It seemed like the perfect escape from a mundane life of farm work and labour. In the posters and propaganda it seemed so glorious, galloping full speed towards the enemy, proudly dressed in your country's uniform, bayonet outstretched astride a powerful horse. A short, noble and exciting endeavour that would result in freedom for your country.
The truth was, it was anything but.
It seemed so long ago that my mate John suggested we sign up. For a lad of 17, it seemed like the perfect escape from a mundane existence of fixing fences, carting hay and tending fields. Johnno and I signed up together, faking our birthdays and lowering our voices, creating an illusion that we were older. Not that the officials really bothered. The army was hungry for men and horses. Just a few weeks ago they came around to every farm, business and household. The rules were passed that everybody had to give up their horses, colts and fillies. The younger ones taken to be trained, whilst Clydesdales and Shires were enlisted to cart supplies and mobile medical hospitals. If you could call a wooden cart with a thin stretcher, dirty syringes and bloody bandages a hospital. My family lost all three of our work horses, with only a small amount of money given to us to substitute for the loss. It barely covered the cost of one small meal. The army acquired 140,000 horses in two weeks.
We were sent to the remount centre, where we were trained, along with many of the horses. Johnno and I had a great time laughing at the city boys who had never even sat on a horse before, attempting to ride without saddles and stirrups. The Sergeant would scream every time someone fell off "Who the flaming hell told you to dismount!"
Although, those happy, carefree days were short lived.
We were paired with our horses finally. Johnno was given a huge Chestnut, whom of which had a touch of thoroughbred in him. Sergeant walked up to me leading a liver brown horse, tugging at the reins. "William, this is your horse. He is slightly green, so I expect you to train him up. Now, all of you, move out!" He bellowed in his gruff voice intended to scare us into submission.
Later I found out that my 'slightly green' horse was actually in need of much more than a 'little' training.
Along the road to fight the Germans I trained him, even gave him a nickname. Tyrant. It suited him perfectly, he was always making a fuss and demanded attention, as if he ruled the world. Tyrant was also a nuisance at times, and flirted shamelessly with every single mare in our troupe. It was absolutely ridiculous. One mare nicknamed Sally he took a particular liking to, yet he got what he deserved when the feisty mare kicked him right between the eyes when he had his head lowered. The only thing Tyrant walked away with was a bruise on his face and a blow to his pride.
His attitude was also extended to me. Peter came up to me flanked by Johnno, and raised his eyes and the ugly bite mark I had on my forearm.
"What in the world happened to your hand?" Peter asked, staring at the mark.
Smiling at them I smiled, "Tyrant got frustrated with me when I didn't bring him his oats on a silver platter with a mug of beer"
As the sun slipped below the horizon, Johnno and I settled into our tents. "Hey Will, do you ever think we may see some action"
Staring up into the stars, I thoughtfully replied "I dunno. They said the war was only going to last a few months, and we have come pretty late. Perhaps we won't"
"Well if we don't, we are going to have to make up a few war stories for the girls back home" He gruffly replied.
I rolled over chuckling, "because as that poster said back on our farm fence, every girl loves a soldier"
That very night though, our lives were to be changed.
A bright light infiltrated my dreams, coupled with screaming of both horses and people. A nightmare I thought, I hadn't had one since I was six. The sounds got louder, and an alarm sirened throughout the camp.
This was no dream, but a living nightmare.
Johnno and I took one look at each other and leapt out of our tent, only to be greeted with the very real sight of bolting horses, spurred on by fear. Men snapping in their bayonets and taking cover, and shells exploding at our feet.
Anger filled me and ran through my veins, how dare they come and kill our horses, our mates, our friends. How dare they be so cowardly as to attack in the middle of night when we have no cover.
Grabbing my rifle I whirled around to see Tyrant galloping towards me, his lead rope swinging dangerously between his legs then coming up and flicking him on the rump, only to make him run faster. At the sight of me he stopped dead, shaking with fear beside me.
With no time I started to look for Johnno, firing bullets towards the darkness where our enemy was firing. Last I saw of him he was headed for the yards where we had tied up all our horses, I knew that's where he would go. He considered horses family, and often put their life above his own. With Tyrant by my side he shielded me from the bullets. I felt one Knick my ear, preceded by the feeling of hot blood running down my neck. Pain exploded in my leg, though I pushed it to the side of my mind, focussed on finding Johnno.
No time I thought
No time
Suddenly I tripped over something, looking back with a sick feeling I realised it was a body. The familiar uniform of one of our troupe sickened me with dread. I looked into the eyes of my best friend. The boy that had played soldiers with me when we were six years old, the friend who had beaten up the bullies who pestered me, and the friend who always had my back.
"Johnno" I whispered.
Cupping his face in my hands I was frozen. Despite the shells that exploded around us I could not move. I was paralysed.
His eyes reflected the last few seconds of fear, forever frozen in the fire.
I closed his eyes, and he almost looked peaceful.
Black spots clouded my vision and a whirling sense of nausea overcame me as I slipped into unconsciousness.
~~~~~~~
Pain ricocheted throughout my body, as the harsh light of the sun pierced through my cracking eyelids. I felt something warn beside me, shuddering at the thought it was another body. I looked up to see Tyrant lying beside me, lifting his head to look at me.
That horse shielded me all night.
Looking over at the exposed shoulder I counted one, two bullets.
Two bullets that should have killed me, but Tyrant took them for me. With tears in my eyes I lifted my arms around his neck and whispered into his mane,
"Thankyou"
Tyrant slowly stood on shaky legs and tender shoulder, pulling me up with him. Men all around us were moaning in pain from gunshot wounds, and the bodies of both horse and soldier scattered the ground.
I saw the mare from earlier standing over her rider's body, her head low, just touching his face. You could see the grief in her eyes. A similar sight was beside me, as Peter held the head of his horse in his arms. The chestnut's eyes were closed and it almost looked like the horse was sleeping, though he would never wake up.
Tommo rounded the corner, carrying supplies of soiled bandages and tepid water. We had all but ran out of rubbing alcohol, it had mainly been used as a form of anaesthetic. He had been trained as a vet, but the war pushed him to perform medical procedures on both beast and man. He walked over to us, insisting that I let him bandage my leg which had exposed muscle and slowly bleeding. I shook my head, determined that he move onto Tyrant before me. Asking me to keep him still he carefully removed what he could of the pellets embedded in Tyrant's shoulder. My boy merely held his head low and tried his best to hide the pain.
I realise now that it was all a lie. A stupid lie that war is glorious, noble, exciting. We would never win our freedom, nobody can. We come under the influence that killing a fellow human being is somehow right. Though humanity keeps repeating itself. The same mistakes are made, and we forget. We forget the pain and grief war causes.
For if we truly remembered, we would never pull the trigger.
