S ince I was a little girl, Ive loved horses. I also love history and learning all about our past. I was surprised then when I first heard about the amazing story of Bess only a few years ago. It intrigued me that I hadnt heard about her long before. I had to investigate.
I discovered that her story, and that of all the other Anzac horses, is simply incredible. I knew that far too many horses lost their lives in World War One in Europe, as did their human companions. What I didnt know was that so many of our horses and men also fought in the Middle East under terrible conditions in a war that is often forgotten.
As I researched and read the many diaries, memoirs and official histories of the New Zealand Mounted Rifles and the Australian Light Horse in the Middle East campaign, a moving story unfolded of the bonds that grew between these men and their horses.
Before sitting down at my desk each morning to write Besss story, I spent time with my own horse, Barney. Like Bess, Barney is a thoroughbred. Hes a tall, gangly chestnut with a big heart. As I learned about the conditions Bess and the horses lived and fought under, I marvelled at how they ever coped.
Horses are flight animals this means that when something frightens them their first instinct is to gallop away as fast as possible. This instinct comes from their days in the wild, when the ability to run fast could save them from becoming somebodys dinner. The fact that Bess and her comrades faced booming guns and screaming shells with steadfastness and bravery amazes me. Barney is startled by the rustle of a plastic bag, let alone an exploding gun. As I discovered, the horses went through many hours of training and conditioning. But mostly they developed incredible loyalty and trust in their masters.
During the research for this book, I received valuable advice and support from many people. Id like to thank Bob McNeil from TV3, who first brought Besss story to my attention. Thank you also to Steve Butler, webmaster and member of the New Zealand Mounted Rifles Association. The NZMR website is packed with interesting information, diaries and photographs, and I was in and out of the site a lot during my research. Also Terry Kinlochs books, Devils on Horses and Echoes of Gallipoli , and Richard Stowers Waikato Troopers , were invaluable sources of information and inspiration. Both Terry Kinloch and Steve Butler kindly read my text and provided some helpful feedback.
Paul Sanderson has written and produced a DVD called All the Kings Horses, which includes some excellent footage of the mounted riflemen and their horses. Thanks also to Dave Oldham, Jock Phillips, Matt Pomeroy, Mark Rhodes and Richard Stowers, and Eris Parker from Cambridge Museum, for their photographs from the private albums of the troopers. Many of these photographs show the great affection the troopers had for their horses in a way that words cannot convey.
Finally, thank you to Bess and her four-legged friends. Without their courage and sacrifice, many more of our brave New Zealand troopers might never have made it home from that distant desert land.
The Forgotten Heroes
Many books have been written and stories told about the brave New Zealand soldiers who fought and died in World War One. But there is one story that is seldom told. It is the story of their brave horses.
At the outbreak of war in 1914, the New Zealand troops left for the battlefields with more than 3,700 horses. The horses were the first of over 10,238 that were sent to war between 1914 and 1916, serving mainly with the New Zealand Mounted Rifles Brigade in the Middle East.
Of the more than 10,238 horses that served in the war, only four ever returned home. One of these was Bess, and this is her story. Through her eyes, it is also the story of all the other Anzac horses that served with such great courage but never returned home to a heroes welcome.
T he jet-black mare galloped wildly across the scorching white sands, the guns and shells exploding around her with a deafening roar. Her master spurred her on, his legs tightly gripping her heaving sides. With foam-flecked lips and ears laid flat, she thundered on through the flying bullets and choking dust.
Alongside the black mare, horses squealed and fell as the bullets thudded into them. Still the long line of war horses charged on ahead. Suddenly her master hauled her to a stop and leapt from her back. He grabbed her reins and ordered her to lie down on the burning sand beneath the blazing sky. Fear pounded in her heart like a hammer, but she obeyed the man she trusted with her life. She dropped to her knees and rolled over in the searing sand, the stirrups stabbing her side.
Thats my Bess, her master murmured through gritted teeth. Using her body as a shield, he crouched behind her and steadied the butt of his pistol across her burning back. He began firing. She could feel the guns recoil wrack her body. All about her, the bullets hissed and the shells crashed. But she remained deadly still, just like her master had trained her to do. As she lay on the screaming, scorching sand, she longed for the peaceful green fields and gentle cool rains of home.