by Kate Lattey
“Off like a shot,” Tabby mutters with a smile. She reads the question in my eyes. “The Trents are here,” she explains. “He’s been holding a torch for their girl Claudia for a while, but she’s only just realised he exists. They own a big dairy farm just out of Stratford. Old show jumping blood, so we know them fairly well.”
“Oh.”
I wonder why he hasn’t mentioned her to me at all. Tabby is watching my face, reading my thoughts as usual, so I turn away from her and go to try and settle Finn, who is spinning around and refusing to be calm. I try patting and soothing her, but she’s too worked up, pawing up the ground and tossing her head.
“Take her out for a while,” Tabby suggests when I turn to her for help. “Just ride the beans out of her, she’s about to bust out of her skin.”
It takes both of us to get Finn saddled, and Tabby legs me onto the pony’s back. Finn skitters sideways as I take up the reins and starts prancing and sidestepping. I gather my reins together and sit down firmly in the saddle, smiling despite Finn’s madness, enjoying the feeling of the barely-contained power beneath me, ready to explode at any moment. I relax my fingers on the reins slightly and my pony is off, trotting quickly past the big show jumping trucks, the ones that belong to the riders from well-known equestrian families with their strings of Grand Prix horses. I keep an eye out for Alec, but don’t see him anywhere. I’m soaking in the wonderful horsy atmosphere when Finn shies violently and I’m pitched forward onto her neck. I struggle back into the saddle as my pony dashes backwards, eyes bugging out in horror. I look up to see what’s scared her, and find myself confronted by a giant inflatable Easter Bunny hovering above a dark green horse truck. A young man, probably in his early twenties, with curly black hair and crooked front teeth grins at me as he comes down the ramp.
“You all right?” He’s carrying a very expensive-looking saddle over one arm, the stud girth trailing casually on the ground. I’m digging my knees into my saddle and trying to urge Finn forwards, but she’s never seen anything as ridiculous as a helium-filled rabbit before and is baulking desperately. I pat her already sweaty neck and pull an exasperated face at the guy standing on the ramp.
“She’s okay, she’s just flipping out at that crazy bunny thing,” I explain, unnecessarily taking one hand off the reins to gesture at it, as if I could possibly be referring to a different giant floating rabbit. Finn seizes her opportunity and spins on her hocks, trying to race back to the Harrisons’ truck, despite having been so keen to leave it only moments ago. But I snatch the rein back and turn her around again. The guy has now left his saddle on the ramp and is approaching Finn.
“Easy there pony,” he murmurs calmly, grabbing her reins behind the bit. “Come on then, it’s not gonna eat you.”
Finn doesn’t really believe him, but with much eye-rolling trepidation, she reluctantly allows him to lead her past.
“Thanks,” I smile down at him, butterflies exploding in my stomach.
“That’s okay. She looks a bit of a handful for you.”
I disagree. “She’s okay, she’s just a bit high-strung.”
“You can say that again,” he agrees. He grins up at me and my annoyance dissipates quickly in the presence of his wide smile and dark brown eyes. “I’m Ollie.”
“Jay,” I introduce myself quickly. “And this is Finn. This is our first show.”
“Well good luck, Jay,” he says sincerely, giving Finn a quick pat and telling her to behave herself before heading back to tack up his own horse. I find myself staring after him, but Finn’s insistent tugging at the bit quickly gets my attention back to the task at hand.
I take Finn to a quiet area and work her in for almost an hour, by which time my arms are aching but the pony finally seems to have settled down. She’s stopped rushing and trying to gallop off, although she’s still very distracted and keeps flattening her ears at every horse that comes near her. As I’m walking her out on a long rein, a sturdy dapple grey trots up alongside her, and Finn pins her ears and aims a kick at it. I quickly snatch up my reins and tell her off, then turn to apologise to the rider.
“Lucky for you, she missed him,” the girl replies. “You should have a red ribbon in her tail if she kicks.”
I hold Finn on a tighter rein after that, keeping a close eye out for any riders who might come too close to her ever-ready heels. Part of me wishes she would just calm down and behave herself, but I also know that I’d soon get bored if she was quiet and steady all of the time. I didn’t go looking for a pushbutton pony.
