Warrior

by Isabel George

  There were few home comforts for Warrior on that first night. He was used to better than being tethered behind an unsheltered haystack where the odd shell dropped or long-range bullet whizzed past. But when it happened he didn’t flinch. He knew what they were and stood fast and still. He enjoyed the evenings most of all, because that was when Seely rode him round the lines to meet the men and give them a chance to chat to Warrior and stroke his ears – a comfort to them as well as the horse. Any thought of nervousness was a million miles away.

  Seely’s priority at every stop was to find the best billet for Warrior, and so when they reached the sector of the line just south of the Ypres Salient (where the battlefield projected into enemy territory) he was delighted to discover, under Hill 63, something that looked like a proper stable. It lacked a roof but the manger and hayrack more than made up for that, and even Warrior looked proud of his new accommodation. He nodded his head – in approval, Seely assumed. It was certainly closer to what he was used to, even if the rations were not up to scratch. Nevertheless, it was a good base for the next stage of their advance, which was over a ridge screened by trees.

  During the summer of 1915 Warrior enjoyed galloping over the ridge and down into the valley, managing to visit the support line unseen by the enemy. But as the summer wore on the shell blasts swept away most of the foliage, leaving the screen less secure and the horses visible, even from a distance. A salvo of shells hit the spot where the horses stood. One shell split as it hit the ground. A piece of it was blasted straight into the chest of Warrior’s companion, slicing the horse in half. Warrior stood on the spot until he saw his master come into view, and then he took off at a gallop to meet him. Neighing loudly and throwing his head in the air, the horse must have wanted to reassure Seely that although the scene was horrific, he was not going to leave his master. After all, they had made a pact to be together always.

  Knowing the depth of feeling between man and horse, it’s perhaps no surprise that Warrior decided that if he wasn’t being ridden by Seely then he was going to follow him everywhere – just so he didn’t lose sight of him again. He even broke free of his stable one day to follow the General like a big dog at his heels. Maybe he felt his luck was running out, but if he did then he was to be proved wrong. Making their next camp at a farmhouse close to the front line, Seely was relieved to discover that the stable had a door so Warrior could enjoy some protection from the elements and flying artillery. But within hours the General was woken by the sound of Warrior trying to crash the door down with his forefeet. Recognising the sound and realising who was doing it, he ran to investigate. As he pulled open the door Warrior dashed out, just ahead of a shell erupting and destroying the building. Did the horse sense it? No one could possibly know, but quite how Warrior managed to walk free without so much as a scratch was yet another miracle.

  Warrior’s uncanny ability to survive against the odds was something the Canadians found totally inspiring. It was no wonder they were heard to say, ‘The bullet has not been made that can kill Warrior.’ They loved that horse as much as their General did, and his charmed life seemed to carry a message right to their hearts: ‘If Warrior can survive this mayhem then we can, too.’

  The winter of mud

  The war had gone underground and the trenches that had become home to the soldiers on both sides of the conflict were flooded and rat infested – hotbeds for disease. Above and beyond the trenches there was mud: mud in every direction and as far as the eye could see. In the winter of 1915 no one could escape its influence in or out of the trenches. It became a death trap for the horses desperately trying to pull the gun carriages and wagons carrying supplies and ammunition to the front line. The wagon drivers who survived the enemy shelling and the snipers lying in wait for them at ‘Hell Fire Corner’ (on the Menin Road, the main route in and out of Ypres) still had to face the horror of the drowning mud at the line. Crippled vehicles and dead horses lay on the shell-pitted road for all to see, and on the battlefield the bodies of the dead became one with the stinking mud. But there was worse to come.

  After eight months of seeing action on foot, the Canadians under Seely’s command were reunited with their horses as the cavalry was ordered to re-form. In the lead-up to the Battle of the Somme the men left the trenches and returned to the countryside, where, almost out of earshot of the shelling, they embraced the peacefulness and the horses they had been asked to leave behind. The spring and early summer of 1916 were happier times for the men, and most particularly for the horses. Jack Seely’s son, Frank, came over to join his father, bringing with him his sparky little Arab pony Akbar. Warrior and Akbar became great friends over the next two and a half years and managed to get themselves into a few scrapes. It was while they were stabled in an ancient but grand chateau that Warrior developed a taste for wattle and daub and decided to eat his way out of the building. There was no need for him to eat the walls – the food was as good as it ever was at home and he was groomed and kept busy with the training schedule – so why he did it was a mystery.

  Watching the horses enjoy the beach near the chateau was a delight after the horrors of Ypres. Warrior and Akbar loved the sea and when they cantered into the shallows they would often paw at the water, begging it to rise over their backs. One day Seely took a bold step and removed their saddles and bridles so they could roll in the foam at the water’s edge and immerse their weary legs in the brine. The great friends played like happy toddlers in a place that appeared to be a million miles away from war.

