horse for hawthorns by tania bramley

7/29/2019 Horse for Hawthorns by Tania Bramley

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A Horse for Hawthorns


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Tania Bramley lives and writes in the Peak District, not

far from the village where she grew up. She spent herchildhood dog walking and riding her two ponies,

skewbald Penny and Haflinger Cromwell, in a quiet

area known locally as Horse Valley. Many of the

ideas in her books come from memories of personal

escapades and adventures!

In addition to A Horse for Hawthorns, Tania haswritten the Nananette adventures, The Chintz the

Chihuahua Stories, and The Boys Own Bug

Clubwhich girls are welcome to read, too!

Follow her characters and find out more about Tania

on her website: www.taniabramley.co.uk


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Also by the author:

Nananette and the Doldrums

Nananette and the Wreckers

The Chintz the Chihuahua Stories

All published by Austin & Macauley Publishers


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T a n i a B r a m l e y

A Horse for Hawthorns


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Copyright T a n i a B r a m l e y

The right of Tania Bramley to be identified as author ofthis work has been asserted by her in accordance with section77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may bereproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in anyform or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,

recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of thepublishers.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation tothis publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civilclaims for damages.

All characters in this publication are fictitious and anyresemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purelycoincidental.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from theBritish Library.

ISBN 978 1 84963 205 8

www.austinmacauley.com

First Published (2013)Austin & Macauley Publishers Ltd.25 Canada SquareCanary WharfLondonE14 5LB

Printed & Bound in Great Britain


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To Eleanor, and pony lovers everywhere


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Acknowledgments

To the Millings: Sarah, Judith and, most of all, Honey.

And let's not forgetFoxhaze Dancing Queen (aka

Minnie!)

My thanks to all of you.


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C h a p t e r O n e

Moving

So, what do you think? asked Dad, pulling up on the verge

and turning off the engine.

My brother Archie and I climbed stiffly out of the car

and looked around. Next to the lane stood a low white cottage

in a sea of lawn. A narrow gravel path bordered by white

stones wound its way from the latched wooden gate, where

we stood, to the green front door. From the flowerbed on the

right, a stone tortoise eyed us; on the left stood a wishing well,

complete with red tiled roof, bucket, and winding handle.

Cool! exclaimed Archie admiringly, before adding, butwhere are the neighbours?

We looked around. There was not another house to be

seen. Rolling fields, wooded valleys, and the meandering lane

we had driven down, yes. But houses? None.

Dad smiled.

Here and there, tucked away, dotted about. We passed afarm at the turn off, remember?

Archie and I peered back up the lane: nothing.


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My brother gave a broad grin.

Excellent, he declared. Now I can make as much

noise as I like.

You generally do, Dad remarked drily. Archie ignored

him.

No crabby Mr. Sourbum to tell me off whenever I so

much as breathe, continued Archie, happily.

Sourton, corrected our mother, sternly. And you did

kick a football through the window of his greenhouse, as Irecall.

It was an accident! protested Archie, adding, Mrs.

Bower was always on at me, too.

Well, as youve rightly pointed out, therell be none of

that here, said Dad cheerfully. Come on, Ill show you

round.

And so Archie and I trooped after him to examine our

new home.

The cottage turned out to be a rabbit warren. Dark little

passageways shot off in all directions. They led to wooden

doors with black metal latches that you raised by either

pressing down on a handle that looked a bit like a gun trigger,or by turning a big round hoop. Scattered throughout were

hidden cubby holes and low wooden shelves. Archie and I

charged around the cottage, yelling, Come and see this! and

I bags this room! until the whole house shook and the

floors were bouncing. The floors, it has to be said, were very

higgledy-piggledy. There were no carpets in some of the

rooms, just old wooden floorboards. Archie and I soondiscovered these were great for sliding along on our knees.


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Out of breath from sliding, I sat down to recover on the

lounge windowsill. The windows in the cottage were low and

small with leaded panes, and the windowsills were so huge you

could sit on them and peer out at the countryside beyond.Some sills were wooden, some made of stone. I quickly

discovered that the stone ones were quite cold on your

bottom.


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What are you doing? asked Mum a short while later,

when she came across me bunny hopping round the lounge.

Trying to warm my bum up, I explained ratherbreathlessly. Its gone numb from sitting on the window

ledge.

Gracious! Mum exclaimed. Better come and have a

look outside, then, and see if thatll warm you up a bit.

Race you! said Archie, appearing in the doorway.

We sprinted from the room and tore round the garden,playing Tig and jumping over branches that the wind had

brought down.

Ow! yelled Archie, suddenly.

He had tripped over and toppled into a spiky-looking

bush bordering the lawn.

Ow! he said again, as he struggled to untangle himself.

