Loyal Creatures by Morris Gleitzman Page B

shoulder.
    Another plod, young bloke about seventeen, was aiming a rifle at Daisy, fingers white on the trigger, nearly pooping himself.
    I took the gun from him and took the ropes from the other two clowns.
    When Daisy saw I was there, she planted her feet back on the ground and slowly calmed down.
    â€˜It’s alright,’ I said to her quietly. ‘It’s just you and me.’
    I saddled her up and we walked to the camp gate. The guard just looked at us. I looked at him. He nodded us through.
    I could tell from his face we weren’t the first.

    We went out into the desert.
    Had a long gallop, Daisy’s face shining golden in the dawn light, her feet a golden blur.
    Then she slowed, circled and chose her spot.
    It was time.
    I patted her down. Brushed her slowly. Gave her a drink and a feed.
    She put her head on my shoulder. I thanked her for being the best mate a bloke could ever hope for. Brushed her some more.
    I stopped. I couldn’t do it.
    There had to be something.
    I could dig her a well, here in the sand. The biggest deepest well I’d ever dug. So the water never stopped flowing. So every time I thought of her for the rest of my life at least I’d know she wasn’t thirsty . . .
    No.
    She was looking at me.
    Calm. Balanced. She’d thought it through.
    I could see in her big gentle eyes she trusted me to do the right thing.
    â€˜Thank you,’ I whispered to her again.
    I put my gun to her head and pulled the trigger.

After, as I lay with Daisy, whispering a promise that her daughter would never go to war, never end up a poor tear-streaked body cooling on the sand, a shadow fell over us.
    Slowly I lifted my head from Daisy’s neck and looked up.
    Johnson was sitting on his horse, holding his rifle, staring at me and Daisy.
    He didn’t say anything.
    He didn’t have to. I could see from his face why he was here.
    He dismounted. Stroked his horse’s muzzle.
    While he said a quiet and gentle goodbye to her, I hoped she had a son or daughter in a paddock somewhere.
    For when Johnson got back home.
    Johnson said everything he needed to say, wiped his eyes, then raised his gun.
    One shot.
    He handed me a spade and we started digging together in the sand.

We did our best over there, us blokes.
    But it was never in our hands. Not completely. Never is in war.
    We were just loyal creatures too, our heads turned this way and that by politicians and generals and the dark waters in our own souls.
    That’s what we were, all of us.
    Just loyal creatures.

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
    Loyal Creatures
is a story based on history, but it isn’t a history book.
    However, it is set in a real war, inspired by real events. The desert campaign in Egypt and Palestine was an important part of World War One, and the role the Australian Light Horse played in the fighting was vital.
    But Frank and Daisy and most of the other people and animals in
Loyal Creatures
are from my imagination. As you allow them to live and breath in your imagination, I hope you sense my strong feelings for the many real individuals who inspired them.
    The Australian men and women who took part in World War One were all volunteers. Some enlisted well under the official army age of eighteen. Some were even younger than Frank.
    Many of the troopers in the Australian Light Horse took their horses with them when they sailed off to war. The special bond between people and animals has been an important part of Australia’s history. Which made what happened to those horses at the end of the World War One even more tragic and poignant.
    While
Loyal Creatures
isn’t a history book, I’ve tried to ensure that everything in the story could have happened to a young Australian trooper like Frank and to a horse like Daisy.
    My own journey with
Loyal Creatures
started in 2012. The National Theatre in London was preparing to bring its magnificent production
War Horse
to Australia. They were also