Winnie's Great War

by Lindsay Mattick

Harry smiled proudly, and Brodie hummed along, and Dixon pretended to conduct her song with two pointer fingers waving in the air. Even Edgett’s stony face let a smile peek through.

  Row after row after row of boys in uniforms smiled down at your Bear as Harry led her to the rear of the train.

  Each time they came to the end of a car, Harry lifted her into his arms and carried her across the roaring gap, over the pebbly tracks blurring below, before setting her down safely in the next car.

  At last they came to a car without any windows, lit only by strips of sunlight that sparkled from between the slats of the walls. Winnie knew the smell of horses by now.

  “Thirty-Fourth Fort Garry Horse, Atten-tion!” a moonlight-colored steed announced. The other horses shuffled their hooves, lined up as they were all down the car.

  Harry laid his hand on the pale horse’s muzzle. “At ease, Sir Reginald.”

  He led Winnie to an empty space where he looped her rope around a hook. “Mounts, this is Winnie,” he announced. “She’ll be sharing your quarters until we get to Valcartier.”

  “Yes, sir!” the horses nodded.

  “Yes, sir,” Winnie yawned.

  It was very quiet, she thought, after Harry had gone. It was so quiet, it must be making everyone uncomfortable. Winnie wandered as far as her rope would allow into the middle of the car.

  “Do you know Maggie?” she tried. “She’s a horse too.” Silence, except for the train on the tracks and the wind through the slats. One of her ears folded down. “She had a foal that came out of her bottom.”

  But not one of the mounts seemed to hear.

  The train rumbled on.

  All of a sudden, a great thunderclap startled Winnie. A storm-colored mare with a white bolt on her face had crashed her hooves against the floorboards. “What a disgrace!” exclaimed Tempest.

  “What is?” wondered Winnie.

  A towering black stallion with a shining coat nodded his heavy head. “Since when,” Black Knight brooded, “do they allow badgers in the army?”

  The rest of the mounts jostled.

  Winnie rose up on her hind legs to show them. “I’m a Bear, not a badger!”

  “Alarm!” A tawny horse named Victoria whinnied and reared in place. “Bear in the barracks!”

  “Calm down, Victoria.” Her sister, Alberta, tied beside her, was munching some oats. “She’s no bigger than a feed bag.”

  “She could have big teeth!” Victoria fretted.

  Bear opened her mouth to show how small her teeth were, but the car filled with neighs of panic.

  “Keep your rumps about you, Mounts,” commanded Sir Reginald at the end of the line. “I’ll handle this.” He swished his tail. “Are you friend or foe, Bear?”

  “Friend!” answered Winnie.

  “And you are prepared to fight for King and Country?”

  “Fight?” Winnie’s eyes grew big and round. “Who would I fight?”

  “The Hun!” thundered Tempest.

  “The Hun,” stamped Black Knight.

  “The Horrible Hun!” whinnied Victoria.

  “They’re not all horrible,” Alberta pointed out, calmly tossing her mane. “Our mother was German.”

  Sir Reginald held his head high. “We are on our way to do battle in a Great War.”

  Winnie moved a piece of hay across the floor with her nose. “War?”

  “War.” Sir Reginald’s head bobbed. “It is our duty to fight for what is right.”

  “War!” exploded Tempest. “When the heroes on our backs fire their guns into the hearts of the enemy!”

  A hot, slow breath issued from the barrels of Black Knight’s muzzle. “At last we shall have our glory.”

  Winnie’s belly twisted inside her. She remembered Mama’s lifeless body and the gun that shot her. Mama, whose breath Winnie could still smell if she breathed in deeply enough. Mama, who told her, “Be brave, my Bear.”

  Your Bear forced herself to meet Sir Reginald’s eye. “I’m sorry. I’m not a fighting sort.”

  “Whoever heard of a bear that won’t fight?” scoffed Tempest.

  “The only thing worse than an enemy is a coward,” fumed Black Knight.

  Sir Reginald blinked solemnly. “Do you refuse to do your duty?”

  Feeling weak, Winnie retreated to the space beneath her hook. She could feel the eyes of all the horses on her now.

