Pony Stories (3 Book Bind-Up) (Red Fox Summer Reading Collections)

by K. M. Peyton

  ‘Come on. Let’s get him in a box,’ interrupted Mr. Booth. They half carried Parisian out of the trailer, put him in a box, looked at his knees again.

  ‘I’d better give him a shot,’ said Mr. Booth.

  Sheila made herself scarce. ‘You get on and clean the tack. You’ve done enough damage for the day,’ Mr. Booth told David.

  He spoke to Tornado, found Sheila in the saddle-room.

  ‘What do you think Major Seely will say? It’s all right for you. No one can blame you,’ said Sheila.

  ‘Mr. Booth seems to think it’s all my fault,’ said David.

  ‘Don’t listen to him,’ advised Sheila.

  They cleaned tack and Sheila continued talking, but David didn’t bother to listen any more. He saw himself being lectured by Major Seely, disbelieved by Mr. Booth, and life seemed very hard indeed.

  SCHOOLING

  BUT DAVID DIDN’T see Major Seely that evening, for when he and Sheila had finished the tack, Mr. Booth said, ‘Now you two had better scram. I’ll deal with the fireworks.’

  He left the yard regretfully. He hated the thought of Mr. Booth telling his version of the accident; and he didn’t want to go to bed with a cloud still hanging over him.

  The Bates had gone out, leaving tea waiting on the table. He ate a little bread and butter, roamed round the room, wondered whether Major Seely had returned yet.

  After a time he wandered outside, down a lane, across two fields, past a little cottage and a woman fetching water from a spring. He felt homesick now. He wanted to talk to someone about the accident, to ask them whether it was partly his fault; he remembered the saying, A trouble shared is a trouble halved, and wondered whether it was true.

  When he went to bed he slept badly, and dreamed he was in Oxfordshire again arguing with Pat about Tornado.

  He wakened with a start when Jimmy Bates, knocking on the door, said, ‘Six-thirty.’ He couldn’t believe the night had passed so quickly. For a moment he thought, Where am I? before he remembered.

  When he reached the kitchen Jimmy had already made the early-morning tea, and passed David a cup and a biscuit.

  ‘You look glum enough. What’s eating you?’ asked Jimmy.

  ‘Nothing really,’ David said.

  It was a cloudy morning, but very warm. David found a fork and started to muck-out Tornado. Presently Sheila looked over the door.

  ‘Was there a rumpus last night?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Mr. Booth?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  Parisian’s knees were swathed in bandages. He looked very sorry for himself.

  When the mucking-out was done, David returned to the bungalow with Jimmy for breakfast. Olive was up by this time and their bacon and eggs was ready.

  ‘How’s the horse?’ she asked.

  ‘Pretty bad,’ replied Jimmy.

  ‘Poor thing.’

  ‘David seems to think it was his fault. Don’t ask me why. He wasn’t on top,’ Jimmy said.

  There was a letter for David from his mother. She wondered whether he had arrived safely, because he hadn’t written. He remembered now that he had promised to send a postcard on arrival.

  ‘What you need is a bike; get out a bit,’ Jimmy said.

  There wasn’t any news in his mother’s letter. ‘Everything is the same,’ she wrote. ‘But your room looks empty. We haven’t changed anything.’

  ‘Come on. Back to the stables,’ said Jimmy.

  David continued to dread meeting Major Seely, but when he did neither of them mentioned Parisian.

  ‘I’d like you to ride Tornado first. Give her a bit of a school. I’ve got to go to the office now, but when I get back we’ll have out Sandstorm. There’s a show next Saturday I’d like her to go to.’

  He called his dogs and went away. ‘What did he say?’ asked Sheila, appearing as though by magic.

  ‘Nothing. Didn’t mention it.’

  ‘Old Booth says he carried on something awful last night,’ Sheila said.

  ‘I think Mr. Booth has a grudge against us,’ replied David.

  ‘He has against you with reason, I suppose. Didn’t you know his son used to jump for Major Seely?’ asked Sheila.

  ‘No. No one told me.’

  ‘He pinched some money or something. He’s in Borstal or somewhere. Jimmy told me,’ Sheila said.

