‘I think it would be a real shame if you were to bite or kick John or James or the King of England.’
‘I don’t mean to,’ he said. ‘I did bite James once pretty sharp — I took three fingers off him — but John said “try him with kindness”. So, instead of punishing me, James, came to me with his arm in a sling and served me a whisky and soda with some little cheesy biscuits on a silver tray. I have never snapped at him since.’
Master noticed the change in Ginger — his paint was wearing off. One day, he came to speak to us, as he often' did, and gave each of us a beautiful glass of Chablis.
‘Aye, aye, Jim, ’tis the Birtwick balls,’ said John. ‘He’ll be as good as Nigger by and by; kindness is all the physic he wants. All he needs is an occasional glass of Chablis.’
‘Yes, sir, he’s wonderfully improved, he’s not the same creature that he was; he’s somebody else. It’s the Birtwick balls, sir,’ said John, laughing.
Until then, I never knew we had Birtwick balls.
This was a little joke of John’s; he used to say that a regular course of the Birtwick horse balls would cure him and any vicious horse. Where did they get a supply of Birtwick balls? The thought of grooms going round horse boxes with a pair of garden shears removing the testicles for future use is terrible. These balls, he said, were made up of patience and gentleness, firmness and petting.2
MERRYLEGS
The children with Merrylegs used to play
Whether he liked it, he did not say
But he often said back in the stable
‘I’d strangle them if I was able’
When he couldn’t stand any more
Fie trampled them all over the floor
The father said, ‘You’ll pay for this, you’ll see’
Said Merrylegs, ‘No, I did it all for free. ’
Mr Blomefield, the Vicar, had a large family of boys and girls; he used to fuck like a rabbit. When the children came, there was plenty of work for Merrylegs, and nothing pleased them so much as getting on him by turns and riding him all about the orchard and the home paddock, and this they would do hour after hour.
One afternoon, he had been out with them a long time, and James brought him in.
‘What have you been doing, Merrylegs?’ I asked.
‘Oh!’ said he, tossing his little head, ‘I have only been giving those young people a lesson. They did not know when I had had enough, so I just pitched them off back wards; that was the only thing they could understand.’
The house, by now, was full of crippled children.
‘What,’ said I, ‘you threw the children off? I thought you knew better than that. Did you throw Miss Jessie or Miss Flora?’
‘Yes, yes. In fact, I threw them further than anybody else. I am as careful of the young ladies as the master could be, and as for the little ones, when they seemed frightened, I kicked them off. I am their best friend but sadly they don’t seem to know when I have had enough, so I have to hurl them off. Each one of the children had a riding whip; I took it in good part but, Christ, it hurt. I didn’t wish to be cruel, but I’m afraid some of them I put in the hospital. Besides,’ he went on, ‘if I took to kicking then where should I be?’ I don’t know but I know where they would be — in the hospital with swollen balls.
10
A TALK IN THE ORCHARD
Ginger and I were not of the carriage breed
We were built for speed
I had racehorse blood in my veins
And five pints of it
I was happy with my mistress on my back
But, alas, I didn’t know the way back
I don’t know which way we went
We must have driven via Surrey, Sussex and Kent.
Ginger and I were not of the regular tall carriage horse1 breed, we had racing blood; I had a bottle of about twelve pints in my stable. We stood about fifteen and a half hands high, but if we stood on a chair we were even taller. We were just as good for riding as we were for driving or standing on chairs. Our master used to say he disliked either horse or man who could do but one thing, like play the trombone. He would mount a horse and] play the trombone. It was a spectacular sight to see him at full gallop playing ‘The Flight of the Bumble Bee’. Mind you, he preferred to play it after dark, and consequently, at full gallop, he, horse and trombone went through many a plate-glass window. Our favourite practice was for me to saddle Ginger and then mount him, then put a saddle on my back and our mistress would ride on that. She could see for miles.
My mouth was so tender and my teeth had not been spoiled or hardened with McLean’s toothpaste. I always used a good mouthwash after a meal — it was three-year-old Malt Whisky. Ginger did not like the bit, and Sir Oliver would say, ‘There, there, don’t vex yourself.’ Now Ginger never vexed himself — he got another horse to do it for him.
I wondered how Sir Oliver had such a short tail. Was it an accident?
‘Accident?’ he snorted. ‘Some cruel boys tied me up and cut off my long beautiful tail, through the flesh, and through the bone, and took it away.’
What he had left looked like a feather duster protruding from his bum. ‘How,’ said Oliver, ‘can I ever brush flies, mice, grasshoppers, or elephants off my sides?’
‘What did they do it for?’ asked Ginger.
‘Thieves would wear it as a disguise; they would fashion my tail into wigs and beards and rob a bank. Just fancy, somewhere in London my tail might be doing a robbery.’
Sir Oliver was a fiery old fellow; smoke used to sometimes exude from his bottom. Of course there were some nervous horses who, having been frightened, would let go a lot of dung.
