Comet and the Champion’s Cup

Issie pushed open the vast wooden sliding door and walked inside, followed by Stella and Kate leading Coco and Toby, and Aunt Hester, still with her makeshift dress-belt halter, hanging on to Comet.

“You can put your horses in the first two boxes on the left there, girls,” Hester said.

“What about Comet?” asked Issie.

“I don’t usually box him,” Hester said. “Blackthorn Ponies don’t really like it in the stable as a rule. They prefer to graze out. But I might have to make an exception in Comet’s case–at least if he’s in a loose box he won’t be able to jump out!”

Hester popped Comet in the box next to Coco’s. The stall was freshly mucked out with clean straw on the floor and water in the trough. Comet gave his new home a rather bored once-over and then craned his neck desperately over the Dutch door, whinnying to get attention. Coco stuck her head out of her stall and returned his call.

“Shhh! Coco!” Stella said, giggling. “He’s a naughty pony. Don’t encourage him!”

As they walked down the rows of loose boxes the girls could see familiar faces poking out of the top of each stall door. First in the row were the three palominos, Paris, Nicole and Stardust, the mares they had ridden when they were working as stunt riders on The Palomino Princess. Issie stopped and fed a carrot to Stardust, running a hand through her silver-white mane, admiring the rich treacle sheen of her coat. “Remember me, girl?” she asked softly.

Her question was answered by a nicker from the stall next door as a black and white face emerged. “Diablo!” Issie grinned at him. Diablo was Aunt Hester’s favourite stunt horse, a piebald Quarter Horse that could do all sorts of tricks, including playing dead when a gun was fired–a trick that had almost scared Issie and her friends out of their wits the last time they were at Blackthorn Farm.

In the stall next to Diablo was the enormous draught horse Dolomite. The big bay with the white blaze stood at nearly sixteen-three hands, while, in the stall right next to him, was Titan, the dinky miniature pony who couldn’t have been more than ten hands high!

“Dolly and Titan obviously aren’t any use as riding-school ponies,” Hester said. “You’d need a ladder to mount Dolly.”

“What about Titan?” Stella asked. “Couldn’t one of the little kids ride on him?”

Hester shook her head. “Titan is a true miniature, a Falabella. They’re not really bred as riding ponies; they can only handle very light weights on their back–although he can tow a cart.”

In the stall next to Titan was a dark brown pony who was around thirteen hands high. “This is Molly, one of my new ones,” Hester said. “She’s a Blackthorn Pony that I’ve been schooling up. Very well mannered–the perfect learner’s pony.”

“How many ponies will you need?” asked Issie.

“That depends on how many students enroll,” Hester said. “The ad has only been up on the PONY Magazine website for a few days and we already have five keen pupils lined up.”

“Do any of them actually know anything about riding?” Kate asked Hester.

“The twins, Tina and Trisha, have experience,” said Hester. “They’re ten years old and they’ve been having weekly lessons since they turned eight apparently. I was planning to put them on Paris and Nicole. They’ll be perfect for more advanced riders. The youngest rider so far is Kitty–she’s eight and mad keen on ponies according to her mum, although her brother George, who is ten, sounds like a handful. Both of them have had riding lessons, so they know the basics.”

“Which ponies will you put Kitty and George on?” asked Issie.

“I’m not sure about George, but I was thinking that Kitty could ride Timmy, the sweet chestnut with the star on his forehead. He’s a Blackthorn Pony too, no vices and thoroughly bombproof,” Hester said. “The oldest girl is eleven. Her name is Kelly-Anne and she insists she’s a bit of an expert–but she seems utterly green to me, if you know what I mean. I’m going to put her on Julian. He’s a bit of a plodder, quite safe for an absolute beginner.”

Issie and Stella exchanged nervous glances. Up until now the idea of running a riding school had seemed like fun. But now that they were here it all seemed kind of daunting. Next Monday they would have actual pupils arriving. And some of the riders weren’t much younger than they were. What would they say when they saw that their instructors were just a bunch of kids?

“I thought you three could draw up a lesson plan and a timetable this afternoon, then we’ve got time to iron out the kinks during the week before the riders arrive,” Hester continued.

“Lesson plan?” Stella squeaked. “Won’t you be doing that? I mean, we won’t actually be taking the lessons all by ourselves, will we?”

