Duke - a strong horse with a stubborn nature.

In the days when the old droving roads were used by the drovers who walked livestock from the Scottish highlands and lowlands down to the London markets, the cattle were fitted with shoes to protect their feet on the long journey.

This was a specialized job mainly carried out by a blacksmith, later called a farrier. For what I'm going to tell you now, all credits go to Jennifer Davies for her Tales of the Old Horsemen. Now I would never have guessed in a hundred years why Smithfield was so named. It seems that all those years ago Smithfield was so named because that was where the cattle had their shoes removed, again by a smith or blacksmith.

The more we learn the more we realise what a lot there is still to learn.

The thought crossed my mind only yesterday that I had never written about Duke who was the strongest horse I ever came across. It so happened that our boss took on the tenancy of another farm which was just 100 acres, in order to grow sufficient food to eke out the feeding stuff rations just after the war.

Although we had a Ford Ferguson tractor and three work horses, the extra land meant we were going to be a bit short of horsepower. So, at the farm sale of the outgoing tenant, our boss bought this black horse called Duke. I think he was about seven years old which would put him pretty much in his prime.

A good workhorse, it was always said, should be well put together with powerful haunches as well as being short-coupled, which meant it must have a short back from withers to tail head.

All this meant that poor old Duke would never have won a prize at a show for, besides being the strongest horse I ever came across, he also had the longest back of any horse I have ever seen. He was not quite 17 hands and he was very clean legged. We never knew anything about his breeding, but he was obviously a cross bred.

Except for the boss, we all found Duke difficult to catch. While he would let you put a rope round his neck, once he felt it he would whip round with such power there was no holding him and you would be left with the rope halter in your hand.

Unless he was in a confined space he would never let you put the halter over his head. He had no badness in him, but escape was the name of the game.

We used to ask the boss how he managed to catch Duke - he would chuckle and say "make a noise like a bucket of oats".

Now horses can be madly keen on aniseed and Duke was no exception, so the boss would rub a bit of aniseed on his left sleeve, the horse could not resist nuzzling at his sleeve. So while this was going on the boss would slip the halter over Duke's head using his right hand then quickly slip the nose band over while the horse carried on nuzzling as if he was drugged. So he was caught and submitted calmly to being led out of the field. More next time.

Dialect word: Lonnin, meaning lane.

Thought for the day: Memories. Mother was telling stories of the time she was a little girl. Little Harry listened thoughtfully as she told of riding a pony, sliding down the haystack and wading in the stream on the farm. Finally he said with a sigh: "I wish I had met your earlier mother."

April 24, 2003 10:30