The Pony Man

The Pony Man
by Jane Seaford

Wearing mackintoshes against the drizzly rain, Beatrice and Alice stood looking through the gate.
“Two ponies,” said Beatrice in wonder. “I like the white one best.”
“You call them gray, you have to call white ponies gray.” Alice, older by nearly two years, was authoritative.
“Why?”
“Because you do.”
“I think that’s silly. Do you think we’ll be able to ride them?” Beatrice asked.
“We’ll have to ask Granny.”
One of the ponies looked up from its grazing and whinnied. A little man carrying two buckets had opened the other gate and was walking into the field. He was wearing brown trousers, a shabby brown jacket, wellington boots and an old checked flat cap. His face was tanned with a snub nose and small dark eyes.
“Fancy, Mystery, ‘ere, ‘ere,” he called. The ponies trotted up to him and nosed in the buckets, which he put down, stroking the ponies’ necks, first the gray and then the piebald.
Beatrice and Alice watched silently and as Beatrice whispered behind her hand: “It would be polite to say hello,” the pony man looked up and saw them. He came over to their gate.
“So you’ve arrived, then, you’re Mr. and Mrs. Walters’ granddaughters up for your holidays, no doubt. They told me you were coming.”
“Yes, we drove here with our Mum. She’s unpacking,” offered Beatrice.
“Do you like ponies?” The man asked.
“We do, very much,” said Alice.
“And we can ride them.” Beatrice’s tone was hopeful, and the man laughed, a funny cackly laugh.
“Mebbe let you have a go on them sometime, but they work most days, down on the beach, giving rides to the kiddies. Only stay at home when it rains like today.”
“Alice! Beatrice! Where are you? It’s time for tea.” They heard their mother calling.
“We’ve got to go now, but we’d like to come again and see the ponies.”
“You can come any time, it’s your Granddad’s field after all, just make sure you shut that gate or they’ll be into the garden and eating all his prize vegetable.” The pony man cackled again and the two little girls turned and walked back down the path through the orchard to their grandparents’ cottage.
After breakfast the next morning Alice and Beatrice rushed down to the field and stopped by the gate.
“Oh,” said Beatrice, disappointed. “They’ve gone to work.” Their Granny came to join them.
“They’ll be back this evening. We’ll come and see them this evening, my chucks.”
“Will he let us ride them, Granny? I would so like to ride that white one,” said Beatrice
“Gray one,” said Alice.
And Granny said: “When we go to the beach, they’ll be there. You could always ride them on the beach.”
“It’s not the same, I want to ride in the field and trot and even canter, maybe.” Beatrice opened her eyes wide in anticipation. She had unfastened the gate and was pushing it backwards and forwards.
“Stop playing with the gate, you’ll break it,” said Alice.
“Don’t be so bossy, you’re only a sister, not a Mum or a Granny.” Beatrice stuck her tongue out at Alice and ran into the field.
“She’s so naughty, Granny,” said Alice, being grown up.
“Leave her be, she’s doing no harm.” And gently Granny took Alice’s hand in hers and called for Beatrice to come.
“We’ll all go down to the seaside shortly, even Granddad’s going to come. Let’s go and get ready. We’ll take a picnic lunch as it’s such a nice day.” Beatrice came skipping back and took Granny’s other hand.
As soon as she’d changed into her swimsuit, Beatrice ran into the sea. She jumped over the waves, twirling round. She plunged into the water, swam a few clumsy strokes, stood up and turned towards the beach.
“Come on Alice, it’s not at all cold.” Alice tiptoed into the sea, lifting each foot high before risking it to the water. Beatrice splashed her and she ran out again.
“I won’t swim with you if you do that.”
“I don’t care, I don’t care.” Beatrice dived under a wave, stood up, shaking water out of hair; dived again.
“Where’s the ponies and the pony man?” Beatrice asked as they were eating their sandwiches.
“He’s usually at the other end of the beach. We’ll walk there after lunch,” her Granddad replied.
The beach was long and they walked slowly.
“There’s the ponies,” called Beatrice and tried to run towards them, hampered by the sand grabbing at her feet. The ponies, a child sitting lumpishly on each of their backs, were walking away from them. The pony man was between them, holding the reins. A few children were queuing with their parents by a sign stuck into the sand advertising the rides.
“We’ll stay here,” said Granddad and they watched as the ponies turned and came steadily back, Beatrice jumping up and down, impatiently.
“Afternoon, Mr. Walters. These your granddaughters? Bonny lasses, the pair of them.” The pony man doffed his cap. “But they’ll have to wait their turn.” He indicated the short queue.
Beatrice was stroking the nose of the gray pony.
“Can we ride them in the field? I’d rather it was the field.” Granddad and the pony man exchanged looks.
