The difficult summer, p.7
The Difficult Summer, page 7
“Hello,” said Bobby. “How are you settling in?”
“Oh, pretty well,” replied Inga, straightening a lock of her mount’s black mane. “The only thing we really find wrong with the place is that there’s nowhere decent to school. The Captain’s little manège is nothing like large enough to jump properly in, and it’s quite useless for practising for cross-country events. We’ve attempted to build fences on the common, or in the woods, for that, but they always get dismantled within a couple of days, and the materials vanish, so it isn’t much use. But actually we did have an idea about that. We wondered if we could possibly use your paddock, say once or twice a week? We’d pay, of course, and if we broke any jumps we’d replace or mend them. Do you think it would be possible? It would be a tremendous help. We aren’t a very big club, and the inter-club competitions are our chief interest. We really formed the Abbington and District so that we’d be eligible to compete.”
“I don’t see why you shouldn’t use our paddock,” Bobby told her. “Of course, some of our show jumps were wrecked in the crash, but there are still a good few left, and the cross-country course is all right.”
“Gosh, have you got a proper one?” asked Dora.
“Yes, we’ve got quite a decent one,” said Bobby. “Guy built it some time ago. Several fences are adjustable, but they’re all pretty solid. Look, I’ll have to talk it over with Guy and Heath, but I’m pretty sure it’ll be all right. Can I ’phone you to confirm it?”
“Yes, any time. Do you know the Low Lane number?” asked Inga.
“We’ve got it somewhere,” replied Bobby.
“There’s only five of us,” said Inga. “We hope to get more members eventually. We’ve got a very uneven team at the moment.”
They rode together as far as the road, and then the Jacobs turned to the right, and after promising again to telephone them, Bobby rode on towards Bracken stables.
When she entered the field Heath was just emerging from the school with a crowd of ponies and riders, who looked hot and dishevelled after exercises without stirrups, and over grids. Bobby, feeling suddenly guiltily conscious of her own cool and collected appearance, dismounted hastily, bundled Shelta into her box, and began to help Heath with the sorting out and unsaddling. Ponies from the field were tethered to rings and posts, given drinks, and then feeds, stabled ponies drank deeply, and had their buckets refilled by eager helpers. Shelta and Phoenix leaned over their doors, watching with interest, and June glanced out with a mouthful of bedding, decided that her searchings for hay were more important, and disappeared again. Silver Fountain watched everything with a proprietary air, the only stallion in the stable, and therefore lord of all, whickering to his favourites, glowering at Phoenix, whom he hated, with ears flat and teeth showing, and looking suddenly innocent as Heath walked past with an armful of saddles on her way to the tack room. There was, for once, no evening school, and so when they had turned the ponies out, and fed and settled the others they would be finished for the night. The workmen were drifting towards home, pulling on jackets, and lighting fresh cigarettes, as the girls turned into the barn to put out the rest of the feeds. The shadowy interior smelt of summer hay fields and rich, warm clover. While Heath measured out the feeds Bobby told her about the Abbington and District Riding Club’s request. Heath was very interested.
“I’m sure Guy will agree,” she said. “What ought we to charge them, I wonder? Not too much, but every little will help. Ten shillings an hour, do you think?”
“Something like that,” agreed Bobby. “You know, we must get on with the breaking and schooling. Jupiter and Scotch will have forgotten what little they knew, and Scotch hasn’t even been backed yet. His owner will be getting impatient if we put it off much longer. I wonder how Mrs. Costello is? We haven’t heard a word from her since the fire. It is a shame. Nightingale was about the only thing she was really fond of.”
“Except her daughter,” Heath reminded her. “And she could never be bothered with her mother. It must be awful for Mrs. Costello, living with someone who doesn’t really want her.”
Bobby agreed, remembering how Nightingale’s owner used to adore him, even hating to leave him after a ride, and in spite of her rather dumpy, unsuitable figure, striving her hardest to ride well, and do her beautiful little horse justice. If only there was some way of replacing him, thought Bobby, as she entered Shelta’s box with her feed. But she doubted if Mrs. Costello would ever want another horse.