Hester shook her head. “I’m not expecting you to do everything by yourselves. But it’s good to have a game plan so you can cope without me. Aidan and I have a lot of work to do just keeping the farm running so it’s possible you’ll be left alone in charge at least some of the time.” Hester noticed the terrified looks on the three girls’ faces. “Something wrong?”

“Ummm…no…” Issie managed.

“Good!” Hester said brightly. “Well, I think that’s enough of a tour of the stables for today. You can meet the rest of the ponies later. Shall we get back up to the house and you can unpack your things? You’ve all got your usual rooms. I hope that’s OK?”

Issie’s bedroom was the first room off the landing at the top of the grand wooden staircase. She threw her bags down on the enormous four-poster bed and then threw herself down next to them. The huge room was papered with antique horsey wallpaper and hanging above the fireplace was an enormous oil painting of Avignon, Aunt Hester’s great grey Warmblood stallion. In the portrait Avignon was running free, his beautiful silver mane flowing in the wind. Issie lay on the bed and gazed up at the painting, taking in the beauty of the horse, the arch of his neck, the flare of his nostrils, the deep, dark eyes staring back at her.

“All settled in?” Aidan’s voice startled her. He was standing in the doorway holding a duffel bag. “I’m moving into the last room down the end of the hall.”

Issie was confused. “Why aren’t you in your cottage down by the stables?”

“It made sense to move out,” Aidan said matter-of-factly “We needed somewhere to put all the kids so we turned the cottage into a sort of dormitory. I’m staying here in the main house until they leave.” He stepped into Issie’s room and shut the door conspiratorially behind him. “Hey,” he said in a low, stagey whisper, “we need to have a secret meeting.”

“What about?”

“Dinner,” he said. “I want to sort out a roster before the kids get here. We need to stop Hester spending too much time in the kitchen–for obvious reasons!”

Aidan was right. Issie’s aunt might be able to run a riding school. But it was an entirely different matter to feed a riding school. Hester was, quite possibly, the world’s worst cook. Her dinners usually ended up as blackened, inedible mounds in the oven. Her baking was so bad that even Butch, the resident farm pig, turned his nose up at it. Unfortunately Hester had already been in the kitchen that very morning. When the girls came downstairs after unpacking they found her waiting for them with a plate of scones for afternoon tea. They were like bricks with raisins in them.

Stella picked one up and took a bite. She instantly regretted it. “Ow, I fink oif broken a twooth!”

“There is no way she’s cooking dinner,” Issie muttered to Aidan as she choked down a mouthful of her scone.

“We’ll sort out that roster,” Aidan agreed.

Cooking and cleaning rosters, riding timetables, lesson plans. There was lots to be prepared before the new pupils arrived. “Can’t we do it all later?” Stella grumbled as they sat down at the kitchen table with pens and sheets of paper. “I mean, it’s only Tuesday. We have nearly a week to get all this done and it’s a lovely sunny afternoon and we’ve been cooped up in the truck all day. I want to go riding.”

“We didn’t come here for a holiday!” Kate said. “We’ve got work to do. Don’t you want to be organised when the riders arrive on Monday?”

Hester surprised everyone by agreeing with Stella. “We could work on the rosters and timetables tonight,” she suggested, “and I’ve got a stable full of riding-school ponies who could all do with some exercise.” She looked at her watch. “If we get down there now, there’s enough time for a quick bit of schooling in the arena before dinner.”

Nobody needed convincing. The girls dashed up to their rooms to get their jodhpurs on while Aidan and Hester went ahead to the stables to get the ponies ready.

“I saw the cutest little grey pony grazing next to the arena when we arrived. I wonder if I can try that one?” Stella said.

“I like the chestnut one with the star on his forehead and the three white socks,” Kate said. “What’s his name again?”

“His name is Timmy And your ankles will drag on the ground if you ride him!” Issie giggled. “Hester will probably put you on one of the palominos.”

Issie knew which horse she would be getting. Hester was bound to put her on Stardust, after they had bonded so well on the set of The Palomino Princess.

As they neared the stables it looked like Issie was right. When Aidan emerged from the stalls he had Stardust all saddled up and her reins in his right hand. It seemed like a lifetime since Issie had ridden the pretty palomino. She felt a shiver of anticipation as she strode towards the mare. “Hey, girl.” Issie reached out a hand to stroke her glossy, treacle-coloured neck. She was about to take the reins from Aidan when she heard her Aunt Hester’s voice behind her.

“Issie! There you are! Come with me. I’ve got your horse ready too.”

