A Horse Named Horse

Starting the process of decorating our daughter’s bedroom, me and my wife decided to clear a cupboard that we had stuffed with loads of rubbish when we first moved in a couple of years ago.

“Look”, she said, “a photo album!”

Looking through it, she came across an interesting picture.

“Who are they?”, she asked.

“They were my grandparents, Bill and Maud”, I said.

“Wow, I wonder what they were like?”, my wife gasped.

“Are you sitting comfortably?”, I asked.

She smiled;

And with that, I proceeded to tell her this story...

They hated each other, but managed to muster a smile for the camera that day, apparently continuing to tear lumps out of each other as soon as the shutter had clicked!

I never met either of them, but, if I was honest, I was more intrigued by Bill, my grandfather.

He was born in 1898,and worked as a freelance Dreyman, for a variety of breweries.
It was his own horse and kart: Horse’s name – “Horse.”
He was a heavy drinker; going out to work in the morning;
propping up the bar at his last drop, and being brought home, unconscious in the back of his kart by: you guessed it... Horse!

Horse was like a very large and loveable Sat Nav... with legs!
He would bring Bill home from any of the pubs that he frequented in London, sometimes travelling many miles un-aided through the “then” quiet city streets.
In those days you could roll around in the road if you so wished; the only danger would be getting trod on, or shit on, by a horse!

Then the following ritual would take place...
Bill would stagger into the house, Maud would then shout at him for being drunk... again, and proceed to hit him over the head with whatever lay at hand, usually a shoe! This was a brave thing to do, as apart from being able to drink copious amounts of alcohol, Bill did have other equally dubious talents, one of which was using his fists!
Fortunately for Maud though, he never touched a hair on her head.

Articulation was certainly not his strong point, so anyone saying anything that he didn’t like, or understand, would be promptly launched into orbit by a fist the size of a large anvil!
Banned from every pub around south London, he could only drink at the end of his delivery route; thus nowhere near home!

The other talent...

Conning people!

He would pick up stray dogs, tidy them up, give them a clip and a wash, and with the use of some faked pedigree documents, would sell them at markets on a Sunday to people who should know better.
He had even been known to change their look to make them more appealing, sometimes using boot polish...
Yes; I kid you not... Boot Polish!
He certainly didn’t care about any of those poor little pooches,
but one thing that he actually did care about, was a pocket watch he owned.
It was a very rare 17th century English pocket watch: Half quarter repeating verge, with glazed sides. Silver champleve dial with Roman and Arabic numerals, with fine beetle and poker hands.

And how did he get it?

Once, at yet another Sunday market, a disgruntled punter had somehow tracked him down and cornered him, moaning and shouting about a pet that he had bought the previous week.
Apparently some of the animals marks had been faked with boot polish?!
To make his escape, Bill did the honourable thing, giving him a light jab to the head.
Unfortunately, a jab from Bill was like getting hit in the face with a sledge hammer!
As he stepped over the heap on the floor, he noticed the watch, picked it up, and made his escape.

This watch was the only thing of value Bill ever really owned; apart from Horse of course.

Unfortunately Horse died in 1955 from Tetanus, and Bill died about a year later from a broken heart; he loved that horse; more than his own wife, and Maud knew it!

And what of the watch?
Bill wasn’t even in the ground as Maud tore that council house apart looking for it; every nook and cranny; not a cupboard went un-searched, but to no avail!
She cursed him every day after that. She thought he’d hidden it just to stop her getting her hands on it; she was probably right!

At that time, my Dad was doing ok for money, and he saw his mum’s council house as an investment;
so, with a little cash incentive paid to Maud, and the use of a loan from the bank, he bought the place, letting her live out her days there.

That is the same house that I was brought up in, and when my father finally died a few years ago, the house was passed down to me.

I then decided to move back in, with my lovely wife,
and started a family. ..

My wife smiled;

“Bravo!”, she shouted, clapping.

“Now lets get on with decorating this bedroom!”, I said jokingly,
“We haven’t got all day!”

As my wife carried on clearing the cupboard, I carried on preparing the room for decorating.

Pulling up the carpet, I noticed that one of the floor boards was loose and needed nailing down properly.
As I pulled it up to repair it, I noticed an old rag underneath, and wrapped up in it...

THE WATCH!

I slumped to the floor and sat admiring it, chuckling to myself...

“What is it?”, my wife asked from the cupboard.

Long pause...

“Are you sitting comfortably?”, I asked,

“Then I’ll begin...”