Hester’s hunter is still in the barn out of the way. It was a good job she was being shoed here but I expect she’ll go with Master Guy or Angus before long.’
Selma wept over these dumb beasts that had no say in their fate. Next it would be her brothers and the boys who stood at the notice board regarding Lord Kitchener’s big poster: ‘Your Country Needs You’, his finger pointing accusingly towards her. Well, he wasn’t having any of her family. They were blacksmiths and farriers; important trades that kept the farm machines at work. Men could volunteer but her dad would have more sense and her brothers were too young. They knew nothing about fighting wars.
Suddenly it felt as if the whole world had gone mad. There were flags and bunting in the streets, and cheering processions as if this was something to shout about. Soon the village horses would pull guns and the guns would be let off and people would be getting killed. All because some duke they had never heard of got shot in a country she couldn’t find on the map. Why had they got to get involved? No one hadexplained it to her satisfaction, not even the Head, Mr Pierce, whom she’d heard was enlisting in the Duke of Wellington’s Regiment, the famous ‘Havercake lads’.
‘Now the army’s gone, take Jemima out of the barn and into the paddock, Selma. Keep busy and don’t fret is my motto,’ Asa smiled. ‘Go and take that miserable face into the sunshine. Happen it’s time to stop the bullyboys in their tracks and show them what all our King’s men can do. Go on…wipe yer tears and get a bit of fresh air in your lungs.’
Selma led the tall chestnut mare out into the sunshine. She loved this gentle giant who had carried Guy on her back. The groom would be ages before he came to collect her, and then she remembered that Stanley and the stable boy had enlisted together to go with the horses. There was just the chance that Guy might…No, she mustn’t hope too much.
The late August afternoon sun beat on her forehead as she led the horse into shade and towards the slate trough where cool fresh water bubbled up from a natural spring. Soon the holidays would be over and she would take her post as proper teaching assistant alongside Marigold. Her brother, Jack, was with the Territorials and she kept boasting about him being the first in West Sharland to take the King’s shilling and asking why her brothers weren’t in uniform yet.
‘You have to be eighteen,’ Selma replied.
‘Who says?’ Marie sneered. ‘You don’t have to take your birth certificate. No one in Skipton would guess that Newton was underage if he signed on there.’
‘He has to help Dad.’
‘Frank can do that…Anyroad, when the horses go, he’llhave nowt to do, my dad says.’ There was no arguing with Marie. She was always right, but not this time. It was official. Dad needed an assistant and Frank was only sixteen and not very tall.
The urge to mount Jem was now just too hard to resist. They were old friends and riding bareback was no problem for Selma. ‘We’ll not let you go with those soldiers,’ she whispered in her ear. ‘You can hide in our barn any day. Now you and me can have a little trot round the paddock or I can ride you home, if no one comes for you.’ Guiding the horse to the mounting block by the gate, she slid onto her velvety back and nuzzled into her mane, kicking with her heels to set Jem on her way. But the mare had other ideas and began to gather speed. Then with a whoosh she jumped the stone wall into the next field with Selma clinging on, hair flying, her face flushed with the fun and freedom of chasing the wind. This horse was no sloth and shot off at speed, cantering across the last of the mown hayfields, frisky, disobedient to Selma’s commands. There was nothing to it but to relax and enjoy the bumpy ride, let the horse have her head for a while but what if she got injured and Dad had to get the veterinary out to repair the damage?
Selma wept over these dumb beasts that had no say in their fate. Next it would be her brothers and the boys who stood at the notice board regarding Lord Kitchener’s big poster: ‘Your Country Needs You’, his finger pointing accusingly towards her. Well, he wasn’t having any of her family. They were blacksmiths and farriers; important trades that kept the farm machines at work. Men could volunteer but her dad would have more sense and her brothers were too young. They knew nothing about fighting wars.
Suddenly it felt as if the whole world had gone mad. There were flags and bunting in the streets, and cheering processions as if this was something to shout about. Soon the village horses would pull guns and the guns would be let off and people would be getting killed. All because some duke they had never heard of got shot in a country she couldn’t find on the map. Why had they got to get involved? No one hadexplained it to her satisfaction, not even the Head, Mr Pierce, whom she’d heard was enlisting in the Duke of Wellington’s Regiment, the famous ‘Havercake lads’.
‘Now the army’s gone, take Jemima out of the barn and into the paddock, Selma. Keep busy and don’t fret is my motto,’ Asa smiled. ‘Go and take that miserable face into the sunshine. Happen it’s time to stop the bullyboys in their tracks and show them what all our King’s men can do. Go on…wipe yer tears and get a bit of fresh air in your lungs.’
Selma led the tall chestnut mare out into the sunshine. She loved this gentle giant who had carried Guy on her back. The groom would be ages before he came to collect her, and then she remembered that Stanley and the stable boy had enlisted together to go with the horses. There was just the chance that Guy might…No, she mustn’t hope too much.
The late August afternoon sun beat on her forehead as she led the horse into shade and towards the slate trough where cool fresh water bubbled up from a natural spring. Soon the holidays would be over and she would take her post as proper teaching assistant alongside Marigold. Her brother, Jack, was with the Territorials and she kept boasting about him being the first in West Sharland to take the King’s shilling and asking why her brothers weren’t in uniform yet.
‘You have to be eighteen,’ Selma replied.
‘Who says?’ Marie sneered. ‘You don’t have to take your birth certificate. No one in Skipton would guess that Newton was underage if he signed on there.’
‘He has to help Dad.’
‘Frank can do that…Anyroad, when the horses go, he’llhave nowt to do, my dad says.’ There was no arguing with Marie. She was always right, but not this time. It was official. Dad needed an assistant and Frank was only sixteen and not very tall.
The urge to mount Jem was now just too hard to resist. They were old friends and riding bareback was no problem for Selma. ‘We’ll not let you go with those soldiers,’ she whispered in her ear. ‘You can hide in our barn any day. Now you and me can have a little trot round the paddock or I can ride you home, if no one comes for you.’ Guiding the horse to the mounting block by the gate, she slid onto her velvety back and nuzzled into her mane, kicking with her heels to set Jem on her way. But the mare had other ideas and began to gather speed. Then with a whoosh she jumped the stone wall into the next field with Selma clinging on, hair flying, her face flushed with the fun and freedom of chasing the wind. This horse was no sloth and shot off at speed, cantering across the last of the mown hayfields, frisky, disobedient to Selma’s commands. There was nothing to it but to relax and enjoy the bumpy ride, let the horse have her head for a while but what if she got injured and Dad had to get the veterinary out to repair the damage?
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