  ‘That explains a lot,’ David said, and in a sense the news was a relief to him, because at least he knew now why Mr. Booth disliked him.

  He schooled Tornado for an hour; then after putting her away he put some tack on Sandstorm and waited for Major Seely. The vet had been to see Parisian and had pulled a long face.

  ‘I can’t say what sort of recovery he’ll make. He certainly won’t be fit to show after this,’ he had said.

  Sheila was gloomy, Mr. Booth in a bad temper.

  ‘I should take the mare out, loosen her up a bit before the governor comes,’ Jimmy advised David.

  Sandstorm was very fresh. Someone had put up the jumps. Sheila was raking the tan in the school, which was outside and fenced by high split oak, so that the occupants couldn’t be distracted.

  Presently Major Seely arrived and David, thinking, Take the bull by the horns, said, ‘I’m sorry about our disastrous ride yesterday.’

  He noticed now that Major Seely looked very tired and thought, I’ve probably chosen the wrong moment, but Major Seely only said, ‘Don’t worry, David. Things like that just happen. It’s a shame, but there it is.’

  ‘I’m sorry all the same,’ said David.

  ‘I think we all are,’ replied Major Seely.

  When David jumped Sandstorm she performed very well, jumping the put-up course clear, while David sat still, letting her judge her own distance, only once collecting her a little when he felt her losing the rhythm of her stride.

  ‘That’s very good indeed. We’ll enter her on Saturday. Well done. Now will you fetch your mare and see how she does round the course,’ said Major Seely.

  He put Sandstorm away. He felt much better now. Jumping Sandstorm had brought back his confidence in himself. He felt capable of anything now.

  Tornado jumped well, only knocking the oxer with her hind legs. David couldn’t remember a time when she had done better.

  ‘Excellent,’ called Major Seely. ‘Just jump the oxer again. Do you want to take her on Saturday too?’

  ‘Yes, please, sir,’ called David.

  The next few days were happy ones: the sun shone, Parisian’s knees began to heal. David’s riding improved; he started to settle down. He met Mrs. Seely for the first time; she was tall and friendly, and she suggested that he should come to the house for tea when he had time to spare. He had saved his first pound and tried to decide whether to buy a dog or a bicycle when he had saved some more. The approaching show loomed high on the horizon, but Major Seely had said, ‘Don’t worry about it, David. It’s just a try-out. We’re not expecting brilliance this year. Next season will be a different matter.’ And so he wasn’t worried, but determined to take it in his stride like a daily event. He had written to his mother – a long, descriptive letter; so now his conscience was clear in that respect. And he was beginning to like Devon, to feel at home among the banks, to like the narrow roads, the shallow, rushing rivers, the quiet villages.

  Sheila still talked incessantly when they were together, but he had discovered that she didn’t expect an answer and wasn’t offended if he appeared to ignore her.

  Sometimes he missed the easy comradeship which he had enjoyed with Pat in the old days, but as time passed he missed her less, and there was always Jimmy to talk to in the evenings.

  Tornado and Sandstorm continued to go well, and he felt more at home on Jolly Roger now, who was destined for One and Three Day Events the following year.

  ‘I think he should do well. He’s bold with plenty of endurance, and by then his dressage should be better,’ Major Seely said.

  On the Fri
day before the show Sheila helped him clean his tack. She was to go with him and Major Seely in the trailer.

  ‘Aren’t you nervous? I should be. It must be awful jumping someone else’s horses,’ she said.

  ‘One has to keep a sense of proportion,’ David answered. ‘One can’t do better than one can.’

  He still wasn’t nervous; he had eaten a good tea. He felt happier, happier than he had for months. Everything seemed to add up to what he wanted – to become a great rider, to ride for England. He could see himself forging ahead, improving every day, until next year he was riding Jolly Roger in all the biggest events – Badminton, Stowell Park, perhaps even abroad.

  And his own horse Tornado should be in the first rank by then, and there was still Sandstorm. He felt like singing at the top of his voice as he cleaned his jumping saddle. I have three to ride, he thought. Three first-class horses.

  ‘This is going to be a wonderful summer,’ he told Sheila.

  ‘Why on earth?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replied. ‘It just is.’