  Then she thought of Harry, and it was like finding the scent of something to eat when she was hungry. She moved back toward the middle of the car. “Does Harry fight?” she wanted to know.

  Tempest forgot herself. “Lieutenant Colebourn? Of course not!”

  A cool relief washed over your Bear.

  “He cares for us horses,” explained Alberta.

  “He healed my leg.” Black Knight raised one ankle tenderly. “That man has the touch, he does.”

  “He’s the only one who knows how to calm my nerves,” sighed Victoria.

  Sir Reginald nodded his admiration. “Lieutenant Harry makes us feel better. That is his duty.”

  Winnie sat up tall and tapped the tip of her nose with her paw. “I’m like that.”

  Sir Reginald shook his mane like he did not understand.

  “Instead of hurting others,” she explained, “I make them feel better.”

  Sir Reginald studied your Bear. There was a long pause before he bowed his head as if bestowing something upon her. “Your duty is very important. May you always follow its call.”

  August 26, 1914

  Arrived in Camp at 7 AM. Valcartier.

  At dawn, Winnie was swept along with Harry and the rest of the Veterinary Corps in a tide of soldiers and horses that ran from the train station outside Quebec City all the way to the camp at Valcartier.

  “We’re a funny-looking bunch, aren’t we?” Harry said, glancing down at your Bear on her leash.

  “Who are you calling funny-looking?” Brodie said in a winking way.

  It wasn’t just that they had a bear: Every soldier wore something different, due to where they were from—some in stiff caps, and others in acorn-shaped helmets, some in green jackets, and others in red coats.

  Edgett said they’d all be getting one uniform soon enough.

  They came to a rise overlooking a field freshly sprouted with tents that looked like white flowers. Harry said, “Look at all the busy bees,” and Winnie knew just what he meant. Men were swarming among the tents: digging holes and hauling wood, banging tools and shouting orders, moving and marching to and fro like busy, busy bees.

  When they came to the dirt road that circled the camp, they stopped to let a marching column of soldiers go by who looked different from all the others Winnie had seen. The men wore floppy hats with balls like milkweed blossoms and kilts that swung about their bare knees. The peal of their bagpipes made Winnie whine.

  Harry knelt and clamped his palms over her ears. “It’s the Highlanders!” he announced over the din.

  “Hey, Edgett!” yelled Brodie, pointing at the bagpiper. “Turns out you’re not the only windbag in this army!”

  Edgett glowered at him.

  Inside the camp, Harry led Winnie and a handful of soldiers past men washing their faces in raised troughs, and stoking campfires, and sawing wood, and hammering boards, until they came to a group of tents with horses outside.

  Harry tied Winnie’s leash to a post before leading his men up to a sand-colored horse: Alberta, one of the tawny sisters Winnie had met on the train. While the men watched, Harry inspected Alberta’s coat, and spread her lips to reveal her teeth, and lifted her hoof into his lap to look at her shoe. With every move he made, he spoke to the men. Then he gave an order, and they all spread out to inspect the rest of the horses.

  All morning, Winnie watched how the other men listened when Harry spoke, and how sometimes he would watch one of them tending to a horse and then go over and show him how to do something. It reminded her of how Mama had taught her to climb, letting her struggle but then nudging
her up.

  The horses’ eyes brightened whenever Harry whispered in their ears.

  After the boys had set up a sick line for any mounts needing special attention—Winnie had watched curiously as they pounded posts into the ground a few bounds apart and connected them with rope—a loaf of bread and some dry sausage appeared, and the men plopped on the ground to eat. Harry kept rising to go talk to someone or do something, and the moment he came back, he’d be off again. Winnie sniffed around Edgett, hoping for a little something, but he shoved her back with his forearm, saying, “Masters eat first.”

  Luckily, Brodie snuck some sausage behind his back for her to find. Winnie rubbed her spine against his as she ate. Then Dixon waved a stick at her playfully, and soon he was holding either end while she eagerly held the middle in her teeth, and he laughed as he spun her around until her feet left the ground and your Bear felt what birds feel when they’re flying.

