Black Beauty

by Spike Milligan

  It was late die next morning before any one came, and it was Harry. He cleaned us and fed us. He was very still, and neither whisded nor sang, but did some Russian dancing. At noon he came again, and gave us our food and water. This time Dolly came with him. She was crying, and I could gather that Jeremiah Barker was dangerously ill and broke. The doctor said it was a bad case; so did his bank manager.

  So two days passed away, but he didn’t, and there was great trouble indoors. We only saw Harry, and sometimes Dolly. I think she came for company, for Polly was always with Jeremiah, and he had to be kept very quiet. So they rendered him unconscious with a mallet.

  On the third day, whilst Harry was in the stable, there was a tap on the door — why anybody wanted to put a tap on a door is strange — and Governor Grant came in. ‘I want to know how your father is.’

  ‘He’s unconscious,’ said Harry, ‘they call it bronchitis.’

  ‘That’s bad, very bad!’ said Grant, shaking his head; it fell off.

  ‘Yes,’ said Harry, ‘and the doctor said that father had a better chance than most men, because he didn’t drink.’ The Governor looked puzzled.

  ‘If there’s any rule that good men should get over these things, I am sure he will, my boy.’

  Early next morning he was there again.

  ‘Well?’ said he.

  ‘Father is better,’ said Harry. ‘Mother hopes he will get over it.’

  ‘Thank God!’ said the Governor, ‘and now you must keep him warm, and that brings me to the horses; you see, Jack will be all the better for the rest of a week or two in a warm stable, and you can easily take him a turn up and down the street to stretch his legs; but this young one, if he does not get work, he will soon be all up end, and when he does go out, there’ll be an accident.’

  ‘I have kept him short of corn,’ said Harry, ‘but he’s so full of spirit, it’s coming out the back.’

  ‘Just so,’ said Grant. ‘Now look here, will you tell your mother that I will come for him every day till something is arranged, and whatever he earns I’ll bring your mother half of it, and that will help with the horses’ feed. Your father is in a good club, I know, but that won’t keep the horses, and they’ll be eating their heads off all this time.’ And without waiting for Harry’s thanks, he was gone.

  For a week or more he came for Hotspur, and drove him at 150 miles per hour until he settled down, and when Harry thanked him, or said anything about his kindness, he laughed it off, saying it was all good luck for him. Polly got half the takings, but he kept the bigger half; his horses were wanting a little rest, which they would not otherwise have had.

  Jeremiah grew better, steadily; first his feet got better, then his legs, and finally his body and head. The doctor said that he must never go back to the cab work again if he wished to be an old man. The children had many consultations together about what father and mother would do, and how they could help to earn money. There was bank robbery, but that was too dangerous; the bank manager would recognise him and ask him to repay his overdraft.

  One afternoon, Hotspur was brought in very wet and dirty. While Harry was sponging off the mud from Hotspur, Dolly came in, looking very full of something. It was cottage pie.

  ‘Oh! Harry, there never was anything so beautiful; Mrs Fowler says we are all to go and live near her. There is a cottage now empty that will just suit us, with a garden, and a hen house, and apple trees, and everything, and her coachman is going away in the spring to be put down, and then she will want father in his place!’

  ‘That’s uncommon jolly,’ said Harry, in old English, ‘it will suit father. I’ll be a groom, a gardener or a bank robber. We’ll need money.’

  It was quickly settled that the cab and horses should be sold as soon as possible.

  This was heavy news for me, for I was not young — I was 79. Grant said he would take Hotspur, and there were men on the stand who would have bought me, but Jerry said No! The Governor promised to find a place for me where I should be comfortable, possibly the Ritz.

  The day came for going away. Jerry had not been allowed to go out yet, and was chained to his bed just in case. Polly and the children came to bid me good-bye. ‘I wish we could take you with us,’ she said. Dolly was crying and kissed me, too, then they buggered off, and I was led away to my new place.

