Free Black Beauty by Spike Milligan

ordered the best hay with plenty of oats, crushed beans, rye grass and
Whitstable oysters.
    One afternoon, we went to
see a friend of his — a gentleman farmer. This gentleman had a very quick eye
for horses; it did 30 miles per hour. After he had welcomed his friend he said,
‘It seems to me, Barry, that your horse does not look so well; has he been
well?’
    ‘Yes, I believe so,’ said
my master, who believed so. ‘My groom tells me that horses are always dull in
the autumn, and that I must expect it.’
    ‘Autumn! Fiddlesticks!
Bollocks!’ said the farmer.
    ‘Please don’t swear in
front of the horses,’ said my master.
    ‘Why this is only August;
and with your light work and good food he ought not to go down like this, even
if it was autumn. How do you feed him?’
    My master told him. The
other shook his head slowly, and began to feel me over.
    ‘I can’t say who eats your
corn, my dear fellow, but your horse doesn’t get it. Have you ridden very fast?
I hate to be suspicious, and, thank heaven,’ So my master thanked heaven. ‘I
have no cause to be, for I can trust my men; but there are mean scoundrels,
wicked enough to eat a dumb beast’s share of food; you must look into it.’ And
turning to his man who had come to take me: ‘Give this horse a right good feed
of bruised oats topped with some oysters.’
    Five or six mornings after
this, just as the boy had left the stable, the door was pushed open and a
policeman walked in, holding the child tight by the arm; another policeman
followed, and locked the door on the inside, saying, ‘Show me the place where
your father keeps his rabbits’ food.’
    The boy looked very
frightened and wet his pants. But there was no escape, and he led the way to
the corn bin. Here the policeman found another empty bag like that which was
found full of oats and oysters in the boy’s basket.
    Filcher was cleaning my
feet at the time, but they soon saw him, and though he blustered a good deal,
they walked him off to the lock-up, and his boy with him. I heard afterwards
that the boy was not held to be guilty, but the man was sentenced to prison for
two months, one oyster a day for life and a year in a lion cage.

31

A HUMBUG
     
    One day came a new groom, Alfred Smirk
    In rhyming slang he was a berk
    He never changed the straw in my stall
    Overpowering was the smell of my dung that I let fall
    Master said, ‘That smell is shit
    Go get rid of it’
    So Alfred got rid of the smell and the flies
    Then my master shot him between the eyes.
     
    In a few days, a new groom
came. If ever there was a humbug in the shape of a groom, Alfred Smirk was the
man. He was in the shape of a groom.
    Alfred Smirk considered
himself very handsome; he spent a great deal of time about his hair, whiskers
and necktie before a little looking glass in the harness room. Everyone thought
he was a very nice young man, and that Mr Barry was very fortunate to meet with
him. I would say he was the laziest, most conceited bastard I ever came near.
Of course it was a great thing not to be ill-used, but then a horse wants more
than that. He wants music, champagne and dancing. I had a loose box, so loose
it was falling to bits, and might have been very comfortable, if he had not
been too indolent to clean it out. He never took all the straw away, and the
smell from what lay underneath was very bad, while the strong vapours that rose
up made my eyes water.
    One day, the master came in
and said, ‘Alfred, the stable smells rather strong. I’d say it was shit. Should
not you give that stall a good scrub, and throw down plenty of water?’
    ‘Well, sir,’ he said,
touching his cap, ‘throwing down water in a horse’s box, they are very apt to
take cold, sir.’
    ‘Well,’ said the master, ‘I
should not like him to take cold, but I don’t like the smell of horse shit; do
you think the drains are all right?’
    ‘Well, sir, now you mention
it, the drain does sometimes send back a smell; there may be