What is this thing? Its like something from Dr Whosome

alien life-form pretending to be a plant so it can take over our

worldand it wont let go of me. Help! he bellowed.

Archie can be very melodramatic and silly at times, as you

can see.

Its a hawthorn, said Mum calmly, pulling him free

from the hedge and plucking thorns from his hair. Thats the

name of the cottage, remember? Hawthorns.

I dont like them, Archie grumbled. Theyre prickly.

Well, dont go falling in them, then, said Mum,

sensibly.

I didnt mean to, grumbled Archie. I was just running

along, and then I sort of tripped and fell


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I wandered off to find Dad. Archie could go on like this

for hours, and I wanted to continue exploring.

I found Dad round the back of the house leaning on afive-barred gate and gazing out over the field next door.

Dont climb on the gate, he said automatically, as I

went to stand next to him.

I rolled my eyes. You always say that! I said.

Thats because you always climb on them, he pointed

out.

I grinned.

And swing on them too, given half a chance!

Dad snorted. Not any more, you dont.

Spoilsport, I grinned, giving his arm a friendly punch.

What are you looking at, anyway?

The paddock, Dad replied.

Why? I asked, looking through the bars of the gate at

the grass beyond. It looked just like any other field to me.

Dad gave me a swift, cheeky, schoolboy smile.

Because its ours! he grinned. And look its got astable, too!

A paddock! I yelled, experiencing a surge of joy so

strong it sent me tumbling off the gate. A paddock! I yelled

again, rolling around on the ground and laughing with joy. A

paddock! A stable! Yippee! Now I can have a pony!

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I should, at this stage in the story, introduce myself.

My name is Millicent Amy Smith, which is, I know, a bit

of a mouthful. No one calls me that, however. To my familyand friends I am either Millie or, sometimes, Maz (Millicent

AmySmithMaz, see?).

I am very nearly ten years old, I have unruly brown hair

and funny green eyes with little brown freckly dots in them

and, most importantly of all, I am pony-mad.

At the time of this story, in spite of having read all thepony stories I could get my hands on, I hadnt actually done

very much riding. This was because, before moving to

Hawthorns, we had lived in the city. It was a big city, and

there were no horses anywhere.

Mum and Dad had done their best to take me riding

whenever we went on holiday, Mum and Dad would track

down a trekking centre or riding stables for me to go to.Once, we even stayed on a farm that kept horses, and I rode

every day for a week. (I should add, by way of warning for

other pony-mad girls or boys who might be reading this, that

at the end I was so saddle-sore I could barely sit down. The

drive back home took hours, because Dad had to keep

stopping so I could get out and walk around for a while.)

After months of searching, however, Dad had finally

managed to find a job in the country, which meant I would be

able to start riding properly, on a regular basis. It was my

birthday in less than two weeks, and I had asked for riding

lessons from my parents for my present.

Of course! Archie had said, rolling his eyes. As if we

couldnt have guessed.

As you will have gathered, Archie doesnt quite share my

passion for horses.


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And now, as if all that wasnt wonderful enough, I had

discovered that our new house had its very own paddock and

stables!

Im going to have a look! I yelled now to Dad. Mind

out, here I come!

Quick as a monkey I swung over the gate before Dad

could say a word, and raced across the field, our very own

field, toI could barely think the word for excitementour

very own stable.

Tea in half an hour, called Dad after me. Have fun!

I will! I called back after all, how could I not? I

cantered my imaginary pony in a wide, sweeping circle,

surveying our terrain, then trotted over to inspect the stables.

* * * * * *

Great Aunt Harriet came round later for the guided tour,

even though the furniture wasnt arriving until Monday.

Archie and I took it in turns to drag her round the house.

Look, Great Aunt Harriet, said Archie, steering her to

the left at the top of the stairs. This is my room: isnt it whiz?

Its got a built-in bunk bed with a ladder, and two shelves, and

a secret cupboard.

Very nice, replied our Great Aunt, commenting,

though your secret cupboard might not be quite as secret as

you think, now that you have told everyone about it.

Hmm, agreed Archie thoughtfully, its a fair point. Illhave to ask Mum for a padlock for my Moving House

present. Anyway, he went on, with a cheeky smile, at least


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Ive got a bed to sleep in tonight. He turned to grin wickedly

at me. Unlike some I could mention!

Very good, I sniffed. As if I care. Some of us arent sosoft that we fear a night or two on the floor, you know. Come

on, Great Aunt H., come and see myroom.

Whereupon I tugged Great Aunt Harriet across the

landing to the room at the right at the top of the stairs my

room!

I watched Great Aunt Harriet survey it carefully. Hersharp eyes took in the pretty lemon and green wallpaper, the

daffodil yellow carpet, the long row of wooden bookshelves,

and the wooden window seat.