  46

  JAKES AND THE LADY

  I was sold to a corn dealer and a carter, called Jakes

  To serve them it took me all it takes

  Going downhill he never put on the brakes

  ‘With that load, your horse you’ll kill’

  Said a gentlewoman called Jill

  ‘Keep quiet you silly girl’

  She, with a karate hold, gave him a huge hurl

  He landed over a mile away

  It made my day

  He ran away to Spain

  And we never saw him again.

  I was sold to a corn dealer for three and six a pound whom Jeremiah Barker knew and he thought I should have good food and fair work.

  In the first he was quite right, and if my master had always been on the premises, I do not think I should have been over-loaded; but there was a foreman who was always hurrying and driving everyone, even Queen Victoria, and frequendy, when I had quite a full load, he would order something else to be taken on. My carter said it was more than I ought to take, but the other always overruled him:

  ‘ ’Twas no use going twice when once would do, and he chose to get business forward.’

  Jakes, like the other carters, always had the bearing rein up, which prevented me from drawing easily, and by the time I had been there three or four months, I found the work telling very much; I was shagged out.

  One day, I was loaded more than usual, and too often, and part of the road was a steep uphill: I used all my strength and Vitamin B tablets, and some Horlicks, but I could not get on. This did not please my driver, and he laid his whip on badly.

  ‘Get on, you lazy fellow,’ he said, ‘or I’ll tweak your swannicles.’ Oh, no! I’d do anything for him not to tweak my swannicles.

  Again I took some Horlicks tablets, started the heavy load, and struggled on a few yards backwards; again the whip came down, and again, to soothe it, I struggled backwards. The pain of that great cart whip was sharp. I’d sue the makers of Horlicks. A third time he was flogging me cruelly, when a lady stepped up to him:

  ‘Oh! pray do not whip your good horse any more. I am sure he is doing all he can; the road is very steep and I am sure he is doing his best.’

  ‘If doing his best won’t get this load up, he must do something more than his best; that’s all I know, ma’am,’ said Jakes, which was all he knew.

  ‘But is it not a very heavy load?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, louder, ‘but that’s not my fault, I must get on with it as well as I can.’

  He was raising the whip again, when the lady threw him over her shoulder judo style; she was a sixth Dan. ‘He cannot use all his power with his head held back, as it is with that bearing rein. If you take it off, I am sure he would do better — do try it,’ she said persuasively, giving him a karate chop.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said the terrified carter. The rein was taken off; what a comfort it was!

  ‘Poor fellow! that is what you wanted,’ said she.

  Jakes took the rein — ‘Come on, Blackie.’ I put down my head, and threw my whole weight against the collar; I spared no strength; the load moved on, and I pulled it steadily up the hill — and then stopped to take a spoonful of Sanatogen.

  The lady had walked along the footpath, and now came across the road, stopping only to throw the carter on his back.

  ‘You see, he was quite willing when you gave him the chance; I am sure he is a fine-tempered creature, and I dare say he has known better days. You won’t put that rein on again, will you?’

  ‘Well, ma’am, I can’t deny that having his head and Horlicks has helped him up the hill.’

  ‘Is
it not better?’ she said. ‘I thank you for trying my plan with your good horse. Good-day,’ and with another soft pat on my neck, she stepped lightly across the path, and I ran over her.

  I may as well mention here what I suffered at this time from another cause. I had heard horses speak of it; mine was a badly lighted stable; there was only one very small window at the end, and the stalls were almost dark. It very much weakened my sight, and when I was suddenly brought out of the darkness into the glare of sunlight, it was very painful to my eyes (I had to have glasses), and I drove into a shop-front window. However, I escaped without any permanent injury to my sight, and was sold to a large cab owner.

  47

  HARD TIMES

  Now my new master was called Skinner

  He wouldn’t give you the price of a dinner

  My driver was very, very cruel

  All I had to eat was watery gruel

  I became so very thin

  You could see in

  Coming down Ludgate Hill

  I fell and became very ill

  I wanted to die

  But I don’t think I’ll try.