“If you’re there at five, we’ll see what we can do. That alright with you, Mr. Walters?” Granddad nodded.
“Is he a friend of yours?” Alice asked her Granddad as they walked back along the strand.
“No, not really. He was looking for a place to put his ponies for the summer and he heard about our field. So he came to see us.”
“I’m so glad he did,” said Alice and Beatrice added: “So’m I. We wouldn’t have the ponies in the field if it wasn’t for him.”
That evening Beatrice rode Fancy, the gray and Alice, Mystery the piebald. They trotted, they cantered and the pony man set up a little jump for them to do. When they’d finished riding, they worked with the pony man rubbing down the ponies and feeding them a bucket each of oats. They helped with the saddles and bridles, putting them on a bench in the little hut in the field, Granddad leaning on the gate, watching them.
“Are they girls or boys?” Beatrice asked the pony man.
“That Fancy is a lady but Mystery is neither. Was a boy, isn’t now.” Alice had gone bright pink. And Beatrice asked: “How can he be a boy and then not a boy?”
“That’s something that happens with ponies. Not for me to tell you about it, young missy.”
“Thank you for the ride, but we must go now,” Alice said, pulling Beatrice by her jersey and walking towards Granddad.
“You can have another go tomorrow, if you’ll help me clean the tack when you’ve finished,” the pony man called after them.
Beatrice struggled against Alice.
“Let me alone.”
“You shouldn’t ask those kind of questions, ‘bout girls and boys.” Alice was still pink and kept her grip on Beatrice.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s rude.”
“What sort of rude?”
“Ponies and horses, boy ones, have their things cut off so that they don’t behave badly.”
“What things?”
“You know, their boy things.” Beatrice gasped, widened her eyes and put her hand over her mouth.
“That is rude.” She giggled and Alice shook her.
“Shut up or Granddad will hear, and you mustn’t say anything about it to the grownups.”
Beatrice shook her head no and ran to the gate.
A routine was soon established for the two weeks of the holiday. On sunny days they went to the beach and then rode the ponies in the early evening, usually watched by their Mum or one of their grandparents. The pony man was friendly and helped them with their riding; he didn’t seem to mind giving them his time.
“Perhaps we should get him a present to thank him,” Alice suggested.
“Yes a big box of chocolates,” agreed Beatrice. Their Granny smiled.
“That’s a nice idea, my lovely.”
For the holidays, Granny had bought an enormous jigsaw puzzle with thousands of pieces. Beatrice and Granddad worked hard on it on days when it rained, but Alice preferred to read.
“Our last day and it’s raining.” Alice sighed; she was standing in her nightdress, by the window holding back the curtain on a gray damp morning.
“That means Granddad and I can finish the puzzle.” Beatrice made a face. “But I’d rather have gone to the beach and then ridden the ponies.”
“And we must buy the pony man’s chocolates,” Alice remembered.
After breakfast and a quick trip in the rain to the local sweet shop, Beatrice and her Granddad settled down to the jigsaw puzzle. Alice read her book, sitting in the kitchen rocking chair, breathing in the comforting smell of roasting chicken and herb stuffing, a special treat for their last day. She finished the book, but stayed rocking. Her Granny came in to prepare vegetables for lunch.
“You comfy in that chair, my chuck? Doing a bit of day dreaming?”
“I was thinking I don’t want to go home yet.”
“You’ll be back before long.”
Alice got up and went to the window. “The sun’s come out, I’m going to see the ponies.”
She opened the door into the breakfast room.
“Beatrice, do you want to come to the field. It’s stopped raining.” Beatrice looked up.
“I just want to finish the jigsaw, I’ll come then.”
“Here‘s two apples for the ponies, but it’s still a bit wet, you be careful,” said Granny.
“I will.” And Alice was off, up the garden path, through the orchard and into the field.
The ponies took the apples of her flat hand and she was stroking Mystery’s neck and whispering: “I’ll miss you,” when she saw the pony man coming into the field. He walked up to her.
“What are you doing here at this time?” She asked.
“Ah well, I saw the sun come out and I thought mebbe I’d take the ponies down to the beach. But I’m glad you’re here. There’s something I’ve got for you. Come to the shed.”
Alice followed him to the shed and blinked to adjust to the dark as they went inside.
“What is it you’ve got?”
“Come here,” said the pony man and Alice went to him. He took her and he turned her round and put his arms round her from behind. He pulled up her skirt and put his hands in her knickers holding her tightly against him. He started to rub between her legs, sticking a finger inside her most secret place.
Alice stood as still as she could, she was hardly breathing, a drum was throbbing in her chest and her face was burning. “Why is he doing this? What’s this for?” She was thinking and she knew it was very wrong and very rude. Shame and fear made her skin hot and clammy and the drum throbbed louder. She could feel her blood beating through her body.
