HORSE-DRAWN ARTILLERY

by QX780 Captain John Robert McKIMMON

2/2 Tank Attack Regiment 1940-1945

 Before the Second World War, I was a member of a Citizens Military Forces (CMF) artillery unit based at Kelvin Grove, Brisbane.  My CMF sub-unit was the 111th Battery and it was part of 11 Field Brigade.  The battery was equipped with 4.5 inch (calibre) howitzers.  The howitzer field gun was equipment handed down from the First World War, as were the guns in the rest of the CMF brigade of artillery, the other batteries being equipped with 18 pounder field artillery guns.  I am sure that the artillery procedures used in the period 1938-40 were the same as were used in the First World War.

When I enlisted in the CMF artillery (in 1938, I think) the artillery guns were entirely dependent on horses for mobility.  The wooden wheels of the guns and gun-limbers (ammunition wagons) were very large and spoked and steel rimmed.

I was like most of the other city youths who were the CMF gunners of those days.  We were citizen soldiers and during normal working hours we worked at our civilian occupations.  On one or two nights a week and occasionally at weekends, we would spend time at Kelvin Grove barracks or elsewhere, practising gun-drill, or being introduced to the mysteries of “gun-laying”.  This gun-laying had to do with the procedure for indirect fire from the guns.  Once a year we would go off to Caloundra or Mt. Walker for a "live" shoot.  The rest of the time we spent doing gun drill and looking after the guns and horses.

Sometimes, Army horses would be brought to Kelvin Grove for driver training at night.  I was most impressed with the sagacity shown by the Army horses.  The big semi-draught animals were far better trained than we rookie gunners!

Early on, I was allowed to briefly train at night with other trainee drivers to see whether I liked working with horses.  Sometimes during driver training (whilst mounted on a horse), I have heard a muted indistinct order bellowed by a warrant officer mounted on a horse and placed somewhere in front of all the other horses, and I had no idea what I had been ordered to do.  Fortunately, the horse I was riding had heard and obeyed the instructor's order, turning in the new direction ordered, as did all the other horses in the troop.  I remained an uneasy passenger in the saddle, but thought that I would eventually get the hang of it with a bit of practice.

There was always an element of uncertainty present when one used horse-transport.  Today, motor transport and a network of roads can be reliably counted upon to get you to your destination on time.  In 1938, the horse was still a small part of the transport scene.  Certainly the Army used horses at that time.  In its original agreement to work with man the horse never did guarantee that it wouldn't bolt, or fall down, become ill, or take fright at some insignificant object or, for no apparent reason, refuse to obey human orders.  In those pre-WW2 days, Army horses were well fed and probably underworked.  This produced a skittishness in their behaviour that troubled their city-bred young trainee drivers (and some gunners too!) who were sometimes uncertain of what was going to happen next.

I remember on one occasion, we had assembled and were nearly ready to set off from Kelvin Grove on a weekend bivouac, with teams of horses hitched to twelve guns and limbers.  One team of six horses, which was hitched (2X2X2) to a big 4.5 inch howitzer gun and limber was more restless than the others, probably because the animals had been hitched up the longest.  Suddenly, when the horse-holder (the man holding the lead-horse's halter) wasn't doing his job, this team of horses took fright and in an instant were off in a "split-arsed" gallop.  The fact that no human driver was in a saddle of any one of the team of six runaway horses only made worse the plight of the helpless, petrified two gunners who were sitting in their correct places on top of the gun-limber where they now hung on for dear life!  One gunner was attempting to apply the crude wheel brake without any noticeable effect.  The speed of the galloping horses rapidly consumed the distance between one end of the large Kelvin Grove parade ground and the other.  The team of horses, gun and limber and two unfortunate gunners hanging on to the top of the limber ran at break-neck speed directly towards a group of Army buildings that still stand today.  The terrified gunners riding on the gun-limber, powerless to exercise any control over the horses, had probably said their last prayers and had decided what curious silhouettes they and their mad steeds would create when the bolting cavalcade went right through the side of the building now looming up fast...

...But the horses had more sense than that!  They knew they couldn't pass through a tough timber wall of a building without getting hurt.  So, at the last minute, they swerved hard to the left and stopped.

