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Since this as a horse racing forum, it seems wholly appropriate on this day that I post this poem by Neil Andrew.... we should never forget the appalling carnage inflicted on these hapless animals, who were slaughtered in their millions.
Yes, I know that the vast majority would not have been racehorses, but they were still sentient beings, and involuntary participants in this gruesome nightmare.
I SPOKE TO YOU IN WHISPERS
By
Neil Andrew
I spoke to you in whispers
As shells made the ground beneath us quake
We both trembled in that crater
A toxic muddy bloody lake
I spoke to you and pulled your ears
To try and quell your fearful eye
As bullets whizzed through the raindrops
And we watched the men around us die
I spoke to you in stable tones
A quiet tranquil voice
At least I volunteered to fight
You didn't get to make the choice
I spoke to you of old times
Perhaps you went before the plough
And pulled the haycart from the meadow
Far from where we're dying now
I spoke to you of grooming
Of when the ploughman made you shine
Not the shrapnel wounds and bleeding flanks
Mane filled with mud and wire and grime
I spoke to you of courage
As gas filled the Flanders air
Watched you struggle in the mud
Harness acting like a snare
I spoke to you of peaceful fields
Grazing beneath a setting sun
Time to rest your torn and tired body
Your working day is done
I spoke to you of promises
If from this maelstrom I survive
By pen and prose and poetry
I'll keep your sacrifice alive
I spoke to you of legacy
For when this hellish time is through
All those who hauled or charged or carried
Will be regarded heroes too
I spoke to you in dulcet tones
Your eye told me you understood
As I squeezed my trigger to bring you peace
The the only way I could
And I spoke to you in whispers......
Yes, I know that the vast majority would not have been racehorses, but they were still sentient beings, and involuntary participants in this gruesome nightmare.
I SPOKE TO YOU IN WHISPERS
By
Neil Andrew
I spoke to you in whispers
As shells made the ground beneath us quake
We both trembled in that crater
A toxic muddy bloody lake
I spoke to you and pulled your ears
To try and quell your fearful eye
As bullets whizzed through the raindrops
And we watched the men around us die
I spoke to you in stable tones
A quiet tranquil voice
At least I volunteered to fight
You didn't get to make the choice
I spoke to you of old times
Perhaps you went before the plough
And pulled the haycart from the meadow
Far from where we're dying now
I spoke to you of grooming
Of when the ploughman made you shine
Not the shrapnel wounds and bleeding flanks
Mane filled with mud and wire and grime
I spoke to you of courage
As gas filled the Flanders air
Watched you struggle in the mud
Harness acting like a snare
I spoke to you of peaceful fields
Grazing beneath a setting sun
Time to rest your torn and tired body
Your working day is done
I spoke to you of promises
If from this maelstrom I survive
By pen and prose and poetry
I'll keep your sacrifice alive
I spoke to you of legacy
For when this hellish time is through
All those who hauled or charged or carried
Will be regarded heroes too
I spoke to you in dulcet tones
Your eye told me you understood
As I squeezed my trigger to bring you peace
The the only way I could
And I spoke to you in whispers......
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Apologies, I forgot I was on Chit Chat ... I will repost on the Horse Racing forum.
There was a good article about this which starts pages 50-51:
https://issuu.com/international_thoroughbred/docs/itb_issuu_june_2014
You have to read this. The British Army had 25,000 horses in 1914 which grew to a staggering 591,000 by 1917.
https://issuu.com/international_thoroughbred/docs/itb_issuu_june_2014
You have to read this. The British Army had 25,000 horses in 1914 which grew to a staggering 591,000 by 1917.
My grandad was in The Indian Cavalry as a teenager during WW1. Thankfully he was too young to be involved at the outbreak, not seeing action until 1917. He never talked about the fighting, but he did share some stories. I always think of him today. He had a good life, liked his food and drink, smoked heavily, loved his cricket, (I have his Ashes mug from 1956, hated the Germans, and dropped down dead having a walk in his 80s, never having suffered from any bad health. I remember he had a sausage dog, that he had stuffed and stuck on his window sill that was right next to the street, so you could see it when you walked past. RIP Frank
Through most of 1917 the five cavalry divisions were quartered behind the front line in little farms and villages. During the nights they were in demand to provide trench digging details for the infantry. On one night in the early summer of 1917 the 6th were so occupied. The men set off, dismounted near the front, leaving their horses picquetted in groups under guard and then proceeded up the communication trenches.