  After lunch, it was time for setting up tents. Each tent had one pole, a circle of canvas, and a series of ropes that had to be threaded through the canvas and pegged to the ground.

  Harry, Edgett, Brodie, and Dixon tried setting up the first one together. They said, “Pull it straight,” “What are you doing?,” “I know what I’m doing,” “No, you don’t,” and other helpful remarks of that sort.

  It wasn’t long before the ropes were tangled and the canvas was bunched into a ball.

  “Nice work, Dixon,” said Brodie, tugging at the bundle. “You’ve got us tied in knots!”

  “I’ll tie you in a knot,” Dixon growled, jerking the rope from Brodie’s hands.

  “You better not tear that,” said Edgett. “That’s army property.”

  “I’m sure we can figure this out,” said Harry, scratching his head. “Let’s start over.”

  It was Edgett who finally realized they were missing a rope and went to the supply tent to get it.

  At last they got everything in order and tried to throw the canvas over top of the pole. It slid right off.

  All of a sudden the world around Winnie cloaked itself in soft white folds glowing through with sunlight. Winnie hunted around, pushing the fabric with her nose, digging deeper, tracing one fold as it folded into the next. Outside, she could hear Harry asking a question, and then his voice grew sharper and his big boots were stomping around, while Winnie explored the winding burrow, getting loster and loster, until she poked her head out from under the canvas.

  She could tell Harry was relieved by the way he suddenly slouched. “Oh, there you are,” he said. “Silly bear.”

  In the flickering lamplight of his tent on that first night in Valcartier, Harry wrote briefly in his diary before crawling into his cot, exhausted. Winnie stretched on the floor beside him. His hand hung down to scratch that special hollow at the bottom of her neck that made her eyes droop, with his wristwatch tock-tocking in her ears.

  “Some of the men are saying we’ll win the War and be home by Christmas,” he said. “You’ll like Winnipeg, Winnie.”

  Your Bear yawned, thinking she felt at home already: It was a very nice den.

  “I pray they’re right,” Harry said as he put out the light.

  August 27, 1914

  In Camp Valcartier. Orderly Officer of the Day.

  Training began bright and early the next morning.

  In front of their tent, Harry held an apple over Winnie’s head. “Atten-tion!” he said.

  Winnie raised herself straight up on her hind legs, with her eyes on the apple.

  “Salute!” said Harry. He gently took one of Winnie’s paws and tapped it to her nose. Her feet staggered beneath her.

  “Salute!” Harry said again.

  She swatted herself in the face and knocked herself over. “Oops.”

  “Atten-tion!” said Harry again.

  Sir Reginald came trotting up with Colonel Currie on his back. The steed nodded to Winnie in an official sort of way.

  “Lieutenant Colebourn!” said the Colonel when Harry saluted. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Training our mascot, sir,” answered Harry.

  “Do you think training your mascot is more important than the training of our men?”

  “No, sir,” said Harry.

  “I should say not. We have a great deal of work to do to turn this mob into a proper army.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Harry.

  “Since you are so good at taming wild animals, I am appointing you Orderly Officer of the Day. As Orderly Officer, you are responsible for ensuring all the men of the Second Canadian Infantry Brigade are properly turned out. Every button will be buttoned, every salute shall be crisp. Should any man fail to perform his duties today in this camp, it is you who shall discipline him. You will see to it that all drills are properly carried out. If so much as a hair is out of place, I expect it to be corrected.”

  “Thank you, sir!” said Harry, standing even taller, and Winnie could see he was trying to keep his lips from grinning.

  Once Sir Reginald had carried the Colonel away, Dixon’s big, gray-furred head poked out of a nearby tent. “How about that?” he said. “Our Harry is Orderly Officer of the Day!”

  The first bugle blew.

  “All men at atten-tion!” shouted Harry, rousing the boys from their tents.

  In the days that followed, Winnie went with Harry on his rounds. She strutted proudly beside him in her new uniform: Her collar fit smartly, and it had a musky smell, and the links of her leash tinkled in a pleasing way.

