Black Beauty's Family

by Josephine Pullein-Thompson

  ‘Yes and ready for me dinner,’ retorted my new master. ‘And I’ve bought myself a black rogue with the devil in him, for you to pit your wits against, Joe. Put him in the end stall and give him nothing but straw to eat and just one bucket of water. We’ll have to starve him before we break him.’

  There were rows of stalls inside a long stable. The little man led me to one at the end. He spoke kindly to me and fetched me water and filled the hay rack with oat straw. He looked at my hoofs and sighed. He looked at my teeth with gentle hands and sighed. ‘And only a four year old too,’ he said.

  Then he went away carrying his lantern. The straw tasted rough in my sore mouth. I drank the bucketful of water and was still thirsty. I remembered the field where I had grown up. I thought of Matthew turned out of his cottage with nowhere to go, and the world seemed a rough cruel place.

  3

  I’M BROKEN IN

  MY NEW MASTER was a horse dealer. He had fought in the Great War and had been wounded in the head. Part of his skull had been replaced by a tin plate and he drank to kill the pain from it. Joe had fought in the war too. He had a scar from his right eye to his left ear and three fingers missing on one hand where they had been blown off by a shell.

  They were not bad men, but they had suffered. They had watched men stay at home and make money, while they fought in the trenches. Now they had their own code of honesty which included making money out of us horses by fair means or foul.

  My education began the day after I arrived at my new home, which was called Little Heath Stables on account of the rough heath at the back.

  In the morning I was given only half a bucket of water and straw again in my rack and not much of that either. I had hardly slept all night and felt weak and listless. There were always nearly twenty horses in the yard and only the two men to look after them; so only the ones about to be sold were groomed regularly; the rest of us stood in our stalls for hours at a time bored and ill tempered dreaming of the fields where we had grown up. I stood next to a handsome dark brown gelding called Solomon. He was very well bred and had been a hunter, but had fallen on the road and was now scarred on both knees. Sid was doing what he called, ‘doctoring them up’ in the hope of making a profit.

  My education began with the dumb jockey. It was a strange contraption made of wood and leather straps which Joe strapped on to my back while Sid held my head. Then a bit was forced between my teeth and reins attached from it to the dumb jockey. And so I was left, my head too high for comfort, my nose tucked in towards my chest. I could move little in any direction. I tried pulling, but it hurt my mouth. I tried lowering my head, but that was impossible. In the end I put my hind legs under me to ease the pain and stayed in a sort of sitting position until I could bear it no longer. Next I put my hind legs out behind me and hollowed my loins. Soon my neck muscles suffered from cramp and my hind legs ached unbearably.

  I thought, if only we horses could weep like humans, people might know how we suffer. But hours passed and no one came to relieve my agony. Solomon was taken out for exercise and brought back. He looked at me sadly over the partition of his stall.

  ‘They call it mouthing,’ he said. ‘I wish someone would mouth them.’

  My mouth dripped blood on to my scant bedding. Joe was working overtime preparing a rangy bay for a prospective buyer, so it was Sid who came at last to loosen the reins and let me stretch my aching neck. He took the dumb jockey away and fetched me hay and clean water. The bay horse had been sold for a good price and he was cheerful. He called Joe to me.

  ‘He can have hay from now on, but no oats, and give him a brush over when you have time.’

  They were not cruel men. Joe worked harder than any of us. He was in the stable by six in the morning and often still there at nine at night. And our master when he was well, was kind enough in his way, but when his head began to ache, he turned to the bottle.

  The dumb jockey was the fashionable way to break in a horse in those days and it suited the dealers well enough because it was quick. It broke our spirits and the quicker this was done, the quicker they could sell us and make a profit.

  So the next day the contraption was strapped to my back again and, though I longed to fight, I remembered my mother’s words, and stood still until my head was strapped into the desired position again. I can’t tell you the agony I suffered that day for my muscles still ached from the day before. I had constant attacks of cramp, my tongue felt swollen in my mouth and my hind legs seemed to have no strength left in them.

  For the next three days I wore that dumb jockey for hours every day until gradually the pain became less as I grew accustomed to standing for hours in the unnatural position it demanded.

