IN THE EUPHORIC days that followed our reunion, the nightmare I had lived through seemed to fade into unreality, and the war itself was suddenly a million miles away and of no consequence. At last there were no guns to be heard, and the only vivid reminder that suffering and conflict was still going on were the regular arrivals of the veterinary wagons from the front.
Major Martin cleaned my wound and stitched it up; and though at first I could still put little weight on it, I felt in myself stronger with every day that passed. Albert was with me again, and that in itself was medicine enough; but properly fed once more with warm
mash each morning and a never ending supply of sweet-scented hay, my recovery seemed only a matter of time. Albert, like the other veterinary orderlies, had many other horses to care for, but he would spend every spare minute he could find fussing over me in the stable. To the other soldiers I was something of a celebrity, so I was scarcely ever left alone in my stable. There always seemed to be one or two faces looking admiringly over my door. Even old Thunder, as they called the sergeant, would inspect me over zealously, and when the others were not about he would fondle my ears and tickle me under my throat saying, ‘Quite a boy, aren’t you? Thundering fine horse if ever I saw one. You get better now, d’you hear?’
But time passed and I did not get better. One morning I found myself quite unable to finish my mash and every sharp sound, like the kick of a bucket or the rattle of the bolt on the stable door, seemed to set me on edge and made me suddenly tense from head to tail. My forelegs in particular would not work as they should. They were stiff and tired, and I felt a great weight of pain all along my spine, creeping into my neck and even my face.
Albert noticed something was wrong when he saw
the mash I had left in my bucket. ‘What’s the matter with you, Joey?’ he said anxiously, and he reached out his hand to stroke me in the way he often did when he was concerned. Even the sight of his hand coming towards me, normally a welcome sign of affection, struck an alarm in me, and I backed away from him into the corner of the stable. As I did so I found that the stiffness in my front legs would hardly allow me to move. I stumbled backwards, falling against the brick wall at the back of the stable, and leaning there heavily. ‘I thought something was wrong yesterday,’ said Albert, standing still now in the middle of the stable. ‘Thought you were a bit off colour then. Your back’s as stiff as a board and you’re covered in sweat. What the divil have you been up to, you old silly?’ He moved slowly now towards me and although his touch still sent an irrational tremor of fear through me, I stood my ground and allowed him to stroke me. ‘P’raps it was something you picked up on your travels. P’raps you ate something poisonous, is that it? But then that would have shown itself before now, surely? You’ll be fine, Joey, but I’ll go and fetch Major Martin just in case. He’ll look you over and if there’s anything wrong put you right “quick as a twick”, as my father used to
say. Wonder what he would think now if he could see us together? He never believed I’d find you either, said I was a fool to go. Said it was a fool’s errand and that I’d likely get myself killed in the process. But he was a different man, Joey, after you left. He knew he’d done wrong, and that seemed to take all the nastiness out of him. He seemed to live only to make up for what he’d done. He stopped his Tuesday drinking sessions, looked after Mother as he used to do when I was little, and he even began to treat me right – didn’t treat me like a workhorse any more.’
I knew from the soft tone of his voice that he was trying to calm me, as he had done all those long years ago when I was a wild and frightened colt. Then his words had soothed me, but now I could not stop myself from trembling. Every nerve in my body seemed to be taut and I was breathing heavily. Every fibre of me was consumed by a totally inexplicable sense of fear and dread. ‘I’ll be back in a minute, Joey,’ he said. ‘Don’t you worry. You’ll be all right. Major Martin will fix you – he’s a miracle with horses is that man.’ And he backed away from me and went out.
It was not long before he was back again with his friend, David, with Major Martin and Sergeant
Thunder; but only Major Martin came inside the stable to examine me. The others leaned over the stable-door and watched. He approached me cautiously, crouching down by my foreleg to examine my wound. Then he ran his hands all over me from my ears, down my back to my tail, before standing back to survey me from the other side of the stable. He was shaking his head ruefully as he turned to speak to the others.
‘What do you think, Sergeant?’ he asked.
‘Same as you, from the look of ’im, sir,’ said Sergeant Thunder. “E’s standing there like a block of wood; tail stuck out, can’t ’ardly move his head. Not much doubt about it, is there sir?’
