If our infantry, assembling for the attack on Passchendaele, found themselves bogged down in the all-pervading mud, we of the Field Artillery were in no better plight.
In the late afternoon of October 7 we arrived in pouring rain at very muddy wagon-lines at Vlamertinge[1], with flooded tents and bivouacs for quarters. We were so weary that some of the drivers were almost asleep in their saddles, but nevertheless horses had to be groomed, fed and watered and guns cleaned before we could turn in ourselves.
This mud was to be a long drawn-out nightmare during the ensuring three months, and it was pitiful to see how the condition of our animals deteriorated.
Sleek and glossy from their long period of comparative inaction at Nieuport, they quickly became thin and nervous, with staring eyes and drooping heads.
I have actually seen a double line of horses standing in mud more than a foot In depth, whilst their drivers worked with brush and curry-comb, sitting on their backs.
DANGEROUS COMPANY
At Vlamertinge the horse -lines followed the usual pattern. Two lengths of picketing-line were pegged down about a yard apart and to these a double row of horses were tethered, with heads facing inwards.
This enabled drivers and picquets to pass down the middle, adjust nose-bags at feeding-time, and during the night fasten the straps and buckles of rugs and blankets, which had a trick of coming loose and slipping over the animal IS haunches.
Speaking of nose-bags brings to my mind one horse in particular, which bore the sinister name of “Kixum”.
Horses are temperamental creatures, like sergeant-majors and at times have to be handled with care and understanding. They acquire all sorts of eccentricities and bad habits and this can make them very dangerous company, especially to strangers.
AN ALTERNATIVE
“Kixum”, alas, was no exception. Hardship and constant exposure had spoiled his temper and made him vicious, but he soon found that lashing-out at all and sundry within reach of his flying hooves merely brought retaliation in kind.
So he devised a cunning alternative. When the trumpet-call announced feeding time and his nose-bag fixed, he would lie in wait with head down until an unsuspecting line orderly passed by.
Then he would suddenly raise his head and bring the wet and muddy nose-bag weighing about half a hundredweight, with a terrific clout across his victim’s ear. It was a wallop Jack Dempsey might have envied and it never failed to be a knockout.
INNOCENTS LURED
After we had tumbled to this little idiosyncrasy, we always kept a wary eye on master “Kixum”, but it soon became a standing joke to lure some innocent visitor, preferably from another battery, to take a walk down the lines to where this equine battering-ram was lying in wait.
Believe me, it left a lasting impression.
At the wagon-lines near Zillebeke[2] we had another horse, “Storm King”, who regularly went lame whenever he was detailed to go up the line with a pack-saddle loaded with ammunition and rations. He fooled us for quite a while, until we found that he was not always lame on the same loot.
PITIABLE SIGHTS
Horses are particularly nervous under shell-fire and can become positively mad with terror. Even when under control, their trembling limbs, rolling eyes and twitching ears render them pitiable objects.
Unfortunately, at such times they are prone to stand fast and refuse to budge, which can mean disaster unless they can be speedily goaded into action again. Then spur and whip must be used without mercy and for this reason there were few artillery horses whose flanks were not scarred and slashed with the cruel rowel after they had been on active service.
I once saw a driver sponging the blood from his horse’s side after one such incident, and there were tears in his eyes. Yet it was all part of the grim pattern of war, and would probably be repeated at the next emergency.
WE MOVE OFF
I could say a great deal more about the strange relationship that existed between a driver and his horses on the Western Front, but meanwhile German machine guns are waiting for our infantry on the crest of Passchendaele Ridge. The war must go on.
[1] Vlamertinge is a village in the Belgian province of West Flanders 3 miles west of the town of Ypres. It is now the site of a Commonwealth War Graves Commission cemetery: http://www.cwgc.org/search/cemetery_details.aspx?cemetery=14800&mode=1
[2] Located in or close to Zillebeke are the Hill 62 Memorial and the Sanctuary Wood Museum Hill 62, as well as the Sanctuary Wood and the Zillebeke Churchyard Commonwealth War Graves Commission Cemeteries.
Remembering the First World War 