One Day Event, page 1
One Day Event
Josephine Pullein-Thompson
Published by Jane Badger Books 2020
First published by Collins, London, 1954
© The estate of Josephine Pullein-Thompson
Cover image and illustrations © Sheila Rose
The moral right of Josephine Pullein-Thompson to be identified as the author of this book has been asserted by her estate in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the above copyright owners and the above publisher of this book.
Neither the author nor contributor has any responsibility for the continuing accuracy of URLs for external or third-party websites referred to in this book, nor do they guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate.
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
The Noel and Henry Series
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
Henry Thornton led his bay thoroughbred gelding, Evening Echo, up the ramp of the horse-box, while Finch, his father’s groom, hurriedly stowed the tack, the haynet, the bucket of feed, Henry’s best coat and the picnic basket in the groom’s compartment.
“There you are now,” he said, “that’s the lot. I ’ope you ’ave a good day and remember all them tests.”
“Thanks awfully, Finchy,” said Henry, climbing in. “Cheerio.” He waved, hanging out of the window as the box moved off down the drive and then as Radney Manor was lost to view, he sat down on the little seat facing Echo.
He felt harassed. The wretched horse-box driver had arrived twenty minutes late; he hoped they would be in time. Mercifully Echo was obliging about boxes; he had walked straight in as usual, but he was fresh and would need a lot of riding round before his test. I hope Noel manages to get there, thought Henry. It was dreary going by oneself; he wouldn’t know any of the dressage people, and anyway, it was ages since he had seen Noel. It was nearly seven months, he calculated, since last summer holidays when they had run the Radney Riding Club together. This summer he was going to insist that Uncle George had him to stay at Folly Court. He says he’s not going abroad, thought Henry, so he’ll have time to teach me some more dressage.
It took Noel four and a half hours to reach Mantwick, where the dressage tests were being held. Having travelled on two buses and a stopping train, she began to wish that she hadn’t been so cowardly about asking Major Holbrooke for a lift. The schedule had announced him as one of the Prix St. George judges and Noel had meant to ask at the Annual Competitions if he would take her, but then he had been so cross about Sonnet and she hadn’t been able to summon up enough courage to face him again. I’m terribly cowardly, she thought, remembering her mother’s suggestion that she should ring the Major up, and anyway he would probably have lectured me about padlocks the whole way over here.
When Noel saw horse-boxes and tents and knew that she had arrived her spirits rose. But the sight of Henry looking taller, older and more superior than ever, cast her down again. I don’t suppose he really wanted me to come at all, she thought. He looks terribly grown up. She stood watching him. Echo was bucking and shying; he seemed very fresh.
When Henry saw Noel he stopped schooling and rode across to her. “Hallo,” he said. “I’m glad you were able to come, though I think we’re going to shatter you with our behaviour. Echo’s feeling terribly bolshy; I’ve a nasty idea that he’s going to buck. If he does I shall fall off; I’m feeling extremely weak.”
Noel said, “He’s looking lovely, but rather uppish.”
“Uppish isn’t in it,” replied Henry, “and I’ve only half an hour left. I’d better get on with my exercising.”
Noel watched him as he rode round. Echo wasn’t going well and Noel came to the conclusion that it wasn’t just over-freshness, he looked stiff and decidedly unco-operative; whenever Henry gave an aid he swished his tail.
It was a pity, she thought, for he was a good-looking horse and he had, at times, a very long stride.
As Henry’s turn approached he resigned himself to doing badly. He was hot and tired and Echo was being just as difficult as when he had first arrived on the showground. “Oh well, I haven’t a reputation to lose,” he told Noel, “and my esteemed Uncle George is busy with the Prix St. George, so he won’t see the horrible travesty.”
Noel said, “I’ve got the most terrible needle. I do think it’s unfair that I should have it for other people.”
Henry grinned. “You’d better not watch then or you’ll have it even worse as Test E approaches.”
As the competitor before him made the final halt and salute, Henry handed Noel his stick and straightened his bowler. He rode in and walked round the outside of the markers until the judges rang a bell to signify their readiness; then he began to trot; at A he entered the arena. Oh dear, he’s terribly crooked, thought Noel. As he rode the test Noel’s depression increased. Everything seemed to be wrong and she had so hoped he would do well. She didn’t want to watch Echo’s unbalanced strong trot; his unwilling transitions into the canter, his sorry attempts at turns on the forehand, his dawdling walk or his crooked halts. She contemplated drinking tea in the refreshment tent, but she decided that that might hurt Henry’s feelings so she watched him out. He, too, was conscious of the badness of the test. When he rode back to her, he dismounted and giving Echo a perfunctory pat, he said, “Oh lord, that was even worse than I expected. Do you think that I should scratch from the E? I’ve never known him as bolshy as he is today.”