‘None,’ said Major Martin. ‘None whatsoever. We’ve had a lot of it out here. If it isn’t confounded rusty barbed wire, then it’s shrapnel wounds. One little fragment left inside, one cut – that’s all it takes. I’ve seen it time and again. I’m sorry my lad,’ the major said, putting his hand on Albert’s shoulder to console him. ‘I know how much this horse means to you. But there’s precious little we can do for him, not in his condition.’
‘What do you mean, sir?’ Albert asked, a tremor in his voice. ‘How do you mean, sir? What’s the matter
with him, sir? Can’t be a lot wrong, can there? He was right as rain yesterday, ’cept he wasn’t finishing his feed. Little stiff p’raps but otherwise right as rain he was.’
‘It’s tetanus, son,’ said Sergeant Thunder. ‘Lock-jaw they calls it. It’s written all over ’im. That wound of ’is must have festered afore we got ’im ’ere. And once an ’orse ’as tetanus there’s very little chance, very little indeed.’
‘Best to end it quickly,’ Major Martin said. ‘No point in an animal suffering. Better for him, and better for you.’
‘No, sir,’ Albert protested, still incredulous. ‘No you can’t, sir. Not with Joey. We must try something. There must be something you can do. You can’t just give up, sir. You can’t. Not with Joey.’
David spoke up now in support. ‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ he said. ‘But I remembers you telling us when we first come here that a horse’s life is p’raps even more important than a man’s, ’cos an horse hasn’t got no evil in him ’cepting any that’s put there by men. I remembers you saying that our job in the veterinary corps was to work night and day, twenty-six hours a day if need be to save and help every horse that we could, that every horse was valuable in hisself and
valuable to the war effort. No horse, no guns. No horse, no ammunition. No horse, no cavalry. No horse, no ambulances. No horse, no water for the troops at the front. Lifeline of the whole army, you said, sir. We must never give up, you said, ’cos where there’s life there’s still hope. That’s all what you said, sir, begging your pardon, sir.’
‘You watch your lip, son,’ said Sergeant Thunder sharply. ‘That’s no way to speak to an officer. If the major ’ere thought there was a chance in a million of savin’ this poor animal, ’e’d have a crack at it, wouldn’t you sir? Isn’t that right, sir?’
Major Martin looked hard at Sergeant Thunder, taking his meaning, and then nodded slowly. ‘All right, Sergeant. You made your point. Of course there’s a chance,’ he said carefully. ‘But if once we start with a case of tetanus, then it’s a full-time job for one man for a month or more, and even then the horse has hardly more than one chance in a thousand, if that.’
‘Please sir,’ Albert pleaded. ‘Please sir. I’ll do it all, sir, and I’ll fit in my other horses too, sir. Honest I would, sir.’
‘And I’ll help him, sir,’ David said. ‘All the lads will. I know they will. You see sir, that Joey’s a bit special for
everyone here, what with his being Berty’s own horse back home an all.’
‘That’s the spirit, son,’ said Sergeant Thunder. ‘And it’s true, sir, there is something a bit special about this one, you know, after all he’s been through. With your permission sir, I think we ought to give ’im that chance. You ’ave my personal guarantee sir that no other ’orse will be neglected. Stables will be run shipshape and Bristol fashion, like always.’
Major Martin put his hands on the stable door. ‘Right, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘You’re on. I like a challenge as well as the next man. I want a sling rigged up in here. This horse must not be allowed to get off his legs. Once he’s down he’ll never get up again. I want a note added to standing orders, Sergeant, that no one’s to talk in anything but a whisper in this yard. He won’t like any noise, not with tetanus. I want a bed of short, clean straw – and fresh every day. I want the windows covered over so that he’s kept always in the dark. He’s not to be fed any hay – he could choke on it – just milk and oatmeal gruel. And it’s going to get worse before it gets better – if it does. You’ll find his mouth will lock tighter as the days go by, but he must go on feeding and he must drink. If he doesn’t then he’ll die. I want a
twenty-four-hour watch on this horse – that means a man posted in here all day and every day. Clear?’
‘Yes, sir,’ said Sergeant Thunder, smiling broadly under his moustache. ‘And if I may say so, sir, I think you’ve made a very wise decision. I’ll see to it, sir. Now, look lively you two layabouts. You heard what the officer said.’