  They never made it through camp without someone or another stopping them, saluting Lieutenant Colebourn, and saying, “Winnie, attention! Salute!”

  She loved being in the army, your Bear. It was full of apples.

  At the sick line, while Harry and the boys tended to their patients, Winnie took to wandering among the mounts. Some horses huffed or stamped threateningly when she approached—either because they didn’t feel well or because she was a bear, she never could tell. But many grew used to her, blinking acceptingly when she came near.

  Victoria appeared on the sick line one morning. “Achoo!” she sneezed. “Oh, help! I’m dying!”

  Very slowly, so as not to alarm her, Winnie inched closer and closer until she was rubbing against Victoria’s leg. She stayed still, just pressing her side gently against the horse, until the mare’s nervousness settled. In time, Victoria lowered her muzzle and touched Winnie’s head. “I feel a little better now, thank you.”

  One day Winnie went with Dixon to the depot where the horses milled about, and Dixon reached through the fence and held out an apple in his palm for Tempest, the moody gray mare with the white bolt on her nose. She crushed it in her flat teeth, and when a chunk fell from her mouth, Winnie hopped under the fence to get it.

  “That’s mine!” Tempest whinnied. But when she saw that Winnie was holding the piece up in her own teeth carefully for her to take back, the hotheaded horse cooled and reached her muzzle forward. They almost touched teeth. Winnie, close enough to see the creamy swirls that made up the bolt on Tempest’s nose, thrilled at the moment of danger and trust they shared.

  After that, even Tempest took to flicking her gray ears in greeting whenever she saw your Bear around camp. As for Black Knight, the midnight warhorse who had mistaken her for a badger, he continued to eye Winnie with suspicion.

  It was Brodie who taught her to play hide-and-seek. He’d pass something under her nose, then run off while she stayed behind. When he returned, he’d untie her and say, “Go find it, Winnie!” She tracked a carrot to the bottom of a hole under a wheelbarrow. She discovered the mutton bone he’d deposited in Black Knight’s saddlebag. (“Don’t you dare,” the stallion huffed when she tried to get close, but Brodie still gave Winnie her prize.) She even found the fish skin hidden in Edgett’s cot—though only after tugging the sheets from the mattress and leaving dirty tracks all over his blankets.

  Unlike Brodie, Edgett did not find that amusing. As punishment, Brodie was sentenced
to one whole morning cleaning up after the horses with a soupspoon.

  Three times a day, the men lined up outside the mess tent, which Winnie was not allowed into—“NOT EVER,” Harry said in his serious voice, with a firm tug of her leash. The boys filed in on one side of the long tent and came out the other with their tin plates full. Wherever they could find a bit of space, they sprawled on the ground to eat.

  Winnie was allowed to wander among them, sniffing hopefully. “Are you finished with that?” The kind ones always shared enough to keep her well fed.

  But the smells from the tent called to your Bear without mercy. One suppertime, her nose and her tummy conspired against her. Before she knew what she was doing, she’d snuck under the canvas wall of the mess. The air was hot with scents: stewing meat, boiled vegetables, baking bread, milky tea. She tiptoed past a huge, steaming cauldron and stood on her hind legs beside a metal table, where she spied a block of butter almost as big as her head.

  “Hey!” yelled the cook, and Winnie ran, her face all greasy with butter. He chased her out, cursing and shaking a very large ladle over his head. A second cook fired a potato at her.

  She was just going back to find that potato when Harry snatched her up by the scruff of her neck, looking over his shoulder to make sure Colonel Currie wasn’t around.

  “I said not ever!” he said under his breath as he hurried her away in his arms.

  “Oh, yes.” Winnie nodded. “I remember now.” And she breathed the scent of butter into his face because she knew it was nice to share.

  The next morning a soldier ran among the tents shouting, “Currie is coming!” and all the men, including Harry, scurried around like squirrels, picking up things from the ground, racing in and out of their tents, and straightening their ties and hats.

  A coughing motor announced itself as all the men stood at Attention! in front of their tents. She was surprised to see a strange wagon pulled by no horse sputtering toward them. It was the first time your Bear had ever seen a motorcar.