The Lean Years Read online

  GWABEGAR DAYS.

  The Enders’ Colt stood nervously. There is not much else a horse can do when blindfolded. Hal settled himself into the saddle, reined up, and gave his sire a quick nod. Old Harry whipped off the blindfold and quickly climbed to the top rail. The horse stood trembling a moment then reared, danced on his hind legs, dropped his forelegs to the ground, and flung back his head, the boy ducked to his left. The horse’s head narrowly missed his. They’d tried that on Hal before.

  The colt humped, rose high, and came down stiff legged. The jolt punished both horse and rider, but Hal had the advantage of sitting loose at the critical moment, rolling his body a little. The colt would think up something else next time. Hal thought it had looked easy when he watched his father and his brothers sit energetic bucking but the first of the series of furious bucks almost unseated him. Each buck was delivered with all the power of the big animal. ‘Stay with him.’ ‘Hang on.’ ‘Stick to him.’ The shouts of encouragement, loud and urgent went down his spine to his shaky posterior, firming it up.

  The winded colt placed his four hooves close together and waltzed around and around again. This disconcerted the rider and allowed the horse to get his wind back. The colt spent the last of this wind on a few weakening bucks and stood hung-headed, blowing up dust with heaving breaths. He would waste no more of his strength trying to unseat this rider.

  His father helped him down. ‘Better get your breakfast. Don’t want you late for school.’ The lad hurried off. Not a bad start to the day for a boy of nine. George nodded to Jack. ‘He’ll make.’

  Jack grinned back. ‘We could sign him up with McConville.’ He stiffened at a growl from behind.

  The Old Man had walked up leading the colt. ‘Want his gut busted up for a fiver a ride?’ He handed the reins to George. ‘Don’t let him rest too long.’

  Jack mounted the educated work horse and sat watching. George reined up the colt, his handful including a lock of mane. His right hand gripped the pommel.’ With the left knee firmly into the shoulder he slipped the foot into the stirrup, rolled his body into a ball and unrolled it into the saddle, his right toe immediately finding the offside stirrup. He needn’t have worried. The colt did a little war dance but his heart wasn’t in it. Harry let down the sliprails.

  Now George had the tedious part. The colt had to learn that when touched with the spurs or the whip he should go forward, the first of many lessons. Patience was all. Any cruelty would bring down the wrath of The Old Man in no uncertain manner, and would lead to an ill-broken nervous horse. Firm gentle kindness broke a horse to confident obedience.

  Jack sat watchfully, his mount alert too. It was not the first time they had done that. But the back of his mind was turning over. Five pound for ten seconds worked out to thirty quid a minute. How much an hour was that? A lot better than four pound a forty-hour week which the workers were fighting for, and not yet getting. And the girls all smiled at you. Great horsemen were popular with the ladies.

  He had tried it once. He thought no one was looking, slipped away and offered to ride the roughest of the McConville rough. His father had entered the ring, dragged him from the back of the plunging outlaw, and booted him out of the yard, to excited roars of the crowd. They thought it was all part of the act. His embarrassment abated when the ringmaster sneaked a pound note into his hand together with a promise of work whenever he wanted it. The boy had done more for the show than a dozen other turns.

  Now Hal cantered along on his school horse, a gallon of milk held well out to allow his right arm to absorb any jolts that might spill the milk. This was for Mrs McBride, a widow, who kept a boarding house and ‘did’ for six lazy, untidy gents. As the well trained pony swung into position for Hal to place the milk on the gatepost the boy observed the old lady hobbling painfully at her top speed. Her arthritis got worse every day. She wiped her hands on her apron. Wet crippled hands could slip and spill the milk.

  The white cockatoo in his cage hanging by the door screeched a greeting. Hal did not know whether he was saluting him or his horse but he answered anyway. A horse never has much to say. He waved a friendly salaam to the lady and cantered off. The policeman objected to cantering in his town but the teacher objected to late arrivals, often with the cane.

  He slipped off saddle and bridle, gave the animal a pat on the forehead and was closing the stable door when he heard the teacher’s pea whistle. He ran to the gate, through it, and managed to catch the last of the line on the back row. The horse had feed and water left for him by the Murphies next door. They were repaid with fresh milk and vegetables whenever they needed them. He’d had his morning’s fun. Now he could settle down to a good day’s work.