Patricia Leitch: First Pony (eBook) Pre-order out 21 August 2025

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“STEADY, STEADY Floss,” Sandy Holden whispered soothingly to the grey pony she was riding as a vast transporter lorry roared past, missing her pony’s quarters by inches. Floss cantered on the spot, snatching at the bit, her eyes rolling wildly at the thundering traffic. “Gently now. You’re quite safe,” Sandy assured her. “Walk on now.”

“Bring her up behind me,” Miss Dinely called to Sandy.
Checking that it was safe to pass the two ponies in front, Sandy trotted up to Miss Dinely,

“Keep her there,” Miss Dinely said. “I wanted to try her at the back of the ride today but if she’s still fussing we’ll give her a little longer tucked safely in the middle.”

Now that she was securely surrounded by other horses, Floss settled into a walk. She had only been at the Tretor Riding School for two months and unlike the other ponies, was still unaccustomed to Tretor’s unending traffic.

“I suppose it is better than nothing,” Sandy told herself as the little group of ponies and riders made their slow way along the busy street. “It would be worse if I couldn’t ride at all but it isn’t real riding. How I hate living in a city,” and she groaned aloud with disgust.

The ponies that made up the Tretor Riding School were kept in what had once been the stables of a large brewery but now the brewers used lorries instead of the great drayhorses and rented their stables to Miss Dinely.
Riding in Tretor meant a half-hour hack through streets that were getting busier every year, a two minute canter on a patch of waste ground and then a drag back along the same streets. Once the ponies had been in Tretor for a month or two they stopped noticing the traffic and just plodded along with their heads hanging and their eyes half closed. Pam Jones swore that Miss Dinely doped them all but Sandy didn’t think so. She thought that they were all sleep walking, dreaming of the green fields that they would probably never see again.

Miss Dinely had a small indoor school where she taught beginners to ride and more advanced pupils to jump.
“But I don’t really like that any better,” Sandy thought discontentedly. “It’s too small and all that dust and somehow it’s not really jumping. The ponies are just as sick of it as I am. They’re like clockwork toys. Perhaps Pam’s right, they are doped,” and she groaned aloud again.

“For goodness’ sake,” exclaimed Miss Dinely, turning round in her saddle to grin at Sandy. “You sound as if you’ve got colic.”

“I think I have,” said Sandy. “City colic.”

“Who hasn’t?” asked Miss Dinely.

“I want to ride in the country, to gallop across fields and jump walls and trot down lanes and everything. To get away from all this noise and traffic,” Sandy said, staring furiously round her at the high buildings and unending traffic, and even at the two ponies crawling along behind her.

“Who doesn’t?” asked Miss Dinely laughing. “Are you suggesting I should close down?”

“Oh no! That would be much worse. No ponies at all.”

“Cheer up,” encouraged Miss Dinely. “We’re nearly at the canter.”

“Big deal,” thought Sandy. Two minutes cantering just about summed up the whole mess of trying to ride in a city.

On the way back to the stable, Floss played up. She pulled all the time, trying to pass Miss Dinely and charge ahead. When she realized that Sandy had no intention of letting her have her own way she began to spook and shy. She would stop suddenly and goggle, prick eared, at a child skipping along the pavement or someone carrying an oddly shaped parcel, then she would leap sideways, oblivious of any cars or lorries. Twice Sandy was nearly out of the saddle and once in response to Sandy’s kicks Floss barged on to the pavement and cantered along through the shoppers.

“Oughtn’t to be allowed,” a man shouted after them.
“Dangerous brute.”

“Get it off the pavement,” screamed a woman. “Need the police after you lot, so you do.”

To be truthful Sandy was quite glad when they turned down the back street that led to the stables. She didn’t like to think what would have happened if Floss had really got out of control in the busy street.

They all dismounted in front of the stables, ran up their stirrups and led their ponies up the concrete ramp and into their boxes. Sandy took off Floss’s tack then made a straw wisp to rub down the pony.

“You can’t muck about like that,” she told Floss as she groomed her. “Be a nice mess if you came down on the road. If you’re going to stay here you’ll need to learn to shut your eyes to things the same as the rest of us.”

And Sandy wondered where the pony had come from before Miss Dinely had bought her. Perhaps she had always lived in the country and never been in a city until she came to Tretor.

“Hear you were having trouble,” said Pam Jones, coming to lean over the box door and watch Sandy. Like Sandy she spent a lot of her spare time helping Miss Dinely to muck out and clean tack. “Need to increase your dose of dope,” she told Floss.

“She was carrying on with you, wasn’t she,” said Miss Dinely, coming to join Pam at the box door.

“A bit,” agreed Sandy. “I think she was fed up.”
“Caught it from her rider I expect,” said Miss Dinely. “Still, can’t risk that sort of thing. I’ll give her another month and if she’s no better she’ll be on her way.”

When Miss Dinely had gone Sandy had a serious word with Floss.