‘I have never let go a lot of dung,’ said Sir Oliver. ‘I remember one dark night, just by farmer Sparrow’s house where the pond is close to the road, a hearse bearing a coffin overturned into the water. Both horses were drowned, the corpse floated away and was never seen again. Of course, after this accident, a stout white rail was put up that might be easily seen. However, a second hearse crashed through the rails, the horses were drowned, and the stiff floated away like the first one.’ When our master’s carriage was overturned he said that if the lamp on the left side had not gone out, John would have seen the enormous hole the road makers left: his carriage disappeared down it and, to this day, he has never been seen again.
11
PLAIN SPEAKING
A pony was being whipped by a man
Master said, ‘I’ll stop him if I can
Sawyer, you shit, that pony’s made of flesh and blood’
‘He’s no good, sir, he be a dud’
Sawyer the shit took up the reins
And my master blew out his brains
And they buried him in the garden
Where the praties grow.
The mistress was good and kind and had a large bank overdraft. She was kind to everybody, not only men and women but also horses and donkeys, dogs and cats, cattle and birds, kangaroos, buffalo and wart hogs. If any of the children in the village were known to treat any creature cruelly, she would beat them with an iron bar and hang them upside down outside for the whole day. And if somebody didn’t find favour with her, she would tell her husband, and he would blow their brains out and bury them in the garden where the praties grow. Sometimes, our master weighed very heavy. Sometimes he weighed fifteen stone, and when riding me gave me curvature of the spine.
One day, he saw Sawyer ill-treating a pony. ‘Sawyer, you shit!’ he cried in a stern voice. ‘Is that pony not made of flesh and blood?’
‘Flesh and blood and temper,’ said the shit.
‘And do you think, you shit,’ asked master firmly, ‘that! treatment like this will make him fond of your will?’
‘I haven’t made out a will yet,’ said the shit.
Mr Sawyer, the shit, did not react, so my master took out a blunderbuss, blew his brains out and buried him in the garden where there was becoming less and less room.' The master was much grieved by the loss of t
he shit. He i broke down and said, ‘Oh, deary me.’
One day, when he had stopped saying ‘oh, deary me,’ we met Captain Langley, a friend of our master’s. He was driving a splendid pair of greys in a kind of brake. What kind I could not say. The master backed me a little, so as to get a good view of them.
‘They are uncommonly like my wife, a very handsome pair,’ he said. ‘I see you have got hold of a bearing rein. ‘Yes,’ said the captain. ‘I like to see my horses hold their heads up.’
‘You shit,’ said the master, ‘I think every horse should have a free head. They should be sent by parcel post to the horse in question.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ said the captain, but as he drove away, my master took careful aim and blew the captain’s brains out, and we had another grave to leap over.
12
A STORMY DAY
Oh, terrible night of storm and wind
As though the storm fiend grinned
Master had to go away
So I was in the dogcart that day
When we reached the tollgate it wasn’t surprising
The tollman said the river was rising
We drove thru the water to the other side
Mostly I was under water, and nearly died
On the way back we went through a wood
‘I don’t think,’ said John, ‘we should’
Then a tearing, an oak tree crashed on the road
It missed us but hit a toad
We returned by the flooded bridge over the river
The thought made me shiver
The tollman said, ‘Stop, the bridge is washed away’
‘Thank god,’ said John, Hip, Hip, Hooray.
One day in autumn, he called it Wednesday because that’s what it was, the master had a long journey on business. I was put into the dogcart, and John went with his faster. We went merrily along until we came to the tollbar, and the low wooden bridge. The river banks were rather high, and the bridge, instead of rising, went across '1 just level, so that in the middle, if the river was full, the water would be nearly up to the woodwork and planks. However, as there were good substantial rails on each side, people did not mind it. My master’s business engaged him a long time. I saw her wave him good-bye from the bedroom window.
A great rush of wind blew up and removed the seat of my master’s trousers. The wind was blowing a gales against me, and I had to take two paces backward for every one forward. By the light of dawn, we arrived back.
The mistress ran out, ‘Are you really safe my dear?’
‘Yes, absolutely safe.’
They gave me a good feed that night; they gave me a grog of Best and a bottle of Moet et Chandon with an ice bucket.
13
THE DEVIL’S TRADE MARK
One day, John and I saw hence
A boy forcing a horse to jump a fence
He was giving the horse a thrashing
John wanted me to go and give him a bashing
Just then the horse threw him off her back
And he hit the ground with a thwack
He tried to grasp the horse’s reins
But my master came and blew out his brains.
One day, John and I had been out on some business of our master’s — we were buying shares in Woolworths — and we were returning gently, flat broke, on a long straight road. It must have been a Roman road. At some distance, we saw a boy try to leap a pony over a gate. The pony would not take the leap, so the boy jumped it for him to show him the way. Then the boy tried again, and hit the pony with a whip, but he only turned off on one side, scratching the boy’s leg. He whipped him again, the pony turned, and scratched his other leg. Then the boy got off and gave the pony a hard thrashing. When we reached the spot, the pony put his head down, threw up his heels, and hurled the boy neatly into a hedge of nettles and, with the rein dangling from his head, he set off at a full gallop.