A mounted, perspiring and worried looking Permanent Army warrant officer, who had been following the cloud of dust kicked up by the runaways (before the surface of the parade ground was sealed as it is today) as fast as he could, arrived at the gallop and immediately bawled out the two hapless gunners.  They had shakily fallen off the gun-limber as soon as the horses had stopped and in a state of shock, were babbling to one another about how lucky they were to be alive and whilst doing so were untidily drooping themselves against the side of the building.  I am not sure why the warrant officer bawled the gunners out when he could have given the six horses a piece of his mind.  I noticed that the horses in this team had to be unharnessed, carefully wiped down, and eventually given a drink, apparently before they would consent to take any further part in the weekend activity.  There should have been a lesson for me in that little incident.  Like who or what is more important when it comes to the crunch: man or equipment?  It took me years to find the answer.

On a weekend bivouac I was detailed off to be briefly a horse-holder for an officer.  The horse-holder didn't have a difficult job to do - just hold the halter of the horse.  I noticed that the horse was restless as we waited for the officer to mount.  Lieutenant Amies climbed into the saddle and I let the halter go.  Immediately the horse started to "pigroot” and tossed the rider off.  Although he fell heavily, I noticed that the officer got up immediately and re-mounted the horse and cantered away.  Horse riders in the artillery, other than officers and some specialists, were called drivers.  As most drivers were involved in the business of controlling horses that were hauling guns, limbers or wagons from one place to another, the description, "driver", was accurate enough.  Two of the horses in each hitched-up team were saddled and two drivers rode on the saddled horses and controlled the horses in that team.  Members of the gun crew had nothing to do with the control of horses, apart from applying the wheel brakes when called upon to do so by one of the drivers.  The members of the gun crew rode on gun-limbers, two wheeled vehicles that could be quickly coupled to a gun or to another limber, and drawn by a team of horses.

Most of the young men who enlisted in those pre-war days were city boys who joined the CMF for something to do.  Later, in 1939 and 1940, when the clouds of war had gathered, AIF units started to form and fill up with young men as a feeling of patriotism spread throughout the country.  Many enlisted in CMF units too, when war was declared.

...But back to the pre-war days.  Like many city boys in those days I thought that horse riding had glamour attached to it.  The films we saw in the cinema, when we could afford to go there, had plenty of cowboys, and the good guys were always superb horsemen. 

I had a secret ambition to be a horseman in the Citizen Army of 1938.  So, I volunteered to attend a drivers course of instruction at Frasers Paddock, out near Enoggera.

Frasers Paddock has long since disappeared and is now probably covered by houses and streets.

I had seldom sat in a saddle and knew nothing about horse riding.

At the appointed time, I dressed in my artillery uniform: khaki breeches, leather leggings and boots, olive-green button up jacket and a polished leather rifle ammunition bandolier slung across my chest.  A slouch hat completed the kit.

My warrior-like appearance was somewhat discounted by the fact that I had to board a crowded tram to get to Enoggera.

When I arrived at Enoggera I found that I was one of a group of about twenty recruits on the Course.  On our arrival, we took off our good tunics and put on ill-fitting khaki work blouses and were handed over to a small band of hard looking Permanent Army warrant officers and NCOs.

On that first morning we were marched to where the horses were lined up, for what was to be our first lesson.  A pile of saddlery was lying on the ground in front of each horse.  Each horse was tethered by a headline at the front and a heel-line leading to a small peg driven into the ground, at the rear.  That way, the horses had to stay in line.

The warrant officer in charge of our party marched us to front of the horse-lines where we halted.  He told us when he gave us the order to do so, we were to individually run and place ourselves in front of a mound of saddlery.

Like others in the squad, I had been looking out of the corner of my eye at all the heaps of gear in a line.  I spotted pile of a brand new leather further down the line and immediately decided that would be the one for me.

The man in charge barked the order and twenty students rushed off to claim a spot.  At least one other student was also a contender for the heap of new gear that I had my eye on, and we both legged it out.  I just beat him to it!  He had to be satisfied with the next pile, a well-worn looking lot of saddlery.  I was very pleased with myself as I ran my eye over the brand new saddle and brand new straps, new brow band, cheek straps, nose band, stirrups and various other bits and pieces.

