"We don't get those in Yorkshire" - a whirlwind of a trip to The National Pony Society championships for Jill Thorp

Our trip to Malvern for The National Pony Society championships was full of ups and downs. There were plenty of laughs and some tears of frustration as nerves yet again got the better of the little guy.

Bronze was his usual perfect self and performed like an absolute saint in the evening performance, whilst many of the other ponies found the atmosphere overwhelming.

It was a joy to watch the two of them come trotting past the grandstand under spotlights, the biggest of smiles etched onto John-William’s face.

It was incredibly hot down there and whilst the fields at home have started to green-up thanks to recent spells of rain, the fields at the Three Counties Showground were well and truly burnt away. There wasn’t a single blade of green to be seen, just pale yellow, dead grass.

We didn’t overdo it down there as the ground was like concrete. We did, however, experience something I’ve never seen before.

One of John-William’s favourite jobs at this show is to help build and pack away the two courses that are used for the working hunter pony classes. He isn’t obliged to, but enjoys it and his help is usually much appreciated. As soon as the last pony had jumped round and rosettes were handed out, he was stood with the course builder ready to lend a hand. He’d been happily dragging huge wooden jumps for almost half an hour when I heard a strange noise, followed by gasps and turned to look.

It was a searingly hot day with barely any breeze, but coming straight at us was a swirling, twisting wall of leaves, twigs and dead grass. We were all quite mesmerized by what I presume was a whirlwind, although at the time all I could think was “tornado”!! It grew at an alarming speed, snaking it’s way across the showground, picking up anything in its path. I watched in disbelief as it passed us and tore across the ring, knocking over great heavy jumps, picking some up and spitting them back out.

It was a matter of seconds before it dawned on me that the little guy was in that very ring. I ran forward, shouting his name, pushing past the people shaking their heads in amazement. Relief washed over me as I saw him, arms outstretched, hair flying wildly, his face alight with wonder as the great swirling wall of debris tore past him, oblivious of the danger.

It disappeared as fast as it had appeared, thankfully causing no major damage, just a lot of nervous laughter and shaking heads. I heard plenty of “can you believe what just happened?” and “gosh how lucky there were no ponies still in the ring” but all I could mutter was: “We don’t get those in Yorkshire.”