Black Beauty

five pounds for me straight away
    And I stayed with them for many a day.
     
    At this sale, of course, I
found myself in company with old, broken-down, dying horses — some lame, some bro-ken-winded,
some in wheel chairs going on eighty. There were poor men trying to sell a dead
horse for three pence to the PAL dog food company. Some of them looked as if
they had seen hard times; the hardest times were from midnight to six o’clock
in the morning.
    Coming from the better part
of the fair, I noticed a man who looked like a gentleman farmer, with a young
boy by his side. When he came up to me, he stood still. I saw his eye rest on
me; I had still a good mane and tail.
    ‘There’s a horse, Willie,
that has known better days.’
    ‘Do you think he was ever a
carriage horse?’ asked the boy.
    ‘Oh yes,’ said the farmer,
coming closer, ‘he might have been anything when he was young. Look at his
nostrils and his ears, the shape of his neck and shoulder; there’s a deal of
breeding about that horse.’
    So the boy looked at my
nostrils and ears and the shape of my neck and shoulder. ‘Could not you buy him
and make him young again?’
    ‘My dear boy, I can’t make
old horses young; this one is knackered.’
    He was wrong. I had never
been knackered; I still had a complete set.
    ‘Well, grandpapa, I don’t
believe that this one is old — he has a complete set. But do look at his mouth,
grandpapa, I am sure he would grow young in our meadows.’
    The man who had brought me
for sale now put in his word.
    ‘The young gentleman’s a
real knowing one, sir; I heard as how the veterinary should say — that a six
months in bed would set him right up.’
    ‘What is the lowest you
will take for him?’ said the farmer.
    ‘Five pounds, sir; that was
the lowest price my master set.’
    ‘ ’Tis a speculation,’ said
the old gentleman, shaking his head, but at the same time slowly drawing out
his purse and taking the lock off. ‘Have you any more business here?’ he
enquired, counting the sovereigns into his hand.
    ‘No, sir, I can take him
for you to the inn, if you please.’
    ‘Do so, and give him a
whisky and soda.’
    The boy could hardly
control his delight, so he was put in a straight jacket. The old gentleman
seemed to enjoy seeing him trying to get it off. I had a good feed and a whisky
and soda at the inn.
    Mr Thoroughgood, for that
was the name of my benefactor, gave orders that I should have hay, oats,
halibut liver oil and three-egg omelettes every night and morning, the fun of
the meadow during the day, and the run of the stable at night, and, ‘You,
Willie,’ said he, ‘I give him in charge to you.’
    The boy was proud of his
charge and undertook it in all seriousness; in fact he was a downright misery.
There was not a day when he did not pay me a visit; he became a bloody
nuisance, sometimes picking me out from amongst the other horses, and giving me
a bit of carrot (what bloody good was that?), or something good, or sometimes
standing by me whilst I ate my oats. He always came with kind words and
caresses and, of course, I grew very fond of him. He called me Old Crony, the
bastard, as I used to come to him in the field and follow him about. Sometimes
he brought his grandfather, who always looked closely at my legs; he was kinky.
    ‘Willie,’ he would say, ‘he
is improving so steadily that I think we shall see a change for the better in
the spring.’ The perfect rest, the good food, the soft turf and gentle
exercise, and the idiot grandchild in a straight jacket, soon began to tell on
my condition and my spirits. I had a good constitution from my mother, and I
was never strained when I was young.
    During the winter, my legs
improved so much that I used them when I went out. The spring came round, and
one day so did Mr Thoroughgood, to try me in the phaeton. I was well pleased,
and he and Willie drove me a few miles. I did the work with perfect ease; I
even sang ‘Good-bye Dolly Grey.’
    ‘He’s growing young,
Willie; we must give him a little gentle work now — he can clean out the
chicken house — and by midsummer he will be as good as that milkmaid with big
boobs.’

49

MY LAST HOME
     
    One day I was all dolled up
    The groom was called Tim Nup
    I was to be sold to two ladies
    Very respectable, not at all shady
    They took to me right away
    That would be £5 to pay
    I thought the fee below my worth
    Because I was of noble birth
    It would have been very nice
    If £50 was my