  I shall never forget my new master; he had black eyes and ears and a hooked nose, his mouth was full of teeth locked on a cheese sandwich. His name was Skinner, and I believe he was the same man that poor Seedy Sam died for.

  Skinner had a low set of cabs, so low that if you looked out the window you could only see the pavement. He was hard on the horses; in this place we had no Sunday rest.

  Sometimes on a Sunday morning, a party of fast men would hire the cab for a day in France; four of them inside and another with the driver, and I had to take them to Calais. I had to swim the channel and back again and sometimes I had such a high fever that I caught fire and had to be put out. I could hardly touch my food because there wasn’t any. How I used to long for the nice bran mash with whisky in it that Jeremiah used to give us on Saturday nights in hot weather — that used to cool us down. But here, there was no rest, and my driver had a cruel whip with something so sharp at the end that it sometimes drew blood; gradually I was becoming anaemic. He would even whip me under the belly, and flip the lash out at my head. Indignities like these took the heart and my liver out of me, but still I did my best and never hung back.

  My life was now so utterly wretched that I wished I might drop down dead at my work and go to the great stable in the sky. I tried hard, but somehow couldn’t drop dead. One day, it very nearly came to pass.

  I went on the stand at eight in the morning and had done a good share of work, when we had to take a fare to the railway. A long train was just expected in, so my driver pulled up at the back of some of the outside cabs, to take the chance of a return fare. It was a very heavy train, it weighed 5,000 tons, and all the cabs were soon engaged. There was a party of four; a noisy, blustering man with a lady, a little boy, and a young girl, and a great deal of luggage. The lady and the boy got into the cab, while the man ordered the luggage. The porter, who was pulling about some heavy boxes, suggested to the gentleman, as there was so much luggage, whether he would not take a second cab.

  ‘Can your horse do it?’ enquired the blustering man.

  ‘Oh yes, he did some down the road.’

  He helped to haul up a box so heavy that I could feel the springs go down. Box after box was dragged up and lodged on the top of the cab. At last all was ready and, with his usual jerk at the rein, he drove out of the station.

  The load was very heavy and I had had neither food nor rest since the morning, save a boiled egg; but I did my best, as I always had done. I got along fairly well till we came to Ludgate Hill. My feet slipped from under me, and I fell heavily to the ground on my side; I lay perfectly still; I had no power to move. Someone said, ‘He’s dead, he’ll never get up again.’ Good, I could stay here! Then I could hear a policeman giving orders, ‘Get up!’ Some cold water was thrown over my head and some cordial was poured into my mouth. I cannot tell how long I lay there, but I found my life coming back. After some more cordial had been given me, I staggered to my feet, and was gently led to some stables, where I was put into a well-littered stall, and some warm gruel and Horlicks were brought to me.

  In the morning, Skinner came with a farrier to look at me.

  ‘This is a case of overwork, and if you could give him a run off for six months, he would be able to work again.’

  ‘Then he must go to the dogs,’ said Skinner.

  Upon advice, Skinner gave orders that I should be well fed and cared for. Ten days of perfect rest with plenty of good oats, hay, bran mashes and Guinness (all with boiled linseed mixed in them), did more to get up my condition than anything else could have done; those linseed mashes were delicious with malt whisky, and I began to think that, after all, it might be better to live. When the twelfth day after the accident came, I was taken to the sale. I felt that any change from my present place must be an improvement. They put a label on my neck: ‘Horse for sale. Good for knacker’s yard.’

  48

  FARMER THOROUGHGOOD AND HIS GRANDSON WILLIE

  At the sale I was in with old horses in wheel chairs

  Many were in need of constant care

  One man said of me, ‘He has known better day

  Soon he’ll have to wear stays’

  ‘Grandpa,’ said the boy, ‘can’t we buy him?’

