A HORSE IN CAMP

Auckland Star, Volume LXXIII, Issue 221, 18 September 1942, Page 5

A HORSE IN CAMP

Here is the story of a horse in a military camp, "somewhere in the North Island." Since he cannot tell it himself, a soldier has done it for him, and has written it specially for the Young Folks' Corner. I am just a horse in a military camp of surveyors and engineers. You may be surprised when you hear that I am in. a military camp at all, for in these days there is a lot of talk about our cavalry having been "mechanised and motorised." Perhaps you will be more surprised when I tell you that I do not work for cither of the units in the camp, fir 1 am a "pensioner" and I just live with the army. The engineers came several days before the artillery. They do not quarrel much as far as 1 can see, but I do think that to a large extent human beings are like horses and other animals. If a new horse is put Into a paddock with a lot of others, there is often a good deal of biting and even kicking before all the animals become friendly, and X think the same, applies to children and even grown-ups. The first morning the surveyors had breakfast at our camp an engineer stood at the door of the messroom, giving me a crust to eat. "Of course, a surveyor would not give you anything to eat," the engineer said to me, but speaking at the surveyor. The surveyor made no answer, but merely smiled. I may tell you that the surveyors do realise their responsibility to me and frequently feed me now. Still, I am independent of both engineers and surveyors and am able to fend for myself, although I do appreciate both patting and feeding.

I remember the night when Survey Troop first came to this camp. I have heard about children being tucked up at night and all that sort of thing. Being aware that Survey Troop were new to the district, I went along to see that all was well, and in the course of so doing I walked into Eric's tent. You should have heard the fuss he made! It was almost as bad as if a Japanese had paid him a visit. Since then Eric has pulled the flaps of his tent close when he goes to bed at night. Now, there is in the troop an Irishman named Barney, and Barney is always talking. That would be very trying in the case of some of us, but in Barney's case it does not matter, for he is an Irishman and what he says is always humorous, whatever else can be said for it and 1 for Barney. I was standing in my usual place one morning with my head inside the mess door. The men were walking past me. "Don't go near the rear wheels," said Barney. "They might skid." Now, it was wrong to suggest that a quiet horse like me would kick, but all the same it is a good rule to observe, that you should never go near the heels of a horse. Some horses are not nearly as tame as I am, and others will kick if anything frightens them. So altogether I have quite a good time among the soldiers. When meal time comes, the men take their places in a long line and the "mess orderlies" dish out the food. As soon as the men have been served, my turn comes. Generally, I do not touch anything until they have had their share, although I did give Phil a scare one evening, when I put my head in the large open window and had nearly put my nose in the plate of custard alongside him, just so that I might see whether it was all right. One morning the men had all been fed (or so I thought) and my turn had come. I was enjoying myself hugely when along came "Big Jim." "Get away, horse," he said, "I don't like you. You have just finished the last of the porridge and eaten six sausages. Get away; you remind me of Doug." Now, Doug is quite a pleasant boy, but he does have a large appetite. Oh well, X am enjoying the war, anyway.