That same day a sling was strung up around me and my weight supported from the beams above. Major Martin opened up my wound again, cleaned and cauterized it. He returned every few hours after that to examine me. It was Albert of course who stayed with me most of the time, holding up the bucket to my mouth so that I could suck in the warm milk or gruel. At nights David and he slept side by side in the corner of the stable, taking turns to watch me.
As I had come to expect, and as I needed, Albert talked to me all he could to comfort me, until sheer fatigue drove him back into his corner to sleep. He talked much of his father and mother and about the farm. He talked of a girl he had been seeing up in the village for the few months before he left for France. She didn’t know anything about horses, he said, but that was her only fault.
The days passed slowly and painfully for me. The stiffness in my front legs spread to my back and intensified; my appetite was becoming more limited each day and I could scarcely summon the energy or enthusiasm to suck in the food I knew I needed to stay alive. In the darkest days of my illness, when I felt sure each day might be my last, only Alberts constant presence kept alive in me the will to live. His devotion, his unwavering faith that I would indeed recover, gave me the heart to go on. All around me I had friends, David and all the veterinary orderlies, Sergeant Thunder and Major Martin – they were all a source of great encouragement to me. I knew how desperately they were willing me to live; although I often wondered whether they wanted it for me or for Albert for I knew they held him in such high esteem. But on reflection I think perhaps they cared for both of us as if we were their brothers.
Then one winter’s night after long painful weeks in the sling, I felt a sudden looseness in my throat and neck, so much so that I could call out, albeit softly for the first time. Albert was sitting in the corner of the stable as usual with his back against the wall, his knees drawn up and his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes were closed, so I nickered again softly, but it was loud
enough to wake him. ‘Was that you, Joey?’ he asked, pulling himself to his feet. ‘Was that you, you old silly? Do it again, Joey. I might have been dreaming. Do it again.’ So I did and in so doing I lifted my head for the first time in weeks and shook it. David heard it too and was on his feet and shouting over the stable door for everyone to come. Within minutes the stable was full of excited soldiers. Sergeant Thunder pushed his way through and stood before me. ‘Standing orders says whisper,’ he said. ‘And that was no thundering whisper I heard. What’s up? What’s all the ’ullabaloo?’
‘He moved, Sarge,’ Albert said. ‘His head moved easily and he neighed.’
‘’Course ’e did, son,’ said Sergeant Thunder. ‘’Course ’e did. ’E’s going to make it. Like I said he would. I always told you ’e would, didn’t I? And ’ave any of you layabouts ever known me to be wrong? Well, ’ave you?’
‘Never, Sarge,’ said Albert, grinning from ear to ear. ‘He is getting better, isn’t he Sarge? I’m not just imagining it, am I?’
‘No, son,’ said Sergeant Thunder. ‘Your Joey is going to be all right by the looks of ’im, long as we keeps ’im quiet and so long as we don’t rush ’im. I just ’opes that
if I’m ever poorly I ’ave nurses around me that looks after me like you lot ’ave this ’orse. One thing, though, looking at you, I’d like them to be an ’ole lot prettier!’
Shortly after I found my legs again and then the stiffness left my back for ever. They took me out of the sling and walked me one spring morning out into the sunshine of the cobbled yard. It was a triumphant parade, with Albert leading me carefully walking backwards and talking to me all the while. ‘You’ve done it, Joey. You’ve done it. Everyone says the war’s going to be over quite soon – I know we’ve been saying that for a long time, but I feel it in my bones this time. It’ll be finished before long and then we’ll both be going home, back to the farm. I can’t wait to see the look on Father’s face when I bring you back up the lane. I just can’t wait.’
BUT THE WAR did not end. Instead it seemed to move ever closer to us, and we heard once again the ominous rumble of gunfire. My convalescence was almost over now, and although still weak from my illness, I was already being used for light work around the veterinary hospital. I worked in a team of two, hauling hay and feed from the nearest station or pulling the dung cart around the yard. I felt fresh and eager for work once more. My legs and shoulders filled out and as the weeks passed I found I was able to work longer hours in harness. Sergeant Thunder had detailed Albert to be with me whenever I was working so that we were scarcely ever apart. But from time to
time though Albert, like all the veterinary orderlies would be despatched to the front with the veterinary wagon to bring back the latest horse casualties, and then I would pine and fret, my head over the stable-door, until I heard the echoing rumble of the wheels on the cobbles and saw his cheery wave as he came in under the archway and into the yard.
