Plenty of Ponies Read online

  Plenty of Ponies

  Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  Contents

  Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  Historical Note

  1. “… Bad-Mannered Children”

  2. The Boxing Day Meet

  3. "I'll Get The Ladder"

  4. “Those Poor Sheep”

  5. The Shepherd’s Hut

  6. “To Live In A Pigsty”

  7. “A Miserable Morning … ”

  8. “My Sister Fell Off”

  9. The Pony Club Rally

  10. Jackanapes

  11. “Let Go Of The Saddle”

  12. The Children’s Meet

  Printing History

  Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  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

  Historical Note

  This is a classic text first published in 1949: it was common practice for people to drink alcohol to warm themselves up or treat those suffering from shock, but it’s not recommended now.

  Death by hanging was still on the statute books in the 1940s. It wasn’t abolished for murder until the 1960s (and completely in 1998).

  Hunting was also legal in the 1940s; much of this book involves hunting.

  In the original, Christina is referred to as ‘Tina. While this is perfectly correct, we decided the annoyance value of seeing what has now become vanishingly unusual with names was too great, and so ‘Tina has become Tina.

  1

  “… Bad-Mannered Children”

  “I’ve never known such a family of selfish, quarrelling, bad-mannered children. I’m disgusted with the lot of you,” finished Professor Esmond. He stood for a moment glaring at his children who were standing sheepishly by the library door. He was a tall, thin man, always quite an imposing figure, thought Lewis, but when he was angry he positively towered. He wasn’t one of those fathers who grow red and shout when their children annoy them. There was nothing about his anger that you could laugh at, he never raised his voice and everything he said was horribly true, at least Lewis thought so, though he wished that it wasn’t. Thank goodness that’s over; we haven’t had such a row for ages, thought Paul, stifling a yawn. Charlotte was looking at her feet and wondering whether her father was right; had living at Waywards House and having ponies and boats and practically everything that they had ever wished for made them into nastier people? She hoped not, but, she thought, we do seem to have quarrelled a lot lately; more perhaps than we did at the cottage. Julian, the youngest of the Esmonds, decided that however undignified it was to cry he couldn’t prevent himself a moment longer and searched his pockets feverishly for a handkerchief. Tina had started to cry at the very beginning of the row and Professor Esmond’s lecture had been punctuated by sniffs, but then she could not help it; she always cried very easily and when everything was beastly she always thought that it would never be right again.

  “Can we go?” asked Paul, feeling that the atmosphere was growing unbearably solemn.

  “Yes,” answered the professor, looking at his watch, “it’s almost time for lunch; you had better tidy yourselves.”

  The children hurried out of the room with a feeling of relief. “Gosh,” said Paul, as soon as they were out of their father’s hearing, “what a row!”

  His flippant tone annoyed Lewis, who felt that this had not just been an ordinary lecture over table manners or being untidy. Their parents, he thought, weren’t fussy; they didn’t make mountains out of molehills and, though he didn’t want to believe it, if they really thought that their children were becoming foul, it was frightful; because no one wants to be disliked by their parents, at least not if they have decent ones. “Shut up,” he said to Paul. “It’s not funny.”

  “I didn’t say it was,” answered Paul. “But you can’t expect me to go about looking as though I’ve just been to a funeral; we all know that it’s your usual expression.”

  “No,” said Lewis, “you prefer to rush about grinning like a half-witted ape and, as you think that you’re perfect, it’s a waste of time to suggest that you should alter your expression.”

  “I’d much rather look like an ape than like you,” said Paul.

  “Oh, do shut up,” said Charlotte. “You’ve started quarrelling again already.” Realising that this was true, Lewis curbed his desire to hit Paul and ran upstairs to his room. He didn’t wash for lunch but stood with his hands in his pockets looking out across the bleak, frozen garden to the red roofs of the stables and wondering why he found Paul so irritating. Were younger brothers always irritating, he wondered, or was it just that Paul was better than him at so many things?

  * * *

  Tina and Julian didn’t wash for lunch either; they sat on the attic stairs discussing the row. “It was awful,” said Julian. “Much worse than rows at school.”

  “Of course,” said Tina, “school rows are always over such pointless things, breaking a few senseless rules or eating sweets when you shouldn’t; nobody cares about them, but this is quite different. It’s frightful if we really are becoming horrid, spoiled, snivelling children—the sort that we’ve always despised. But I don’t believe that we are.” She asked suddenly after a pause, “Do you?”

  “Well,” said Julian, “you do make rather a babyish fuss sometimes, over squashed things and earwigs and thunderstorms.”

  “Oh, I don’t,” said Tina. “At least, not much. Anyway,” she went on, “you can’t talk; look what a fuss you made this morning at breakfast, just because your egg wasn’t done enough.”

