Black Beauty

called blinkers. I could not see
on either side, but only straight ahead; I kept crashing into things each side
of me, one was an old lady. Next there was a small saddle strap that went under
my tail; that was the crapper. I hated it; it stopped me having a crap. I never
felt more like kicking, so I kicked him in the goolies and they swelled up like
water melons. He had to put the harness on me while balancing his balls with one
hand, and he could only move very slowly. In time I got used to everything —
and he got used to swollen balls — and I could do my work as well as my mother.
I used to wash up after dinner. Yes, I was a very good horse.
    I must not forget to
mention one part of my training. My master sent me for a fortnight to a
neighbouring farm with a meadow which was skirted by railway lines. Here were
some sheep and cows, and I was turned in amongst them. I couldn’t help treading
in it.
    I shall never forget the
first train. I was feeding quietly near the pales, which separated the meadow
from the railway, when I heard a strange sound at a distance, and before I knew
whence it came — with a rush and a clatter, and a puffing out of smoke, a long
black train of something 1 flew by, and was gone
almost before I could draw my breath. I turned, and galloped like fuck to the
further side of the meadow as fast as I could go, and stood there snorting with
astonishment and fear. In the course of the day many other trains went by, some
more slowly; these drew up at the station close by, and sometimes made an awful
shriek and groan before they stopped. They had run over a passenger.
    For a few days I could not
feed in peace, as passenger after passenger was run over. I began to disregard
it, and very soon I got used to the sound of the train stopping and the
passengers being thrown off. Now, no railway stations frighten me — not Cannon
Street, Paddington or Euston.
    ‘But,’ said my mother,
‘there are many kinds of men; there are good, thoughtful men like our master,
who, thanks to you, has swollen balls.’ She said there are many foolish men who
are ignorant, who couldn’t spell influenza even though they had got it. Some
men were awful and they spoiled horses; in fact, strewn all round where we
lived there were spoiled horses lying in the fields. Some men used to deliver
coal and some would fall down the coal hole and were never seen again. ‘Now
don’t forget son,’ said my mother, ‘do your best wherever it is, and keep up
your good name.’ I did, but when I felt like it I kicked them in the balls. The
only respect I ever got was from men I had kicked in the balls.

BIRTWICK PARK
     
    I was to work for a new master
    To me, it was a disaster
    In new stables I had to pass
    A horse with an enormous fat arse
    Ginger was his name
    Alas, that’s what he eventually became.
     
    It was early in May, when
there came a man from Squire Gordon’s who took me away to the Hall. My master
said to me, ‘Good-bye, Darkie, be a good horse and always do your best; and
stop kicking people in the balls.’ I could not say good-bye, so I put my nose
in his hand and bit off a finger. I left my first home, and as I lived some
years with Squire Gordon, I may as well tell something about the place.
    It was mortgaged up to the
hilt. Squire Gordon’s Park skirted the village of Birtwick. It was entered by a
large, rusty iron gate, at which stood the first lodge, and then you trotted
along on a smooth road between clumps of large old trees; then another lodge
and another gate, which brought you to the house and gardens. Beyond this lay
the home paddock, the old orchard, and the stables. There was accommodation for
many horses and carriages and there were good stalls, large and square, each
with a low rack for hay or porridge or pate de foie gras; they were called
loose boxes because, in fact, they were falling to pieces.
    Into one such fine box the
groom put me. He patted me, then went away. Wow, read all about it, groom pats
horse and goes away! When I had eaten my corn I looked round — it must have
been that bloody corn I’d eaten. Next to me was a horse with a thick mane and
tail, and a pretty head.
    I put my head up to the
iron rails and said, ‘I say, horse, pray tell me, what is your name?’
    He turned round and said,
‘My name is Merrylegs: I am very handsome, carry the young ladies on my back,
and sometimes I take our mistress out in the low chair. They think a great deal
of me, and so does James.’