Well, Thelwell’s certainly full of these caricatures, and the frankly terrifying Saddle Club series from the 90s scared any competitive edge out of my horse-mad tween self, but pony books from the 40s through to the 60s are wonderful, which was why it was so nice to find a couple hanging around my parents’ house.

As a child, Pink Pony was one of my favourites, up there with St Clare’s and Malory Towers as a totem of a childhood that was far removed from my own suburban London life. Half-French October (brilliant name) spies a beautiful strawberry roan foal in a field one day. Her parents have promised her a horse of her own and she talks them into letting her own it and break her in herself. Bearing, in mind she’s barely 12 when this pony appears, what 12-year-old do you know who could a) commit do that sort of challenge and b) what parents now would let her? Let alone having a pony in the first place, bloody expensive things that they are.

Coming back to this book after 15 years, what struck me was how unflappable the prose is. There’s no breathless gosh or cripesing. Children are treated as children, but they’re given responsibilities. October’s pony – Southern Cross – has a brother who is bought by a rival rider and whose initially gentle temperament is completely ruined by harsh treatment. Despite having a rocking name and being bilingual, October and her half-Italian best friend are treated as outcasts by the school’s popular set until a nasty accident wins them sympathy.

I bought this copy of Pink Pony from the wonderful Jane Badger shop, a one-man online operation specialising in selling old books at extremely good prices. I’ve picked up a number of old Armada favourites here and it’s well worth a look. Pony books are a great read, calming and nostalgic without ever letting fantasy overtake the realities of money and they make responsibility something to aspire to.

No related posts.