Only an ignorant city boy who knew nothing about horse riding would be foolish enough to go for a heap of brand new saddlery!

However, that was only one of the mistakes I made that weekend. Having beaten all others to the new gear, I belatedly decided I had better have a look at my horse, standing a few yards behind the heaped-up saddlery.  He was a great big black ugly looking beast.  As soon as he saw that he had my attention, he put his ears straight back and showed me a mouthful of yellow teeth.  He pawed the ground and nodded his head as though he was looking forward to an encounter with me.

At that moment I experienced the first of the twinges of doubt that would accumulate in my mind that weekend.  Some of the gloss suddenly went of the horse riding business.  But now, our military teacher claimed our attention, and proceeded to hold up and identify the bits and pieces of leather gear.

As each piece was held up and identified by the instructor, each student found the same piece in his pile of gear and placed it on his horse.

As soon as the work commenced it became obvious to me that I had made a serious error in rushing to be first to use the new leather.  The straps were stiff, and the buckles defied doing up.  The closer I got to the big semi-draught horse, the bigger he became.  I was just under five feet six tall and in those days, slightly built.

I had an awful time saddling that horse.  "You will never saddle the bloody horse unless you stand closer to him than that!" the instructor yelled at me from twenty yards away.  It was all very well for him to give advice.  The bloody horse had just stood on my foot and refused to move until I belted it over the nose with the steel bit and bridle. I am sure it was quite deliberately done.  I had been struggling hard to get the brand new bit into the horse's mouth, and the horse had shut its eyes and clenched its teeth in defiance.  As we struggled silently to see who was going to be the boss, the horse quietly lifted a front foot and placed it on my stout army boot and put his weight on it.

Swearing with pain and rage I had to hit the horse twice before the terrible weight on my foot was lifted, and I was able to hobble around in a quick circuit to make sure that nothing had been broken.

From the bad language and other noises around me, topped by the bellowing voice of the instructor, I gathered that I wasn't the only one having trouble that day.

The hardest job of all was to put the heavy army saddle on the unco-operative horse.  As I laboured, I wondered why large horses hadn't been trained to kneel, like camels.

At last I got the saddle on the horse and thankfully pulled hard and buckled up the surcingle strap under the horse's belly.  I then stood in front of the horse to signal the instructor that my job was finished and ready for his inspection.  The horse looked as though he knew something that I didn't.

Although I looked closely at the horse, I could find nothing wrong.

At last the instructor reached me and together we looked at the horse and my handiwork on it.  "The bloody Black Prince", muttered the instructor to no one in particular.  I gathered from that remark that the horse was called Prince.  By then, I had called the horse quite a few things, but royalty hadn't been mentioned in any of them.

The instructor carefully checked my work and especially the surcingle strap under the horse.  "Come here and watch this" he said.  I drew close and watched as he stood close to the horse's side and then smartly brought up his right knee with a thump, under the horse's belly.  A large volume of air audibly escaped from the horse's mouth.  To my astonishment, there was now nearly three inches of gap between the horse's belly and the surcingle strap.

"That's one of Prince's little tricks", said the instructor, “you wouldn’t get far with a loose saddle."  The horse shook its head and looked baffled.

We didn't get to ride any of the horses that first day.  When we finished saddling the horses, we unsaddled them, and then did it all again.  We then lugged the gear back into the stores building.  We spent time applying dubbing to soften and waterproof the saddlery.  We attended lectures on the care of horses.  Then we were taken into a large feed shed and shown how to mix the feed for the horses.  There were over sixty horses stationed in the camp, and there was a lot of feed to mix.

For the two dozen horses being used on our Course the feed had to be rationed into nosebags, in readiness for next morning.

Four of us were up well before daylight the next day carrying full nosebags down to the darkened horse-lines.  The two dozen horses were restless and impatient as we began to fit the nosebags to the animals heads.

When the animals had been fed, a small party of us were ordered to recover the empty nosebags from the horses.

It was still dark when we finished and brought the empty bags back to the store.

One member of our party failed to return and two of us were sent back into the darkness to check the horse lines for him.

We found the man unconscious on the ground, in front of a horse.  Apparently, he had quietly walked up to a horse that was busy worrying the bottom of the empty nosebag on the ground.  The man started to remove the nosebag and the startled horse reared up its head and struck the stooping man in the face, breaking his jaw and inflicting other head injuries.