“Oh dear,” said Noel, “I don’t know. I disapprove of scratching on principle; mostly because I’m afraid of turning into a Jannice Barbersley.”
“Of course he might go better the second time,” said Henry, his optimism returning. “It’s all the walking at the beginning of that revolting N test that flummoxes me. He dawdles more and more every step and one doesn’t dare to do anything violent because of jogging.
“I think perhaps I won’t scratch,” he went on. “After all, it’s different judges so I dare say I shan’t give them nervous breakdowns and 2.40 is still decades away.”
They watered and fed Echo and put him back in the box and then they sat on Henry’s mackintosh and watched the Prix St. George competitors. Noel told Henry about Sonnet. How the field gate had been left open by a picnic party, and Sonnet had been found on the main road to Gunston with a long deep cut in her quarters, and hardly an inch of her that was not scraped or cut or bruised. “It’s terribly dreary,” she finished, “to think of the whole summer stretching away before me and no pony to ride.”
“Surely you can acquire something. The world’s full of people who want tiresome horses schooled,” Henry told her.
“They wouldn’t want me to school them,” answered Noel.
“False modesty,” said Henry. “I believe Uncle George is right when he says that you fish for compliments.”
“You are beastly; I don’t. It’s just that I’ve reluctantly come to the conclusion that I don’t know anything at all about riding.”
“That means you’re becoming an expert then,” said Henry; “they all begin their lectures by saying that they’ve just realised how little they know. It’s only poor struggling misguided types like me who confess to their crumbs of knowledge.”
They watched in silence for a time and then suddenly Henry said, “Gosh! I’ve just remembered; you wouldn’t like to be given a handsome Anglo-Arab, would you?”
“Of course I would,” answered Noel.
“Well, there’s a Mrs. Exeter who hunts with the South Clareshires, and she’s got several brood mares. Her daughter used to break the youngsters in and hunt them, but she got married a year or two ago and now Mrs. Exeter, who is getting on in years, finds herself landed with masses of half-broken Anglo-Arabs. She rang me up the other day and said that if I would have two of them and get them going for her, I could keep whichever I liked in exchange for my work and send back the other one. My dear mamma wouldn’t hear of it and, of course, actually it would be rather tricky with me away during the term and the other disadvantage is the size; they’re neither of them over 15.2 and, with my long legs, my next horse will have to be 16.2. However, I could recommend you.”
“That would be a rash act,” said Noel. “I should ruin them both and then you would have to deal with a furious Mrs. Exeter. Besides she wouldn’t take any notice of your recommendation. One look at me would be enough to tell her that I was hopelessly inefficient.”
“I’ll have you know my recommendations are much prized in Clareshire. The Exeters aren’t dressage-minded. They would consider Sonnet marvellously schooled. Would your people make difficulties?”
“No, I don’t think so. Mr Cox is very obliging about having extra horses turned out in his fields during the summer and Daddy’s better off since his Egyptian discoveries brought him fame.”
“We shall have to move quickly,” said Henry. “School looms; I’ve only got two more days.”
“I’ve three.”
“We shall have to go to Recksworth tomorrow. Curse it, why haven’t I taken my driving test? Still, there are trains. Could you catch an early one from Gunston?”
“I expect so, but the Exeters are sure to say that they don’t want me to have their horses,” protested Noel.
“I’ll ring them up the moment I reach home,” Henry told her. “Unless they’ve found someone else, I know they’ll be delighted.”
During the luncheon interval Henry and Noel met Major Holbrooke. Noel, who didn’t want to hear any more about padlocks, had been hoping to avoid him and Henry wasn’t particularly pleased to be confronted by his uncle when his horse was going so badly.
“Hallo,” said the Major, “what are you two doing here?”
“I’m competing,” answered Henry, “and Noel is supporting my ebbing morale.”
“How are you doing? Have you ridden yet?”
“Yes, I’ve done the novice test, but not very successfully, I fear. Echo seems to be behaving rather worse than usual.”
“I shall be interested to see your marks,” said the Major. “Mrs. Van Cutler is one of the novice judges and she knows a great deal about it. Her remarks are always worth having.”
“I can see that I shall have to make a quick getaway directly the E test is over,” Henry observed, when the Major had gone on his way. “I don’t think my marks are going to be of the sort to give horsy uncles pleasure.”
Noel said, “Oh dear, I knew we should meet him, but he didn’t offer to give me a lift home, that’s one consolation.”