  ‘You’re a funny one – one moment gloomy, the next moment full of the joy of living. Now, Leonard . . .’ began Sheila.

  He didn’t listen because he had heard all about Leonard already. He let his thoughts drift back home, to the day he returned for a visit, perhaps with his dog if he had one.

  Once a month he had a whole week-end off. He would go home then, he decided, and saw the cottage, the familiar kitchen, his parents. He couldn’t help wondering about Pat. Where was she now? When would he see her again? Would he bump into her at one of the shows?

  ‘It’s all done. Wake up, dreamer,’ exclaimed Sheila.

  He looked at Sandstorm and Tornado before he walked to the bungalow. Their tails had been recently pulled, their coats shone. Tornado looked completely different to the vicious mare he and Pat had bought at a horse-sale roughly nine months ago. Then she had looked sad; there had been deep poverty marks in her quarters; she had been almost unrideable. Now she appeared well fed, her eye was kind, her quarters round. She looked worth three figures, and she’s mine, David reminded himself with a feeling of pride.

  ‘All ready for tomorrow?’ asked Olive as he entered the bungalow.

  ‘Yes. All set.’

  He went to bed early; it was a cloudy night, with rain in the air, which had made Olive say at supper, ‘I hope it keeps fine for you. I wish we were going along too. Don’t you, Jimmy?’

  ‘It’s only a little show. We’ll wait till ’e’s at the White City or Harringay. That’ll be worth seeing,’ Jimmy had said.

  David thought about that when he was in bed – Harringay and the White City, jumping in a lighted arena. It was something which had belonged to dreams before; now it was within the realms of possibility. Everything seemed a little too good to be true. Wouldn’t Mum be pleased? he thought, and imagined her talking to him before he went into the arena at Harringay, the familiar shopping-bag in her hand.

  He had always placed the big shows far away in the future, but now his companions talked about them like any ordinary event.

  ‘We must try to qualify Tornado and Sandstorm for the Foxhunter Event at Harringay in October,’ Major Seely had said.

  ‘I hope I go with you when you take the horses to the White City,’ said Sheila.

  As though it was all already settled. Only Mr. Booth remained sceptical, and now David knew about his son he didn’t bother about Mr. Booth any more.

  He fell asleep quite soon on the night before the show, and didn’t hear the storm which broke in the small hours, the rain which lashed his window, the crashes of thunder; nor did the jagged flashes of lightning waken him.

  In the morning when he got up, still optimistic, the sky was clear, a breeze stirred the gravel in the yard – everything seemed to point to a fine day.

  WELL DONE!

  ‘STILL COCKSURE?’ ASKED Sheila when he appeared in the stable yard wearing a thick, faded jersey knitted by his mother.

  ‘Not cocksure. I don’t expect to win. I’m treating today as a kind of trial, as a testing-ground,’ David answered. He had learned by experience to expect little rather than much. He found that way he wasn’t continually disappointed; more often he had a pleasant surprise.

  Mr. Booth had already fed the horses. He was usually in the yard first. It was a matter of pride with him; he liked to feel that he was better than his inferiors.

  ‘I’ll see to Sandstorm. You get on with your own mare,’ he told David.

  Nothing reminded David of preparing for a show at Elm Tree Riding School; there he and Pat had risen in the small hours; pupils had arrived on bicycles and were difficult to recognise in dawn’s murky light. There had been something unusual, almost festive, about the washing and the plaiting, the hurry and the flurry. There had been breakfast eaten hastily in the Lewishams’ kitchen; the mounting excitement as the time for starting drew near.

  But today the horses weren’t even to be plaited. Their daily grooming was always lengthy, so there was little extra polishing to be done. Mr. Booth checked the belongings to be taken.

  ‘Don’t forget to put the screws in their shoes if it’s wet,’ he told Sheila. ‘There are the feeds all weighed out.’

  Once David had groomed Tornado, there was little left for him to do, so he wandered back to the bungalow and gave his clothes an extra brush over while Olive prepared breakfast.

  ‘I’ve cut you some sandwiches. Do you want something to drink, or will you get something from the refreshment tent?’ she asked.