  On the fourth day, Joe attached a long rein to my bridle and led me outside to a small paddock behind the stables. He carried a whip and soon I was trotting round and round him in a circle. It was lovely to smell fresh air again after my dingy stall, but I did wish that I could stretch my neck. However Joe was well pleased. ‘He’s quick to learn and willing and all the fight’s knocked out of him,’ he told our master.

  Two days later I was shod. Joe talked to me all the time while the shoes were nailed on, and the farrier was a quiet, gentle man who took the trouble to make friends with me from the beginning.

  After that I was lunged with a saddle on my back and how good it was to be able to stretch my neck. Then my master held my head, while Joe gently slipped on to my back. I was led up and down the paddock and though I felt tense and my joints and muscles still ached from the affect of the dumb jockey, I didn’t buck. And so I was broken in. Most of my spirit was gone by this time and my ribs showed through my dirty coat; but there was no fight left in me. I knew now that humans are stronger than us poor horses and however strange their commands we must obey them.

  Joe had been a rough rider for the army and he had a firm seat and good hands. He took me for rides when he had time and I soon grew accustomed to the few cars and bicycles which we met, and learned to go how he wished. I looked everywhere for my mother and friends on these rides, but I never saw them. Sometimes I wondered whether they would recognise me if we did meet because I was so much thinner now.

  Some weeks later, Sid and Joe started to break me to harness. First of all I pulled a heavy log about the paddock, then I was put in a breaking cart and after that in a carriage with another horse of my own size called, Tom. He was old and bad-tempered and if I went too fast, he bit me, and if I dawdled he would kick. At first I was very frightened of the sound of the wheels running behind me, but after a few weeks I ceased to notice them and Sid seemed well pleased.

  ‘We can call him quiet in harness now, not that there’s much call for harness horses these days,’ he said. ‘But sometimes it just tips the balance. Now all he needs is some jumping lessons, then he’ll be ready for sale and worth a good price too, I should say.’

  A few days later, Joe started popping me over logs in the nearby woods and my food was increased. A brush fence and gate were put up in the paddock and soon I was jumping these with ease.

  I was now four and a half, and sixteen hands high. Joe began to groom me more and I wore a checked rug in the day and a warmer one at night. My time at the dealer’s yard was coming to an end as I was now considered a schooled horse. I could walk and trot on either rein with my nose tucked in. I never pulled against the reins because I knew that a dumb jockey would never give, so I was considered to have a ‘good mouth’! I would stand quietly to be mounted and while my rider opened a gate. I could jump fences of three foot six from a trot or canter. I went equally well in a double bridle or snaffle. I would go in harness. I was fast, but no one knew how fast, because, since wearing the dumb jockey, I was afraid to extend myself. I tired easily because carrying my head so near my chest was not natural to me, but to most people who wanted a well-schooled horse, I appeared to be one.

  ‘You wouldn’t recognise him as the horse we bought at Stansbury sale,’ said Sid one evening watchi
ng Joe rug me up. ‘We’ll ask one hundred and fifty guineas for him and if we get it, there’s a fiver for you Joe, that’s a promise. I’ll advertise him this week.’

  4

  I’M SOLD AGAIN

  TWO DAYS LATER an elderly lady came to see Solomon. She had high cheek bones and a voice which expected to be obeyed. She wore breeches with long socks and men’s shoes and a khaki shirt. Solomon had been well groomed, his mane was plaited and Joe had covered the scars on his knees with boot polish.

  The lady knew how to handle a horse for she went straight to Solomon’s head with a lump of sugar in her hand.

  ‘You’ve known better days I can see,’ she said.

  She bent down to look at his knees and then looked at Sid and said, ‘You may as well take the boot polish off. I’m not a fool.’

  Joe rubbed the polish off with a cloth while Sid hurried off to fetch a side saddle muttering, ‘I can see that, Madam.’

  ‘And I don’t need that,’ she replied when he returned. ‘I ride astride, and I’ll have a snaffle bridle please.’

  She rode Solomon in the paddock at the back of the stables and afterwards he said that she had the best hands he had ever known.

  ‘And now, my man, we’ll talk about money,’ she said dismounting. ‘I’m not paying what you ask for a start. He’s a horse of quality but his legs are ruined as you no doubt know.’ They went away to discuss a price and the next day she brought a man over to ride Solomon to her house. He was a quiet gentle groom, who slipped a snaffle bit into Solomon’s mouth with great care and then put a light-weight saddle on to his back as though he was made of china.