In time I too went back to the war, back to the front line, back to the whine and roar of the shells that I had hoped I had left behind me for ever. Fully recovered now and the pride of Major Martin and his veterinary unit, I was often used as the lead horse in the tandem team that hauled the veterinary wagon back and forth to the front. But Albert was always with me and so I was never afraid of the guns any more. Like Topthorn before him, he seemed to sense that I needed a continual reminder that he was with me and protecting me. His soft gentle voice, his songs and his whistling tunes held me steady as the shells came down.
All the way there and back he would be talking to me to reassure me. Sometimes it would be of the war. ‘David says Jerry is about finished, shot his bolt,’ he said one humming summer’s day as we passed line upon line of infantry and cavalry going up to the front
line. We were carrying an exhausted grey mare, a water carrier that had been rescued from the mud at the front. ‘Fair knocked us for six, he did, further up the line they say. But David says that that was their last gasp, that once those Yankees find their fighting legs and if we stand firm, then it could all be over by Christmas. I hope he’s right, Joey. He usually is – got a lot of respect for what David says – everyone has.’
And sometimes he would talk of home and of his girl up in the village. ‘Maisie Cobbledick she’s called, Joey. Works in the milking parlour up Anstey’s farm. And she bakes bread. Oh Joey, she bakes bread like you’ve never tasted before and even Mother says her pasties are the tastiest in the parish. Father says she’s too good for me, but he doesn’t mean it. He says it to please me. And she’s got eyes, eyes as blue as cornflowers, hair as gold as ripe corn, and her skin smells like honeysuckle – ’cept when she first comes out of the dairy. I keep well away from her then. I’ve told her all about you, Joey. And she was the only one, the only one mind, that said I was right to come over here and find you. She didn’t want me to go. Don’t think that. Cried her heart out at the station when I left, so she must love me a little, mustn’t she? Come on, you silly you, say
something. That’s the only thing I’ve got against you, Joey, you’re the best listener I’ve ever known, but I never know what the divil you’re thinking. You just blink your eyes and waggle those ears of yours from east to west and south to north. I wish you could talk, Joey, I really do.’
Then one evening there was terrible news from the front, news that Albert’s friend, David, had been killed, along with the two horses that were hauling the veterinary wagon that day. ‘A stray shell,’ Albert told me as he brought in the straw for my stable. ‘That’s what they said it was – one stray shell out of nowhere and he’s gone. I shall miss him, Joey. We shall both miss him won’t we?’ And he sat down in the straw in the corner of the stable. ‘You know what he was, Joey, before the war? He had a fruit cart in London, outside Covent Garden. Thought the world of you, Joey. Told me so often enough. And he looked after me, Joey. Like a brother he was to me. Twenty years old. He’d his whole life ahead of him. All wasted now ’cos of one stray shell. He always told me, Joey. He’d say, “At least if I goes there’ll be no one that’ll miss me. Only me cart – and I can’t take that with me, more’s the pity.” He was proud of his cart, showed me a photo of himself
once stood by it. All painted it was and piled high with fruit and him standing there with a smile like a banana spread all across his face.’ He looked up at me and brushed the tears from his cheeks. He spoke now through gritted teeth. ‘There’s just you and me left now, Joey, and I tell you we’re going to get home, both of us. I’m going to ring that tenor bell again in the Church, I’m going to eat my Maisie’s bread and pasties and I’m going to ride you down by the river again. David always said he was somehow sure that I’d get home, and he was right. I’m going to make him right.’
When the end of the war did come, it came swiftly, almost unexpectedly it seemed to the men around me. There was little joy, little celebration of victory, only a sense of profound relief that at last it was finished and done with. Albert left the happy cluster of men gathered together in the yard that cold November morning and strolled over to talk to me. ‘Five minutes time and it’ll be finished, Joey, all over. Jerry’s had about enough of it, and so have we. No one really wants to go on any more. At eleven o’clock the guns will stop and then that will be that. Only wish that David could have been here to see it.’
