With summer just around the corner, for many of you who are parents, your thoughts will be turning to the joys and the perils, the thrills and the spills, of the annual Pony Club camp. Undoubtedly you will be preparing yourself and your child for the week long indulgence in the somewhat irritating yet highly entertaining game of one-up-horsemanship.
As a seasoned camp-goer myself, always attending with my latest home-broken colt with the lot number still stuck to his bottom from the sale I’d just got him from, I can pass on my own experiences to reassure you that these ‘horsier than thou’ types can be easily defeated, the outcome being somewhat triumphant, and often highly amusing.
At the beginning of this year’s camp, I was not reminded of the rules of this horsemanship game gently. After battling with my uncontrollably excitable horse Ambrose all morning, I relaxed into a chair for our first stable management lesson of the week. One of a selection of various bits were passed to each of us, and, after studying mine dubiously however determined not to falter, I confidently announced the name of mine. “French-link, loose ring snaffle” I said, to which a chorus of jeering twelve year olds replied, “It’s a Dr Bristol, silly, don’t you even know that yet?”
The next morning they watched me with a scrutinizing eye as I groomed my masterpiece, staring at him with a transfixed and slightly vacant expression as though he’d just appeared from Mars.
“Why isn’t his mane pulled?”
“It just isn’t”
“Why doesn’t he wear a martingale?”
“He just doesn’t”
Then, to the final question, “Why hasn’t he got shoes on his feet?” I looked down with a horrified expression and a hand over mouth and sarcastically replied, “oh my goodness, this one must have been born without them!”
If it has not struck you already, do not be under the false impression that this ‘game’ is only played amongst the children. During the mornings lesson prior to camp I can remember over-hearing one of the mums standing next to my mother crowing on about their new five-hundred acre equestrian centre, and their brand new Oakley Supreme eight horse lorry with full living accommodation, central heating, home cinema and Olympic sized swimming pool, remarking, “and I got a wonderful section B riding pony for my daughter”, to which my mother skilfully replied, “that sounds like a jolly good swap”.
I can actually remember the child in question telling me all about this new estate of hers. “You know I get on my pony in the morning, and I could ride him all day long and still not get around the whole of our property” she bragged. “Yes” I agreed, “I had a pony like that once too”.
Do remember though, that however many point-scoring comments you manage to pass off, your horse will always set out to humiliate you. The most earth shattering moment was on the Wednesday morning, when Ambrose was such a pig to tack up that every soul was mounted and lined up in the arena except for my good self. After finally applying the abundance of shrapnel to him, I undid the stable bolt and the door burst open, the horse charged out in a crazed frenzy, followed by me, frantically chasing him around the yard in a many times failed but desperate attempt at tightening the girths.
My spectacular display to the entire camp was gracefully complete as I hauled myself up into the saddle and promptly fell straight off the other side. After picking myself up of the floor and dusting myself off, I looked up, horrified to see my test examiner standing watching, with a cup of tea in her hand, jokingly exclaiming, “Belinda, I think that will have to be an instant fail”.
Much to my relief, in return for Wednesday’s embarrassing fiasco, Ambrose decided that implacable behaviour would be appropriate for the last and final day. ‘See, we can do it’, I thought to the mob of stunned spectators as we sailed around the ring, performed beautifully in front of the judge and picked up our red ribbon and glistening gold trophy for ‘the best rider’. “Well done” I announced to the other competitors, “very fairly placed I must say”.
The challenge of one-up-horsemanship can be a difficult, leave alone ludicrously expensive one to attempt. However rest assured that beating anyone in a game of one-up-horsemanship is the most triumphant feeling there is to be experienced.
Geogger 