  He was ready far too early. After breakfast he stood about the yard feeling conspicuous in his best riding clothes. The sky was quite clear; it was difficult to believe that there had been a storm in the night.

  Tornado was restless, as though she knew something unusual was to happen. Jimmy said, ‘Well, best of luck. I must lunge the stallion now or the governor will create. Don’t fall off. Anything but that.’

  At last Major Seely appeared, and backed the car out of the garage, and with Mr. Booth’s help connected the trailer. Sandstorm loaded without trouble; but Tornado was suspicious and ill at ease, until finally David rode her up the ramp, jumping off as she entered the trailer.

  Mrs. Seely appeared, and David and Sheila climbed into the back of the car.

  ‘How do you feel, David – nervous?’ asked Mrs. Seely. She was dressed in a checked suit, and carried a picnic set. With her came the dogs, wagging their tails madly at the thought of an outing.

  ‘Not very,’ David admitted.

  ‘Perhaps you’re one of those lucky people who don’t get nervous,’ said Mrs. Seely.

  The horses travelled well. Sheila and David remained almost entirely silent during the whole journey. David could only imagine that Sheila was overcome by shyness in the presence of her employer. He was feeling shy himself, but it was an old feeling: he had always been intimidated by people socially better off than himself, though after a time he had felt quite at home with Pat’s father, who owned the Hall, and was a retired Colonel and a Master of Foxhounds into the bargain. But for a long time he had found it difficult to get on with the better-off children at the Pony Club; only after he had won the Juvenile Jumping at the Royal Windsor Show had he felt on equal terms with them. He had always found it necessary to prove his own worth to himself. Pat had maintained that he suffered from an inferiority complex. But he didn’t think that was true; he was simply a cat which walked alone, as one of his brothers had told him; and because he had one ambition which meant almost more to him than anything else on earth, he hadn’t much time for other people.

  ‘A penny for your thoughts?’ whispered Sheila as they reached the show-ground.

  ‘Not worth the penny. I bet I know what yours were, though,’ David replied.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You were thinking about Leonard.’

  ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘Because you nearly always are,’ David replied.

  The ground was bri
ght with tents. Hunters were being judged in the ring. Horses were everywhere.

  Major Seely parked the car under a clump of trees.

  ‘Time for a look-round before we unbox,’ he said, springing lightly from the car, looking less tired today, so that David thought: He’s one of those ageless people, who drop dead quite suddenly and, to everyone’s surprise, are found to be eighty or ninety.

  ‘Come on. Let’s hurry,’ said Sheila. David looked at the horses before he followed Sheila and Major and Mrs. Seely across the show-ground.

  He felt very much at home now; he loved the bustle, the thudding of hoofs on turf, the gleaming tack on the horses being ridden, the air of excitement and suspense. It seemed to lift his spirits, until he was filled with elation. Crossing the show-ground, he could only think, as he had on other occasions: This is my life. Here I belong. Success or failure, I shall never desert this world of horses and horsemen.

  He wanted to stand and take it all in; to lean against the ring ropes and dream about his future.

  ‘A good class for hunters; not often you see so many in the ring at once at this sort of show,’ said Major Seely. ‘What do you think of them, David?’

  He didn’t consider himself a good judge of a horse. His heart was in show jumping, cross-country events, hunter trials, ‘Pretty good lot,’ he replied.

  ‘Not quite top class. But a nice little lot, all the same,’ agreed Major Seely.

  David kept forgetting that he was so far from home and expected to bump into friends – Pony Club officials, Merry, Richard, people he had met in the hunting field.

  They all stopped, leaned against the ring ropes, looked at the hunters. Several times Major Seely met people he knew. Once he introduced David.

  ‘This is my new rider. He’s jumping today,’ he said.

  The Grade C Jumping was at twelve o’clock. Presently Mrs. Seely wandered to the Secretary’s tent, taking the dogs with her, to collect David’s number, while Major Seely, David, and Sheila went back to the trailer and unboxed Tornado, whom David had decided to ride first.

  ‘I want you to ride her round for a bit before you take a look at the course. Sheila will walk Sandstorm around until you want her. You’re fifth in the ring on Tornado, according to the programme,’ said Major Seely.