  ‘You’ve fallen into good hands, Solomon old fellow,’ he said pulling up the girths. ‘No one’s going to work you to death. The Countess only hacks around the estate and there’s the old pony in the orchard for company. ‘You’ll last another twenty years with us.’

  I neighed goodbye and he answered with a quick nod of his head. I had never met a finer horse than Solomon. I knew I would miss him but I hoped that at last he had found the happiness he deserved.

  The next day a cream mare was moved into Solomon’s stall. She was a vain, proud pony with a long flowing flaxen mane.

  ‘What a nasty stall,’ she said looking round with dislike. ‘And how it smells! I come from fine stables where I always had my own loosebox. I’m not used to being tied up.’

  ‘You will have to get used to it then,’ I replied.

  ‘That I never will. I shall keep turning round until the head stall rubs me raw; and then I shall dig up the floor and kick the grooms,’ she replied with a toss of her head.

  ‘There’s only Joe. He won’t have time to bother with you,’ I answered.

  ‘I’m a weaver. I shall weave then.’

  ‘What do you weave?’

  ‘I keep swaying, moving my weight from one hoof to another. It’s a dreadful habit,’ she said starting to do it. ‘In my last home I was never exercised; sometimes I stood in my box for days on end, though my mistress visited me every day and gave me sugar and my mane was groomed until it was like spun silk, and my hoofs oiled till they gleamed like polished tortoiseshell. Oh, my mistress loved me all right. She called me her Fairy Queen, but how bored I was! I thought I would go mad with nothing to do day after day. I dreamed of beautiful stallions, of racing the wind. My sides were soon as fat and round as butter. And when at last I was taken out, I couldn’t trot without puffing. But my mistress thought this beautiful too. ‘Look how she blows, just like a little train!’ she would cry, clapping her plump hands with glee. She didn’t mind my weaving either. ‘It’s like a circus trick,’ she said and she would throw her arms round my neck crying, ‘Oh Fairy Queen, you are so adorable.’

  ‘She wanted you to be as fat and silly as she was herself,’ I said. ‘There are many humans like that; we are supposed to resemble them, though we may be quite different. But what about the grooms?’ I asked. ‘Had they no sense either?’

  ‘They followed their orders, though I heard John, the stud groom, saying once that it was a shame to keep me so, and that I would look well in a phaeton or a circus – a circus I ask you? And then one day my feet started to hurt. They felt as though they were swelling and swelling; only hoofs can’t swell, can they? The pain was terrible and there was no way of relieving it. At last I sank down on the straw and lay there groaning. John found me and then what a hubbub there was! The vet was fetched. I was led outside and stood in a pond and fed bran-mashes. And I was made to walk though my hoofs felt on fire. How painful that was! And look at my hoofs; they are no longer beautiful; they curl up at the end and everyone can tell that I’ve had laminitus, and no one wants me now; not even my mistress, though it was her fault. Oh the injustice of it! And how often I longed to gallop, to pull a phaeton and show how fast my little hoofs could trot; but no, my mistress wanted me to be as idle as herself. And now I’m a weaver and my hoofs are spoilt, and I’ve never done anything; never had any fun.’

  I didn’t know what to say. Fairy Queen started to dig up her bed. She had been given nothing but musty hay in her rack, which she refused to touch. Soon she was standing on bricks. Then Sid came in.

  ‘What a fool you are, Queenie,’ he said. ‘Come outside and get some exercise. We can’t have you digging up the stable.’ She looked pleased and rubbed her nose on his sleeve, and I thought that although Sid was a rough man, at least he understood us.

  The next day I was groomed and plaited early and given an extra ration of oats. ‘You behave yourself and you’ll find yourself with a good home,’ Joe said.

  ‘So you’re going,’ whispered Fairy Queen from the next stall, ‘just when I was beginning to like you. I shall have some cross old horse put next to me for certain. Some crusty old thing which never answers and I shall be more bored than ever.’

  ‘You will be sold soon yourself,’ I said. ‘You are so pretty, no one will resist you.’