The window seat was one of the best things about the

room, I thought. It had little wooden doors beneath that

opened to reveal hidden cupboards, just perfect for stowing

secrets and treasures and little bits and bobs in.

Great Aunt Harriet nodded approvingly.

Very nice, she said. Pretty, but not too pink.

It isnt pink at all! I protested.

I have hated pink ever since the age of four, as G. A.

Harriet knows only too well (obviously, being a girl, when Iwas three it was my very favourite colour).

Are you sure? she questioned now. What about the

curtains? They look a bit pinkish to me.

Together, we inspected the flowery curtains in silence.

Only the rosebuds, I said finally, and theyre so tiny

they dont count.

Right, agreed my Great Aunt. In that case, its a

perfect room.


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I grinned at her happily and dragged her over to the

window.

You havent seen the best thing yet, though, I told her.Look!

I pointed at the paddock and the stable.

Do you see those? Theyre ours, too. Just imagine, Great

Aunt HarrietIll be able to have a pony!

I stared out of the window with bright, shining eyes, full

of happy visions of a ponys head looking longingly over thepaddock rails, waiting for me to come with buckets of feed

and apple and carrot treats.

Great Aunt Harriets reply put an unexpected end to all

of that, however.

You, have a pony? Dont be ridiculous, Millie you

dont know the first thing about ponies, and you cant evenride!

For a moment I was too startled to speak, but then I said

hotly, I most certainly can ride! I can trot, canter, gallop, and

do low jumps. And I know lots about horses, too!

My Great Aunt snorted. I had forgotten just how fierce

and formidable she could be.

You dont call sitting on a riding school hack following

other riding school hacks round and round a fenced arena

riding, do you? And the only thing you know about horses

comes from those ludicrous stories you read, most of which

seem to feature rainbow-coloured ponies that talk and fly

something which doesnt tend to happen in the real world,

you might have noticed.

I looked at her in stunned silence. Great Aunt Harriet

regarded me closely.


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Owning a pony is a serious business, Millie, she said

sternly, and riding is not about sitting on your pony

following other people on their ponies.

Amelias got one, I said sulkily, referring to my cousin

who lived in Wales, and thats all she does.

Amelia is a spoilt brat! retorted my aunt sharply.

Which is precisely what you will be, if you get a pony. Horses

are for horsemen and horsewomen. You, my girl, have a lot to

learn.

And, so saying, Great Aunt Harriet swept out of the

bedroom and down the stairs, leaving me staring at her

retreating back in stunned silence. The minute she was out of

sight, I flung myself down on the floor (there being no bed),

and burst into floods of tears.

There, there, said Mum, some time later, stroking my

hair and passing me a yellow hanky embroidered with rabbits

to wipe my eyes and blow my nose on. Your Great Aunt

didnt mean to upset you.

But she was horrid! I sniffed, sitting up.

I wiped my nose on my sleeve. Mum pulled a face and

waved the hanky at me again.

Sorry, I muttered, taking the hanky and using it to wipe

my sleeve. Honestly, Mum, why did she have to say all those

things? Its just not true that I cant ride! Mrs. Trewithick on

the farm last summer said I had an excellent seat, and Ive

never even fallen off once!

Well, said Mum, its your birthday at the end of nextweek, so well get you sorted out with lessons. After all, Millie,


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its true that you havent been able to ride very regularly up till

now, which is bound to make a difference.

I know, but Im not thatbad, I protested crossly. Andwhat did she mean about me not knowing the first thing

about horses? I know lots of stuff.

Here, I started ticking some of the things I knew off on

my fingers.

I know about the points of the horse, I know the most

common colours, I can name at least fifteen different breedshonestly, how dare she say

Thats enough, said Mum, firmly. She held up her hand

in warning. I dont want to hear you talk about your Aunt

like that. Now, come and have some supper, then its sleep

time. We have a lot to do tomorrow.

When Mum gets stern, its time to stop. I got up andfollowed her obediently downstairs. Besides, I had suddenly

realised that I was, in fact, ravenously hungry. After wolfing

down three slices of toast, a bowl of cornflakes and a

raspberry yoghurt, sleep came and sat heavily on my eyelids.

As I snuggled into my sleeping bag on the floor of my

new bedroom, I tried not to think of Great Aunt Harriets

words.

To-whoo, called an owl, through the window.

To-whoo to you, too, I called back, which put a smile

on my face.

I fell asleep in moments, and dreamt not of Great Aunt

Harriet, but of cheeky owls peeking nosily through rosebud

curtains, trying eagerly to find out who the new keepers ofHawthorns were.

horse for hawthorns by tania bramley

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