Show Jumping Secret Read online

  Show Jumping Secret

  Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  Contents

  Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Also by Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  Dark Horse

  Jane Badger Books

  Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  A SHORT BIOGRAPHY

  Born in 1924, the eldest of the three Pullein-Thompson sisters (the others being the slightly younger twins, Diana and Christine), Josephine grew up in a somewhat bohemian household in Oxfordshire. With her sisters, she wrote several short stories and ran a riding school before firmly establishing herself as a writer. It Began with Picotee was the sisters’ first novel, published in 1946, and was written jointly by all three although they wrote individually from then on. At first, most notable for being the daughters of Joanna Cannan, a prolific writer whose work included children’s pony books and crime fiction, the sisters soon became well known as writers in their own right.

  Josephine went on to write over thirty novels. Most are children’s books in the pony books genre that the sisters dominated in the post-war period, although she also wrote some detective novels and non-fiction. She lived in London and was active in the English Centre of International PEN, the writers' organisation which campaigns for authors’ freedoms under authoritarian or tyrannical regimes. Josephine Pullein-Thompson died in 2014.

  Vanessa Robertson

  1

  “The improvement has been remarkable, quite remarkable,” said the specialist, “but I’m afraid that we can’t expect much more; I’m afraid that you must resign yourselves to the limp.”

  I moved over to the window; I wanted to keep my thoughts to myself. Looking down on the narrow street I reminded myself that once I had vowed I would never grumble again if only I could leave my invalid chair and walk; but those days and those feelings had passed. Now I wanted to be perfectly well; I wanted to be able to do all the things I had before I was struck down with poliomyelitis.

  Why should I be tied to a dragging leg for ever? No more games, no more running. Everyone waiting for me, pitying me—

  My parents were saying good-bye to Sir Dermott, so I turned back into the room. My mother cast me an anxious look, but I avoided her eyes and shook hands with Sir Dermott, who wished me luck in hearty tones.

  We climbed down the thickly carpeted stairs, my parents walking slowly so that I shouldn’t be left behind, and down the steep white steps into the grey street, which was brightened by pale, cold shafts of winter sunshine.

  “Charles, it’ll be a very distinguished limp,” said my mother as I climbed into the car.

  “Yes, it’s not too bad, really,” added my father. “It’s all a question of adjusting oneself. You’ll be able to ride and row and play golf: in fact Sir Dermott says that the more you attempt, within reason, the better.”

  “And somehow,” said Mummy, “it’s not nearly so bad for a boy to limp as a girl.”

  All the way home we discussed my future. Sir Dermott had advised that I should take up a sport or activity of some sort at once, especially as I was to spend the whole summer at home before returning to school for my last year.

  It was I who decided on riding, but from my parents’ rather obvious efforts not to push me into it, I gathered that they had hoped I would. It was certainly much the easiest choice, for I had ridden, I had even won a bending race in a very small gymkhana at the age of ten and my cousins, who live only two miles from Hampden End, have always been horsy. In fact, I think it was they who put me off riding and I think my parents had realised this, for Mummy said, “There’s no need to ride with Patience and Prudence, there’s that riding school in Eastbridge and the girl who runs it is supposed to be very nice.”

  “And once you’ve learned you can always have your own horse,” suggested my father.

  “I’ll try Patience first,” I said. I felt that I was older now and that my once violent dislike of my cousins had faded. Besides, it would be rather an ordeal to try out my wretched leg at a strange riding school. My cousins knew all about my illness; they would know what to expect.

  “Well, I’m going shopping in Eastbridge tomorrow, so I could drop you at Underhill on the way there and collect you on the way back,” offered my mother.

  “I’ll ring up Patience tonight,” I said, “and then perhaps I can begin tomorrow.”

  The next day was fine. I was quite excited about my ride and got out of bed especially to look at the weather. I hadn’t realised before how bored I was with having nothing to do. I gave up my invalidish habit of loitering half-dressed in my bedroom until lunchtime and was downstairs before my father left to catch the London train. I harried my mother so much in my haste to get to the farm that she lost her basket and her shopping list, but eventually we started. Underhill Farm is in a small remote valley reached only by a winding lane. In the summer it is a lovely place; the hill-sides are sun-drenched and everywhere there is a smell of wild thyme, but in the winter it can be very bleak indeed with an icy north-west wind sweeping down the valley and buffeting the farmhouse. Not that Aunt Una, my father’s younger sister, or my cousins mind; they are all tall, fair-haired robust-looking characters, the sort of people who like cold weather, but Uncle David, who is quite different from his family, being small, dark and silent, is always found crouched in a chimney seat on cold winter evenings.

  Mummy drove me right down the lane to the farm, but then she turned the car quickly and fled because she said that if Aunt Una caught her she would never get to Eastbridge that morning.

  I found Patience, the eldest of my cousins and the only one who has left school, in the dairy.

  “Oh, hallo, stranger. Glad you made it,” she exclaimed. “I won’t be a jiffy. I’ve just got to finish these milk records.”

  I wandered out into the farmyard and found the horses stabled in looseboxes beyond the cowshed. There were three chestnuts, a black cob and a dark brown hunter.

