ever set eyes on?”
“Not bad,” said Noel glancing up from Tommy’s bridle which Joy had put together back to front.
“Oh, Noel, you disappoint me; really you do,” said Nicholas pretending to take offence.
“It’s no use trying to get any encouragement out of her,” Jonathan told him, “she only gives fours; her heart is made of stone.”
“Henry doesn’t think so,” said Judith Quayle.
6
ON FRIDAY practically every section dispatched a spy to inspect the graph on the notice board during early morning stables. The news that the Oranges had increased their lead soon spread round the camp. The Oranges, remembering that pride comes before a fall, did their best not to look pleased, but the Blues were jubilant for they had wrested second place from the Blacks. The Blacks weren’t much bothered because they felt that they were still in a very strong position. The Reds were filled with a quiet sense of achievement, for they had begun to overhaul the leaders. The Greens could hardly speak for despondency; they were even farther behind.
Henry reminded Donald that the Greens were the section on kitchen duties and told
Marion that the Blacks had been almost bound to drop back a few marks because yesterday they had had no duties. Upon hearing this Marion removed herself and her section at the double to fill all the water cans and arrange them in elegant attitudes about the appropriate washing tents.
At breakfast Henry had a notice about the tents to give out. When the noise of conversation and the clatter of cutlery had been stilled, he said, “Miss Sinclair reports that the tents could be a lot better. You might remember that you are marked out of ten for the tidiness of your share of the tent, just as you are in the horse and rider inspection. Yesterday, no boy got more than six marks and the girls weren’t much better. The best tent was Number Three. I don’t know who lives there, but the occupants each got eight marks; with a little effort they might get ten. Miss Sinclair’s chief complaints seem to be: sweet papers, shoes lying all over the place and the brailing round the bottom of the tent not put up, which it should be on fine mornings. That is all. We will groom in twenty minutes. Really,” he said, sitting down, “It’s the limit, me, thrust into the horrible predicament of being a communal nanny.”
“It will prevent you from losing the common touch,” Noel told him. “We don’t want you to become unbearably superior and you might in the Guards.”
“I think it’s shatteringly funny,” said Merry, who’d actually appeared for a meal while it was still in progress, “You haven’t met him in Town, Noel, all dressed to kill and as blasé as they make them; then he comes down here and plays the dutiful nephew, looking after all the dear little kids and giving talks on how to tidy tents. It’ll be personal hygiene next, Henry.”
“I should take that in my stride,” answered Henry. “It’s quite simple, I’m a Jekyll and Hyde, a split personality. There’s a town Henry and a country Henry and ‘never the twain shall meet’. By the time I’m thirty I shall probably have settled for one or the other, but at the moment I’m trying both worlds.”
“I don’t know the town Henry,” said Noel, “unless it is the adult of a strange character who used occasionally to appear at smart tennis parties.”
“Yes, that’s it,” said Henry with a grin.
“Only it’s much worse now,” said Merry. “It’s practically a Teddy boy. It wears drainpipe trousers and a bowler with a curly brim and it carries the most beautifully furled umbrella. Its voice has become so bored and languid that the party is over before it’s got to the end of its one exquisite sentence.”
“Nonsense,” said Henry. “Don’t believe a word she says, Noel. The truth of the matter is that Merry, in permanent and headlong pursuit of all the more eligible bachelors, has no time at all to notice me. Donald,” he went on, as he suddenly observed that the Greens were still in the barn, “for heaven’s sake make your people get a move on, they’ll all be getting black marks for their tents.”
“Leave it, Margaret,” said Donald, for about the sixth time, for Margaret was trying to pile all the dishes in one vast pyramid, but as he spoke the pyramid collapsed and dishes crashed in all directions, chips of enamel flying from them as they hit the concrete floor.
“Margaret,” roared Henry, assuming his sergeant-major voice, “why do you have to do such damn silly things? Really you’re enough to wreck any section; no wonder Green is always in such a parlous state.”
Margaret looked sulky. “How could I know they were going to fall flat?” she asked.
“By using your brains and your common sense,” Henry told her. “Go on, scram. All of you. We’ll restore order here, you go and make your tents presentable.”
“Little dears, aren’t they?” said Mrs. Quayle emerging from the kitchen end of the barn to help. “Never mind, Henry, you’ll have had plenty of experience by the time you have a family of your own.”
“God forbid,” said Henry, “My sister, Elizabeth, has just produced twins—revolting pink objects; I’m put off for life.”
Martin, hurrying across the field toward the tents, said, “Henry’s quite right, how can we do any good with Margaret in the section? It’s jolly unfair—they’ve probably given us dozens more black marks now.”
“What, for dropping a few silly old dishes?” said Margaret angrily. “Anyway, who are you to talk? The boys never get more than six for their tents and you never clean your tack properly and look at the mounted games…”
“Oh, don’t start that again,” said Donald wearily.
