THE
WELLS OF BEERSHEBA
An
epic of the Australian Light Horse
by
Frank Dalby Davison
Of
the horses that bore the burden of this campaign only
one was brought home to its native pastures. The aged
and battleworn were destroyed and the remainder sold
to the local population.
They
are all Australian bred - bone of her-bone. They are
the troop horses.
The
grey with the neat forehand was foaled where Illawarra's
hillsides tumble down to the sea. The bay mare with
the white off hind ran beside her dam where Jimbour
Plains sweep unbroken from sky to sky. She was five-off
before she felt girth around her.
The
bay gelding is from the Flinders grass country, out
Barcaldine way. The other bay mare - the one with
the white fleck on her muzzle - was accustomed to
drink from a stream chilled by Kosciusko's snows..
These round, high-walled hooves and short pasterns
were shaped for running on steep and rocky pastures.
The
brown horse with a bailey face was with a drover's
outfit once. He was foaled in the far Kimberleys,
beside a lost lagoon peopled with wildfowl. The bay
with a white star on his forehead knows the marches
of the painted inland.
He
was got when a blood stallion covered a brumby mare.
His home lies fenceless below the Flinders Range.
The
brown gelding with high withers and long sloping shoulders
bears the brand of astation west of the Darling. He
knows the red-soil country and the sight of sheepbrowsing
through the salt-bush. The stocky round-barrelled
bay was bred on a farm inthe Burragorang galley -
a little place, bounded on one side by native oaks,
leaningabove a bend in the Wollondilli. They didn't
want to part with him, for he was quietand easy to
catch; but the old man sold him to the Army. They
often think of himback home by the Wollondilly. The
girls - they had no brother - think of him as themember
of the family who went to war; and they sometimes
wonder where he is.
The
bright chestnut was bred on Riverina's tawny plains.
He ran with twenty other long-maned coils and fillies
in a ten-mile paddock. At sight of a man they wouldstand
with heads thrown up and eyes wide with pretended
wonder, before, with much snorting and high-spirited
heel-flinging, they wheeled and galloped away. There
was another just like him in colour; but he was brought
down by a burst of enemy rifle-fire at Magdhaba. They
shot the rider while he was trying to get his leg
out from under the horse; and they shot the man who
galloped back and dismounted to help him.
The
dark-brown gelding - the one that runs to a sort of
tan colour at elbow andstifle- was foaled in emerald
pastures where Yarra Yarra dreams beneath the range
at Launching Place. The roan with dark points was
first handled by an Aboriginal stockman, in the Gulf
country.
The
bony, dark chestnut, standing with his lower lip hanging,
comes from Guyra,where the lucerne paddocks lie all
velvety green. The breedy-looking brown - nearly black
- is from the Maranoa. In the days before he wore
an army head-stall he was thought a master at turning
a scrubber in the fringe of the brigalow. The taffy
with the game-looking head - he is hardly more than
a pony - comes from where the tall trunks of dead
trees stand grey-pencilled against the green of Gippsland
hills.
Do
they remember? Well, they are only horses! The troopship
and Egypt's sands lie between them and the paddocks
they once knew. Perhaps when they stand dozing with
slack head-ropes, vagrant pictures flit through their
minds. Who can tell?
These
are the veterans.
When
the Turk, grown bold with his success on Gallipolli,
came down through Palestine and Sinai to reconquer
Egypt, they carried their riders out to give him battle
at Romani. They endured their share of that fierce
struggle in the desert.
It
was not until the beginning of the third day, when
Romani was ours, that they were ridden to drink.
Frantic
from their long thirst, they fought their riders to
get at the water.
Parched
and weary they carried their men through the charge
and the bitter rearguard fight among the palms of
Bir Katai. When the brigades were patrolling the desert,
screening the army and driving in the enemy's out-posts,
they almost lived under the saddle. They plodded across
the heavy sands betwen desert mounds by day; and at
night, held by the horseholders in the drifts between
the dunes, they waited, sadly patient, while the rifles
lay watchful among the bushes.