5
DURNG the next couple of days Bobby continued to ride and school Phoenix in the field and school, and to hack him quietly about. She also started to pop him over a few low poles, finding him perfectly manageable, and improving rapidly. The chestnut would certainly jump, she decided, feeling the punch in his hind quarters, the scope and freedom, and the way he arched his back as they flew over. And she heard from Heath and Yoland how well he picked up his feet as he jumped. He never showed the least sign of refusing or running out: in fact it was usually difficult to prevent him from jumping everything in sight, when schooling on the flat in the field. Isabel certainly had a horse in a thousand, if she could learn to ride him.
They also began to school Jupiter again, and Heath rode him inside the school on the lunge rein. Jupiter was a bay heavyweight hunter, big and powerful, with a tremendous girth and a neck like a bull. For the first few minutes Heath had a rough ride, but gradually Jupiter calmed down, and began to behave more sensibly. By the time the lesson ended he was walking and trotting quite easily on the lunge, and both girls felt pleased with him as he was led into Snow Goose’s box to eat a small feed while the grey went out on the next ride.
The inquiry into the ’plane crash came up at Hestonbridge, but neither girl was needed to give evidence, and Guy, of course, was unable to attend. It was definitely proved that the two convicts had taken the ’plane: they had been seen on the edge of the airfield by a farmer, out after rabbits, and shortly afterwards he had heard the ’plane take off, though at the time he had thought nothing of it. The convicts had been wearing ordinary, rather shabby clothes, and he had taken them for a couple of gypsies. The charter company to whom the ’plane belonged had been so near to closing down, and so short of money, that nothing had been done to repair the engine fault which had kept the machine grounded for over a week before it was stolen. And of course the insurance company, who had never received their premiums regularly anyway, would not pay.
Guy agreed to the riding club using the Bracken paddock, and Bobby and Inga arranged the first practice for Thursday evening. Bobby, Heath, and Mr. Joyce spent the evening before in rebuilding the broken-down shelter in the brood mare’s field, as the flies were getting bad now that summer was coming. Normally the mares and foals came in during the day, but there were no longer enough boxes for them. There were three with foals this year, Puff Ball, the ancient skewbald Shetland who had dropped a foal regularly for the last six years, Singing Sand, the pure bred Arabian mare, who had a filly foal by Riskala, and Suntrap, the bay thoroughbred, who had a brown colt by Crosstalk. They had the smallest paddock, the grass kept horses had the big field, and the third field had been fertilised, and was resting.
The five club members entered the jumping paddock at six o’clock the following evening. Inga was, as usual, on her bay, her sister had the cob, and the pale girl had the grey pony. The other two riders were a pale, fair-haired, anaemic looking girl on a very weedy, weary looking liver chestnut gelding, and a short, spotty youth with light brown hair on a fiddle headed brown gelding, well over sixteen hands in height, with great shallow feet, cow hocks, and a rat tail. The riders all exclaimed enthusiastically over the jumps and the properly marked manège, with its white markers, and Bobby asked them if they wanted to use the cross-country course, which ran across the field behind the paddock, as if so those horses who might become upset at the sight of others jumping would have to be caught. But Inga said that they would just use the paddock that evening, and so Bobby and Heath retreated to the boxes, to get the horses ready for the late school, and to watch the club practise as unobtrusively as possible.
Inga was directing the practice, and acting as instructress to the others. Her bay certainly went well, thought Bobby, watching them claim a corner each for a short period of school work. She rode him in a plain jointed snaffle, with a drop noseband, and an old jumping saddle. He was calm and obedient, leading easily on either leg, cantering very nice figures of eight with a flying change, extending nicely when she asked him to. His trot was good, full of impulsion, and again his extension was quite impressive. Inga rode well, though her hands seemed slightly fixed. In another corner the pale girl, whose name appeared to be Adria, was riding her nice little grey, who did not look more than fourteen three. He had a plain, sensible head, a short back, and nice, clean legs. He too was going very well. Dora was struggling to persuade the cob to extend, instead of merely scuttling faster when asked to trot out, and the blonde girl and her weary mount were jogging in dreary circles, both looking as though they could not care less. The boy was cantering oddly shaped circles much too fast, the brown horse going with his nose in the air, and his mouth wide open. Both he and the liver chestnut wore double bridles, and the brown wore a standing martingale.