“What is the good? We’re all bad; we’re a bad section and that’s all there is to it and we’re so far behind now that a few more bad marks won’t make any difference. Still, we’d better tidy our tents or they’ll think we’re anti-social as well as hopeless.”
“Oh,” said Poppy, “I don’t know what we can do about it, we’re shocking.”
“We can’t do anything,” Donald told her, “so there’s no point in getting into flaps and screaming at each other.”
Henry was agreeably surprised by the elegance of the Lancers at his horse and rider inspection. The tack really looked clean; it wouldn’t have disgraced the major’s saddle room. The ponies shone, the pony club badges shone and all the hoofs were oiled. Everyone was good, but some were better than others. James and David were the best and he gave them each nine, Margaret and Nicholas had eight, Carola and Guy seven. Then, as they walked round the school, he looked critically at their seats. James really rode very nicely, but he was getting too big for his beloved Rocket; luckily there was a smaller Radcliffe coming along, thought Henry, and no doubt, James would graduate to Northwind and Margaret to Sky Pilot or Quaker. Margaret was a very capable rider, but she didn’t please the eye of the beholder and, judging from Northwind’s expression, she irritated her horse. She couldn’t sit still, nor concentrate for more than thirty seconds. I suppose I’ve stopped her kicking, thought Henry, but that’s about all and I’ll bet she begins again as soon as she’s out of my sight. Carola was another blot. Amber was too small for her and not really fit. The pony needs six months at grass, thought Henry, and the girl needs a horse of fifteen two and a hand grenade behind her; she’s still sitting at the back of the saddle.
Nicholas was a rewarding pupil. He was at the gawky age and there had seemed to be no room for his arms and legs on the pony, but he had improved tremendously in two days; he had begun to look like a horseman instead of a mounted scarecrow and Golden Wonder looked a lot happier in consequence.
David Minton had improved. He now rode well except for his hands, which, thought Henry, were heavy to the point of being mailed fists. Still, they were better than they had been and David seemed to have Christopher’s wonderful nerve without his conceit. Guy, well Guy was the sort of person whom camp changed completely. He had arrived a complete ignoramus and he had really ridden too atrociously for the Lancers; by the time camp was over he’d be fit to have a pony of his own.
“Carola, let your stirrups down another two holes,” Henry told her. “You’re still sitting at the back of your saddle. Ride, prepare to trot, trot on. David, stop pulling on the reins, you must follow the horse with your hands.”
The camp programme announced a Sound Hunt for Friday afternoon and at lunch everyone began to ask what a Sound Hunt was. When lunch was over and the major rose to explain, he began by saying that the members would hunt in pairs. Immediately there was an outcry. Most people were shrieking to be allowed their partner of the day before, but a few, Christopher and Martin anyway, were shouting “No”, and “Need we?”
“Silence,” roared the major, and then he added more quietly, “You may choose your own partners, but the older members must pair with the younger ones.” Then there were shrieks of “Will you be with me?” and the major had to shout for silence again before he could explain that members of the camp staff would hide and make their particular noise at approximately thirty-second intervals. “Drums, bells, clanks, any sound may be used and the pair which finds the most makers of noises in half an hour will be the winner,” he explained. “You must tell the noise maker who you are and, as they wil
l only make their noises for half an hour and then return to camp, it will be no use continuing the hunt after three o’clock. The sound makers will all be concealed on my land so there will be no reason whatsoever to ride over Colonel Manners’ land. They will all be found in the area between the Hogshill and Lower Basset roads, the main drive and the boundary fence which separates my farm from Lower Basset Farm. As usual, you will avoid growing crops, shut the gates and do your best not to disturb cattle. Any questions?”
“Yes,” said Christopher. “How many noises will there be? And if several of us find all of them then what happens?”
“Nine sounds,” answered the major consulting a list, “and the first pair back to camp wins, so please make a note of the exact time of your return. You will now rest in your tents until the whistle goes for saddling up.”
“It sounds a super competition,” said Lynne Aldworth to Judith, who was to be her partner again. “We can ride all over the farm and not bother too much about finding the noises.”
Christopher had tried to make James partner him. “We might as well go together; we’re both Blues and we’d have a good chance of winning.”
“Carola’s a Blue, too,” James had pointed out, “and she and I are both in the Lancers. If you’re in the Dragoons you’re supposed to pair up with someone from the Yeomanry, besides we’ve all decided to go with the partners we had yesterday.”
“Oh, all right then,” said Christopher in offended accents, “but you needn’t think you’ll do any good dawdling about the countryside with that drip Carola. She doesn’t even know the place and it’ll need someone who can get a move on to collect all those nine sounds in half an hour.”
“Well, it’s only supposed to be fun,” said James. Christopher tried Jean, who was a Blue and in the Yeomanry, but she said that she had arranged to go with Donald, that Biddy liked Seafire and that Christopher should take Martin because he was grumbling like mad about having to go with Poppy.
Pony Club Camp (Noel and Henry Book 5) Page 7
