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

by K. M. Peyton

  ‘Sit down and have a cup of tea,’ said David.

  ‘Of course, you may not want a sheep-dog,’ began Sheila.

  ‘But I do,’ he said.

  Presently they both went down to the farm, and he chose a puppy with a splodge of black over one eye and paid Mr. Sellars £2.

  ‘I should leave it for another week. She’s a bit small yet,’ said Mr. Sellars.

  Walking back to the stables with Sheila, he felt very happy.

  ‘How have things been going? Do you know when the next show is?’ he asked.

  ‘Mr. Booth was on about you. Said you didn’t clean the tack properly. There’s a show on Wednesday and the Seelys leave for the Continent on Saturday,’ Sheila told him.

  ‘Then we’re all at the mercy of Mr. Booth. Why doesn’t he tell me if he doesn’t like the way I clean the tack?’

  ‘Because you’re neither fish nor flesh. You’re not really under him at all, because you’re a pupil, not an employee,’ explained Sheila.

  He couldn’t see what difference it made, but quite suddenly he felt cold.

  ‘He simply doesn’t like me,’ he said.

  For a moment the future looked bleak. He knew he couldn’t stand a great deal of disapproval; it destroyed the confidence he possessed in himself, which wasn’t much.

  Then he shrugged his shoulders. There’s not much he can do really. Major Seely’s completely satisfied with my riding. He won’t be away long, he decided.

  ‘I must rush or I shall be locked out. See you tomorrow,’ called Sheila, disappearing into the dusk.

  I wonder what I’m entered for on Wednesday, thought David. I really can’t hope to do so well a third time. What shall I call the puppy? Thinking about his puppy, he went into the bungalow, cleared away the supper things and washed up.

  Then lying back in a chair, he turned on the wireless and imagined himself riding with a sheepdog at his heels.

  THE THIRD SHOW

  THE NEXT SHOW was a large one. There were agricultural exhibits, a huge variety of animals, vegetables, fruit, flowers – even a shoeing contest. There were two rings, and David was to jump in the main ring at three o’clock.

  He felt nervous today, though he couldn’t have said why. He had slept badly the night before and arrived late in the yard in the morning. Sheila and Mr. Booth had come. Major and Mrs. Seely were to follow later in their second car. Tornado was nervous too; she didn’t like the smell of the other animals, the bleating of the sheep, the squeaks from a pen of piglets. Sheila led her round while David rode Sandstorm. It was another hot day, and the smell of the animals, the clank of machinery, the hot mass of humanity milling round the tents seemed to consume all the air until there wasn’t any left.

  They had left early in the trailer and travelled without a break until after one o’clock; now it was twenty to three and David couldn’t rid himself of anxiety, couldn’t stop thinking: Supposing we do badly today? Supposing I make a muck on both horses?

  Major Seely arrived in plenty of time, and stood in the collecting ring with David, giving him advice. There was a thin corridor of space between them and the ring; the rest of the space round the ropes was packed six deep with people, except on one side, where the grandstand loomed large, filled to the brim.

  The first prize was £50 and a cup. The entries were limited, but Major Seely had entered a long time ago, in the days when he still had Tony Booth.

  ‘It’s quite a simple course really; nothing tricky,’ said Major Seely, and David thought: People always think that if they’re not competing. It’s a different matter when you’re about to meet the jumps one by one yourself. He had walked the course, one of the few riders without breeches and boots. He was to be the first competitor.

  Nearly everyone seemed to know each other in the collecting ring, except himself. He felt conspicuous and a little lost – the first competitor, one of the youngest, the only one in sight in jodhpurs.

  If I could win today with Tornado, I could get myself some boots, go to that place in London where Colonel Lewisham goes, have them made to measure in real calf, thought David, watching the spectators settling themselves more comfortably in the grandstand, the judges entering the ring, feeling suddenly sick, thinking: It’s such a big show. Really, it’s awful riding other people’s horses.

  ‘Well, best of luck, David,’ said Major Seely, going away to his car, while the Collecting Steward approached and they pulled back the rope which barred the entrance to the ring. He was ready now, all his energy concentrated on the effort he was about to make. His entrance was heralded by a fanfare. It was very hot in the ring; the grass looked parched. On all sides a sea of faces watched.