  ‘All right,’ said Grandpa looking grim

  He paid five pounds for me straight away

  And I stayed with them for many a day.

  At this sale, of course, I found myself in company with old, broken-down, dying horses — some lame, some bro-ken-winded, some in wheel chairs going on eighty. There were poor men trying to sell a dead horse for three pence to the PAL dog food company. Some of them looked as if they had seen hard times; the hardest times were from midnight to six o’clock in the morning.

  Coming from the better part of the fair, I noticed a man who looked like a gentleman farmer, with a young boy by his side. When he came up to me, he stood still. I saw his eye rest on me; I had still a good mane and tail.

  ‘There’s a horse, Willie, that has known better days.’

  ‘Do you think he was ever a carriage horse?’ asked the boy.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said the farmer, coming closer, ‘he might have been anything when he was young. Look at his nostrils and his ears, the shape of his neck and shoulder; there’s a deal of breeding about that horse.’

  So the boy looked at my nostrils and ears and the shape of my neck and shoulder. ‘Could not you buy him and make him young again?’

  ‘My dear boy, I can’t make old horses young; this one is knackered.’

  He was wrong. I had never been knackered; I still had a complete set.

  ‘Well, grandpapa, I don’t believe that this one is old — he has a complete set. But do look at his mouth, grandpapa, I am sure he would grow young in our meadows.’

  The man who had brought me for sale now put in his word.

  ‘The young gentleman’s a real knowing one, sir; I heard as how the veterinary should say — that a six months in bed would set him right up.’

  ‘What is the lowest you will take for him?’ said the farmer.

  ‘Five pounds, sir; that was the lowest price my master set.’

  ‘ ’Tis a speculation,’ said the old gentleman, shaking his head, but at the same time slowly drawing out his purse and taking the lock off. ‘Have you any more business here?’ he enquired, counting the sovereigns into his hand.

  ‘No, sir, I can take him for you to the inn, if you please.’

  ‘Do so, and give him a whisky and soda.’

  The boy could hardly control his delight, so he was put in a straight jacket. The old gentleman seemed to enjoy seeing him trying to get it off. I had a good feed and a whisky and soda at the inn.

  Mr Thoroughgood, for that was the name of my benefactor, gave orders that I should have hay, oats, halibut liver oil and three-egg omelettes every night and morning, the fun of the
meadow during the day, and the run of the stable at night, and, ‘You, Willie,’ said he, ‘I give him in charge to you.’

  The boy was proud of his charge and undertook it in all seriousness; in fact he was a downright misery. There was not a day when he did not pay me a visit; he became a bloody nuisance, sometimes picking me out from amongst the other horses, and giving me a bit of carrot (what bloody good was that?), or something good, or sometimes standing by me whilst I ate my oats. He always came with kind words and caresses and, of course, I grew very fond of him. He called me Old Crony, the bastard, as I used to come to him in the field and follow him about. Sometimes he brought his grandfather, who always looked closely at my legs; he was kinky.

  ‘Willie,’ he would say, ‘he is improving so steadily that I think we shall see a change for the better in the spring.’ The perfect rest, the good food, the soft turf and gentle exercise, and the idiot grandchild in a straight jacket, soon began to tell on my condition and my spirits. I had a good constitution from my mother, and I was never strained when I was young.

  During the winter, my legs improved so much that I used them when I went out. The spring came round, and one day so did Mr Thoroughgood, to try me in the phaeton. I was well pleased, and he and Willie drove me a few miles. I did the work with perfect ease; I even sang ‘Good-bye Dolly Grey.’

  ‘He’s growing young, Willie; we must give him a little gentle work now — he can clean out the chicken house — and by midsummer he will be as good as that milkmaid with big boobs.’

  49

  MY LAST HOME

  One day I was all dolled up

  The groom was called Tim Nup

  I was to be sold to two ladies

  Very respectable, not at all shady

  They took to me right away

  That would be £5 to pay