“That’s nice, isn’t it?” He said, his voice was thick, and when she didn’t answer, he asked again and she gulped: “Yes.” He started to rub harder, pushing her knickers down further. Then he said. “It would be nicer if your little sister could join in, wouldn’t it? Why don’t you go and fetch her. Don’t say a word to anyone else and come back straight away.” He let her go.
Alice pulled up her knickers, pulled down her skirt and ran from the shed. She ran through the gate and into the orchard. And there she leant against a tree, trembling and sobbing dryly. She waited until she was calmer, she touched her face and felt that her skin had become damp and cold and she walked into the garden and then into the kitchen.
“Ponies alright?” Granny asked.
“Fine.” She thought her voice was high and strange but Granny didn’t seem to notice.
“Go and wash your hands and tell Beatrice to, as well, lunch is ready.”
“Oh, but I wanted to see the ponies,” Beatrice complained.
“Well, you can’t,” her sister told her, fear making her voice shrill and Beatrice looked at her and made a face.
Granny heaped Alice’s plate with chicken and crisp roast potatoes. She poured on gravy. Alice took up her knife and fork. She took a small mouthful, she chewed and chewed; it was hard to swallow. She felt sick. She took another mouthful, forcing herself to eat. She said nothing, concentrating on the food. She was terrified that someone would notice that she wasn’t the same.
“Why don’t you answer, Alice?” Alice looked up from her plate at her sister.
“I said, shall we go to the field after lunch?”
“No.” She put down her knife and fork, she felt defeated, the food could not be eaten; it was dry and lumpy in her mouth and her throat had closed against it. She shook her head, she wanted to forget and she knew she never would. She wanted to cry, but then there’d be a fuss, they’d want to know what the matter was. And she can’t tell, she’ll never tell, she hasn’t got the words to tell and the shame of explaining would be as bad as what happened. She was hot and lost. A wave of horror passed over her and she knew she’d never felt like this before.
“Alice, aren’t you well?” Her Granny put her hand on her forehead. “No temperature. What’s the matter, my chuck?“ she said.
“Nothing… It’s just I’m not really hungry.”
The first course was cleared away.
“Now Alice, can you eat a little ice-cream, vanilla and chocolate with fudge sauce?” Asked Granny. And Granddad said, joking.
“If she says no to that, then we’ll know she’s ill.” Alice tried to smile.
“Just a little bit, please.” She thought that maybe ice cream would be easier to eat.
“And I want lots, lots and lots,” said Beatrice.
Finally lunch was over and Alice, looking anxiously out of the window, saw it was raining again. ”Let’s go to the field,” said Beatrice.
“It’s raining, so we can’t.”
“Yes we can, we’ve got our macs.” And Granny said: “Why don’t you wait a bit, see if it stops. If the sun comes out you might get a last ride on the ponies.”
Alice shuddered. “I’m going to read my book in our bedroom.”
She lies on her bed and tries to read but the memory of the shed and the dark and the pony man and the shameful thing he did to her won’t leave her head. She tries and tries to shake it away, but she can’t. She feels nauseous. Her heart is pounding. She’s scared, embarrassed, humiliated. The afternoon passes.
The bedroom door bangs and Beatrice bounces in.
“The sun’s come out and it’s five o’clock. The pony man will be coming. We should go to the field and give him the chocolates. I’m going to put trousers on in case he lets us have a ride.”
Beatrice took off her dress. Alice looked at the vulnerable little body wearing nothing but knickers and she started to cry.
“You are a baby, Alice.” Beatrice put on trousers and a thin jumper. She sat on the floor, pulled on her riding shoes and with her tongue sticking out of her mouth did up the laces.
“Why aren’t you getting ready? If you don’t hurry, we’ll be too late.” Beatrice frowned, jumped up and sat on Alice’s bed, swinging her legs.
“We’re not going to the field. I’m not going and you’re not to go.”
“I’m going, so there, and I’m giving him the chocolates and I’ll say they’re from me.”
“Please don’t go.”
“Why not? I want to say goodbye to Fancy and Mystery.”
“Make Mum, or Granny or Granddad go with you.” Alice was desperate.
“I’m a big girl and I can go on my own, even without you to boss me.” Beatrice leapt off the bed, picked up the box of chocolates and left the room.
Alice hears her go downstairs, she hears her banging the kitchen door and her footsteps on the garden path. Alice is sobbing, she gets up slowly and from the bedroom window, she watches Beatrice skipping through the orchard. As if dreaming, she sees the raindrops on the leaves of the trees, she smells the pungent pony smell, she hears the groan of the opening gate, she feels the rough hands of the pony man. From the field, Beatrice’s voice comes strong and confident.
“Mr. Pony man, I’m here. There’s something I’ve got for you.” Alice crumples herself into a tight ball on the floor and tries to disappear.