Australia. Australian Army. Desert Mounted Corps - Bill the Bastard: the story of Australias greatest war horse

BILL the

BASTARD

Also by Roland Perry

Fiction

Programme for a Puppet

Blood Is a Stranger

Faces in the Rain

Non-Fiction

Pacific 360

The Changi Brownlow

The Australian Light Horse

Monash: The Outsider Who
Won a War

Last of the Cold War Spies

The Fifth Man

The Programming of the
President

The Exile: Wilfred Burchett,
Reporter of Conflict

Mel Gibson, Actor, Director,
Producer

Lethal Hero

Sailing to the Moon

Elections Sur Ordinateur

Bradmans Invincibles

The Ashes: A Celebration

Millers Luck: The Life
and Loves of Keith Miller,
Australias Greatest
All-Rounder

Bradmans Best

Bradmans Best Ashes Teams

The Don

Captain Australia: A History
of the Celebrated Captains of
Australian Test Cricket

Bold Warnie

Waughs Way

Shane Warne, Master Spinner

Documentary Films

The Programming of the
President

The Raising of a Galleons
Ghost

Strike Swiftly

Ted Kennedy & the Pollsters

The Force

BILL the

BASTARD

ROLAND PERRY

First published in 2012

Copyright Roland Perry 2012

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publisher. The Australian Copyright Act 1968 (the Act) allows a maximum of one chapter or 10 per cent of this book, whichever is the greater, to be photocopied by any educational institution for its educational purposes provided that the educational institution (or body that administers it) has given a remuneration notice to Copyright Agency Limited (CAL) under the Act.

Allen & Unwin
Sydney, Melbourne, Auckland, London

83 Alexander Street
Crows Nest NSW 2065
Australia

Cataloguing-in-Publication details are available
from the National Library of Australia
www.trove.nla.gov.au

ISBN 978 1 74331 262 9

Internal design by Midland Typesetters, Australia
Set in 12/16 pt Adobe Caslon by Midland Typesetters, Australia
Printed and bound in Australia by Griffin Press

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

To Sheena, who loved her grandfather:
Major Michael Shanahan DSO

With never a sound of trumpet,
With never a flag displayed,
The last of the old campaigners
Lined up for the last parade.

Banjo Paterson, The Last Parade

CONTENTS

THE TEST

The recruiting officer at Sydneys Liverpool Army Camp nodded towards the horse corral.

Break out Bill for Mr Ben Towers, he said to his assistant.

The merest glance from the assistant back at the officer had the potential new, skinny Light Horseman wondering. He watched as a huge, 730-kilogram chestnut was led into the mounting yard. Bill had a gentle swagger and demeanour yet his size made him imposing. He sauntered behind the assistant. He had a sizeable rump and long back for a Waler, if he was a Waler. His barrel was large, his neck fine and lengthy, and his head was broad. The recruit moved close and reached to stroke his nose.

Intelligent face, he mumbled.

The assistant smirked. Yeah, he replied with a chuckle, intelligent.

Whats that supposed to mean?

Oh, he knows what hes the assistant began.

Saddle him up! the officer barked, breaking into the conversation.

Dont need a saddle, Towers said.

Okay, Mr Towers, the officer said, mount him.

Towers did as instructed. He was lithe in his movements. There was grace in his climb, which was more of a slide into position. Towers sat easily, feeling his charge. Bill was still. He seemed disinterested.

Youve come from Cootamundra? the officer asked.

Yep, Towers said.

Long ride.

Yep. Took a few days.

Theres a recruiting camp down that way. Knock you back?

Towers face reddened. I... no... I wanted to see Sydney.

First time?

The recruit nodded.

Parents know youre here?

They died in a fire five years ago.

The officer scribbled notes. Next of kin?

Got an uncle, but we hardly speak.

His name?

Ah... Burke. Fred Burke.

The officer glanced at his clipboard. You say you were born in June 1897, he said, which makes you seventeen?

Yep.

The officer and the assistant stepped away.

Take him round the yard, the officer instructed.

Towers dug his heels in. Bill remained motionless.

You asleep, Bill? Towers said, digging harder.

Bill walked a few paces then bucked hard, his considerable hindquarters pushing high. Towers, surprised, fell forward against Bills neck, but stayed on. Bill trotted a few paces, then wham! His back arched, his tail flew up high again. Towers fought to stay aboard. Bill trotted on, picking up the pace near the yards fence. He bucked a third time. Towers, mouthing mumbled expletives, hung on, showing outstanding skill. Bill bucked, kicked and baulked, moving very close to the wooden railing.

Bastards trying to... throw me over... the bloody fence! Towers yelled.

The officer and his assistant stood well back, observing with amused expressions.

You got im! the officer called. Bloody good. You got im!

Towers fought the reins as Bill continued his furious whirl around the yard a metre from the fence. He bucked every ten paces or so, turning his head towards the fence, making it appear that his intent was indeed to see his rider hurtle into the horse corral.

The officer whispered to the assistant: Says hes seventeen.

Fifteen tops. I dont reckon he shaves.

Nah... hes a bloody kid. But he can ride. He sure can ride. The officer raised his voice. Right, Mr Towers, pull him in over here.

The assistant moved cautiously to Bills offside to help steady the animal, but Bill was not done yet. He gave one last prodigious leap and kick. Towers was heaved off. He fell hard on his derriere.

Bastard! he called at Bill, more in shock than through any hurt, except for his pride. The horse turned his head, looked down at Towers and curled his lip.

Did you see that? Towers said. He bloody well sneered at me!

Hes a real sneerer, the officer commented, but he does that to all his victims. His way of saying sorry.

The assistant led Bill away, his docility returning as fast as it had earlier disappeared.

You can ride, Mr Towers, the officer said, scribbling notes on his clipboard. How badly do you want to join the Light Horse?

Its been my dream ever since I could read, he said, dusting himself off and wincing as he arched his back. Those books on Gordon of Khartoum, the Indian Mutiny of 1857... you know, those yarns about cavalry charges. That did it for me.

The officer looked up and held his gaze. Wars not romance, Mr Towers, he said. I was in South Africa.

I read about the Boer War... Towers said, still catching his breath.

Yeah, well, this is going to be a big one, much bigger than that.