If you can stand yet another, writing this made me weep like a baby...
The mellow autumn afternoons were gifted by Providence to allow the men some rest and respite after the morning ordeal of dressings, observations and medicines, washing and shaving, poking and prodding by the surgeons and sisters. The men who desired it were wheeled outside in their bed or a bathchair and placed on the sunny terrace. Newspapers were delivered to those able to hold and read them for themselves, or nurses read aloud to the disabled. Other patients created a conversation with a nurse should they have no visitor or mate to chat with. It became an unspoken custom for Trooper Carrington and his nurse to spend a quietly domestic half-hour together, the patient propped up on his pillows, the nurse seated on a low stool beside him, darning socks. They shared stories, carefully avoiding being too open in case it might appear forward and encouraging of unprofessional intimacy.
The trooper spoke wistfully of his farm in New Zealand. The cool, dappled bush, the muted melody of the clear Waiata stream, the velvet darkness, embroidered only by the golden threads of night birds’ sounds. Ruru, with the owl’s soft repetitive call, the kiwi’s peremptory shriek, the music of the bellbird at dawn. To Nurse Roberts, it sounded like a paradise of the unspoiled world before Man’s greed and anger. She loved the passion in his voice when speaking of the farm and his plans for making a go of it with his beloved brother. He told her, with a catch in his voice, of his last view of the homestead as they rode down to Opotiki on their way to battle. His brother had picked up his axe and driven it into the ancient rimu tree by the gate, saying “That’ll be safe there till we get back. Four months I reckon, eh, Bill? Six at the outside.”
Their ride down the Gorge and to their fate was filled with optimism. They were young. They were immortal. They were off to serve their King and their Country. The Good Lord had them in his hands.
“Well, Nurse, about the Mounteds…all the blokes, our mates from the Gorge wanted to go together. The recruiters were flattering, spoke of the Gisborne boys in South Africa, how they were the finest men they had ever seen for the African conditions. We would do well in the Jordan Valley, Mesopotamia, all the arid parts of the Near East, Ottoman territory, you know…Told us of our reputation as horsemen, crack shots, living off nothing, sleeping rough, all that sort of thing.”
Nurse Roberts nodded, despite having little idea of the Gisborne boys and their repute. She simply enjoyed listening to the trooper’s refined accent and easy flow of narrative.
The Trooper continued, “We fell for his patter, about how fortunate we would be to travel with our horses, an invaluable asset in the desert, all that. My mount, Jim, had had a few problems with his teeth, but he passed for service, as did Jack’s Bobby. We were very fond of those nags, Nurse. They had been our lifeline with civilisation, being at such a distance from town. Such good company, reliable and uncomplaining. It would be hard on them, travelling all that way by sea, no exercise, risking broken legs and so on. I felt a bit guilty, y’know, guilty about putting our old mates through that when they could have stayed back on the farm and been fat and happy, mustering in the mountains.”
Trooper Carrington paused, apparently some dust in his eye was giving him trouble.
“We reached Egypt all right, though had to spend quite a few nights in the straw with those poor beasts, to get them through rough weather. No exercise for seven weeks, poor beggars. No green grass to frolic in.”
He glanced at the Nurse, quietly working on her mending. “I’m not boring you, Nurse Roberts, am I?” he asked.
She shook her head, with a little smile. “Of course not, Trooper. It’s all so interesting. And so sad, I’m so sorry.”
He shrugged a little and continued. “At Zeitoun Camp, on the edge of the desert, the nags were tethered in lines under the Australian gum trees they grow there now. Hot as a furnace, Nurse. Poor creatures. Our time was divided between watering and caring for the animals, riding out for exercise, grooming and so on, and desert battle preparation. We cared for the horses of the boys of the Mounteds who had left for the Peninsula, too. Most never came back for them. We waited and waited for the expected orders, to ride out into the desert, with our mounts in best condition since the voyage. They suffered badly with the heat though, it’d be the hottest time of the year soon, and we couldn’t wait too much longer. We expected at any time another Ottoman attack on the Suez, y’know, like that of early February that the Indian troops did such good work in repulsing. Sikhs, Punjabis, Gurkhas. Brave men.”
Lou looked a little quizzical. The long hospital hours and focus on the Western Front had robbed her of time to read of the wider map of war actions. She did, however, understand the vital strategic importance of the Canal. She nodded.
“Well, time went by, the infantry was off to the Peninsula, leaving us behind, the stragglers, with a few bunches of reinforcements from time to time. The news was very sparse. We heard almost nothing of the Peninsula struggles. But gradually, news began to drift back to us of the conditions at the Dardanelles. The losses, it was said, were severe, despite attempts to keep it quiet. And there we were, stuck in Egypt, marking time while our mates were under hot fire.”
Again, he paused, his eyes haunted.
“Then suddenly, it was all on. We were off to the Peninsula. But we had to leave our horses behind. I felt I had betrayed my Jim. He had trusted me and come all this way. Nurse, what a quandary. The army had bought Jim, so he was no longer mine. But I was his. That was the tragedy. How could I leave him alone, in a foreign land, pining for his green grass and gentle rain? We really doubted that they would survive desert conditions, and if they did, they’d be sold to the locals. The Gyppos have no conscience about horses. You should see how they treat their own.”
The trooper paused, overcome by the sadness of the memories.
“Well, nurse, don’t judge me, but I’ll tell you the truth. Jack and I went out riding together early one morning. We came back carrying our saddles. Our horses had both had an accident, an unexpected hole they’d both put their hooves into, had broken their legs, both of them, and we were obliged to put them out of their misery. Couldn’t see them suffer, you know. One shot, they died, cleanly, without pain. We cradled their heads until they cooled. Stroked their muzzles, whispered to them of their beloved homeland. They died knowing we would never leave them nor betray them. D’you believe in a heaven for horses, nurse? If anyone deserved a heaven, it was old Jim and Bobby. Braver, more honest, more loyal than any puffed-up general sending thousands to their deaths. Sorry to have upset you, nurse, but I still mourn those noble animals.”