  ‘Not with my weaving and my hoofs. Look at them,’ she cried. ‘Just look.’

  Shortly afterwards Joe came for me. He undid my rope and led me outside to where a young man was waiting, dressed in breeches and boots and a checked jacket with cap to match. He had a small trimmed moustache and carried a cane.

  ‘You’ll never find a better horse than this,’ said Sid slapping my neck. ‘He’s not five yet, but he never puts a foot wrong. And as for jumping, well I’ve never seen one which will beat him.’

  The young man was called Richard Bastable. He ran hard, cool hands down my legs. He opened my mouth and checked my age. He stood behind looking at my hocks.

  ‘Trot him up and back. I want to see how he moves,’ he said.

  Fairy Queen heard my hoofs on the gravel and neighed.

  ‘Yes, he moves well enough,’ said Richard Bastable. ‘He’s for a young lady, so he must have good paces. Now perhaps your man will show me how he jumps.’

  Joe threw a saddle on my back; then he put on the twisted snaffle he rode me in normally and mounting, rode me to the paddock. He walked and trotted me to loosen up my muscles; then cantered me in circles while Sid straightened the brush fence and put up the gate. I had stood in the stable for two days with hardly any exercise and was eager to jump; so that when Joe turned me towards the gate, I snatched at the bit and fairly flew.

  ‘What did I say? Jumps like a stag!’ exclaimed Sid rubbing his hands together.

  ‘I do a spot of jumping myself,’ said Richard Bastable sounding pleased.

  I jumped the brush again, then they put the gate up to four feet six and I took it easily while Joe stayed as though glued to my back.

  Then Richard Bastable mounted. Every rider has his own particular style, Joe gripped tight with his knees, his hands went with you, but if need be, they were like a vice. Richard Bastable rode with longer stirrups, his weight further back in the saddle, his reins longer. At first I missed Joe’s firmer grip. I felt like bucking; instead I shied at a bit of paper and pranced a little.

  ‘He
hasn’t been out for two days,’ called Sid anxiously from the gate.

  I was determined to do my best. I cantered on either leg, keeping my nose bent inwards, and jumped the fences easily, without fuss.

  ‘I like him,’ said Richard Bastable sliding to the ground. ‘I’ll pay you what you’re asking if he passes the vet.’

  ‘Passes the vet? Of course he will. I’ll warrant him sound myself,’ exclaimed Sid.

  They went inside for a drink, while Joe led me back to my stall. ‘I expect you’re sold,’ said the Fairy Queen. ‘I hope it’s to a nice home, but I shall miss you terribly.’

  Her entire bed was now at the back of her stall, and she had rubbed herself raw fighting against the headstall. Joe hit her from behind. ‘Get up you fool,’ he shouted. ‘You’ll end up pulling a baker’s van. It’s work you want and plenty of it.’

  He rubbed vaseline into her sores grumbling all the time; then he turned her loose in the paddock. I stood wondering about my new home. I had grown used to Sid’s yard. I knew the routine and what Joe wanted. But a loosebox would be nicer than a stall and I dearly wanted to roll again, to lie stretched out in the sun, to sleep under the stars. One way and another I was ready for a move.

  5

  A NEW HOME

  RICHARD BASTABLE RODE me to my new home. It was fifteen miles by roads and lanes. The countryside was pleasant all the way; once we were clear of the heath there were lush meadows on each side full of cows, and little farmhouses nestling in the valleys.

  My new master lived in a pretty white house with a cedar tree on the lawn. He was still an unmarried man, but had a housekeeper and Bowles, a cheerful ginger-haired man of around forty who looked after both his motor-car and his horses. There were three of us, myself, a grey hunter, and a brown cob which had pulled my master’s dog cart before he had bought a car.

  Our stables were modern with four looseboxes which looked towards the house, and when I arrived Richard Bastable took my tack off himself and fetched me hay and water. I was greatly surprised by this having expected a groom to be waiting for me. He then patted my neck for a long time saying, ‘May will be here tomorrow and what a surprise you’ll be. She’s twenty-one tomorrow, quite an age for a young gal and by jove, she’s a pretty gal. You’ll love her. Everyone does.’ Then he went away whistling and the horse in the next box looked over his door and said,