Chapter 1
Not Quite an Exmoor ‘Mia called me a pony-squasher!’ My big sister, Emily, flopped down mopily on to my bed at the end of a soggy, warm day in July. ‘Typical Mia,’ I said. ‘Mum would say, “Ignore her.”’ Mia Coleman had been on the yard for only a few months. She’d moved from another one not far away, for some reason. I wasn’t the only one who wished she’d stayed there. ‘And I’m not a pony-squasher.’ Emily sighed. ‘I’m too tall for Owen, not too heavy. I’ve grown and he hasn’t.’ ‘Oh, Em, I know, and you’ve won so many competitions and loads of rosettes.’ Emily’s room was decorated with them. I liked riding Owen and I’d won a few rosettes too, with his help. He’s a lovely little bay, a Welsh A. ‘He likes winning rosettes,’ Emily said. I agreed ‘Yes, he’s a very rosetteful pony.’ Emily wasn’t listening. ‘Sammy, it’s … impossible, I can’t go on riding him.’ Loads of people call me Sam or Sammy, but my proper name’s Samantha. Emily had had Owen since they were both eight years old and I was five. She’s been barmy about horses ever since she was four. Mum and Dad said they’d let Emily ride a pony when we were on holiday in Wales. Emily’s grin of delight lasted for the whole of the leafy half-hour ride round the hillside farm. I was only one and I don’t remember any of it. Now Emily was twelve, so of course she’d grown. Owen couldn’t. I rode Owen too. I liked riding him, but I didn’t really want to take him over. If I’d wanted a pony for myself, this would be a different story, but I didn’t – there were so many other things I wanted to try – though it gave us a problem. What could we do with him? A few days later, my friend Gemma and I were talking about ponies and horses. We were in the playground at break, sitting on a bench watching some boys running around turning red-faced in the sun. Boring! ‘I love ponies,’ said Gemma. ‘You’re lucky.’ ‘I love Owen,’ I told her. ‘It’s great riding him, but I like lots of other things, too. I suppose we are lucky. Mum saw some sweatshirts in a tack shop which said, “I used to be rich until I bought a horse!”’ ‘That’s it,’ Gemma sighed. ‘We don’t have the money. Since Dad died, we just can’t afford anything, Mum says.’ That was when the idea began to form in my head. ‘Your mum likes horses, too, doesn’t she?’ Gemma grinned. ‘And how. She’s always going on about when she was a girl. My grandpa had to look for work and he and my nan had to travel around to find work, so nan sent my mum and my auntie to stay with her cousins.’ ‘Are they the ones who live in…? Where is it?’ ‘Trinidad? Yes, it sounds great. I want to go there, too. Lucky old Mum stayed for two whole years. Her cousins worked on this farm place, only there’s, like, a riding centre there – you know, for tourists. And they taught my mum to ride. She reckons she was doing quite well, till she came home.’ ‘Cool!’ ‘No, it’s hot, Trinidad. It’s in the West Indies.’ That made me laugh. ‘I meant it sounds cool, you know, missing two years’ school, riding. The whole thing.’ Gemma tilted her head to one side. ‘Oh aye, except she still had to go to school and she missed the horses when she came home. She was glad to see my nan and grandpa, though. They settled in Darlington and that’s where Mum met my dad. He was a local lad and he liked horses, too.’ Gem’s shoulders sagged and the corners of her mouth turned down. ‘I still dream about him,’ she whispered. He’d died just before Christmas after some kind of heart attack. It had been a tough time for her and her mum. I thought I could see a glisten in the corner of Gemma’s eye. It made me sad as well. I recalled when my grandad died, that was Dad’s dad, I dreamed about him still being alive, just like Gemma did about her dad. Mum told us lots of people have dreams like that, too. They weren’t bad dreams, just a bit strange. I sighed, remembering Gemma’s dad. He was lovely. There was a pause, and then Gemma turned and gave me a quick half-grin. I said, ‘So your mum knows all about horses?’ ‘Well, she knows quite a lot. We watch showjumping and that on TV. She says she’d love a pony if we could afford it, but they don’t pay her much at the hospital since she hurt her back. You know she had to stop nursing?’ On top of everything else! Yes, I did know, but the bell went. Break was over. My idea was ripening, turning into a plan to help my sister and Owen. I couldn’t say much to anyone about it, not yet. That weekend, we visited Kellsett, Mrs Perry’s farm. (We’d met her when she was scurry driving at a Gillbrough Equestrian Centre show. Emily was ten and she’d just come second in her class at jumping with Owen.) Mrs Perry is someone who likes us children to call her Mrs Perry, not Edwina, which is her first name. We often go there to see her Exmoor ponies, especially the foal she calls Sunny. Mrs Perry names all her Exmoor ponies after plants or trees and Sunny’s proper name is Sunflower Pride of Kellsett. Sunny was only a couple of weeks old when Emily first met her and they’d quickly made friends. |
|
|
rs Perry let Emily help look after the ponies, Sunny included. She’d shown Emily how to teach the foal good manners. Sunny would walk nicely on the lead rope and she wouldn’t barge through gates or stable doors (well, not very often). By now, Sunny was a two-year-old filly.
