Pony Camp Parade
Weary of the daily warfare that passes for mealtimes in the Merry household, I reached breaking point yesterday and raised my voice above the constant rat-a-tat of bickering: “That’s IT! we have a new rule! If you can’t say anything nice to someone, say nothing at all!” upon which a deadly silence descended on the table and no-one spoke a word for hours. Progress!
There are no boys who ride regularly at our stables, if you discount the 6 year olds brought weekly to the Boys’ Lesson by bossy, mannish mothers who exhort them to “Ride! RIDE, Rupert!” as their reluctant heirs cling to the pony’s neck, whingeing piteously (this is strange, since many top eventers are male, but there is a distinct dearth of eager boy-riders at NagsR’Us between the ages of 8-18.) Neither are there many adult males, except the odd meek husband who trails around with a barrow as his leather-booted wife barks orders to him over her shoulder. Oh, and Hopeless Hugo of course, whom we mention not. Les Femmes at NagsR’Us tend to be cliquey and Pony-Girl is not popular, confident or thin-skinned enough to be absorbed in, or muscle her way in with persistence and bravado - too old for the young set and too young for the old. The young are like any young girls anywhere: much feverish plotting in corners about who is to be allowed to hack out with them and who is not: ”There’s no way Poppy’s coming with us, not after what she said about me to Henrietta!” The adults are similar though rather more cunning: “I do not think that Margaret’s Petronella is entirely suitable as a hacking companion for us - lovely lovely horse that she is, she does get so very excitable, so let us hack out early and alone, Cecilia dear!”
So, Pony-girl remains at the stables alone riding Clyde in circles around the deserted menage as the happy hackers set off, and while this means that Clyde is easily the best-schooled pony at the stable with a stunning walk-to-canter transition like a sudden bullet rocketing out of a gun (only on the one leg, I forget which), it is rather sad. So I’m pleased that this week is Pony Camp at Nags’R’Us and she is getting the chance to hack out in small groups arranged by Pat, teach small riders to tack up and muck out, and prepare for the end of Camp competitions on Wednesday.
This is all lovely fun, and very Jill-and-her-Pony-like. What a glorious year PG is having and how harsh the winds of change will blow in two years time when work and men and mortgages replace the sunny NagsR’Us world of ponies, stirrups, camps and rosettes! I hope she knows it and is facing each new day of this Pony Year with a song on her lips and joy in her heart. But one never does.
There are no boys who ride regularly at our stables, if you discount the 6 year olds brought weekly to the Boys’ Lesson by bossy, mannish mothers who exhort them to “Ride! RIDE, Rupert!” as their reluctant heirs cling to the pony’s neck, whingeing piteously (this is strange, since many top eventers are male, but there is a distinct dearth of eager boy-riders at NagsR’Us between the ages of 8-18.) Neither are there many adult males, except the odd meek husband who trails around with a barrow as his leather-booted wife barks orders to him over her shoulder. Oh, and Hopeless Hugo of course, whom we mention not. Les Femmes at NagsR’Us tend to be cliquey and Pony-Girl is not popular, confident or thin-skinned enough to be absorbed in, or muscle her way in with persistence and bravado - too old for the young set and too young for the old. The young are like any young girls anywhere: much feverish plotting in corners about who is to be allowed to hack out with them and who is not: ”There’s no way Poppy’s coming with us, not after what she said about me to Henrietta!” The adults are similar though rather more cunning: “I do not think that Margaret’s Petronella is entirely suitable as a hacking companion for us - lovely lovely horse that she is, she does get so very excitable, so let us hack out early and alone, Cecilia dear!”
So, Pony-girl remains at the stables alone riding Clyde in circles around the deserted menage as the happy hackers set off, and while this means that Clyde is easily the best-schooled pony at the stable with a stunning walk-to-canter transition like a sudden bullet rocketing out of a gun (only on the one leg, I forget which), it is rather sad. So I’m pleased that this week is Pony Camp at Nags’R’Us and she is getting the chance to hack out in small groups arranged by Pat, teach small riders to tack up and muck out, and prepare for the end of Camp competitions on Wednesday.
This is all lovely fun, and very Jill-and-her-Pony-like. What a glorious year PG is having and how harsh the winds of change will blow in two years time when work and men and mortgages replace the sunny NagsR’Us world of ponies, stirrups, camps and rosettes! I hope she knows it and is facing each new day of this Pony Year with a song on her lips and joy in her heart. But one never does.
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home