In Distant Fields (37 page)

‘Horses away, Jossy, horses away.' The Duke nodded his appreciation and Jossy, taking the hint, moved off.

‘Those are my orders, sir,' Dyke insisted, with a sly half-smile. ‘I'm only obeying my orders, sir.'

‘I am sure you are, sir, but no one questions my honour in my stable yard. I have told you – Barrymore Boy is promised to Captain Harrington of the Dragoons.'

‘Can't disobey my orders, sir.'

‘Your Grace!' Jossy muttered as he passed them once more.

‘My horse is going to war under my terms,' John persisted. ‘I don't wish to be paid. The army can take every saddle horse here that is sound enough to do service, but if I say this horse of mine is already spoken for, that is all there is to it.
He goes to Captain Harrington this afternoon, and if you wish for confirmation you may have it in writing. Is that understood?'

‘The beasts must all go—'

‘The
horses
that are not already on loan may be requisitioned.' The Duke turned to Jossy. ‘Be so good as to arrange a parade of horses, please, Mr Jocelyn.'

‘Aye, aye, Your
Grace
.'

The Duke watched as his horses were trotted up, one after another for the wretched Thomas Dyke, who stood with his corporal at his side, writing down sizes, marks and names. The Duke watched with a mixture of pride and heartbreak, proud at the quality and good temperament of the animals, most of which he had bred, and heartbroken at the thought of what lay ahead for creatures used to the best of lives, the kindest of treatments. Where they were bound there would be no great hedges and ditches to leap, no fine turf on which to gallop, no lush pastures in which to doze and graze. Instead, they would be hauling cannon, carrying men with guns, fighting their way through mud, deafened by the pounding noise of huge guns, terrified by the screaming of shells and explosions, fed on poor rations and made to sleep where they could, when not exposed to the winter elements and the never-ending scent of death.

His heart went out to the beautiful animals whose only real desire was to carry their masters for pleasure, pull ploughs and harrows, carts,
carriages and buses for their labours, and finally to graze quietly in good pastures. He tried not to look in their eyes as they were trotted up. He knew that to them it was just another day, a time when they would be groomed, exercised, groomed again, fed, given fresh bedding and water and settled back in their boxes for another evening of equine contemplation, finally to fall asleep in a deep bed of fresh straw.

Doubtless this was the last day they would enjoy such comforts before being transported away from their homes, from a place they had always known to distant hostile environments, where they would become a number rather than a stable name, and where their only task would be to help slaughter innocent people whom politicians called ‘the enemy'. It would be very different country to Bauders country, and it would be a very different form of hunting.

‘These are fine animals, Your Grace,' the corporal, who up to now had remained silent, remarked. ‘Wish we had access to more stock like this.'

‘Kind of you. However, they were not bred for war.'

‘Seen the stuff they sent us from Ireland,' the corporal continued. ‘Had to spin near fifteen per cent of 'em.'

‘You don't say.'

‘You should have seen the state of some of 'em, Your Grace. Barely got off the boat, poor creatures.'

‘Need to see the rest of your stock, sir!' Dyke interrupted them, calling down the yard.

‘Those are my stock, sir.'

‘Draught horses, shires and the like! Oh, and any ponies you may or may not have!'

‘I dare say your children have grown out of their ponies, have they not, Your Grace?' the corporal suggested under his breath. ‘If you get my meaning.'

‘Perfectly, and you happen to be right, in the main, you are right.'

Jossy had been just about to say, ‘We have no ponies,' when Dyke's eyes alighted on Trotty, standing looking over his box, a hay wisp hanging from his mouth, his large intelligent eyes taking in everything that had been happening, knowing, as horses and ponies sometimes sense when the routine of their lives was about to be shattered, that as Jossy would say, ‘summat was up'.

Dyke turned to Tully. who was standing looking as if the earth had opened up under him and he had glimpsed hell.

‘Let's have a look at him then, lad, and quick about it.'

Tully produced Trotty from the pony's box at the end, leading him up at the walk.

‘He'll do us,' Dyke said, with a nod. ‘He's a strong enough sort, and sound. No doubt of that, I'm sure. Lead him up at the trot.'