Victory
is by endurance; and throughout the hard-worn advance
across Sinai's dry and wrinkled waste, the burden
of it was laid upon these. The fight was from bir
to bir - from water to water. Did racial experience
live again in that? They drank from desert springs
and were ridden out to seek the enemy where he lay
embattled before the water, farther on. They drank
again when he had been routed from his stronghold.
Failing, they were ridden back when their tortured
bodies could endure no more. There are many who are
not here. There were those whose hearts broke within
bodies taxed beyond their power to suffer. There were
those who fell in battle-the bursting shell and the
whining bullet knew no difference between horse and
rider.
The
desert which the army has won - returned again to
its immemorial silences - is littered with the shrunken
frames of those who died. They lie half-buried in
the sands that have drifted against them.
There
are those who had not the strength and courage to
suffer to the limit of endurance. They wasted under
hardship, and found their way to the sick-lines.
These
are the old campaigners, whom Fate has spared and
Time has tried. They are leaner than one would wish-worn
with hard riding. A twelve-stone trooper, and half
his weight again in arms and accoutrements, is a heavy
burden to carry when the marches are long.
For
months there has been nothing at the end of the march
but a picket rope, bare to the blaze of the sun and
the whip of the wind - that and a careful measure
of corn.
These
are they who will carry the battle into the plain
of Palestine against the stubborn and still unbeaten
enemy.
These
are the great-hearted ones. 
To
the dismay of the Lighthorseman, their friends who
had suffered and served them so well were not to
return to Australia.
Instead, they were to be sold to the local Egyptians
- old horses were to be shot.
With
never a sound of trumpet,
With never a flag displayed,
The last of the old campaigners
Lined up for the last parade.
Weary
they were and battered,
Shoeless, and knocked about;
From under their ragged forelocks
Their hungry eyes looked out.
And
they watched as the old commander
Read out to the cheering men
The Nation’s thanks, and the orders
To carry them home again.
And
the last of the old campaigners,
Sinewy, lean, and spare-
He spoke for his comrades:
"Have we not done our share?
"Starving
and tired and thirsty
We limped on the blazing plain;
And after a long nights picket
You saddled us up again.
"We
froze on the wind-swept kopjes
When the frost lay snow-white,
Never a halt in the daytime,
Never a rest at night!
"We
knew when the rifles rattled
From the hillside bare and brown,
And over our weary shoulders
We felt warm blood run down,
"As
we turned for the stretching gallop,
Crushed to the earth with weight;
But we carried our riders through it-
Sometimes, perhaps, too late.
"Steel! We were steel to stand it-
We that have lasted through,
We that are old campaigners
Pitiful, poor, and few.
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"Over
the sea you brought us,
Over the leagues of foam:
Now we have served you fairly
Will you not take us home?
"Home
to the Hunter River,
To the flats where the lucerne grows;
Home where the Murrumbidgee
Runs white with melted snows.
"This
is a small thing, surely!
Will not you give command
That the last of the old campaigners
Go back to their native land?"
They
looked at the grim commander,
But never a sign he made.
"Dismiss!" and the old campaigners
Moved off from their last parade.
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When
Allenby's Army smashed the Turk
Who was the bloke who did all the work
The Aussie knows and he'll tell you straight
That most of the job was done by his mate
The wonderful Aussie Waler
It was umpty-nine in the shade each day
And the wells were spoiled in the Turkish
way
But with nothing to eat and plenty to do
The heart of the Waler carried him through
The wonderful, wonderful Waler
For
ten long weeks through the desert hot
He plugged along and all that he got
Was a drink, or not a drink a day
But did the stamina once give way
Of the wonderful Aussie Waler?
Was he the one to desert his mate?