I get back to the truck in time to help Alec tack up for his first class, a metre-ten Two-Phase that he’s jumping Trixie and Jess in. I unsaddle Finn, sponge the sweat from her back and hop on Trixie to warm her up for Alec. It’s a beautiful morning that’s promising to be stinking hot by the afternoon. We ride the ponies down to the warm-up ring, surrounded by horses and ponies of all shapes and sizes, Alec calling out greetings to people he knows. I love everything about the atmosphere of a horse show. The smell of crushed grass, the drum of hoofbeats across the ground, the clatter of the poles coming down, the scattered applause from spectators.
Trixie is her usual steady and reliable self, and it’s a relief to ride her after Finn’s shenanigans. I trot a few circles and give her a good canter to loosen her up, then walk her around on a long rein, my feet hanging down by her fuzzy dun sides, waiting for Alec to jump Jess. He’s next but one, and Jess is already sweating and foaming at the mouth, tossing her chunky head in impatience. Alec strokes her neck quietly, calming her as a girl on a classy black pony jumps through the treble and has the last rail down.
“And that’s four faults for Anneke Davies and Sine Qua Non,” announces the loudspeaker, stumbling over the Latin. The next rider trots into the ring and I recognise Sarah. “Next to jump, Sarah Fairfax-McLeod riding HK Connexion.”
Sarah looks good on her pony, I have to admit. Her tack is gleaming, and Mickey’s blindingly white bandages stand out against his clean black legs. Her hair is neatly confined under her hard hat, and her knee-high boots shine with leather polish. She’s got a Pelham bit on the pony and he trots keenly into the ring, then leaps into a keen canter, held carefully in check by Sarah. She’s a very tidy, competent rider, a real perfectionist, but she lacks the killer instinct in a jump-off. Too busy trying to do everything perfectly, Alec reckons, instead of concentrating on jumping clear over the fences as quickly as possible, which is of course the point.
As usual, she jumps a neat, clear round, then urges Mickey through the flags and begins her second round. In a Two-Phase class, a clear first round is followed by a timed second round over an alternate course. I watch carefully as Sarah turns her pony neatly between the fences, travelling quickly but keeping his pace steady around the course. He taps the second of the treble, but it doesn’t fall and Sarah takes the last jump and is through the flags in a pretty fast time. She trots out of the ring patting her pony’s neck, and Alec nods to her as he rides in.
“All clear for HK Connexion with a second round time of 38.05 seconds, which puts them into the lead. That’s the time to beat, riders. Next to jump, Alexander Harrison on Jess.”
Alec settles Jess into a canter, but she’s already pulling hard and fighting him every stride. He makes it over the first four fences clear, but at the double the mare takes the bit between her teeth and flies at it, missing her stride completely and sending poles flying. She skids to a halt at the second element and Alec has to dig his knees into the saddle to prevent being flung off over her head. He gives her a reassuring pat as the bell rings, and walks her around as he waits for the stewards to rebuild the first jump. The bell rings again and he turns her back to the first fence of the combination, giving her a shorter run in this time, and she jumps cleanly over both elements of the double. She seems to have learnt from her mistake and allows Alec to take control for the rest of the course, jumping clear, but it’s too little, too late.
“Bummer,” I commiserate as h
e comes out of the ring.
Alec shrugs. “She’ll learn,” he says calmly. “Anyway, that was just a warm-up class. She always does something stupid first time round.”
“Stage fright?” I suggest as I slide off Trixie’s back and take Jess’s reins from Alec.
“I guess,” he agrees, vaulting onto Trixie and heading off to the practice jump.
Twenty minutes later he’s back in the ring and blitzing Trixie through the flags after clearing the first half of the course. There haven’t been any more double clears, and Alec is the last one out with only Sarah’s time to beat. Tabby has returned Jess to the truck and I linger at ringside, watching intently. I’m aware of Sarah behind me, sitting on her immaculately groomed pony, calmly confident. Trixie is what Alec calls a real bush pony, not much to look at on her best day and certainly not impressive when compared to Mickey’s glistening coat and quality breeding. But none of that will matter if Alec beats her time and leaves all of the fences up.
