Short Story

AIMING HIGH

Mark Milbank, Sherborne Scribblers

The crowd in the White City stadium was so quiet it was eerie; no one dared move as their favourite combination of the great Harry Llewellyn entered the arena riding the ageing showjumper ‘Foxhunter’. They were last to go in the jump-off for the King George V Gold cup – Britain’s premier and most coveted jumping prize. The only other competitor left in the competition was the Italian combination of Piero D’Inzeo on ‘The Rock’ and they had just had one jump down costing them 4 faults, so Harry and Foxhunter had to go clear to win.

The announcer, when introducing them to the silent crowd, ended the introduction by whispering, ‘So let’s hear a pin drop but not a pole!’

In breathless silence the ageing pair scraped over the twisting, difficult, high course of painted show jumps until finally clearing the last triple bar and registering a clear round!

The vast crowd erupted as one, in thunderous applause as Harry bent down in his saddle and patted his old friend by way of thanks for this great victory.

Sitting in a ring-side seat with her parents, six-year-old Sarah burst into tears and leapt up and down on her seat screaming with joy at the triumph of her heroes, while her parents made no effort to restrain her. What excitement for a ‘pony mad’ little girl!

Sarah could not stop talking all the way back to their flat in Knightsbridge – ‘I want to be like Harry Llewelyn when I grow up – will you please buy me a horse like Foxhunter if I am always very, very good?’

Laughing, her father, Patrick, said, ‘I would if I could darling, but horses like old Foxhunter don’t grow on trees!’

So it was nearly 18 months before Patrick beckoned his daughter to the closed front door of their cottage in Buckland Newton. Silently he opened it and there, standing in their small garden and held by Sarah’s mother, Sue, was a beautiful little cross-bred pony with an immaculately plaited mane.

‘Happy 8th birthday, darling,’ they both said.

Sarah just stood there for a few moments with her mouth open and tears flowing down her cheek. Then slowly she tip-toed towards this vision. Cautiously she extended her arm to stroke its velvety nose. The pony emitted a little wicker and nuzzled her hand. Patrick quickly put a carrot into his daughter’s hand which was immediately transferred into the pony’s mouth.

‘What’s her name?’ whispered Sarah when at last she could speak.

‘You have got to give her one,’ said Sue.

‘I’ll call her ‘Spring Hare’ after the African ‘Jumpy’ because she is going to JUMP like Foxhunter!’

‘Spring Hare, it is then. Come on, let’s take her to the stable which we have leased from Jim next door.’

The next two years passed in a blur of pony club camps, country shows, rides with friends and jumping lessons from old Pat Smythe.

Spring Hare’s name was soon shortened to ‘Springy’ as it was not long before it was obvious that she really could jump. The collection of red rosettes hanging from a beam in the saddle room grew longer and longer, even extending to a few which were a multi-coloured purple with the word CHAMPION inscribed in the middle.

But Sarah’s main aspiration still eluded her – the Junior Show Jumping Championship of Great Britain which was held every year at Hickstead for under 16-year-olds. Sarah and Springy had been second twice and this was now their last year as she would be too old next year.

Springy was only just 12 so actually still in her prime and jumping better than ever. Her big rival was a young fellow called Wilf and his lovely 15.3 hh pony called ‘Nice Guy’ and it was they who had the only other clear round in the first round of the championship.

So Wilf had gone first in the jump-off and knocked the gate down and received 4 faults. Sarah entered the ring with visions of Harry Llewellyn and Foxhunter flooding into her mind. ‘They did it, so can I’, she thought as she approached the easy first fence. No trouble with that one and all clear until the last big triple bar loomed in front of them. ‘One more jump Springy and we’ve done it,’ she whispered.

She would never really know what happened next but spectators said that Springy slipped on a bit of mud just as he was about to take off and the result was that she crashed through all three rails and ended up in a heap on the ground. One of the bars smashed into the back of Sarah’s head and knocked her out cold.

St John ambulance helpers and the show vet rushed out to the motionless horse and rider. Sarah was put on a stretcher and rushed to hospital. Patrick and Sue were at her bedside as she recovered consciousness an hour or so later.

She looked up at them and shook her head, smiled briefly and then gasped - ‘What happened to Springy? Is she alright?’

Sue stretched out her hand and held her daughter’s for a moment before saying, ‘Springy is fine, she was just winded and we left her in the stable munching a warm bran mash.’

‘Oh! Thank goodness. That is all that really matters, isn’t it?’ said Sarah with a sigh of relief.