  He cantered across the turf. People looked at their programmes; over all shone a sun from a sky flecked with the faintest, tiniest clouds. Sandstorm was eager. She took the first three fences a little fast, but faultlessly, like a well-balanced piece of mechanism. They cleared the oxer, the double railway gates, the triple bars; David felt confident now and marvellously detached from everything but the job in hand. They approached the wall. They were half-way round the course. From somewhere in the crowd a little girl dropped a paper-bag, which fluttered across the ring. It was so small. Afterwards David could never decide what Sandstorm thought it was: A piglet? An enormous bloated insect? But now in the ring, she half stopped, dashed sideways, rushed on towards the wall, suddenly alarmingly close. She hit it full square in the centre, pecked, half recovered her balance and fell.

  David seemed to be toppling in a world of bricks; then for a moment he was out, another second and he was in the midst of hoofs and tangled reins, thinking What’s happening? where am I? He was up before the stretcher arrived, saying, ‘No, thank you. I’m quite all right,’ calling everyone ‘sir’ rather aggressively.

  He looked round for his mother, before he remembered that he was in Devon, and, more dimly, leaving the yard in the morning. Presently he seemed to be sitting in the Seely’s car drinking tea with sugar in it, about which he kept complaining. His head ached and the most important thing seemed to be the time and that he still had Tornado to ride.

  He couldn’t remember the time, not even when someone had just said ‘Four o’clock’ or, ‘Nearly five.’ He couldn’t remember whether it was Friday or Saturday, though it actually was Wednesday.

  A doctor examined him, while he protested feebly, saying, ‘I’m all right. There’s nothing wrong.’

  Presently he travelled home with the Seelys and was received by Olive, who seemed to be expecting him and hustled to bed, still asking the time.

  He fell asleep at once and dreamed that he was jumping Tornado. When he wakened it was dark, but there was a plate of biscuits and a glass of milk by his bed. He couldn’t remember very much. But he knew that he had met with catastrophe, and he guessed that he had concussed himself.

  He was filled with gloom when he wakened in the morning. By the amount of light streaming through the curtains he knew that it was late. He tried to remember yesterday, but all he could recall was the bustle in the yard in the morning. The rest was a blank: only dimly did he recall travelling back with the Seelys.

  Supposing I hurt one of the horses? he thought, climbing out of bed, pulling back the curtains, letting the sun into the room. He looked at himself in the mirror above the mantelpiece. He looked distraught, his hair was on end, but there was no mark on his face. He dressed and found Olive in the kitchen.

  ‘So you’ve woken up at last,’ she said.

  ‘What happened? Did I fall off?’ Standing there, he had to know at once; the suspense was unbearable. Olive put down her duster. ‘Sandstorm fell with you,’ she said, and started to explain.

  He didn’t want to eat, but Olive had kept some breakfast for him in the oven – fried potatoes, sausage.

  ‘You must eat something. Horses all fall sometimes. Surely you know that.’

  ‘Well, how are you feeling this morning?’ called Jimmy when he entered the yard. ‘Proper silly you wer
e last night.’

  Tornado was looking over her box door.

  ‘How’s Sandstorm?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing wrong with her,’ said Jimmy.

  He was teased all day.

  ‘You certainly did go up the pole yesterday,’ said Sheila.

  ‘Crackers by all accounts,’ agreed Jimmy.

  ‘Never seen anything like it. The way you spoke to the governor . . .’ said Mr. Booth.

  He wasn’t allowed to ride. ‘You’re to take it easy today, according to the governor,’ said Mr. Booth.

  He went down to the farm and looked at his puppy, wrote to his mother. He still felt gloomy. It had to happen at the biggest show, he thought. Why couldn’t it have happened to Tornado after I had jumped Sandstorm? He couldn’t help thinking that his luck had changed. He hated having nothing to do. In the afternoon he helped Sheila clean the tack.

  ‘Cheer up. It happens to the best people. Now, take Leonard . . .’ she said.

  On Friday, Major Seely worked out a schooling chart for the three horses with David.

  ‘There’s just one show I want you to go to while I’m away. Both horses are entered. If Sandstorm wins it’ll upgrade her, and after that you’ll be in the open classes,’ he said.