Since David’s death Albert had not been himself. I
had not once seen him smile or joke, and he often fell into prolonged brooding silences when he was with me. There was no more singing, no more whistling. I tried all that I could to comfort him, resting my head on his shoulder and nickering gently to him, but he seemed quite inconsolable. Even the news that the war was finally ending brought no light back to his eyes. The bell in the clock tower over the gateway rang out eleven times, and the men shook each other solemnly by the hand or clapped each other on the back before returning to the stables.
The fruits of victory were to prove bitter indeed for me, but to begin with the end of the war changed little. The veterinary hospital operated as it always had done, and the flow of sick and injured horses seemed rather to increase than to diminish. From the yard gate we saw the unending columns of fighting men marching jauntily back to the railway stations, and we looked on as the tanks and guns and wagons rolled by on their way home. But we were left where we were. Like the other men, Albert was becoming impatient. Like them he wanted only to get back home as quickly as possible.
Morning parade took place as usual every morning in the centre of the cobbled yard, followed by Major
Martin’s inspection of the horses and stables. But one dreary, drizzling morning, with the wet cobbles shining grey in the early morning light, Major Martin did not inspect the stables as usual. Sergeant Thunder stood the men at ease and Major Martin announced the re-embarkation plans for the unit. He was finishing his short speech; ‘So we shall be at Victoria station by six o’clock on Saturday evening – with any luck. Chances are you’ll all be home by Christmas.’
‘Permission to speak, sir?’ Sergeant Thunder ventured.
‘Carry on, Sergeant.’
‘It’s about the ’orses, sir,’ Sergeant Thunder said. ‘I think the men would like to know what’s going to ’appen with the ’orses. Will they be with us on the same ship, sir? Or will they be coming along later?’
Major Martin shifted his feet and looked down at his boots. He spoke softly as if he did not want to be heard. ‘No, Sergeant,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid the horses won’t be coming with us at all.’ There was an audible muttering of protest from the parading soldiers.
‘You mean, sir,’ said the Sergeant. ‘You mean that they’ll be coming on on a later ship?’
‘No, Sergeant,’ said the Major, slapping his side with his swagger stick, ‘I don’t mean that. I mean exactly
what I said. I mean they will not be coming with us at all. The horses will be staying in France.’
‘’Ere, sir?’ said the sergeant. ‘But ’ow can they sir? Who’ll be looking after them? We’ve got cases ’ere that need attention all day and every day.’
The major nodded, his eyes still looking at the ground. ‘You’ll not like what I have to tell you,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid a decision has been taken to sell off many of the army’s horses here in France. All the horses we have here are either sick or have been sick. It’s not considered worthwhile to transport them back home. My orders are to hold a horse sale here in this court-yard tomorrow morning. A notice has been posted in neighbouring towns to that effect. They are to be sold by auction.’
‘Auctioned off, sir? Our ’orses to be put under the ’ammer, after all they’ve been through?’ The sergeant spoke politely, but only just. ‘But you know what that means, sir? You know what will ’appen?’
‘Yes, Sergeant,’ said Major Martin. ‘I know what will happen to them. But there’s nothing anyone can do. We’re in the army, Sergeant, and I don’t have to remind you that orders are orders.’
‘But you know what they’ll go for,’ said Sergeant
Thunder, barely disguising the disgust in his voice. ‘There’s thousands of our ’orses out ’ere in France, sir. War veterans they are. D’you mean to say that after all they’ve been through, after all we’ve done lookin’ after ’em, after all you’ve done, sir – that they’re to end up like that? I can’t believe they mean it, sir.’
‘Well, I’m afraid they do,’ said the major stiffly. ‘Some of them may end up as you suggest – I can’t deny it, Sergeant. You’ve every right to be indignant, every right. I’m not too happy about it myself, as you can imagine. But by tomorrow most of these horses will have been sold off, and we shall be moving out ourselves the day after. And you know, Sergeant, and I know, there’s not a blind thing I can do about it.’
Albert’s voice rang out across the yard. ‘What, all of them, sir? Every one of them? Even Joey that we brought back from the dead? Even him?’
Major Martin said nothing, but turned on his heel and walked away.