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THERE IS nothing of importance or interest to record of Martini’s life between the age of one and four years. I am afraid that my enthusiasm for riding and horses died down during this time, so that she did not have as much attention as she deserved and needed. But, when I left school at seventeen, I had seven months’ holiday before going to Sandhurst and, having spent my foreign currency allowance at Easter, in Brittany, I decided to stay at home and break and school Martini.

I had little experience in training young horses then and, having no faith in my father’s advice, which was obviously out of date, I asked Maurice Treadwell, who was going up to Sandhurst with me and was also taking a long holiday, to stay at the Manor and help me with Martini. I have always respected his opinion where riding and horses are concerned, because he had made a study of them. At the age of seventeen he was an impressive horseman; he had attended dressage and show-jumping courses under a Continental instructor, and had won second in a strong novice dressage class, with a six-year-old that he had broken and schooled himself. As a child he had jumped successfully in some of the stiffest competitions in the country: and he could be justly described as a “hard man to hounds”!

He arrived on a wet day in May with enough trunks for a whole family’s clothes. Apparently he had brought four pairs of boots, complete with trees, so that he would be ready for any emergency.

“Five months is a long time to stay with anyone. After all, you never know; I might be asked to show a hack, when I should need my Peal pair, or be offered a mount for cubbing, when I should need my best brown pair; or one of your friends might be in the soup and want to borrow some boots—then I could help them out. It’s no use leaving clothes at home when you go away to stay or you’re bound to want them,” said Maurice.

He liked Martini; he was a lightweight and always admired ponies with quality. She was in the stable, fat and sleek now and very graceful-looking.

“What do we do first? Long reining?” I asked. “I haven’t any long reins, by the way.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, you know. The things you teach a pony on the long reins can be taught as well, if not better, from the saddle, and why walk if you can ride?” said Maurice.

“All right. How do we start? Lungeing?”

“I think that’s best,” answered Maurice. “At least, we get her used to wearing a saddle and bridle at the same time and then, in about a week, we back her. That is if you agree. I don’t want to run your show.”

“No, but I don’t know much about breaking, as I told you. I can stay on fairly well. I mean I can keep up with hounds and jump most things that come to me. But I don’t know anything about this schooling and dressage you are always talking about, and if Martini is going to be sold to a nice child, as I hope she will be, she must be fairly well schooled, mustn’t she?”

“I should say so,” said Maurice. “Dressage is only training, you know. Every horse of reasonable conformation should be able to do elementary dressage. It’s just a matter of suppling them, teaching them obedience and developing their muscles.”

“I doubt that old Guardsman and Bruno could do it,” I said. “But come in to tea. We can start on Martini afterwards.”
We returned to the house and ate a country tea of bread and butter, and Mummy’s home-made crab apple jelly and fruit cake, and then hurried back to the stable to start Martini’s education. Maurice held her in a head-collar, while I saddled her very quietly, being careful to put the saddle well forward before sliding it into place, thus ensuring that the hairs underneath were lying flat. She stood quietly without showing signs of fear, and presently we led her round the loose-box a few times and then Maurice suggested that we should bridle her, so I fetched a rubber snaffle, and she made no fuss at all about being bridled.

“So far, so good,” said Maurice.

“We mustn’t speak too soon,” I warned him.

“I think she’s going to be all right, you know. Aren’t you,
Martini?” said Maurice.

Presently we took off the tack and buckled the lunge-rein, that I had bought specially for Martini, on to the head-collar. Then I collected an old driving-whip, which was to substitute a lungeing-whip, and we proceeded to the paddock, from which Guardsman and Bruno had been removed.

It was one of those lovely warm, fragrant May evenings. The apple trees in our garden were bursting into bloom; the air was fresh and sweet after recent rain; the green turf in the well-grazed paddock was soft and springy underfoot; from nearby meadows came the scent of hay and meadowsweet.

Following my instructions, Maurice took the rein first and I led Martini round him three times, stopping her when he said “Whoa” and leading her forward when he said, “Walk on.” She took no notice of him at all, and soon I stepped back and left her to her own devices. She tried to follow me, was pulled up short by the rein, and then turned in and walked boldly up to Maurice.

“No luck,” he said. “No rewards yet. Out you go. Walk on.”

He pushed her away from him and made a triangle, with Martini, the whip and the rein as the three sides and himself as the apex. Martini stopped and he tapped her with the whip and clicked his tongue, again saying “Walk on.” She hesitated, looked at him and then obeyed. A moment later she stopped but a stroke from the whip sent her round again. Soon she had walked round several times without any hesitation, and Maurice said “Whoa” and “Come here,” and tempted her to walk in to him, rewarding her with a handful of oats.

“Your turn now, isn’t it, Guy?” asked Maurice.

“Yes, I’ll have a shot,” I said, taking Martini from him.

Maurice had lunged her to the left, so I decided to lunge her to the right. I was not at first successful, because she disliked the change of direction and wanted to turn back the other way, but eventually, with Maurice’s help, I managed to make her do as I wished by walking a smaller circle myself, so that the whip was always just behind her.

After five minutes I called her in and rewarded her, as Maurice had done, with a pat and a handful of oats. Then we turned her loose with Sherry, who was very old and doddering these days, and returned as dusk fell to the house, to talk of hunting and point-to-pointing and dressage.

Next day we repeated the lesson, and the day after we lunged her in a saddle and bridle at the walk and trot, and led her along the grass verge by the road to look at the traffic. Daddy was rather sceptical about our breaking-in methods. In his younger days he had made use of the army rough-riders and he thought we were very slow, but Maurice put forward some very sound arguments. So, without any real opposition we put off the backing for several days, till Martini was dead quiet to be saddled and bridled and would stand still while we put weight in the stirrups and pressure on the saddle.

Then, one May morning of alternate showers and sunshine, we backed Martini in her loose-box. Maurice held her head while I slowly mounted, lowering myself very gently into the saddle. She twitched back an ear and I spoke and patted her. Presently Maurice led her round the box a few times, then I gave her a handful of oats from the saddle. She nibbled my boot, and I dismounted and mounted her from the other side, and rode her round the other way.

Daddy’s head appeared over the stable door.

“Oh, so you’ve backed her at last,” he said. “She looks quiet enough.”

“Yes, everything’s going to plan,” replied Maurice.

“No need for army rough-riders yet,” I added.

PEOPLE:
Guy Beaumont, Mr and Mrs Beaumont, Maurice Treadwell
Pip Cox, Mr and Mrs Cox, Tessa
Lydia Pike, Jimmy Browne
Lettie Lonsdale, Nick Lonsdale, Mrs Lonsdale

HORSES
Martini (renamed Good Form by Lydia Pike), Sherry, Guardsman, Bruno, Rex, Top Hat, Clean Sweep, Champion