That’s where my other idea came from. What if Emily could have Sunny on loan? On the next Monday, I went round to Gemma’s after school. Her mum, Sarah, gave us doubles, a sort of curried chickpea sandwich. Yummm. Gemma’s mum is great. They’re both slim, with pulled-back, tightly-curled black hair, and both have brown eyes. Sarah, of course, is taller and she’s darker, but there is a strong likeness. Funny thing, though, Gemma also reminds me of her dad. After talking to Sarah, I began to think my plan could truly work. I still didn’t say anything to my family until dinner time on the Wednesday. We were all finishing ice cream and raspberries round the kitchen table. ‘Owen’s all right,’ I said. ‘I quite like riding him and grooming him, but I don’t really want a pony of my own.’ ‘Are you sure?’ Mum asked. ‘We always thought you’d be able to have Owen when Em grew out of him.’ ‘Yes, I know, Mum, but I’m quite sure – and I’m sure I’m sure.’ So we had three problems: firstly, deciding what to do with Owen; secondly, finding a bigger pony for Emily; and thirdly, finding the money, perhaps, to keep both ponies. Even now, a good pony can be pricey and from things Mum and Dad said, it sounded as though we could only just afford to keep one, but it felt wrong just to sell Owen and never see him again. You sometimes hear stories about horses being sold and sold again then ending up with people who don’t care for them properly. We didn’t want that. I told everyone my answer to two of the problems. ‘Gemma wants a pony, but her mum can’t afford to buy one and all the tack,’ I said. ‘So, let’s loan Owen to Gemma and Sarah. That way, Gemma’s mum won’t have to buy anything and Em can keep an eye on Owen because he won’t need to move – and we’d save some money, too.’ ‘Well,’ said Dad, ‘there’s a thought… Umm… Does Gemma’s mum know about any of this?’ ‘Oh, yes.’ I said, ‘I was at hers yesterday and they were talking about ponies. Gemma’s mum said she couldn’t afford a good one for Gem so she’d have to wait.’ Mum and Dad both hesitated and glanced at each other, so I added, ‘Gemma’s had lessons and done own-a-pony days and she’s been with us and helped Emily look after Owen. Em’s happy to let her ride him, too.’ ‘Maybe I could have a word with Sarah,’ said Mum. That’s what I hoped she’d say. I ‘forgot’ to mention the last thing I’d said to Gemma’s mum. ‘I know Emily’s getting to be too tall for Owen, so we need to find him a new home. Wouldn’t it be good if we could fix something up to help Gemma? I’m sure Owen would like that. Gem’s one of his toppiest people.’ (I like to invent words – you can probably tell.) If it was OK with Sarah, Gemma could have Owen on loan and just pay for his keep. It would be nearly as good as owning him. The answer to the problem about a new pony for Emily was a surprise to the rest of the family, but not to me. There was a phone call next day from Mrs Perry. Em was already there when I wandered into the living room. Mum was answering the phone. ‘Hello, Kath Taylor speaking.’ ‘Kath? Edwina Perry here. I’ve got a proposition for you.’ Mum moved the phone away from her ear. Mrs Perry’s voice is loud and, once she starts, you don’t need the phone on speaker. ‘Now then, your girl needs a pony. I’ve got one that needs a good home. If she’s interested, she could have Sunny on loan. Obviously, she can’t ride her for a while – she’s far too young. I can’t sell Sunny for showing or breeding as an Exmoor, only as an ‘Exmoor type’. Her sire didn’t have the right papers – he was too young. I can’t be bothered to take it up with the Exmoor Pony Society, so that’s that. Emily’s sensible and they certainly get on well. What do you say?’ For a moment, Mum didn’t know how to answer. ‘That’s an extremely kind offer, Edwina, we’ve been wondering what to do about ponies.’ She glanced at Emily. Her eyes were shining and she was grinning broadly. ‘Look, we need to talk this over. Can I call you back?’ ‘Of course,’ boomed Mrs Perry. ‘I expected you’d need to think about it. Take your time. Bye.’ She hung up. Mum looked at me. ‘Sammy, have you been talking to Mrs Perry?’ ‘Me?’ I said. ‘Not really. Only a bit. Not much.’ ‘Hmm,’ said Mum. ‘Not much?’ ‘Well,’ I had to admit, ‘the last time we were there, waiting for Em, I went to watch her grooming Daisy…’ ‘Sunny’s mum, you mean?’ Mum asked. ‘Her dam,’ I nodded. ‘Oh yes… And?’ Mum prompted, after a pause. I took a deep breath. ‘Well, I might just have mentioned I thought we’d found a home for Owen and poor old Em wouldn’t know what to do with herself without a pony…’ Another pause. ‘And?’ ‘Well, I might just have mentioned how much Em talked about Sunny and how much she loved her.’ There was something else, but before I could tell her about that, Mum stopped me by saying, ‘Hmmm,’ in that way she has. ‘Sorry.’ After all, I was only nine then. Mrs Perry and Gemma’s mum were grown-ups. I could hint and suggest all I liked, but it was the grown-ups who made the decisions. Emily had learned a lot from Mrs Perry about Exmoors. Still, she was flattered and pleased that Mrs Perry was happy to trust her with one of her Exmoors. Emily didn’t even mind that Sunny was not quite an Exmoor because that seemed to be what the Exmoor Pony Society rules said. ‘What about competitions?’ Dad asked her. ‘She’s too young to ride; you won’t be able to go in for any of them for a while.’ ‘Oh, I can, there’s in-hand showing.’ ‘What’s that?’ I asked. ‘Even I know that,’ said Dad. ‘You’ve seen it, Sam. It’s where they make the horse or pony look as smart as possible and lead it into the ring in a bridle.’ ‘Oh, yes,’ I did remember. ‘Some of them looked so proud, as though they were saying, “Look at me, aren’t I just ponybrill?”’ Emily giggled, but Mum frowned. ‘Yes, but don’t they have to be proper breeds for that?’ |
|
|
‘Not always,’ Emily told her. ‘There’ll be lots of local competitions we can go in for but there might be some stuff at the bigger shows she won’t be able to do. I’ll have to check.’
Her eyes sparkled. ‘Anyway, the main thing is, it’ll be fantastic to have my own pony and break her in myself.’ ‘Are you up to that?’ Dad was surprised. ‘Well, with a bit of help from Hannah … and I’ve read some books … and I’m sure Mrs Perry would help, too.’ Owen lived on the Leake Garth Livery Yard. Hannah Wathcote was the yard manager and all of us liked her. She’d just become a Level 3 teacher in Enlightened Equitation. We liked the sound of what she’d told us about her training with Heather Moffet, who developed the system. Our last teacher was Joanne, but she’s taken herself, her family and her BHS qualification off to New Zealand. All in all, asking Hannah to help looked like a sensible idea. Dad realised this, but looked at Emily and said, ‘Been planning this, have you?’ I owned up. ‘No, Emily hasn’t, but I have, and I did ask Mrs Perry, “What if Emily got a youngster?” She was ever so good about it. She said it was a great idea. The only catch was that she said Em would need to have lessons with someone who knows about young ponies.’ ‘And that’s all right,’ said Emily, ‘because Hannah knows all about them.’ ‘Well,’ said Mum, ‘if you’re sure about not riding much for a while, it could all work out nicely.’ ‘I agree,’ said Dad. ‘If Emily really wants to do this, that’s fine, but there can’t be any complaints about not being able to ride out with your friends, or about missing some of those shows and pony club things.’ A snag! I didn’t want to make a big thing of riding, but I liked going to shows and watching competitions, and I still loved ponies. ‘We can still go if we’re not competing, though, can’t we, Daddy?’ I asked, opening my eyes wide. Dad looked at Mum, who smiled. She liked wandering around horse shows, too. So did Dad, really. ‘I guess that would be OK,’ he said. ‘It might even be fun, not having the stress of competing.’ Emily frowned. ‘There’s just one thing…’’ ‘Well?’ asked Dad. ‘It’s just Gemma and her mum. Can they afford to pay for Owen’s livery?’ ‘Isn’t that rather up to Sarah?’ asked Mum. ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ I said. ‘They can just afford it if they don’t go on holiday. Sarah says having Owen will be like being on holiday.’ ‘Holiday?’ Dad exclaimed, raising his eyebrows. My plans worked. After checking that Gemma and her mum would take over looking after Owen, Mum and Mrs Perry talked over the arrangements for Sunny. Mrs Perry was firm on one point. ‘Exmoors are strong-willed. But Emily’s learned a lot from Owen. If there are any problems and Emily finds she can’t cope, or if Sunny doesn’t settle, I’ll have her back here. Look, I expect Hannah will want Sunny in quarantine for three weeks before she lets her out with other horses. We’ll review the situation then.’ That night, when I was already in bed, I called Emily into my room. ‘Well, Em, what do you think about what Mrs Perry said?’ Emily leaned on the door post. She wasn’t worried – yet. She just thought how lucky she was. ‘Thanks for sticking your nose in, Sam. It’s all happened better than I could ever have dreamed.’ She turned to get ready for bed herself. ‘What did Mum mean about proper breeds?’ I asked. ‘Is that because Sunny isn’t quite an Exmoor?’ ‘Sort of. Like I said, mostly it wouldn’t matter, I checked online,’ Emily said. ‘Can’t find anything she couldn’t do when she’s old enough, except there are some showing events for different breeds. I wouldn’t be able to enter Sunny for any of those because she’s only an almost Exmoor.’ ‘She looks like a proper Exmoor!’ I exclaimed. ‘But her papers are wrong. You heard Mrs Perry. Sunny isn’t a registered Exmoor. End of story.’ ‘That’s not fair.’ ‘They’re most particular,’ Emily paused. ‘Oh, and there’s another thing.’ ‘What?’ ‘If she had a foal, it couldn’t be counted as an Exmoor.’ ‘Not even if the daddy was a proper one?’ ‘Not even then, and the right word is sire, not “daddy” – and before you say it, it’s not mummy, but dam.’ I knew that, but I just said, ‘It all sounds like a lot of fuss just about some bits of paper.’ ‘That’s how it goes, Sam.’ She sighed as she straightened up, said, ‘Night-night,’ and headed back to her own room, next to mine. I lay back on my pillow and began thinking about how different I was from Emily. She’s got a younger sister, of course, but I haven’t, only an older sister. That’s one difference. Then there’s music – with all the dancing, I like all sorts, including some in the Top 40. She likes acoustic music, and anything about horses. I like to make up stories and words, but Emily doesn’t. Maybe it’s because I take after Dad, who always says his old job was about telling stories. He used to be a film editor in the TV studios in Nottingham. Until the place closed, Mum worked there as well. She was a Production Manager, which is why she’s such a good organiser. For now, she was working part-time in a shop called Benny’s Beautiful Bazaar. I look more like Dad, too. My hair’s lighter and wavier than Emily’s. Both our parents have brown eyes and so do I, but Emily’s eyes are blue, like Gran’s, that’s Mum’s mum. Mum said once, ‘Em, you do take after my side of the family. You’re not particularly tall for your age, you’ve got straight dark hair like mine and you’re practical – just like me.’ I thought about that and reached for the big old-fashioned diary Mum’s Aunt Emily gave me to write in. I didn’t have to share it with our Emily, unlike the laptop, and I liked the feel of a pen on the smooth white paper. I turned to a fresh page and wrote, ‘The Almost Exmoor.’ It was a start. There should be lots to write about that. Next, I thought it was weird that we were all so fussed about getting another pony for Emily when there’s so much stuff on television about floods, famines, fires and bombs, as well as the environment and pollution, not to mention all the stuff about Brexit. After that I thought, even though I’ve given up using plastic drinking straws and stuff, there isn’t much I can do about those really big things, but I have found a way to help my sister. I yawned and turned the light out. Nodding off to sleep, I thought, my plan’s practical, too. (End of Chapter 1) |
|