We had been warned about this kind of accident and how to avoid it on the first day of the Course.

After the horses had been watered that morning, we carried the saddlery from the stores building back to the horse lines.  We had our first lesson in equestrianism later in the morning.  We were assigned the same horses as on the previous day.

As I was involved in re-issuing the saddlery before the lesson began, I made certain that the brand new saddlery of my previous day went to someone else.  I silently wished him joy in its use.

My horse, Prince, seemed disinterested in me after the previous day's contrariety, a fact that was fine by me.

At the instructor's command, "Prepare 'to mount," I gathered the reins and managed with an effort, to get my left foot into the stirrup, whereupon the bloody-minded semi-draught horse immediately commenced walking sideways away from me, whilst I dementedly hopped along on one foot, being unable to free my other foot of the stirrup, even if I wanted to.  Almost at once came the command to "Mount ", and I swung myself up and into the saddle and looked at the world from there.  Prince had a broad, strong back.  It seemed a long way down to the ground.

The instructor was very patient and took us carefully into the drill that we were to follow.  All our evolutions that morning were at the “walk".  From single file to double file to advance in line and various others.  It didn't seem to matter what the instructor ordered us to do, we managed to accomplish with ease.

After a little time, I realised that we students were contributing very little to the lesson.  The horses understood the commands perfectly and carried them out without consulting the riders at all.

The last few hours on the Sunday afternoon were not very comfortable ones for me.  Just before lunch we unsaddled the horses to give them a rest period.

After lunch we resumed our lesson in horsemanship.

The instructor increased the tempo of the lesson.  We carried out various evolutions, this time doing them at the canter and the trot.  I didn't mind the canter too much, but I didn't like trotting at all.  My horse Prince didn't seem to have any springs fitted to him.  When he trotted I was shaken severely.  The uncomfortable shaking went on and on.  No matter what part of the saddle I tried to move to, or how I used my thighs and legs, the jolting and shaking went on.

For some of the exercises the mounted instructor had us in a big circle moving around him.  From the centre he observed each rider in turn.  When a student was seen to be having difficulty the instructor would ride alongside and give him advice and encouragement.

He soon noticed that I wasn't having a successful time and ranged up beside me and pointed out the things I was not doing correctly.  I did try to improve, but found it difficult to comply.  All this time we were moving around in a circle at the trot.

Unbeknown to both the instructor and myself a small depression was looming up in the ground, just ahead of my horse.  The horse had seen it coming and had decided how to deal with it.  The instructor and I were moving along side by side trying to remedy one of my riding faults when the instructor suddenly turned his horse away and called: "Look out, he's going to jump!”  And jump my horse did.  It was only a little jump, but what with my general state of confusion, it was enough to unseat me.

When Prince's feet hit the ground on the far side of the depression my seat was about nine inches above the saddle, and the next time my backside hit the saddle I simply bounced right out again at an angle and suddenly, there was no horse under me anymore!  It was a LONG way to the ground.

At first, I just lay there on the ground with the wind knocked out of me, not caring if I never saw another horse again.  The voice of the instructor came through to me, acidly asking whether I intended to snooze the afternoon away.  He had caught my horse which, although riderless, had continued to trot round the circle with the other horses.

If Prince was amused at the ease with which I had been catapulted off his back, he didn't let it show.  In front of the instructor, it was a polite horse.

It seemed like a long afternoon to me, but eventually we returned to the horse-lines.  As our horses were to have a veterinary inspection next morning, they were lined up again and tethered in the horse-lines, and we put away the gear.

The instructor sought me out as we were finishing up and diplomatically suggested that, with my slight build, I would find it difficult to work with semi-draught horses and it might be better for me to seek some other line of work in the artillery battery.

I could only agree with him.

As I made my way homeward out of the darkened paddocks on that cool autumn Sunday evening nearly fifty years ago, I thought I heard snickerings of amusement coming from the horse-lines, down where Prince was anchored for the night.

Right then and there I decided that in future I would work only on the guns, and I did.

JMcK.       

1987.

©  Copyright  2004   Denis McCarthy - Personalised War Histories