Tully took hold of Trotty's bridle and began to trot him up.

There was a long silence, which the Duke took care not to break.

‘He's as lame as an old soldier,' Jossy announced, trying to keep the surprise out of his voice.

‘So he is,' the Duke agreed, taking care not to look at Jossy. ‘So he is. What a pity.'

‘Put him away. He's no use to anyone except the meat man,' Dyke announced, turning away.

‘Yes, sir.'

Dyke turned to the Duke.

‘We'll have the manifest with you this after-noon, and the beasts off your hands by morning, payment as agreed.'

‘These horses are on loan, as a gift from me, the Duke of Eden, to the army. They are to return here when their work is done.'

‘I am empowered to procure animals by compulsory purchase.'

‘And as a general, sir, I am empowered to tell you I am gifting them to the army. Is that clear? You do not have to pay a penny for these creatures!'

The Duke turned on his heel and walked off. He had produced his trump card when it was needed.

‘Typical general,' Dyke muttered, remaining unabashed. ‘Changes the rules to suit himself.'

He had hardly finished speaking when Tully led one of the older horses a sight too near him.

‘Be careful, you idiot!' Dyke yelled, clutching his foot. ‘Watch what you're doing!'

‘I'd say it's you what wants to be more careful,' Jossy replied, without apology. ‘You obviously
don't know your way round horses. Get too close to 'em and they're sure to tread on your corns.' He turned back to Tully. ‘Same as what he's doing to other people, wouldn't you say?'

Jossy found his son in Trotty's stable, fixing the pony a fresh hay net.

‘Want us to get the veterinarian, son?' he asked, going to feel the pony's leg. ‘He's hoppin' lame, is our Trotty, and that's plain to see.'

‘Thought you didn't agree with veterinarian, Pa?'

‘I don't, son, but he is well lame, and seeing that—' He picked up the pony's hoof and stared at it, shaking his head. ‘And seeing that—' He stopped. ‘Ee, but that was lucky,' he murmured then, carefully removing a tack from the foot.

‘Lucky, Pa?'

‘Oh, yes, son, lucky.' Jossy straightened up. ‘Lucky that the commissioning office didn't do what I just did. Long as no 'arm's done,' he growled, giving the pony a pat on the neck.

Tully had decided to join up long before the horses were led away from the yard.

‘You don't have to go till you're called, son,' Jossy told him the following evening. ‘From what I heard, army's not looking for recruits right now. They got men enough.'

‘It's not the point, Pa.' Tully searched within himself for a minute to express what he felt. ‘I – I just feel if they've gone, if horses have gone, and
this in't their quarrel, then most I can do is go as well. Maybe I can join a mounted regiment with horses and do my bit that way. Else – I'm just going to be idle here, and with most of my friends volunteering, it just don't seem right to stay behind.'

Jossy could not look at him, could not reply, could not say what he wanted to say – that it was enough that Ben, his younger boy, had gone; it was enough that all the horses – setting aside Trotty and the old carriage horses – had been taken; and now he had to lose Tully.

‘As you wish, son, as you wish. Nothing a parent ever said could stop their children doing what they want, Mother used to say. Not a tear, not a cry, not a pleading, nothing – that's what she used to say. And wasn't she right?' He stood up abruptly.

‘Where are you going, Pa?'

‘Out to Trotty, lad. Out to Trotty. Nowt like burying face in horse's mane to bring a body to rights.'

Bridie knew Tully's mind was made up before he even told her, but she was careful not to let on.

‘We had this letter only this morning, Bridie, from Ben, would you believe? Yes, it's from Ben all right. After all, he's got himself into position to write. Listen to this.

