Ginger Acquires A New Skill

The afternoon and evening passed slowly. The Colonel returned in time for dinner, having been successful in his task. They listened to the radio afterwards, cocooned in the drawing room, the lights low, the firelight flickering on the ancient panelling. The mellow tones of Alvar Liddell announced the news. The war in the Atlantic seemed to have turned the tide; there was encouraging news about the convoys and the bombing raids on Hamburg were being continued. Cub remarked that there could not be much left to bomb by now, but Ginger knew it was not as easy as people thought to make sure the bombs landed in the right place, from high altitude at night. He thought of the civilian casualties and felt sad. No-one was immune from death and destruction in these days, he mused. The bitterness of Jeanette's death was easing as time passed, but he still felt a deep sense of loss. War was a dirty business, he reflected. At least flying warplanes was relatively clean. It imparted a sense of distance from the distasteful act of taking another's life. Suddenly a vision of Schultz's battered body flashed before his eyes and he felt sick. His revulsion must have shown on his face because Cub anxiously asked him if he was alright. He swallowed hard and nodded.

"Just remembered something awful," he gulped, taking a deep breath, "it will pass."

Cub asked no questions, aware of Jeanette's death, which, although Ginger had dealt with it matter-of-factly over dinner, he intuitively sensed had affected his friend deeply, and attributing Ginger's reaction to the talk of bombing, which he surmised had brought the memories flooding back. Cub knew nothing of Ginger's hidden secret; he had been unable to bring himself to talk about the Schultz incident, still horrified at the depths he had been prepared to plumb to defend Biggles.

With no dinner guests, Cub and his father retired early and Ginger followed their example. Although he looked out of the window before turning in, there was no repetition of the previous night's incident, so Ginger went to bed, only to toss and turn restlessly, pursuing elusive sleep amid haunting memories.

He must have slept eventually, but when Cub awoke him with an early morning cup of tea the following day, Ginger still felt tired and far from rested. To his annoyance he found that his arm was sore, the infection clearly still lingering on despite the doctor's assurances that it was almost completely gone.

After breakfast, Cub offered to show him around the farm, remarking that with the Home Guard patrolling the marshes, they did not want to be seen to be interfering or get in the way. Farming was a new experience to Ginger, who, although he had been born in a rural village, came from an area where mining, not agriculture, was the main employer.

When they went into the stables, Ginger was immediately struck by the smell of hay and warm horses. There was a line of loose boxes which housed the hunters and in the distance, he could see the stalls where the farm horses rested after their work. The chestnut mare who had been harnessed to the dog cart moved to the back of her box at his approach, her ears flat back, but the horse in the adjoining stable poked her nose to the bars, as if inviting a stroke.

"Go ahead," smiled Cub, as Ginger hesitated. "She won't bite. I can't say the same for Firefly, though," he added, indicating the chestnut. "Even I have to be careful with her. The only one she'll really tolerate is the Guv'nor." He laughed. "She wouldn't dare play up for him. Fancy a ride?" he asked idly.

Ginger was taken aback. He looked at Firefly and Cub laughed again. "Not on her, you ninny," he said, amused. "On the one you're stroking. Kara is a patent safety. She'll look after you through thick and thin. She's a Welsh crossed with a thoroughbred. Nice paces and plenty of common sense. At eighteen, she's seen everything and done everything."

Ginger was surprised at her age, but Cub assured him that with care and consideration, horses could continue working into their twenties and that it was better for them to keep active. He had to admit he was tempted. The mare nuzzled his hand as if in encouragement. With a great deal of trepidation, because his only experience with equines to date had been riding mules and the donkey, Lucille, he accepted Cub's offer.

Cub's face lit up and enthusiastically he dragged Ginger back to the house to find him some suitable riding clothes. Back at the stables in a pair of Cub's old jodhpurs and boots, Ginger was beginning to have second thoughts, but Cub would have none of it. They went into the tack room and Ginger saw the most bewildering array of bridles, saddles, girths and harness, all neatly arranged around the walls on specially designed fittings.

From a rack labelled 'Kara', Cub took down a bridle and saddle. With the bridle over his shoulder and the saddle over his arm, he led Ginger through to the loose box and showed him how to tack up. The mare was most co-operative, to Ginger's surprise. She even put her head down for Cub to slip the bridle over her ears. Cub clipped a lead rein to the bit.

At Cub's instruction, Ginger opened the loose box door wide and the mare was led out into the yard. He marvelled at the way Cub manoeuvred the, to him, enormous animal along the narrow corridor and through the door to outside.

In the bright sunlight, Cub led the mare to the mounting block, scattering the brightly coloured hens that were noisily scratching for grains on the floor. He tightened the girth, ran the stirrups down and asked Ginger to hold one against the length of his arm. Puzzled, Ginger complied and Cub shortened the leather by several holes, doing the same on the other side. At Ginger's enquiring look, he explained that the length of a person's arm gave a rough guide to the length of leg when on horseback. It made life easier, Cub explained, if the stirrups were more or less right before one got on, to avoid having to fiddle around.

Ginger agreed wholeheartedly. Now the moment of truth had arrived, he was not at all sure he wanted to go ahead after all and certainly he did not want to be fiddling around. It was only the thought of confessing his cowardice to Cub that made him follow the instructions and swing himself into the saddle.

Cub made some minor adjustments to Ginger's leg position and showed him how to hold the reins. The mare had stood rock still throughout, much to Ginger's relief.

"Remember to sit up," admonished Cub. "I'm going to lead her around the yard."

The mare's first steps were a pleasant revelation to Ginger and a broad smile spread across his face. As soon as Cub saw that, he knew Ginger was hooked and that riding would be a regular feature of his stay. The first lesson was short, just enough to give a taste, because, as Cub sensibly remarked, there was plenty of time and there was no point in overdoing things.

The mare was taken back to her box and Ginger helped Cub clean the tack. Once the bridle had been dismantled, Ginger wondered how the jumble of pieces would ever be put back together again, but Cub managed it in minutes.

After a quick tour around the rest of the farm they went in to lunch to find the Colonel fuming over a letter. It turned out that the invitation to women to join the Home Guard had been taken up by the wife of one of the local shopkeepers and the Colonel was not at all pleased by this tentative step towards equality.

The Colonel continued to mutter his displeasure throughout the meal, averring that women had no business pretending to be men. Ginger thought that it would be no wonder if the rumours he had heard of Worral's sarcasm and prickliness were true, if her superiors subjected her to a similar bombardment. His own view was that everyone had a part to play in winning the war, but he was wise enough to keep his opinions to himself.