When they had eaten their lunch they unboxed Echo and Henry rode him round while Noel tried to make helpful remarks. It was a disheartening task because she could see that there was nothing to be done in the half-hour before the test; somewhere Echo’s schooling had gone wrong, but it was weeks Henry needed to correct it, not minutes.
Once again there was nothing to admire about Echo’s performance in the arena. It was alternately unwilling and hurried and the more difficult movements—the counter lead and the simple changes of leg—were very bad indeed.
When Henry came out his last shred of optimism had vanished. “That was even worse,” he said quietly. “I’m hopeless. Perhaps I’d better try point to pointing, or just become a plain hunting type, or give up horses altogether and try roller-skating.”
Noel said, “Perhaps Echo’s just in a bad mood,” in unconvincing tones.
“I could cheerfully shoot myself. What is the good of going on schooling? The hours one wastes. Oh lord! Let’s put this ’orrible ’orse in the box and drown our sorrows in a cuppa.”
They boxed Echo and then drank tea, talking carefully of anything but dressage until Henry said, “Let’s gather our ebbing courage and see if we can collect my novice marks yet. I heard the loudspeaker making a lot of noise, so I should think some of the results must be out.”
The Elementary test was still in progress, but the results of both the N and the Prix St. George tests had been announced so Henry was able to collect his marks.
“Now for Mrs. Van Cutler’s esteemed opinion,” he said. “Oh lord! Have you ever seen so many fours? ‘Horse not on bit. Horse off bit. Stiff. Not cadenced. Unbalanced. Stiff. Hurried. Not a true circle. Bad halt. Crooked, off bit. Running, unbalanced. The horse was never between rider’s hands and legs,’ ” he read off the remarks. “Generous female, she’s actually given me five for my loose rein walk,” he observed. “Well, I’m off,” he went on, “I’m not waiting for my E marks; they would reduce me to an eternal inferiority complex or the lunatic asylum. Come on, I don’t want to run into my dear uncle. My apologies for having brought you so far for such a sorry spectacle,” Henry went on as they hurried towards the box, “but you have supported me in my hour of greatest need.”
“I feel that I’ve been rather useless,” Noel confessed. “I ought to be bracing or heartening; helping you to keep a stiff upper lip. Quoting ‘If’ like you did last summer.”
Henry shuddered. “Don’t mention it,” he said, “I’ve quite given up feeling like that.”
“Hallo, I’ve been looking for you two everywhere,” said Major Holbrooke appearing from the tea tent. “Noel, how did you get here? Have you transport home? Because, if not, I can easily give you a lift.”
“I came by bus and train,” answered Noel. “It’s terribly kind of you, but I’ve got return tickets.”
“It must have taken hours,” said the Major. “I’d have offered you a lift if I had had the remotest idea that you were coming. I don’t know why the devil you didn’t ring me up. You knew I was judging. Anyway, I’m going home directly all the results are out and you’ll find my car behind the Prix St. George arena judges’ tent. How did you do, Henry? Got your marks yet?” Henry, concealing his marks behind his back, answered calmly, “I fear your friend Mrs. Van Cutler didn’t care for me overmuch,” he said, “the other judges had a low opinion of me, but hers was even lower, in fact you had better disclaim all relationship.”
The Major looked at him suspiciously. “Old Tubby Barnes and Colonel Clubston shouldn’t be on the judges’ panel at all,” he said, “but Mrs. Van Cutler’s opinion is worth having—she knows.”
“Oh dear,” said Henry, “then only two courses are left open to me. Either, Uncle George, you have me to stay in the summer holidays and school me madly, or else I become a hunting type, sitting well back and spending non-hunting days writing letters to the sporting press on how dressage ruins good horses and makes them muscle-bound.”
“I wonder why the editors bother to publish that nonsense. However, you can come to stay if you want to, though why you people can’t school your horses is beyond my comprehension. It’s just the same with our Pony Club; if I take my eye off them for five minutes they’ve gone to pieces.”
“Can I come right at the beginning of the holidays complete with Echo?” persisted Henry.
“Yes, I suppose so, if you don’t make a nuisance of yourself.”
“Thank you, Uncle George. You’ve no idea what you’ve done for me. Hope is restored.”
“Echo looks well,” said the Major, “are you going to take him to Sandhurst with you?”
“Yes, unless I’ve abandoned the noble art in despair.”
“Well, I’ll see you later at the car, Noel. Good-bye, Henry.” Major Holbrooke left them.
“Lord, I was afraid that he was going to demand to see his dear Mrs. Van Cutler’s frank opinion,” said Henry, when his uncle was out of earshot.