‘Oh! oh! oh!’ cried the boy, as he struggled about among the nettles, ‘I say, do come and help me out.’
Then my Master rode up, dismounted, picked up his blunderbuss, and blew the boy’s brains out.
‘Thank ye,’ said John. ‘I think you are in quite the right place, and maybe a little scratching will teach him not to leap the pony over a gate that is too high for him.’.
The farmer was hurrying out into the road, and his wife was standing at the gate looking frightened.
‘Have you seen my boy?’ said Mr Bushby as we came! up. ‘He went out an hour ago on my black pony.’
‘Oh yes, he fell off,’ said the master, ‘and to put him out of his misery, I blew his brains out.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked the farmer.
‘Well, sir, I saw your son whipping and kicking the pony, so I took careful aim and blew his brains out. It seemed to calm him, and your son is now sleeping in my garden.’
The mother began to cry, ‘Oh! I must go and see my boy.’
‘You will have to dig six feet down,’ said John, ‘that’s where he is.’
We went on home, John chuckling all the way. He told James about it who laughed and said, ‘Serve him right.
I knew that boy at school: he took great airs on himself 1 because he was a farmer’s son; he used to swagger about and bully the little boys; of course, we elder ones would not have any of that nonsense and let him know that, in the school and playground, farmers’ sons and labourers’ sons were all alike, so we beat the shit out of him. I found him at a large window catching flies and pulling off their wings, so I am glad you blew his brains out.’
John said, ‘There is no religion without love, and people may talk as much as they like about their religion, but if it does not teach them to be good and kind to man and beast, it is all a sham — all a sham, James, and it won’t stand when things come to be turned inside out and put down for what they are.’
I personally have never had my things turned inside out, so I didn’t know what he meant.
14
JAMES HOWARD
One morning, across came the master
At two miles per hour he couldn’t go any faster
In his hand he held a letter
I suppose he couldn’t find anything better
It was from Sir Clifford at Clifford Hall
Which, to me, meant fuck all
Sir Cliff wanted to replace his Coachman Fred
Primarily because he was dead
No one volunteered for the job
Except a bisexual called Rob.
One morning in December, John let me into my box after my daily exercise — twenty press-ups and twenty sit-ups. He was just strapping my cloth on, and James was: coming in from the corn chamber with some oats, when the master came into the stable. He looked rather serious, and held an open letter in his hand. John fastened the door of my box, touched his cap, and waited for orders.
‘Good morning, John,’ said the master, ‘I want to know if you have any complaint of James?’
‘Complaint, sir? No, sir.’
‘Is he industrious in his work, and respectful to you?’
‘Yes, sir, always.’
‘You never see him do a pee when your back is turned?’
‘That, sir, I cannot swear.’
‘When he goes out with the horses to exercise them, does he stop about talking to his acquaintances, or go into houses where he has no business, leaving the horses outside?’
‘No, sir, he always takes the horses in with him. I will say this, sir, that a steadier, pleasanter, honester, smarter young fellow I never had. I can trust his word, and I can trust his work. Perhaps he does do a pee when I’m not looking, I know those people in laced hats and liveries, but whoever wants a character of James Howard, let them come to John Manly.’
He really was an arse licker. The old bastard had tried to find out if the young lad had ever committed something unusual, like wanking.
‘James, my lad, set down the oats and come here.’ So he set down the oats and came ther
e. ‘John’s opinion of your character agrees so exactly with my own. John is a cautious man, when you pee against a wall he never looks. I have a letter from my brother-in-law, Sir Clifford Williams, of Clifford Hall. His old coachman, who has lived with him for twenty years, is getting feeble; his legs have dropped off and he wants a man to work with him to get into his ways, like robbing banks and interfering with little girls.’
So he would take on James.
It was settled that James should go to Clifford Hall. I never knew the carriage to go out so often before; after yes, but never before. When the mistress did not go out, she stayed in. The master drove himself in the two-wheeled chaise. But now, whether it was the master or the young ladies, or only an errand for the master’s pile ointment, Ginger and I were put into the carriage, and James drove us. At first, John rode with him on the box, telling him this and that, and after that, James drove alone.
Then, it was wonderful what a number of places the master would go to in the city on Saturdays, and what queer streets we were driven through. Every second person, in fact, was queer. He was sure to go to the railway station just as the train was coming in, and cabs and carriages, carts and omnibuses were all trying to get over the bridge together; that bridge wouldn’t hold them all, for it was narrow, and many fell off. And there was a very sharp turn up to the station, where it would not have been at all difficult for people to run into each other; and so they did if they did not look sharp and keep their wits about them.
Black Beauty Page 3