Then they began to jump. Again the bay and the grey were outstanding, competent and quite polished. The cob scrambled over somehow. He cat jumped like a cork out of a bottle, but he was far too slow for cross-country work. The liver chestnut just scraped over, ears back, legs trailing, nose in the air, and the brown took off round the paddock with his mouth open, ignoring the jumps, and almost coming down as he tripped over the furrows where people’s cars had turned in to reach the temporary stabling. The boy, whose name was Mike, seemed quite unable to stop him, and the blonde girl, Vi, did nothing towards waking up her unenthusiastic mount. Inga shouted instructions, which were ignored, and eventually gave up, and she, Adria, and Dora began to school more seriously on their own.
Heath’s school lesson arrived, and shortly afterwards the riding club took their leave, Inga handing Bobby ten shillings before following the others towards the gate.
“Will it be all right if we come again on Monday evening?” she asked.
Bobby looked in the book, and agreed that it would. Then Inga rode away after the others, her bay moving at a nice, slow canter, and Bobby turned back to her work.
* * *
That Saturday Bobby went to another show, taking Shelta and June, and Yoland went as well this time, with one pony, Coffee, as Froth could not be spared. Mr. Joyce again drove the box, and as the show was nearer and started later than the last, Bobby and Yoland were able to help Heath get through most of the work, apart from the rides, before they left. Bobby had wanted Heath to go instead of her, but had finally allowed the other girl to persuade her into going herself.
It was a big show, bigger than Dovington, and both girls discovered many friends and acquaintances among both onlookers and competitors. Ian Garland, against whom Bobby had jumped at Harringay, was there, with Painter’s Progress and a novice called Picture. Keith Rhodes, who came from Berkshire, was there with most of the Johnson string, and unexpectedly Joanne Armstrong, a member of the British Team, who came from Essex, was there with her world famous Murphy and a borrowed horse called Cresta. This meant that most of the usual members of the team were at the show, and not for the first time Bobby wondered if she had been silly to stop in a paid teaching job with Guy, thus making herself professional, when she had a good chance of getting into the team if she was amateur. But now it was too late. She could not possibly desert Guy as things were now.
June Evening was third in the novice class to Keith Rhodes’s Fantasia, and Ian Garland’s Picture, and Coffee, in spite of her rest, won the Junior class with ease. In the Open class, rather to her own surprise, Bobby came first, after two jump offs, Keith was second with Rampant, and Ian, Joanne, and Keith again were equal third, with Painter’s Progress, Murphy, and Citroen.
The gamblers stakes, the last class, was great fun. Each fence was judged separately, by the value of the playing card hung on the wings, and the number of fences jumped had to total seven. The people with the best horses, including Bobby, went for the high scoring fences, and the competition was very hot. The ace was in the centre of the ring, a big treble, and several people jumped it more than once, though not always with success. Keith, on Rampant, having jumped the ace seven times, and hit it twice, was well in the lead until Shelta sailed round, taking most of all the highest scoring fences twice, and securing a clear round. The audience yelled its approval, and Keith grinned at Bobby before re-entering the ring on Flare Path, to repeat Bobby’s course apart from the treble, which he jumped three times, having missed jumping the stile, and just scraped into first place. Bobby also jumped June, and was eventually fifth, very good indeed for a novice horse, against such stiff competition. Having received their rosettes Keith and Bobby, first and second, led a race round the ring, Shelta and Flare Path, both chestnuts, galloping neck and neck, and Shelta finishing with a not unusual series of bouncing bucks, while Flare Path charged out of the ring ahead of her.