Trixie clears the first two fences, and Alec lets her gallop on a little to the third. He spins her around the course and she responds willingly. They jump cleanly through the double and then Alec takes a tight line that no-one else has dared to, ducking between two jumps to reach the final fence on an angle. He’s taking a risk attempting it on this line, but he digs his heels into the mare’s sides and cries “Hup!”
Trixie springs off her hocks, flying over the fence. Her back feet tap the pole and Alec rushes her through the finish flags, the clock stopping as the pole wobbles in its cups, but it doesn’t fall. Alec brings the mare back to a trot, patting her profusely as the loudspeaker crackles back into life.
“And that was a winning time of 35.63 seconds for Alexander Harrison and Magic Trix, last to jump in this class. In second place, Sarah Fairfax-McLeod and HK Connexion…”
An hour later I’m back at the truck and saddling my own pony. Finn has barely touched her hay and is still edgy and nervous, promising to be a difficult ride. Gran’s money came through last week and I had some left over to buy myself a new black riding coat and a lovely pair of leather open-fronted tendon boots for Finn. I feel jittery with excitement as I slip the coat on, stuff my hair into a hairnet and zip up my leather gaiters. Finn looks gorgeous, her chestnut coat gleaming in the sun against her clean white saddle blanket, looking very professional in her new boots. I pull down my stirrups and Tabby holds Finn while I mount. She’s fidgety, feeding off my nervous energy, and I take some deep breaths to calm myself as Alec swings onto Dolly’s back and we head to the warm-up ring.
I work Finn on the flat for twenty minutes, but she refuses to settle down, pulling like a train. My arms are aching within minutes, feeling as though they’re being dragged almost out of their sockets. Alec suggests that I try jumping her, to see if that will focus her mind on the task at hand. It seems a valid suggestion, so I join the people hopping their ponies over a crossbar. The skewbald pony in front of me trots in and jumps calmly over, and I turn Finn towards the practice jump. Throwing her elegant head up, my mare snatches at the bit and races towards the jump, jumping almost blindly with her head in the air. I get left behind, bang in the saddle and haul on the reins, embarrassed at the spectacle we are making. Alec suggests keeping her behind Dolly, so she can’t run off, but that just makes her canter sideways and throw her head so high that she whomps me in the nose, and blood starts to gush down my face.
“Put a martingale on it,” a girl on a light grey pony suggests to me as I struggle to stop the bleeding.
I realise in horror that blood has dripped onto Finn’s white numnah as I frantically mop at my nose with a ragged tissue.
Tabby is waiting by the ringside and she takes our ponies, handing me another tissue as Alec and I head into the ring to walk the course. It’s fairly straightforward, but there’s a solid wall the likes of which I’ve never tried jumping on Finn before, and a picket fence that Alec is going to have to kick Dolly over.
Fortunately by the time we’ve finished the course walk, my nose has stopped bleeding. I remount and try to settle my nervous pony, trotting her back over to the practice jump. It has been raised to an upright, and I have to wait in line to have my shot over it. Finn is edgy, crab-walking towards the fence. Three strides out, I straighten her and push her into a canter. Finn shoots forward, pricks her ears at the coloured poles and leaps over, clearing it easily. I steady her and give her a grateful pat, then take her around to try again. This time I let her have a longer run in, and she races at it, jumping it easily. I have to take a good hard pull on the reins to bring her back to a trot afterwards though, and she waves her head around, fighting against me.
The steward calls for the first five ponies in the class. “Bush Bandit, Mr Nice Guy, That’s Final, Te Atiawa Showtime and Golden Star.”
I hear Finn’s name called and my stomach twists itself into knots. I walk her towards the gate and tell the steward my name. He checks it off, and sends a chunky Appaloosa pony into the ring. The tall girl riding it looks calm and relaxed, and I pat Finn’s sweaty neck.
“She looks a bit worked up,” says the girl next to me, sitting on a bright bay pony with a narrow blaze and long legs.
“Yeah, it’s our first show. I don’t think she’s been out much, I haven’t had her very long.”