Just watch him coming up the straight
With twenty stone of harness and man
No wonder the Turk was an also ran
With the wonderful, wonderful Waler
When
drinks were not and feeds were few
There still was his harness that he could
chew
With a nibble or two at another's mane
He plucked up heart to march again
The wonderful Aussie Waler
And when everything edible seemed to be stale
A hair or two from a neighbour's tail
Makes a pleasant meal and there's no doubt
They took it turn and turn about
The wonderful, wonderful Waler
A
great Australian through and through
There's a good time coming old horse for you
There's a paddock green with grass to your
knees
And there you shall roll at your lordly ease
My wonderful Aussie Waler
With a gallop or two to keep you fit
And won't it bring back the thrill of it!
There 're no more hardships and little work
For the cobber who broke the heathen Turk
My wonderful, wonderful Waler
But
what is that the orders tell?
This mate of mine they're going to sell
To the old home paddock you'll never come
back
They are selling you as a local's hack
My wonderful, wonderful Waler I
The times together that we've been through
When all that I had in the world was you
Out there! Out there in a world of men
You were more than wife or sweetheart then
My wonderful, wonderful Waler
There
was trust and mateship in your eyes
A horse has no soul - All lies I All lies!
And more than a kiss or soft eyes that speak
Was your muzzling nose against my cheek
You wonderful Aussie Waler
A life long slavery is your fate
Not while a mate can still shoot straight
Your eyes - I need a steady hand -
Good bye old chap - you understand
You wonderful, wonderful Waler
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“Could
I have a site and all facilities for saddle-horse
breeding in Australia, just cut to my fancy, I would
have it in this way: On a flat or poorish, salty
soil, I would grow oaten and barley hay. This for
nine months out of the twelve, should be the food
of the stud. Between the hay-racks where the horses
were fed and the watering place, I would have a
mountain, bare, rugged, rocky and steep; over this
the horses should travel daily to water, and back
again to their feed. The distance to be accomplished
daily would depend in a great measure on the steepness
of the mountain, and be graduated besides to the
various ages of the horses, ranging, say, between
ten miles a day for the four year old horses, and
two miles a day for those under a year,during the three spring months of the year, I would
indulge the stud with an abundance of luxuriate
grass and salty herbage, water easily accessible,
and almost a complete cessation from toil. The site
of my breeding-ground should be in the most favoured
part of the hot wind, and in the most arid district
that could be found.”
“ Pure Saddle Horses”, 1836, E.M.Curr-Chief
Inspector of Stock.
"the durability or permanence of a breed is dependent only on certain conditions of life to which it is adapted. There is no such thing as absolute permanence of any form of breed.
from “A History of Horse Breeding” by Daphne Machin Goodall.
Mr. Bloomfield, Loves Creek Station, Northern Territory, who in his youth was actively involved in Waler breeding for the local and Indian market. ".... field artillery wheel... nuggety type of horse about 15.2, not a heavy horse,an active horse, ....field artillery lead....15.3 to 16H., then the remount - a fairly strong horse with plenty of bone about 9 or 10 inches."
And of the officer's horse "....more like the breedy Thoroughbred types. The Indian buyers had a sideline here of polo ponies, light weedy Thoroughbred type for the polo player, 14.2 to 15H."
Mr. Biggs of South Australia, who was in Waler breeding and 'breaking' on stations which bred horses for such well known and respected buyers as Lowe, Robb and Kidman. "Breeders culled for a fine wiry type.... so in hindsight it is the very harsh climate of the Australian bush that produced the horse. Contrary to popular belief, man really had little to do with producing
these fine horses, the exception was culling the misfits and gelding unsuitable colts. A type of general purpose horse indigenous to the Australian outback, often bred in a semi-wild state with minimal supervision."
Mr. Hallihan of Victoria who 'broke in' horses for the Army some 60 years ago. "Its hard to describe him (the Waler) because he has the attributes of a lot of horses, a light delivery type of horse. The dry country is basically for the Waler type of horse.. ..most of these are pretty good types." On the subject of breeding,"....it was managed according to the way the horses bred.
If they bred a bit heavy for the job they wanted, they put in a lighter horse, or if they were too big they put a pony and turned them loose and they sorted themselves out.... under the harsh conditions they were mainly reared in. It was all free range breeding. My son worked a season on Alexandria Station (N.T.) last- year and there were a few there but not many left."