While the men were busy the horse lines were shelled. A piece of shrapnel chanced to sever the tether holding Frank’s charger. This horse named ‘Postbox’, a Waler [Australian] had unusual piebald markings. Frightened by the bang ‘Postbox’ galloped off not to be seen again. Some five or six weeks later Frank was going on leave. He was sitting by the window of a very slow moving train on an embankment. Looking down at a road running alongside he saw ‘Postbox’ amidst a column of British artillery moving up to the front. He got up; ran down the embankment and got hold of his halter saying ‘this is my charger’. The Artillery Sergeant denied it. ‘It had always been a Royal Artillery horse etc etc’. What he did not know was that the horses of Indian Cavalry regiments were all marked on a back hoof. Frank duly lifted ‘Postbox’s’ hind leg and there sure enough were the initials 6C. So he got his mount back and had to delay his home leave and ride ‘Postbox’ back to the regiment."
Through most of 1917 the five cavalry divisions were quartered behind the front line in little farms and villages. During the nights they were in demand to provide trench digging details for the infantry. On one night in the early summer of 1917 the 6th were so occupied. The men set off, dismounted near the front, leaving their horses picquetted in groups under guard and then proceeded up the communication trenches.
While the men were busy the horse lines were shelled. A piece of shrapnel chanced to sever the tether holding Frank’s charger. This horse named ‘Postbox’, a Waler [Australian] had unusual piebald markings. Frightened by the bang ‘Postbox’ galloped off not to be seen again. Some five or six weeks later Frank was going on leave. He was sitting by the window of a very slow moving train on an embankment. Looking down at a road running alongside he saw ‘Postbox’ amidst a column of British artillery moving up to the front. He got up; ran down the embankment and got hold of his halter saying ‘this is my charger’. The Artillery Sergeant denied it. ‘It had always been a Royal Artillery horse etc etc’. What he did not know was that the horses of Indian Cavalry regiments were all marked on a back hoof. Frank duly lifted ‘Postbox’s’ hind leg and there sure enough were the initials 6C. So he got his mount back and had to delay his home leave and ride ‘Postbox’ back to the regiment."
Oh and he had gout. Which seemed to skip everyone else in his/our family apart from me 
BBC programme tonight,in WW1 the ANZACS took 130000 horses to Egypt,not one went home.
One thing I am glad of, we don't use horses in war any more...
WW1 was no place for horses...but unfortunately they were still needed.....the internal combustion engine had not long been invented.
WW1 was no place for horses...but unfortunately they were still needed.....the internal combustion engine had not long been invented.
Gout CLYDEBANK29?
That's completely curable and without using drugs.
Not a lot of people know that.
Or want to know when they discover what the cure is.
But some do and never look back.
That's completely curable and without using drugs.
Not a lot of people know that.
Or want to know when they discover what the cure is.
But some do and never look back.
My grandad was a strapper in WW1 , pulled the gun carriages and supplies to the front. Shoved straight in due to shortages because he had been a horse drawn cabbie and could handle horses,got killed by an incoming shell in 1916 near Ypres. Left 4 kids but the real horror was the road to Hellfire corner was shelled so often they had to race up overnight and just take their chance as the germans dropped random shells on the road.Teams of soldiers lined the road to clear up the mess and used signals to send a new team racing up when they lost a rider and his team.Horror that made War Horse more relevant to me.
Your grandad sounds a bit of a hero treetop
WW1 was carnage for both men and horses...but it distresses me to hear how the horses suffered....
WW1 was carnage for both men and horses...but it distresses me to hear how the horses suffered....
WW1 was just barbaric beyond words. My Grandfather served in the Army as a sergeant and my Mum told me later in life that he came back a shell shocked man and he was never the same person again after that conflict.
Indeed treetop, your Grandad was indeed a hero like mine was, lest we forget.
My Great Uncle Jim was in the North Somerset Yeomanry during WW1. He told me they all fell off their horses when they charged as the horses had lost so much weight that the saddles slipped. He lived til he was 96, a fine gentleman with not an ounce of malice. He would always march proudly on Remembrance Day, until eventually he was the only one left.
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