Issie was confused. “But I thought I’d be riding Stardust, Aunty Hess?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, dear. I thought I told you,” Hester said. “Aidan is on Stardust today. I was hoping you would take on a new mount that really needs the work.”

“What?”

“The skewbald troublemaker,” Hester said, gesturing to the last stall in the loose-box row. “I want you to ride Comet.”

As if on cue at the mention of his name, Comet thrust his chestnut and white face over the Dutch door and let out a cheeky whinny. Issie looked suspiciously at the skewbald pony.

“He needs riding. He gets so frightfully bored standing in the loose box,” Hester said. “It’s his own fault of course. If he wasn’t such a troublemaker, I’d let him back out to graze with the others…I mean, you can’t leave him in the paddock because he jumps out and you can’t leave him in the loose box because he tries to destroy it.”

As if to confirm this, Comet began banging and scraping the bottom half of the Dutch door with his hoof. Get me out of here! he seemed to be saying.

“Naughty Comet! Stop that!” Issie said firmly. She grabbed the skewbald by the reins, unbolted the stall door and led him out into the yard.

Hester had already tacked him up for her and Issie noticed that Comet looked quite different in a saddle and bridle. He was one of those skewbalds with vigorous splashes of white all over his withers and rump. They trickled down his legs finishing up with four white socks–a bit like someone had spilt a can of white paint over him. Even his chestnut tail looked like it had been streaked with a paintbrush.

Once you put a saddle on, though, Comet’s colouring was less obvious. The saddle blanket completely covered up the white marks on his withers and back. He almost looked like an ordinary chestnut with four white socks, except when you looked from the other side you could see a big splodge of white on his hindquarters that looked a bit like a map of India.

As Issie led Comet out into the yard and over to the mounting block the pony danced along beside her, lifting his legs up in a high-stepping trot. When he was sure that everyone was watching him he raised his head and gave a high-spirited nicker, calling out to the other ponies.

“Comet! Stop being such a show-off!” The skewbald skipped about on the spot as Issie tried to steady him long enough to put her foot in the stirrup.

Issie knew she needed to be firm with this pony. Comet was green and he had shocking bad manners. Ponies were supposed to walk quietly beside you, not skip about. But she didn’t have the heart to be too tough on him. There was something about his grand attitude and silly antics that just made her want to giggle. Comet strutted about as if he was a superstar instead of just a little skewbald gelding in the paddock at Hester’s house. Besides, Issie was beginning to realise that Comet didn’t respond well to authority. He was a stroppy pony and if she wanted to bond with him, she was going to have to do things his way.

“Steady, Comet!” Issie gave up on using the mounting block as the pony kept dancing around her. As Comet circled she moved swiftly with him, slipping her foot into the stirrup and, before the pony even knew what was happening, she was bouncing up into the saddle and had landed lightly on his back. “Good boy!”

There is that moment when you sit on a horse for the very first time and you ask yourself, How does it feel up here? Are we right for each other? Do we click? You can never really know for sure straightaway. It takes a long time to get to know a horse. But in those first minutes in the saddle, as you ask them to walk, trot and canter for the first time, you get an inkling, almost like a sixth sense that tells you whether you really belong together.

Right now, Issie didn’t realise it but she was unconsciously, instinctively, feeling this new horse out. She adjusted her position and felt the sturdiness of Comet’s stocky frame, compact and solid underneath her. He was only fourteen-two, which meant that officially he qualified as a pony, not a hack, and yet Issie could sense that he had the attitude of a much larger horse.

As she gathered Comet up and asked him to step forward into a walk and then a trot, Issie felt almost instantly that he was exactly the sort of horse she liked–responsive and peppy. Issie only had to give him the lightest touch with her legs to get him moving.

“Take him on a lap or two around the arena to get used to his paces,” Hester advised her. Issie nodded and asked Comet to trot. He did so immediately, his stride covering the ground in a floating trot with his hocks coming underneath him nicely. His canter too was bouncy and active. Issie felt a thrill of excitement tingle up her spine.

“He’s got lovely paces, Aunty Hess!”

Hester smiled. “He’s still green, but he has loads of potential. I think you’ll get on famously.”

As if to confirm this, Comet raised his head and let out another loud whinny, calling out to the other horses as if to say, “Look at me!” Issie laughed and gave Comet a slappy pat on his glossy neck.

“Well, Comet already thinks he’s famous–I guess that’s a good start.”

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