  David had never ridden in an open jumping event. It would be another rung in his ladder to success.

  ‘And don’t worry about last Wednesday. It happens to the best of us at times,’ added Major Seely.

  He walked round the horses with Mr. Booth, discussing their feeding problems.

  Sheila and David stood together in the saddle-room.

  ‘I wish he wasn’t going. The moment he’s gone, Mr. Booth will start throwing his weight about, you’ll see,’ said Sheila.

  ‘It’s a horrible thought.’

  ‘The only thing is to have a sense of humour. Once you start fretting and fuming, you’re finished,’ said Sheila.

  The next morning the Seelys left at dawn. At first there was a sense of relaxation hanging over the stables. No one hurried; David schooled the horses in a more leisurely manner than usual; Sheila found time to scribble a line to Leonard during the morning.

  But by the afternoon Mr. Booth was running them all off their legs, most of all David.

  ‘You may be a pupil, but you’re a working one,’ he said once.

  David didn’t mind being corrected and harried in his stable work, but when next day Mr. Booth started to take an interest in Sandstorm’s schooling, he began to feel uneasy.

  ‘It’s all worked out, Mr. Booth. The governor and I talked it over together before he left. Today I’m working her on the flat, tomorrow we’re hacking, the next day schooling and jumping,’ he said.

  ‘She’s too fresh. You’re not riding her enough. Take her out this afternoon. Let her have a pipe-opener,’ said Mr. Booth.

  ‘I’m schooling Jolly Roger this afternoon,’ said David.

  Mr. Booth watched him ride Jolly Roger. He seemed to have all the time in the world, now that Major Seely was away.

  ‘You want to get him more collected. He’s all over the place. He’d go better in a double bridle,’ said Mr. Booth.

  ‘But the governor . . .’ began David.

  ‘That doesn’t matter. I’m in charge now.’

  A cold shiver travelled swiftly down David’s spine. He began to dread the next few weeks; they loomed ahead full of awful possibilities.

  ‘And what I say goes,’ said Mr. Booth, leaving the school. The horses will be ruined quite quickly, thought David. I shall have to stand up to him. One must have a few principles. He was filled with a sense of futility. How will it end? he wondered.

  Mr. Booth returned with a double bridle under his arm.

  ‘But I have Major Seely’s instructions,’ began David.

  He thought: Everything’s going wrong very quickly. First I concuss myself, then this happens.

  ‘Are you in charge or am I?’ asked Mr. Booth.

  ‘I’m in charge of Jolly Roger’s schooling.’ David rode Jolly Roger out of the school, down the drive, into the road without looking back, though he wanted to very badly indeed. He knew now that he had as good as declared war on Mr. Booth. It would be a fight between them now to the bitter end. He didn’t expect to win; but one has to stick to one’s principles whatever the cost, he told himself, and remembered his mother saying once, ‘If you do what’s right, David, everything will come right in the end.’ He believed that now as he hacked Jolly Roger round the outside of a field. Somehow, everything would come right; Major Seely would understand. He remembered that he was to go to a show with Mr. Booth, that he had to work with him; the future looked complicated, and to forget it he sent Jolly Roger into a gallop, and switched his thoughts to cross-country events and imagined himself riding at Badminton.

  He hacked slowly home. Mr. Booth wasn’t to be seen, but Sheila seemed to be waiting for David.

  ‘Whatever’s happened? Mr. Booth’s in an awful state. I thought he was going to throw a fit or something!’ she cried.

  ‘That’s all right,’ said David, sliding to the ground. ‘He tried to make me ride Jolly Roger in a double bridle. I have my orders from the governor, and I’m sticking to them.’

  ‘Well, you’ve certainly put him in a mood. It’s not much fun for the rest of us.’

  ‘One must have a few principles. I’m not employed by Mr. Booth,’ replied David.

  ‘Have it your own way, but I wouldn’t be in your shoes.’

  Jimmy wasn’t encouraging either. ‘It’s never good to quarrel with your superiors,’ he said.

  ‘But David’s only a pupil,’ said Olive.

  ‘That don’t cut any ice with Fred Booth,’ replied Jimmy.

