Caroline Akrill - If I Could Ride

EDITORS NOTE

If I Could Ride was written in the 1970s, when hunting was still legal, and attitudes to alcohol were rather different to today. The characters in the book are just as vivid, amusing and truthful now as when they were written, and we have left them in the setting in which they first came to life.

T he Parasite is expelled on to the pasture as a second stage larvae, where it may remain in a dormant state for many weeks. Freda Farquhar paused to draw a little egg containing a coathook on the blackboard. Has everyone looked at the slide under the microscope?

If you examine a piece of bad banana, Debby said, her nostrils flaring at the thought of it, it moves. Its an absolute seething mass.

Jilly stood up. She cleared her throat experimentally. She said, The microbe is so very small, you cannot make him out at all, but many sanguine people hope, to see him through a microscope. She sat down with a bump. By way of explanation she added. Its Hilaire Belloc, you know.

Freda Farquhar stiffened. She looked at us crossly. We are not here to discuss bananas, she said. Neither is the lesson about to develop into a poetry reading. In case of further doubt she wrote WORM CONTROL IN THE HORSE, in big letters on the blackboard.

At this precise moment, the telephone rang in the office next door. Because there was nobody in the office to answer it, it kept ringing, and because the hardboard partition between the two rooms was wafer thin, it interrupted worm control in the horse.

Freda Farquhar stood poised by the blackboard, hand arrested in mid-sweep. We who were her pupils stared at the little egg and the coathook until our eyes glazed. Eventually, and with a look of suffering, she laid down her chalk and went to answer the telephone.

As soon as she was out of the door, Jilly jumped up and pounded to the front of the class. She grabbed up the chalk and altered HORSE into HOUSE. She gave the coathook a nostril and two eyes. She was just giving the egg legs when Freda Farquhar came back. Jilly dived behind the blackboard.

It is most irritating to have to continually repeat ones self, Freda Farquhar said, in a complaining tone. She stared at me indignantly and I nodded in agreement. Jilly took the opportunity to slip back into her place.

However, she continued sharply, there appears to be someone in this class who is still unaware of the rule which forbids students to receive telephone calls before eight oclock in the evening. Her gaze became more menacing.

It cant be for me, I said. No calls before eight oclock. I know the rules.

Except in the case of death, fire or famine, Debby said. Flood, civil war, or similar Act of God. She turned round in her chair in order to look me over in a speculative manner, her eyes alert for potential drama.

I shall allow you to accept the call on this occasion, Freda Farquhar sighed. But kindly be brief, and please advise your caller of our regulations.

I promised that I would. I smiled in what I hoped was an encouraging manner because I could see that the lesson was sinking, if not already sunk. If the discussion is not important, I said, if the matter is not too pressing, provided that the issue is not crucial, then perhaps I will ask whoever it is to ring back after eight oclock. But Freda Farquhar was glaring at the second stage larvae which had seemingly hatched in her absence.

Sarahs voice spanned five counties. She said, Are you happy? Will you stay?

I opened my mouth to say I wasnt happy; that studying for a diploma in stud work wasnt at all as I had imagined it; that the acres of immaculate white-railed paddocks I had dreamed of hadnt materialised, neither had the foals with their hand-knitted coats and their sweet breath smelling of milk powder and apples, and the brood mares with their dark and gentle eyes. Instead there were gateways awash with mud, there were bad-tempered animals who flattened their ears at your approach, there were rows of unspeakable preserved things in pickle jars along the window ledges, and there was Freda Farquhar. I wanted to say all these things, then I remembered the hardboard partition. I said, Im not allowed to talk until eight oclock.

That cant be altogether true, Sarah said. It isnt a monastery.

Becky shouted, We rang for ages! We thought we would never get through!

Simon took the receiver. We want to know if you are happy, he said. We have thought about it. We have discussed it, and we are not sure that you have done the right thing.

Now you tell me, I said. I cant believe it. My ears must be deceiving me. I think you must be losing your reason. I think you must have forgotten that it was you who suggested I come here in the first place. It was your idea!

Shes appalled, I heard Simon whisper to the others. Horrified!

Come home! Becky shouted.

There isnt any riding, I said mournfully.

You knew there wouldnt be, Simon said. It was pointed out to you. Studwork is all mares and foals and stallions, we said. There will be no riding. You said you didnt mind.

I miss the riding, I said.

Does she hate it? Beckys voice shrilled. Is she complaining?

You encouraged me, I said. You said I should get some qualifications. Why, you even sent for the syllabus!

There is no point in becoming hysterical, Simon said. You may not realise it, but we are in an extremely difficult position.

You are! In my anxiety I forgot about the partition. What about me? What about the position that Im in! There was a sharp rapping noise on the wall. I shall have to go, I said hastily. I am holding up the lesson.

Curse the lesson, Simon said.

Sarah came back. Things have changed for us, she said. But we are pledged not to jeopardise your future. We agreed that we would ring only to ask if you were truly happy. If you are, we are not allowed to entice. We promised. We gave our word.

We should never have promised not to tell, Simon complained. How are we to explain? How can she possibly be expected to understand? Its too bloody ridiculous.

Swearing wont help, Sarah said. It really wont. And do stop pushing, Becky!

Tell me what you want me to do, I said. Give me a clue at least. Explain the situation before I am expelled for talking out of hours. Dont just waste time arguing amongst yourselves!

Come home, Caroline, Simon said in an exasperated tone. We need you. He broke off to say fiercely, Becky, if you dont stop crowding, I will thump you.

But what about the course? I cried. I havent even given the place a fair trial! In all fairness, can I leave after just one week? My qualifications are at stake. My whole future may depend upon it!

Curse the qualifications, Simon said. And curse the course. Your future is here, with us. Our future is yours and your future is ours. We know it and you know it. Come home, Caroline.

I cant, I said. Its impossible. Its unfair to even ask. I cant throw away my prospects just because you say so!

Rubbish, Simon said. You hate it, dont you? Admit it, Caroline; the course has been a mistake.

Oh, I dont know, I said, rallying. It isnt all that bad.

Its fearful, Simon said. I know it. Dont try to tell me otherwise. Dont pretend.

Of course the ponies are all bad-tempered and the resident stallion is a danger to life and limb, but its hardly their fault that the first foal we delivered was still-born and that everyone cried for two days.

Youre unhappy, Simon said. I can hear it in your voice. You cant hide it from me.