‘We was barely settled down for the night when we hears a shot – so up we all got
thinking it were Jerry, all set to take the horses on. Next we hears – one of ours, and this bloke comes back who'd been sent out on patrol then they forgets about him and take a pot shot at him when they hears him. He was just having a smoke and nearly had his brains blown out. We all didn't half laugh and him too. No idea where we is, so all I can say is wherever we is is a whole lot bigger than England so it is. Exciting too being with all these other blokes and knowing the enemy is over there somewhere about the distance of a stone's throw, someone says. They is so close when we moves the horses up at night we wrap their bits in cloth, stop them clanking like, you knows how they do, sort of noise give you dead away – that's if they're bridled up cos sometimes we just lead them in collars like if we're just moving camp, say. But being on the move all the time means we got to lug all the fodder and forage and all, which in't something we does out hunting like. All we does is lead up second horses so it's hard work, I can tell you. First few nights we slept in barns and sheds like where ever we could but now we getting near the front it in't so easy and last night I sleeped with my two outside and near froze to death, I can tell you.

‘That's it now. All the best to all still there at Bauders. Be home soon, everyone says. I say again all the best to everyone,

‘Our Ben

‘He always puts that,' Tully said with some pride. ‘Always did.'

‘If they're all going to be home soon, no doubt—' Bridie began.

‘Yes, Bridie?' Tully replied, folding the letter back up as carefully as he had unfolded it.

‘I was just thinking that's quite soon,' Bridie finished lamely. ‘Sure that was all I was thinking, Tully.'

‘And so I won't be gone long, Bridie. It's Christmas now – nearly – and so if I join up in the New Year, by the time I'm through training it'll probably all be over.'

Bridie stood up, not looking at him.

‘I don't know what gets into yous all with this war business. You got a good job here, you and your da,
and
your grandda, you all got a lovely cottage so you have – there's no real
need
for you to go and join up yet, but then who am I to stop you? I'm just nobody, somebody who'll just wait for you and pray for you, and light a candle for you and wait till you're back home safe and sound again.'

‘You're dreadful when you do all the mournful stuff, Bridie!' Tully laughed, taking her hand. ‘You're so Irish.'

‘So what do you expect me to be? French? I am Irish, Tully, and that's all there is to it – I can't help what I am.'

‘I love what you are, Bridie. You know that.'

‘So stay at home then.'

‘You wouldn't love me if I did that, Bridie.'

‘And who said anything about me loving you, may I ask?'

‘Got it wrong again, have I?' Tully grinned. ‘I must be hearing things again.'

‘Go on – off you go. Go and join your pals and play soldiers,' Bridie said, but leaving her hand in his. ‘And I'll get on with knitting yous all socks. And body warmers. And scarves and gloves and all that.'

Now she tried to pull her hand away from him, but Tully would not let her go. He just looked at her and shook his head, never taking his eyes from her face.

‘Bridie,' he finally said quietly. ‘No, Bridie, don't.'

‘Don't what?' Bridie retorted, still trying to get her hand free. ‘Let go of me.'

‘Don't make something even harder. It's hard enough, Bridie, that's what.'

‘I'm trying not to.'

‘Yes, well, try a bit harder.'

They were silent for a few seconds.

‘I'm sorry,' Bridie finally said quietly. ‘Forgive me, Tully, I'm sorry.'

‘There's nothing to forgive, Bridie,' Tully replied. ‘And don't ever be sorry. Ever.'

Christmas came, but this year it came to many houses where no waifs called for sixpence to help with the family feast, and no decorations hung. All the young men had long ago gone to war, leaving no cause for family celebrations. Few
gave presents that year, and fewer played games, but the churches were fuller than ever and the good wishes everyone exchanged with friend, neighbour and family seemed more genuine and heartfelt than perhaps ever before.

It was different at Bauders, a place that every year had been full of family, friends and relatives, and had resounded to the music of carols sung in the Great Hall and dance bands playing in the ballroom. All that, to those left behind, now seemed more like a century ago than only a year. It seemed as if that had been another age, when hearts were young and full of song and a strange haunting innocence. Now none of the young was home for Christmas except the lucky ones who had got leave, or the unlucky ones who had been wounded in the first of the battles, some of whom found their fortunes suddenly reversed as they were sent up to Bauders Castle to be cared for by the Duchess of Eden.

‘We must make Christmas as beautiful as we can for our wounded,' Circe told everyone as they sat down to plan the decorations. ‘We will put up a tree, as we always have done, in the Great Hall.'