“She’s real pretty,” the girl says. I smile, and then turn as we hear a bell ring. The Appaloosa pony has refused three times at the wall and is eliminated. The steward looks around.
“Mr Nice Guy?” The girl nods and he motions her forward, then checks his clipboard. “That’s Final? You’re next.”
“Good luck,” I call to the girl as Finn walks in restless circles. I watch the bay pony jump the first three fences keenly, then spook at the wall, sending his rider onto his neck. She regains her seat but has lost control and gets a refusal. He jumps it on his second attempt, with a good crack of the whip from her, then they complete the rest of the course and the steward sends me into the ring.
“Hard luck,” I say as we ride past each other, and the girl shrugs.
“My fault,” she admits. “Good luck.”
“Four jump faults and two time faults for Jane MacPherson and Mr Nice Guy. Next to jump, Jay Evans riding That’s Final.”
Finn is fizzing out of control, cantering practically on the spot. I release my fingers on the reins slightly and let my pony surge forward. She tosses her head and leaps into canter, giving me a job to hold her together. I listen out for the bell, determined not to repeat that awful mistake, and once it rings we canter between the start flags to the first jump. It’s a blue and white upright, and Finn pricks her ears, races towards it and takes a massive leap over. I’m almost unseated, but I manage to stay with my pony and send her on to the next jump. Finn again puts in a huge leap, but we get over cleanly. Five strides to the next jump, and we’re over with no faults, if not much style. I turn Finn to the right and ride her at the wall. She canters on strongly, and jumps it easily, and I’m filled with pride at being the first combination so far to successfully clear the scary wall on our first attempt. I turn her to the left and we head towards the picket fence. I’m glad I’m not riding Dolly, I think to myself. She’s terrible with pickets. Hates how you can see through them. But Finn won’t care. She canters on fast towards the jump, and I lean forwards slightly as we reach it. Finn lengthens her stride, then spooks at the picket and shies, almost pitching me out of the saddle, and I grapple at her mane to keep my balance.
Sensing my loss of control, Finn takes off at a gallop, causing spectators ringside to gasp and step back from the flimsy arena ropes. Determined not to fall off, I regain both my seat and control of my pony, then canter her back toward the jump. Remembering Alec’s advice when I rode Dolly, I sit down hard and kick on. Finn flattens her ears but takes off well and clears the jump, lifting her feet high over the scary fence. Four faults so far and five fences left to jump. We make it through the related line from the upright to the big rustic oxer, the
n come to the double. Finn flies the first fence, takes a huge stride and gets in very close to the second element. I kick her and she chips in, taking a short half-stride in front of the jump and cat-leaping off her hocks. She raps the top rail hard and I hear the thunk behind me as it hits the ground.
Mad at me for letting her get into such a tangle, Finn bucks on landing and with an almighty pull, rips the reins through my fingers. I frantically try to gather them up as I steer my pony towards the last jump. She’s coming in fast, too fast, and I know she’s going to take off from a mile away, but we’re two strides out and it’s too late to convince her to slow down. I lean forward, sliding my hands up her neck in anticipation of a huge leap that never comes. Finn changes her mind at the last moment and slams on the brakes, sliding into the fence and scattering poles across the ground. The judge’s bell rings as the stewards run out to rebuild the jump, and I walk Finn around tensely. She’s still tossing her head, and my arms are aching from trying to keep her under control.
“Hold her together,” one of the stewards tells me as she replaces the top pole. “Really sit up on her and keep her collected.”
The other steward elbows her companion. “You’re not supposed to give them outside help,” she reminds her. “That’s grounds for elimination.”
My heart sinks, but the first girl shrugs. “She’s not going to win the class, is she? I just want her to get over the last jump, so she can end on a good note.”
The bell rings again and the stewards pause to watch me. I press Finn into a canter and try to do as the girl suggested. I sit up straight and keep Finn as steady as I can manage, but she lifts her head so high when I tighten my grip on the reins that I have to relax my fingers so that she will put her head down enough to see the jump. I try to stay out of her way as much as possible, and she comes in on the right stride this time and flies over the triple bar. A few people ringside clap, and I bring Finn back to a walk and prepare to leave the ring.