  “Prue’s Hat Trick, my Copper Count, Jacky’s Golden Oriole, Bruce and Merlin,” said Patience when she joined me. “We decided you’d better ride Merlin,” she went on. “He’s enormous and he’s not clipped, but he’s very quiet. Bruce pulls like a train, Count and Trick are both scatty and Oriole’s about the scattiest of the lot.”

  “Suits me,” I said, “as long as I can get up there.”

  “There’s a mounting block,” Patience pointed out. “Mummy always uses it.”

  But even with the mounting block it was no easy task to get me up on Merlin. Patience pushed and pulled, until the saddle began to come over; in the end I got there with an undignified scramble.

  The saddle felt terribly hard; there seemed to be nothing between it and my bones. “I’d hate to be a ghost,” I said, as Patience altered the stirrups, “or at least one of those skeletons with knocking bones.”

  “I’ll lead you,” said Patience, so I suppose I looked as helpless as I felt. She led me up the lane. “Are you O.K.?” she kept asking. “Stirrups comfy? I can easily alter them. Don’t just say they’re all right if they’re not. Would you like a trot? Sure you’re all right? How’s the leg? You will say if it hurts, won’t you?”

  I had to keep answering her questions in hearty tones, which was very awkward as I wanted to grit my teeth together to lessen the pain of my leg, which was behaving fiendishly. At
last I summoned the courage to say that I would like to go back, for though I had only been riding for seven minutes I felt as though I had covered a hundred miles at least.

  “Already? Are you sure you wouldn’t like a trot?” asked Patience. “Honestly, Charles, do say if you would, I don’t mind running with you a bit.”

  “Tomorrow,” I said, “if I may come again tomorrow.” And then I clenched my teeth firmly, shut my eyes, took hold of Merlin’s mane and prayed that Patience would stop talking and get me back to the farm as quickly as possible.

  She didn’t stop talking, but she managed without answers and no one was ever more glad to dismount from a horse than I was from good patient Merlin. I sat down on the mounting block and I’m afraid I let Patience do all the unsaddling. By the time Merlin was unsaddled and watered I had revived a little, which was just as well because Patience began to bombard me with questions again. “Honestly, Charles, are you sure you’re all right? Doesn’t your leg hurt anywhere? You would say if it did, wouldn’t you? Look, do take my arm. Shall I fetch you a stick or would you like Daddy to help you?”

  “Don’t fuss,” I said, when she paused for breath. “I’ll manage.” Of course I couldn’t go home until my mother finished her shopping and that was bound to take some time, so I had to hobble into the farm­house and eat elevenses with Patience and Aunt Una. The elevenses and the blazing fire were wonderful, but Aunt Una’s questions were worse than Patience’s and reminded one of an oral examination. I was glad when I heard the car in the lane and knew that Mummy had come to my rescue.

  I was terribly stiff later in the day and my limp became much worse. Every time I passed through the hall I looked longingly at my walking stick in the corner, but I resisted the temptation to use it. I wasn’t going to go back to my old invalid ways, I was going forward, and at all costs I was going to ride. I couldn’t remember myself feeling so keen and determined about anything ever before.

  My mother seemed to have a great deal of shopping to do in Eastbridge that week; every morning she dropped me at the farm and every morning Patience was kind enough to take me out on Merlin. I was soon riding without being led and then I tried trotting. At first rising was very difficult, but by Saturday I could manage fairly easily.

  On Saturday, with Prudence and Jackie both home from school, my cousins decided that I must go for a ride with them. I wasn’t so keen. I felt that they would want to go faster than I did, but in the end I was overruled and I agreed to go so long as it was a short ride.

  “Jolly good,” said Prudence when I gave in. “You’ve got to begin sometime.”

  “Yes, honestly, Charles, you must make an effort if you’re not to remain an invalid. These things are all will power, aren’t they, Prue?”

  “Of course, lots of people are invalids because they’re fed up or just too lazy to do a day’s work,” answered Prudence.

  “I’m not an invalid,” I said angrily, “and the specialist didn’t say anything about my leg being due to laziness or lack of will power.”

  “Oh, we didn’t mean you, Charles,” said Patience hastily.

  And Prudence said, “Oh, doctors, who believes in them anyway?”

  “I do,” I said, glaring at her furiously.

  “Look, Jackie’s ready,” exclaimed Patience in an obvious attempt to change the subject. “Prue, if you’ll fetch Merlin in, I’ll saddle Trick as well as the Count.”

  “I’ll fetch Merlin in,” I said, “I don’t want to be waited on. Where’s the head collar?” But as I hurried towards the saddle room Patience called, “Don’t be silly, Charles.” And Prudence shouted, “It’s no use, I’ve gone,” and left the yard at a run. I felt weary with argument. I sat down on an upturned bucket until I felt more agreeable and then I asked Patience if I could help her with Hat Trick or Copper Count, but they were both ready and Patience was putting on her riding jacket and subduing her mop of fair, rather frizzy hair under a bowler.

