The Evacuee Summer: Heart-warming historical fiction, perfect for summer reading. Katie King

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СКАЧАТЬ to Mabel’s satisfaction, the children hung around waiting for the new arrival.

      They swung on the garden gate, causing nearby butterflies to flutter furiously into the air when the plants at the edge of the drive were disturbed. Then the children had a competition throwing chips of gravel from the short drive in front of the house, down the length of the rear garden, to see who could hoof a chip the furthest. And when Tommy won and started to show off, further disturbing the hens who had been set to panicky clucking by a stray chip that bounced off their zinc water trough, Aiden and Jessie had to wrestle him to the ground so that he didn’t get too above himself.

      It was a baking-hot morning right at the end of May in 1940, and it seemed an age before the children heard the unmistakeable sound of a pony’s metal horseshoes on the tarmac of the road outside, clip-clopping in their direction, and then slow down to turn into Tall Trees.

      ‘’E’s a right little tinker, make no mistake,’ said Mrs Hobbs, the homely farmer’s wife, as she pulled the pony to a halt once she had driven into the back yard and hefted herself down to the ground with a dramatic sigh and a final lurch that made the wooden trap creak as if it were about to do itself a mischief.

      The children supposed she was talking about the pony and not any of them.

      For the moment nobody could think of anything to say, but Mrs Hobbs didn’t seem to notice, adding before too long, ‘Milburn needs watchin’ as ’e’ll nip yer if yer not careful. An’ ’e’s prone ter gettin’ oot if ’e thinks there’s somethin’ more interestin’ goin’ on elsewhere or ’e thinks ’e can get away wi’ it. ’E don’t kick often, but ’e means it when ’e do, so mind yerselves an’ yer all watch out.’

      The children all took a step backwards.

      The soft-eyed pony looked bigger up close than when turning into the yard, when the looming appearance of both the comfortably rounded farmer’s wife and the battle-weary trap had dwarfed the hairy-looking beast.

      Roger bustled out of the kitchen, wiping his hands dry on a holey and faded tea towel that had once proudly extolled the virtues of Harrogate, followed closely by Mabel. Roger paused too and looked suspiciously at the pony who tossed its head insouciantly in his direction as a reply – or was this a challenge? And then Roger stepped back cautiously in a pantomime version of the way the children just had, although not before a little fleck of foam from the corner of the pony’s mouth from camping at the bit, flew through the air and landed ominously on Roger’s hand.

      Only Mabel moved forward to pat the pony’s stocky neck, and the pair eyed each other seriously as if each were weighing up an opponent. ‘The children ’ave ’ad a scrabble o’er t’ name,’ Mabel announced to Mrs Hobbs.

      The chestnut blinked solemnly in acknowledgement of what the rector’s wife had said.

      ‘We’ll ’ave ’e back if yer can’t cope, course, bu’ ’e’s too small fer t’ plough or much else that’s useful on t’ farm, an’ our girt chillen are t’ big fer ’e now an’ we ’aven’t time t’ go up ’ill an’ down dale funnin’ aboot in t’ trap, an’ so yer’s doin’ us a niceness puttin’ ’e up ’ere. An’ ’e’ll pay yer back as ’e’s a worker. Once ’e’s mind’s on it, that is,’ Mrs Hobbs went on as if Mabel hadn’t said anything as to the pony’s name, the last comment having a faintly threatening ring about it nonetheless.

      The farmer’s wife looked towards the pony, and then Mrs Hobbs turned to stare at everyone else, before she sighed as if one of them had been found wanting and Milburn shook a shaggy mane as if to deny all association with the sigh. Mrs Hobbs sighed dramatically once more and then swiftly demonstrated how the tack came off, and was put on again; told them what the difference between hay and straw was; and how any hard feed (which he wouldn’t need before the cold weather came) should be given after the pony had been allowed to drink. Then Mrs Hobbs addressed the way the trap was connected to the harness and how the trap could be upended when it wasn’t in use to stop it rolling around; after which she outlined in theory the way the pony should be made to go faster or to stop, or to turn left or right. Then she reminded them again – and this was really important, she insisted – that water should be offered before food, and not the other way around to avoid any danger of colic; while if the pony did get colic they’d need to use a drench, which always caused problems. (Everyone looked very serious at this, especially Milburn.) Finally, Mrs Hobbs produced a hoof pick from a pocket at the front of her floral pinny and the children gasped when they saw how the pony’s generous feathers were grasped and then pulled upwards, so that its feet could be lifted up one at a time to rest on Mrs Hobbs’s bent leg in order that each hoof could be picked, with mud and gravel being scraped out.

      From somewhere low down, Mrs Hobbs muttered at last as she leant over, her corduroy trews now stretched dangerously over her ample posterior, ‘’E’s bin shod yesterday an’ ’e answers to Milburn up at t’ farm, but yers all call ’e what yer wants, ’e won’t mind, I dare say.’ The pony’s expression seemed to dispute not minding about the name, and then there was a decisive shake of a long, mole-coloured nose as if to drive the point home. ‘’Is feet’ll need doin’ every day, an’ mark yer do it or you’ll be in fer trouble. As long as yer remember to take ’e t’ smithy every two months at least, an’ more if ’e’s on roads a lot as ’e’ll need t’ shoes kept up and they get slippy otherwise. Yer could drive a bus beside ’e, ’e’s so quiet in traffic,’ finished Mrs Hobbs.

      ‘Sounds like t’ pony is goin’ t’ ’ave new shoes more often than us,’ said Mabel in the sort of rueful voice that made the adults think about the clothes rationing that was just about to start, and made the children understand anew that nobody was to expect much in the way of treats these days.

      Aside from the clothing coupon issue, Roger appeared nothing short of pensive in any case; clearly he hadn’t realised that a pony might be spooked by large vehicles near it, and they could all see that he had no idea what to do in the event of the creature taking fright.

      Luckily everyone was distracted from these gloomy thoughts by the sound of an approaching vehicle and then the toot of a horn from a van idling out in the road.

      Mrs Hobbs thrust the reins at Mabel, and said goodbye to the pony with a firm slap to its rump that caused it to bunch its quarters and clamp its tail flat down, and then with no more ado than a gruff ‘cheero’, the farmer’s wife bustled out of the yard at Tall Trees to get her lift back to the farm without so much as a backwards glance.

      The pony watched her leave, and then turned deep-brown shiny eyes with long eyelashes towards Mabel as if enquiring whether some sort of rather unamusing joke had just been made.

      Once the vehicle had driven away there was a long silence, broken only by the clucking of the hens over at the other side of the garden, and then the pony pawed the ground once with a front hoof.

      Jessie spied a tiny spark shoot out as the clink of a metal shoe struck a flint in the yard.

      ‘I don’t think any of our names so far suit him,’ said Angela. ‘What about Lightning?’

      The pony was thickset with a large belly slung between short but strong legs, and a bushy tail that almost touched the ground, while a wiry mane and forelock gave a top-heavy impression. As ponies go, it neither looked very fast, or very lightning-like. And to judge by the roll of intelligent eyes the pony didn’t think much of Lightning as a name.

      ‘I know t’ farmer’s wife kept callin’ the pony ’e, but I think it’s a girl, Angela, and I’ve always believed Lightning seems better as a boy’s name,’ said Aiden tactfully.

      Making СКАЧАТЬ