  “Ugh,” said Julian, screwing up his face at the memory of the egg, “it was sloppy; it made me feel sick.”

  “Well, Mummy said that you were a fusspot,” said Tina.

  “She says that you’re a baby,” said Julian, “and I’d rather be a fusspot than a baby.”

  “I wouldn’t,” replied Tina. “You grow out of being babyish but fusspots get worse and worse. Charlotte says that you’re like an old gentleman now,” she added, “so what you’ll be like by the time you’re forty, I really don’t know.”

  “By that time,” answered Julian, “I shall have a house of my own and I shall never eat sloppy eggs or fat or fish.”

  * * *

  “Why do you always have to annoy Lewis?” Charlotte asked Paul as she followed him upstairs.

  “Me annoy Lewis?” said Paul indignantly. “I like that. It’s him who’s always telling me off and it’s not my fault if he doesn’t like it when I ans
wer back.”

  “Well, he is older,” said Charlotte, “and you know jolly well that you often do annoy him on purpose.”

  Paul grinned. “When he’s in one of his smug moods I just can’t help it,” he admitted, “but you know you’re as bad. You don’t quarrel with Lewis much, but you’re always squabbling with Tina.”

  “She’s such an idiot,” said Charlotte. “I’m sure that I had more sense at her age and she will borrow my clothes without asking. Anyway,” she went on, “it was you who caused this row; I can’t see why you wanted to chase her with that revolting dead rat.”

  “It wasn’t the rat which caused the row,” said Paul. “If you ask me it was you and Lewis grumbling because you couldn’t hunt, or Julian and his egg at breakfast.”

  “I don’t know,” said Charlotte with a sigh. “I think that it was just an accumulation of everything; but it does seem frightful,” she went on. “We’ve all looked forward to the holidays for so long and now they’re here we’re not enjoying them a bit and the parents are wishing that we were back at school.”

  “It’s this beastly frost,” said Paul. “It’s enough to put any one in a bad temper.”

  * * *

  That night when Charlotte wandered into Tina’s bedroom to reclaim a pair of borrowed socks she was surprised to find her sister sitting up in bed writing in a notebook. “Hallo,” she said. “What on earth are you doing; writing poetry?”

  “No,” said Tina, “one poet in the family is enough, but I’ve got an idea.”

  “What sort of an idea?” asked Charlotte.

  “I’ll tell you,” said Tina, “but you must promise not to laugh at it.”

  “O.K.,” said Charlotte.

  “Well, it’s a society,” said Tina. “A society for improving our characters. Do you think it’s silly?” she asked, looking anxiously at Charlotte.

  “No, I don’t think so,” said Charlotte slowly as she gazed out into the misty moonlight and wished that she could paint like Whistler.

  “We must do something about improving our characters,” said Tina earnestly, “and I think that a society might help.”

  “What would we have to do?” asked Charlotte. “A good deed every day, like Boy Scouts?”

  “No,” said Tina, “not every day, but of course you’d have to do unselfish acts occasionally, but I suppose that won’t be so difficult when we’ve improved our characters. If the others agree,” she went on, “we must have a meeting and decide on our aims. Do you think Lewis will think it’s silly?” she asked.

  “I don’t suppose so,” said Charlotte. “And anyway you oughtn’t to mind if he does; you must have the courage of your convictions.”

  “I’ll tell him to-morrow,” said Tina resolutely.

  “Good night. I do hope that it thaws.”

  “I think it’s warmer,” said Charlotte, picking up her socks. “Good night,” she added as she left the room.

  When the Esmonds wakened next morning they were delighted to find that the frost which had marred the beginning of the Christmas holidays had relaxed its iron grip; the day was muggy and the trees dripped mournfully as they hurried through the garden after breakfast to saddle their ponies for a ride. They spent a long time getting ready because none of the tack had been used since half-term, and Carter, who divided his time between the ponies and the garden, had taken it to bits and cleaned it. The result was that none of it was properly adjusted and everyone who had forgotten the correct height for their particularly bit was madly trying to remember in which hole on the cheek strap their horse usually wore it.

  There was a lot of arguing over who should help Julian, who was unable to put Frosty’s bridle on; they all told him that he was feeble, stupid and slow. In the end Charlotte, with many complaints, went to his assistance. Then, just as they were ready to start, Paul discovered that Tina had put October’s leather girth on back to front. “You are an idiot,” he said scornfully. “Can’t you even get your pony ready yet?”

  “Oh, do shut up, Paul,” said Charlotte. “Why don’t you help her put it right? We shall never be ready to start at this rate.”