  ‘But Major Seely said . . .’ began David.

  ‘That don’t make no difference neither. Fred Booth’s in charge,’ said Jimmy.

  It sounded very illogical.

  ‘Anyway, the horse might go better in a double. Major Seely isn’t always right,’ continued Jimmy.

  ‘I see David’s point of view,’ said Olive.

  ‘You don’t know nothing about it,’ replied Jimmy.

  ‘I’ve had my orders from Major Seely, and I’m sticking to them,’ announced David.

  ‘No need to get on your high horse,’ replied Jimmy.

  David was suddenly sick of the subject. He was still certain he had done the right thing.

  ‘Well, I shall stick to the chart, whatever anyone says,’ he said stubbornly.

  ‘Okay. But you’ll be heading for deep water,’ replied Jimmy.

  ‘Don’t frighten the boy,’ said Olive.

  David stood up, put his cup and saucer on his plate. ‘I think I’ll go for a walk now,’ he said. Outside it was still sunlit, and the air caressed his cheek as only Devon air does, and from the fields came the gentle baas of sheep.

  He didn’t feel like visiting the stables again. He felt as though he was slowly burning all his boats one by one. For the first time he thought: Supposing I lose my job? – tried to imagine himself returning home a failure. And it was too awful to contemplate. Better take a look at my puppy, he thought, turning towards the Sellars’ farm, while in the bungalow Jimmy said, ‘He’s heading for trouble all right, rubbing Booth up the wrong way.’

  THE LAST SHOW

  THE NEXT FEW days were some of the worst in David’s life. Mr. Booth ignored him completely; he seemed to be walking under a perpetual cloud. No one but Olive was sympathetic.

  ‘You’ve brought it upon yourself,’ Sheila said when he complained. ‘If you’d had as many jobs as I have, you would have learned to take things as they come. After all, you could have told Major Seely when he came back what had happened.’

  ‘But Jolly Roger might have been spoilt by then,’ replied David.

  ‘Not likely. Booth’s schooled horses for Richmond.’

  ‘But Jolly Roger isn’t a show horse.’

  Gradually things grew worse. Mr. Booth cut the horses’ oats. Sandstorm�
��s jumping deteriorated; David lost confidence in her and in himself. He tried to place her at her fences, which he had never done before, and she, muddled by a method she didn’t understand, began to rush. Tornado with far less oats lost her speed and dash, which had stood her in such good stead in time competitions. She began to tip fences. This was the moment when David needed help and advice; someone to stand and call. ‘Leave her alone; sit still,’ to share the responsibility for the training of two show jumpers and a promising One Day Event horse.

  He thought of writing to Major Seely; he tried to remember everything he had ever read or been told about show jumping. He stopped jumping Sandstorm and Tornado for two days. Then Mr. Booth spoke to him.

  ‘We’ll be leaving at nine tomorrow. I’ll do Sandstorm. You can look after your own mare,’ he said.

  David replied ‘Yes, sir’ without thinking, and immediately began to dread the morrow. He wanted to run after Mr. Booth, to cry ‘Need we go?’ like a child who doesn’t want to go to a party.

  He didn’t know the name of the show, where it was, how long they would have to travel. He felt quite lost, and each moment the future seemed to grow blacker.

  ‘Well, aren’t you pleased? Show tomorrow,’ called Jimmy.

  ‘No. The horses are off their form,’ David shouted.

  He thought: If only they were both mine; then nothing would drag me there. Why didn’t I stay at home, take a job as a labourer and school Tornado in the evenings? At least I should have had some freedom then.

  He thought: Probably Sheila’s right, I was a fool to stand by my principles. If I hadn’t quarrelled with Mr. Booth, he would have helped me school the horses, and if they were in bad form we needn’t have gone.

  He thought: When one comes down to brass tacks, it’s generally one’s own fault.

  ‘Cheer up,’ said Olive when he went in to tea. ‘You look as though you’d just come back from a funeral.’

  ‘I feel like it,’ he answered.

  He had no appetite for the potted meat-paste, the little fancy cakes, the large piece of yellow cheese, the sliced bread from the Co-op. He thought: I should have written to Major Seely. Why didn’t I? I could have got his address from somewhere.