  When he wasn’t enjoying his downtime, Warrior was out on manoeuvres with Seely, who was keen for his Canadian Cavalry to be at their fittest and ready to take on the challenge of the Allied masterplan and emerge victorious from the so-called ‘Big Push’. All along a 25-mile stretch of the River Somme, infantry regiments from Britain and her Empire were preparing to engage with the enemy. The idea was that the infantry would break the German front line and the cavalry would then sweep through the gap and take the enemy from the rear. By the time Warrior and Seely were ready to bring the Canadians onto the Somme battlefield, nearly two million shells had been dropped on the German lines in a bid to destroy their trenches and clear the barbed wire, even before the infantry had begun their climb over the top at 7 a.m.

  General Jack Seely was chosen to lead the attack by the mounted brigade and he chose Warrior to carry him into battle. On 1 July 1916, 2,000 horses and men from the Canadian Cavalry Brigade stood 1,200 yards behind the front line. Warrior, with Seely, his son Frank and his aide-de-camp Antoine, stood just 800 yards behind the front line. The horses were fit and had trained to the sound of machine-gun and rifle fire, and now they were primed to follow Warrior at a gallop through the German lines to victory. Behind them stood a further cast of thousands from other cavalry regiments, including the Hussars, the Bengal Lancers, Dragoon Guards and Household Cavalry. With their pennants flying in the summer breeze, they readied themselves to charge the enemy. The scene was set for what was expected to be a military walkover for the Allied forces.

  Warrior stood firm, although the bombardment by the battery of 18-pounder guns was intense and made the earth jolt under his feet. Lying on his front on the ground next to his horse, the General held Warrior’s reins firmly in his hand. He felt Warrior shake as the first shell broke, but there was no sign of fear after that. The group waited in the shelter of a slight hollow for news of the infantry’s progress. They waited and waited, with the thud and roar of the guns pounding all around them. The horses were set for the charge and many were becoming difficult to hold back.

  Word came down the line: the infantry had broken through and taken two lines of trenches. ‘This is it, my Warrior. Our time has come, as we knew it would. For King and Country …’ Seely spoke softly to his horse as he jumped into the saddle and signalled to his squadron to follow him at a gallop out of the valley and up the hill to embark on the follow-through as planned. Warrior thundered ahead, showered with shouts of encouragement by t
he advancing troops. With Frank and Antoine riding alongside him and a squadron following behind, Seely and Warrior attracted the fury of the German artillery. As they rose out of the valley a shell fell in the middle of the group, killing and maiming the horses – except Warrior, who appeared out of the heat and smoke unhurt. But then, as they reached the foot of the ridge, they made a grim and disappointing discovery. The infantry had reached an impasse and there was nowhere for the cavalry to go. Warrior’s moment on that fateful day was over, and the group had no choice but to gallop back and attend to their dead and wounded. At 3 p.m. the order came down the line: the cavalry was to stand down.

  Every day for weeks as the battle raged, Seely’s Canadians and the rest of the cavalry were in a state of constant readiness. The pressure on the men and the horses was evident. Each morning the General rode Warrior to the front line to see what, if anything, could be done. On the one day he decided to rest Warrior and take another horse, the poor soul was hit and killed by a shell. The Germans had not been destroyed by the bombardment at all. When it had started they had taken to their deep dugouts and stayed there until the bombardment eased, giving them the opportunity to line up their machine guns to face the waves of Allied infantry coming over the top towards them. The infantry met machine guns and advanced nowhere. There was nothing for the cavalry to follow up. On the first day of the battle alone, British Army casualties numbered 60,000, with over 20,000 in the first hour. It was indeed the darkest day in British military history.

  The Battle of the Somme wound to its pitiful end on 18 November 1916, but it almost came sooner for Warrior. One night, he was found writhing and lashing out in pain, throwing himself around his stable, and Seely knew that his beloved horse was close to death. A veterinary officer brought in from a nearby artillery unit had seen this kind of contorted pain in a horse before and said that is was likely Warrior had swallowed a nail, probably with his hay, and that if it didn’t kill him the nail would work its way through the intestine. Seely spoke to his Warrior in his own quiet way and for a moment his soothing words and hushed tone gave the horse some sense of calm, but it didn’t last. Warrior thrashed around, threw himself on the ground, kicking his legs in the air and crying out in pain. All Seely could do was trust in the vet’s words and sit with Warrior until either the pain had passed or he witnessed the end. He watched over him all night and was well rewarded: after a tense few hours in which Warrior continued to writhe in pain and eventually collapsed, the vet was able to administer an injection that revived him. Warrior had survived yet another extraordinary ordeal.

  If Warrior had died that night it would have been the cruellest cut for Seely, who had already endured the news that Cinderella had passed away while he was in France. She had given birth to a foal and the children had named the funny, hairy-legged chap Isaac. The foal’s lively nature seemed to fill her days and make her as happy as she had been when Warrior was home. But the little one had a passion for jumping, and one day he set his sights too high and he tumbled, breaking his neck. Cinderella was inconsolable. Without Isaac, without Warrior and without her master to lift her, she must have died of a broken heart.