  Prudence knocked the worst of the mud off Merlin and saddled and bridled him while I stood helplessly by. Then she tried to leg me up, which didn’t work at all well and ended in the usual undignified scramble. When I was ready my cousins led out their three chestnuts and mounted. I must say they looked very smart prancing round the yard; Prudence on Hat Trick, a red chestnut with a star, Patience on the darker, burnished-­looking Copper Count and Jackie on Golden Oriole, her show pony, which was a real golden chestnut. Merlin, muddy and in his winter coat, looked shabby beside them, but I felt that I matched him better than I matched my bouncing cousins. I had never been a Tarzan and polio had left me looking tatty and grey. I patted Merlin and comforted myself with a line of poetry I had read while I was in bed. “Golden lads and girls all must, as chimney sweepers, come to dust.”

  My cousins and their horses were certainly golden. Merlin and I were the chimney sweepers, but, if I understood the poem rightly, there wouldn’t be much difference in the long run; we would all be food for the worms.

  “Come on, Charles,” my cousins were calling.

  “Whatever on earth are you so deep in thought about?” asked Patience.

  “Dust, death and worms,” I answered truthfully and waited for her shocked exclamations on my morbidity. But she began to talk bracingly about the summer. About picnics and horse shows and all the things I’d be able to do when I was better. For a time it was wonderful to be riding through fields and woods. I thought that I could feel a little warmth in the sunshine and certainly the birds were singing; it seemed as though the long winter was really over at last. But soon Jackie began to want to canter and Prudence said that she really didn’t see how it could hurt me, I couldn’t fall off Merlin. However, Patience took my part. “I’ll go ahead with Charles,” she suggested, “and you two can wait behind and then canter to catch up.”

  “Let me go first,” I asked when we were away from the others. “I want to try a canter, but I want to be able to stop if it feels too awful.”

  Merlin cantered steadily, but I felt very perilous. I was swaying from side to side. “Gosh!” I said, when I was trotting again, “I’m hopeless. Do you think that it’s my leg or that I’ve forgotten how to ride?”

  “A bit of both, I expect,” said Patience.

  Prudence and Jackie soon caught up with us and I felt sure that they were annoyed at having had their canter cut short, though they exclaimed, “Well done,” and “Jolly good,” in hearty voices, when Patience told them that I had cantered.

  For the last part of the ride I ached all over. I couldn’t sit in the saddle and my left leg hurt when I stood in the stirrups. I wanted to ride home in silence, but silence, as usual, drew Patience’s attention to me, so I had to make a pretence of cheerful chatter.

  The sight of Underhill Farm when we at last rode down the lane was as welcome to me as an oasis in a desert to a man without water. Fortunately my mother was there waiting so I was able to escape from Aunt Una’s invitation to tea. Patience offered to turn Merlin out, which was just as well because my legs were refusing to work at all.

  “Poor Charles, you look exhausted,” said Mummy, propelling me towards the car. I hate to be propelled, but I was much too tired to resist.

  Even so, when my cousins called, “Come again tomorrow afternoon,” I heard my voice answer, quite cheerfully, “Thanks awfully, I’d love to.”

  2

  My cousins allowed me to ride Merlin in peace for another two weeks. Usually I rode out with Patience on either Hat Trick or Copper Count, for she exercised them both while Prudence was at school. At the week-ends I went for more energetic rides with all three of them and once or twice when Patience was busy, I rode Merlin round the forty acre meadow by myself. But at the end of a fortnight Prudence began to make insulting remarks about my riding.

  “It’s all very well to say that he can’t help it,” she told Patience on Saturday as I rode round the yard, rather pleased with myself because I was ready before the others for the first time. “But he’d feel much better if he w
asn’t all screwed up like that. We’ll have to give him some lessons. After all we all learned to ride almost as soon as we could walk, but Charles has left it too late, he doesn’t do it naturally so someone’s got to teach him.”

  “What about it, Charles?” Patience asked me. “Could you bear us as your instructors? It’s years since I took a lesson, but I think I can remember most of what I learned.”

  “O.K.,” I said, “I’ll try anything once.” But I didn’t really feel like that. I felt secretly ashamed that I should need teaching. Why couldn’t I just get on and ride like my cousins? Surely one had a good seat and good hands the moment one mounted? Hadn’t I read somewhere that good horsemen were born and not made?

  “We needn’t begin today though,” I suggested tentatively.

  “Oh yes, there’s no time like the present,” said Patience firmly. And Jackie chimed in with, “Oh, for goodness’ sake, start now. I’m tired of seeing you bumping about with your toes down.”

  “Thanks,” I said, controlling myself with difficulty, “but it’s nothing to do with you, you’re not the one who’s going to teach me.”

  “I could, though,” Jackie told me.

  Patience said, “Oh, do be quiet, Jackie, and leave Charles alone. Go and groom Oriole, or you’ll never be ready to ride.” When Jackie had gone Patience turned to me and said, “Actually, Charles, she is quite good. I mean, she passed ‘B’ test frightfully young.”

  “All right and don’t we know it,” I answered disagreeably. “She’s been festooned with red ribbons ever since. I should think she wears them on her party dress and in bed.”