Pony Club Camp

On my first night at Rockside farm, I was given my full job description. Trekking, tacking, cleaning… these I already knew, but there was one last task which had so far gone unmentioned. Mark and Rohaise (Mr and Mrs.Rockside) looked at one another, hesitating, until it was Mark that cracked and uttered the word “Camp.”  So here was the catch in my contract.

 20 girls between 8 and 14 descending on the farm from Saturday morning until Sunday afternoon was a terrifying prospect, and this weekend it became a terrifying actuality. Luckily Rohaise had the whole thing down to army precision with quick rounds of lessons and treks punctuated with industrial sized portions of cake all of Saturday. It terrified me slightly when one girl asked at our 4.30 break whether they could go to bed yet, “no” I snarled at her through a mouthful of cake, for she had my ‘Mystery hour’ to look forward to.

From 6-7 pm I’d been given the job brief “tire them out.” Instead of the cheery ball-games which I think were insinuated by that brief, I immediately sprung upon the idea of a treasure hunt, recalling a happy day at school spent hiding my friend’s entire shoe collection around the grounds with a riddle in each to find the next one.

It’s fair to say I got a bit carried away with elegiac wording and long distances. A wee hour run around the farm turned into an epic Odyssey, taking them high and low through field and meadow, to the prize at the end attached to Haggis, the Shetland pony, who we hid in the kitchen cupboard. I couldn’t wait to see the joy on their faces at the end. It turned out to be quite hard to make out the joy on their faces through the puce red of their cheeks and cries for water. One girl even retired early from dehydration and exhaustion.
Well, I can’t be blamed for not fulfilling my job brief.

 The rest of the evening was spent unintentionally creating the most awkward pre-teen school-style disco known to man. Everyone stood firmly around the outside of the room with their eyes to the ground while music continued to blare unconcernedly. We quickly re-invented it as games night with such classics as Musical statues and Musical chairs (say hello to Rockside’s champion 2011), before they all trooped off to their tents for midnight feasts and frantic whispering.

The next day followed with more treks and lessons before the biggest event of the Pony Club summer- the fancy dress competition. I cannot stress the tension that hung in the yard as the girls transformed their horses into brides, unicorns and hula girls (yes, really). Those who couldn’t hack the pace broke down into tears, leaving the remaining red Indians, fairies, and I think what was a Hasidic Jew, with a cold look of determination in their eyes. That rosette was theirs and theirs alone.

It was the bride and groom combo that won at the end of that Sunday, though not without the usual accusations of bribery, bias and copying. Victory is a dangerous thing. As the girls headed for home towards the evening we all trooped back to Mark and Rohaise’s for a big jug of Pimm’s and much back-patting. Another year done.