“Listen to me,” she said sternly to the pony. “Don’t behave yourself. Just go on misbehaving, go on messing about on the rides, go on shying and jumping on to the pavement. Don’t turn into a good, meek and mild little pony like the rest of them because if you do you’ll be here for ever. You’ll never escape. Buck somebody off on to the road and then you’ll maybe get back to the country. D’you understand?”

Floss looked at Sandy with a bright, knowing eye.

“That’s right,” said Sandy, giving her a final rub down. “If I were you that’s what I’d do. I can’t escape for years but there’s a chance for you.”

It was after six before Pam and Sandy left the riding school. By that time the buses were crowded and they had to wait for ages before they could squeeze their way on to one.

“Lost your nags have you ducks?” mocked the bus conductor.

“No they’re upstairs,” said Pam.

“You’ll be wanting tickets for them then?” replied the conductor, taking their money.

Sandy got off before Pam. She walked slowly along the road to the block of multi-storey flats where her family lived.

“We’re a lot of battery hens,” she thought bitterly, staring up at the high, featureless blocks of glass and concrete that surrounded her. “With little windows to peep through and central heating to keep us at the right temperature so that we’re nicely doped all the time. Where could anyone keep a pony in a place like this?” Then she grinned at the thought of a pony going up in one of the lifts. “Need to have wings,” she thought. “Oh, how I hate it all.”

When she reached the door of their flat she stopped to take off her jodhpur boots so that she wouldn’t dirty their fitted carpets. She was struggling to undo one of the buckles when the door burst open and Dick, her brother, nearly tripped over her in his haste.

“Here you are at last,” he cried. “Where on earth have you been? I was coming to look for you.”

Dick was fifteen, four years older than Sandy and inclined to be bossy.

“You know where I’ve been,” said Sandy in surprise. It wasn’t often that Dick was looking for her with such desperation. Most of the time he was doing his best to avoid her company.

“Then why are you so late? We’re all waiting for you.”
“Waiting for me?” demanded Sandy in surprise.

“Come on. Hurry up. It’s Dad, he’s got something important to tell us.”

“Well why couldn’t he have told you and told me later?” asked Sandy in puzzled tones. She was beginning to think that Dick had gone mad.

“Oh come on. He wants to tell us when we’re all together.”
With a final tug Sandy wrenched the buckle undone and, pulling off her boots, she followed Dick into the hall.

“But what is it,” she demanded, “what does he want to tell us?”

“That’s what we’re waiting to find out, stupid,” said Dick impatiently.

Sandy’s father and mother were sitting by the fire in the living-room. Her mother had a book open on her knee but she didn’t seem to be reading it and even Mali, their brown and white spaniel, was sitting looking expectantly at Mr Holden.

“Here she is at last,” said Dick.

“What do you mean, at last? I’m often much later than this. What’s all the hurry for?”

“Calm down,” said Mr Holden, smiling at Sandy’s indignation. “I only wanted to wait until you were here before I broke the news.”

Sandy sat down, knowing from her father’s tone of voice that he had something important to tell them.

“Right,” said Mr Holden, “are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin. Your mother knows what I’m going to tell you but nothing was settled finally until this morning, that’s why I didn’t mention it to you two before.”

“Come on, Dad, tell us,” interrupted Dick.

“We’re going to leave Tretor.”

“Leave Tretor!” gasped Sandy in delight. “But why? Where are we going?”

“I’ve known for some time now that the factory was opening a new branch in Welbreen and I knew that there was a chance that I might be asked to take charge of it. My appointment was confirmed this morning. It’s quite a promotion.”

“Welbreen,” echoed Sandy. “Welbreen is the country!”

“It’ll mean changing schools I’m afraid but there’s the chance that we’ll be able to find somewhere a little more spacious to live in.”

“Oh Daddy how super, super, super!” cried Sandy.
“Any chance of a workshop for me?” asked Dick.

“Could be,” said their father. “Anything is possible, I suppose.”

“Are you pleased?” Sandy asked her mother.
“On the whole, yes. I’ll miss our friends but I’d like a change from this flat.”

“When are we going?” asked Dick.

“In about two months. Probably round about Easter, so that’ll let you finish this term at your present schools and start your new schools at the beginning of a term.”

“We’re sorry about having to move you round like this,” apologized Mrs Holden. “Hasn’t been too much of a shock?”

“Well actually there’s a boy at school whose father is moving as well so I thought that Dad might just …”
“It’s the best thing that could have happened to me,” Sandy said. “I shouldn’t have been in the least surprised if I had died of suffocation if I’d had to go on existing in this place much longer.”

Sandy didn’t say a word about riding or ponies. She felt that going to live in the country was quite enough in itself.
It wasn’t until she was lying in bed that night that she allowed herself to think about it.

“Even if there’s no chance of a pony of my own there’s sure to be a riding school somewhere about. I might even make friends with someone who wanted their pony exercised,” she thought, wriggling with delight.

Humans: Sandy and Dick Holden, Mr & Mrs Holden, Karen Morton, Miss Asher, Miss Bowles, Miss DInely, Amanda and Cynthia Russell-Verne

Horses: Tarka, Sprog, Floss