  Hard winter on the Somme

  When the frost came, it crusted over the ocean of thick yellow mud that covered everywhere, everything and everyone. Horses were the only means of transport that stood any chance at all of getting supplies and artillery through to the front line, and that was hard enough when the ground they were walking on tried to consume them at every step. Warrior and his master often accompanied the sad lines of horses dragging their own weight as well as that of the ammunition loaded into panniers at their sides. They walked slowly, their heads bowed against the elements, and with measured steps, sometimes over wooden slatted mule tracks, which criss-crossed the mud flats. For the strings of horses tied together the walk was even more hazardous. One step off the tracks and they would not only risk their own early grave but take their fellow beasts of burden with them. Struggling didn’t help and if they couldn’t be reached and dragged out, they died where they fell.

  Warrior slipped into the mud several times, but being fit and young and without Seely’s weight on his back he always managed to struggle free. There were a few lucky escapes, though, like the time he got stuck so fast in the mud that he became a sitting duck for an enemy plane. The pilot emptied an entire machine-gun belt in an attempt to hit Warrior, but not one bullet came close. He was also buried entirely, except for one forefoot, by falling earth from an explosion. He had completely disappeared, and yet Seely managed to dig him out unharmed.

  Many horses lost their lives to the German fighter pilots. Observers would report the convoys of horses and wagons moving supplies and artillery to the front line and the planes would move in and machine gun the lot dead. The winter of 1916 was harsh in every way and the strain was visible on Warrior – his exhaustion was evident in his lowered head and slowed movements. Seely was aware of the effect the war was having on his horse and did his best to keep him safe and among friends. For both the General and his horse the company of the Canadian Cavalry was a comfort. Already a hero in the eyes of the men, Warrior was not just the General’s horse; he was their friend, too. At Christmas that year Seely rode Warrior between all the regiments and batteries, and wherever the Canadians were a shout went up – ‘Warrior! Warrior!’ – before the men ran to welcome the horse. All ranks, from the corporals to the captains, crowded round to ask the horse if he was all right. If Warrior was all right then it followed that they all were, too. Like the men, Warrior was exhausted by the futile fighting, the biting cold, the unbearable hunger and the mud. But his spirit kept them focused on getting through, and whenever he survived the impossible they loved him all the more. They believed, after all, that ‘The bullet hasn’t been made that can hurt Warrior.’ He was their lucky charm.

  That Christmas Warrior was in good company. His closest wartime friend, Akbar – the Arab pony with the half-white and half-brown face – was still with the group, as was the sleek, black mare belonging to Seely’s friend Antoine. In between the bursts of action, the horses would romp together and the men would organise races to lift the grimness. This is when Warrior was able to prove to the others that he was not just a war horse, but also a racer who could rip up the earth with his speed, just as he had at home. As the horses regained their fitness and strength they were all able to show off their pace, with Warrior racing to victory over Akbar along the beach – a little taste of normality in an otherwise crazy place.

  The Battle of the Somme had struggled to reach an end. Warrior and his master marvelled at their survival in the face of such a relentless onslaught. In the heat of the battle Warrior had seen so many horses fall in action – he had lost several companions cut down by machine-gun fire and destroyed as shells rained down during a charge. As an officer’s horse he had not suffered from starvation and cold, as some of the other horses had – he had never been so hungry that he had eaten his own blanket, and its buckle, too. But he had certainly known fears of his own and faced them, including the smell of blood.

  ‘Warrior, we can’t go home yet. I know you are tired – I am tired, our friends the Canadians are tired, too – but we still have work to do here and I need you to be strong a little longer for me. Can you do that, my Warrior?’ Seely sat and shared his fears with his horse in a way that a General could never quite do with a person. He had just received orders requesting that he move back to the Somme battlefield in a covert mission to try and catch out the Germans who had returned there, and he was afraid of what he might find. The past few days had been a world away from the reality of war and now he had to ask his faithful Warrior to carry him once more, this time through the night, first battling the extreme cold and then the relentless rain, sleet and snow. Seely felt the warmth of Warrior’s cheek on his own and thanked his glorious horse once more. He knew that no man could ask more of his horse, or more from his friend.

  The Canadian Cavalry: ‘Seely’s
Lions’

  This was the moment in combat that Seely had promised his Canadian Cavalry, himself and Warrior, too. As the march took them back through Amiens, Seely received news that the Germans were retreating from the Somme. Due to march on the battlefield at 3 a.m. and frustrated that there was now no need, Seely not only had a change of fortune, he had a change of mind. He would not stand down the Cavalry. He knew what he was going to do. ‘Warrior, we are not going back,’ he said. ‘Not this time. So many times of late we have had to pull back, but tonight we go forward.’ Warrior lifted his beautiful, chiselled head to catch every word his master said. He snorted a little and shifted his forefeet as if he had read Seely’s mind and knew they were going to take the villages of Equancourt and Guyencourt back from the Germans.

  Galloping into Equancourt was a victory in more ways than one. It was only the third time the Allied cavalry had ridden to victory since October 1914. When Seely and the Strathcona’s regiment captured Equancourt it was a glorious success and a much-needed morale boost for the entire brigade, who happily rounded up German prisoners. Once more, Warrior was in his element and keen to get into the fray. So keen that it was difficult to hold him back from the gallop. Seely loved these moments when he could feel Warrior’s body tense beneath him like a giant power pack.