Still laughing they were riding back towards the boxes when Bobby saw Mrs. Vauxhall watching them, from beside Phillipa Sydney, who rode for her, and one of her famous jumping ponies, Magician. Phillipa would be out of junior competitions in a year or less, and it was for her that Mrs. Vauxhall wanted an open jumper. She waved, and Bobby reluctantly stopped Shelta beside her. After a moment’s hesitation Keith rode on, and Mrs. Vauxhall said, “Changed your mind yet, about the mare?”
“No,” replied Bobby. “I shan’t be selling her.”
She tried to ignore the small nagging voice that whispered, “What shall you do if Bracken seems to be closing down? It’ll be partly your fault, the money for Shelta would help a lot. And what would Guy do without Bracken? If he can’t ride any more, he’ll have an awful time trying to find another job.” But the next moment the problem seemed solved for her, for Mrs. Vauxhall said, “What about the novice? She’ll make a decent jumper, with more experience and schooling.”
“I don’t know about June,” said Bobby thoughtfully. “Mr. Mathews might think of selling her.”
“Well, I’ll probably get in touch with you about her,” said Mrs. Vauxhall. “She’d suit me quite well, I think.”
She nodded, and walked away, with Phillipa riding beside her, every hair neatly in place beneath her crash cap, not a mark on her dark blue showing jacket. She was a good, but mechanical rider, and never really appeared to be enjoying herself. Bobby did not know whether or not she hoped that Guy would sell June. Deep in thought, she let Shelta walk on towards the boxes. It would be a considerable help to the stables, and it would remove the slightly guilty feeling that she had about keeping Shelta, when selling her could be such a help to Guy, and Bracken, but on the other hand she liked June, and she knew that Heath was extremely fond of the mare.
Keith was waiting for her near the boxes, and he asked if Mrs. Vauxhall was still after Shelta. Bobby explained that she now seemed interested in June as well, and Keith looked relieved.
“You won’t sell Shelta, will you Bobby?” he asked her. “I should miss you, if you stopped coming to shows.”
Bobby looked at him in surprise. Keith Rhodes, slender, fair haired, with his distinctive, unorthodox jumping style, and brilliant string of horses, was at most shows to which she went, and though they sometimes had a drink together, after their classes, it was the first time that he had said anything to show that he specially liked seeing her. She was rather flattered. Keith was one of the most popular and attractive young men in the show jumping world, and it was fun to think that he enjoyed her company. He suggested a drink before they left for home, and Bobby readily agreed. Yoland was still down at ring two, riding Coffee in some of the less violent gymkhana events, and Mr. Joyce helped Bobby to load Shelta while Keith took Flare Path along to the Johnson box. Then they walked together through the familiar noise, confusion, and excitement of the show ground to the refreshment tent.
By the time Bobby got back to the box Yoland had ridden in her last race, loaded Coffee, and she and Mr. Joyce were waiting with resigned expressions on their faces for Bobby’s return.
“Sorry,” exclaimed Bobby, realising that the last event of the show, open musical sacks, was in progress, and that everyone not entered had left for home. “I didn’t realise it was so late.”
“So we thought,” Yoland told her, grinning. “Keith was obviously at his most fascinating.”
Bobby made a face at her, and climbed into the back of the box with the horses. Yoland had to go in the cab, for otherwise the motion of the lorry made her feel sick. Five minutes later they turned out into the road.
Heath was filling hay nets with the help of two eager pupils when the box turned into the quiet yard. The horses were settled, and it was not until she and Heath were sitting in the lounge after supper, still feeling strange alone in there without the pupils or Guy, that Bobby told the other girl about Mrs. Vauxhall’s interest in June. Heath did not like the idea of the deal. June had been her special mount for a long time now, but she agreed that it would be useful to the stables. Bobby was going to see Guy the following afternoon, and they decided that she would ask him about it then.
Bobby had received two letters by the evening post, one from Silvia, and one from her cousin Ellen. Silvia’s was long and chatty, painting a vivid, incident packed picture of her life in the London hospital, and in her shared bed-sitting room in Kensington, with occasional rides in Hyde Park or at Wimbledon when she could afford them. She was intensely interested in her work, and besides riding in her spare time she frequently went to the theatre, in a gallery seat, and visited most of the exhibitions and art galleries in London.