  “I can quite see that,” said Paul. “Let’s start and leave them to catch up.” And he turned the Turk, who was dancing about impatiently, and rode up the drive. All the ponies were rather over-fresh, partly because they hadn’t been ridden since half-term and partly because their owners had been stuffing them with oats since the beginning of the holidays, and the sight of the Turk’s golden-red chestnut coat disappearing between the leafless trees, which bordered the drive, was too much for them; October, Tina’s dun gelding, leaped forward with a buck and, as his girth, which Tina and Lewis were putting on properly, was undone, the saddle flew off and, as no one was holding him, he galloped up the drive in pursuit of the Turk. Delight, whose reins were looped casually over Charlotte’s arm, escaped from her surprised owner and galloped after October.

  “Oh gosh,” said Julian.

  “Blast Paul,” said Lewis. “He is a fool; why did he have to go careering off like that?” And he hastily mounted Solomon, his big, liver chestnut hunter and trotted after the loose ponies.

  “Quick, give me Frosty,” said Charlotte to Julian, “I’ll go after them too. Never mind about the stirrups,” she added as Julian started to adjust them, “I don’t need any; I must be quick.” Delight will be run over, she thought, tearing after Lewis; or she’ll slip up on the road and break her knees. A succession of horrid pictures floated through her mind. Delight’s dear, bay figure stretched motionless on the road. A dusty pony at the roadside, dripping with blood from a dozen ghastly wounds. The vet’s voice saying, “There’s no hope, I’m afraid; she’s broken her foreleg,” and Delight’s soft intelligent eyes filmed with pain. When she reached the road Charlotte took Frosty on the grass verge and cantered along, half her attention on the horses ahead and half on the treacherous little ditches which crossed the verge. At last, rounding a bend, she saw her brothers: Lewis was holding Solomon and Delight, the Turk and October were nibbling the hedge and Paul was sitting on the grass verge, with a bleeding nose.

  “Hallo,” said Charlotte, riding up. “You’ve got them. What happened?”

  “Paul came off,” said Lewis. “October and Delight galloped past him and the Turk bucked; I think he’s all right, except for his nose; he fell on the grass.”

  “The grass isn’t exactly soft,” said Charlotte. “It’s still got a bit of a bone in it. Are you all right, Paul?” she asked. “Did you hit your head?”

  “No,” muttered Paul through a very large handkerchief already soaked in blood. “It’s only my nose.” Lewis and Charlotte lent him their handkerchiefs and then Charlotte caught the ponies. October had broken his reins, but, fortunately, only at the buckle. Julian and Tina arrived on the scene carrying October’s saddle, just as Paul’s nose stopped bleeding, so when he had cleaned himself up with spit and Tina’s handkerchief—which turned out to be a long lost one of Charlotte’s—they were able to start on their ride, but it was an unusually sober cavalcade that turned up the wide, grassy track which led to the hazel woods.

  It was not until the afternoon that Tina was able to tell her brothers about her society for the improvement of their characters. All the Esmonds were sitting round the fire in the long, light room, which had always been the nursery at Waywards House.

  “Don’t you think that we ought to do something about our characters?” asked Tina anxiously, when she had finished explaining the aims of her society.

  “Yes, definitely,” answered Julian at once. “And I think your society might improve us a lot.”

  “I’m past improvement, thank goodness,” said Paul, lying back in his chair and putting his feet on the mantelshelf.

  “Don’t sound so jolly pleased with yourself,” said Lewis. “I think that it’s rather a good idea, as long as it doesn’t become too boy scouty or smug,” he added, more to annoy Paul than because he really thought so.

  “I can’t s
ee that it would hurt us,” said Charlotte, “if Tina really wants it.”

  “Oh, good,” said Tina. “You’ll join us, too, won’t you, Paul?”

  “I suppose I might,” said Paul grudgingly. “But it all sounds frightfully pi.”

  “What’s it going to be called?” asked Julian. “The Esmonds’ Improvement Society?”

  “Must it be a society?” asked Lewis. “I quite agree with the aims, but I must say a society sounds a bit priggish.”

  Tina’s face fell and Julian said, “We haven’t got on very well without a society—I think it’s time we tried one.”

  “You might as well let them have a society, Lewis,” said Charlotte. “It won’t hurt you.”

  “Oh, all right,” said Lewis.

  Paul sighed heavily. “What do we have to do?” he asked. “Give up our seats in trains and weed old ladies’ gardens?”

  “No,” said Charlotte, “it’s much easier than that; you have to give up quarrelling with Lewis and upsetting other people’s ponies by dashing off before their riders are ready.”

  “Well then,” said Paul, “you’ve obviously got to lend Tina all your clothes without a murmur—that’s probably why she’s so keen on starting this society—and if Lewis is going to join he’ll have to stop correcting me in his irritating elder brotherly fashion and let Julian use his microscope.”