War Mule; Forget Me Not

Mules in war, please remember them today

Today is Remembrance Sunday in the UK where we remember those who have lost their lives in conflict throughout the ages.  

Here in the Muleteer Household we make a special effort to remember our long eared brothers and sisters who had no choice.  We hope today that you too will remember them, they fought on all sides; without nationality or religion and have lost their lives in many conflicts.  Still used today in conflicts such as Afghanistan we can only hope that humans can one day resolve their differences, learning some lessons from our noble friends the donkey, horse and mule would be a good start.

We offer you a special insight in to the life of a war mule all those years ago enduring life in World War  One.

Introducing Molly The War Mule

From the moment I could walk I knew I was different, destined for big things! A bit like my big ears really…. My Mom was a heavy old mare and my Dad was never to be seen but I think he gave me my mulificent ears.  When I was young I was always looking for the next big adventure, waiting to see what was for me outside of my Missouri pasture.  Apparently I had a job to look forward to!  Little did I know….

The day came when I was just three years old that I was pronounced ‘Fit for Work’ I was soo excited, loads of my pals were also told they were ready too.  Ready for an adventure….. ready for hell.

We were all moved to a place that smelled of water and fish, not of manure and hay.  Funny work for a mule?  I’d always thought I’d work pulling a cart of hay or maybe get to carry one of the two leg variety… it was not to be.  It seems that the two legs of the world had been having some disagreements (typical two legs) and needed the help of us mules to help one of the sides win the argument.  That’s when my nightmare began.

After a while waiting at the docks while all these other long ears (and short ears) arrived I started to hear about something called War, not a concept us mules understood.  Eventually it was our gang’s turn to go on our adventure.  We were being put in to a floating barn, something called a ship.  Sounded kinda cool to my young ears back then.  What I didn’t realise is that my feet could not carry me in to the floating barn, rather I had to be put on board using a giant haynet (except there was no hay).  It was not nice, some of the short ears panicked a lot at the net and one of my friends cracked his leg, it was awful he couldn’t get up so the two legs took us all away and then we heard a bang, we never saw him again.

The floating barn moved, it rolled and smelt and it felt like the land was moving, apparently we were sailing whatever that was, sailing to a far away land…. Maybe they would have sweet hay and oats and the two legs would love my long ears and ask me to pull a pretty carriage?  After days of  sailing I soon realised I was wrong.

Eventually the floating barn stopped moving, the two legs said we had arrived.  There were all kinds of noises outside, my long ears picked up noises I did not like, there were thuds and bangs and worst of all there were the sounds of long ears in pain…. The floating barn did not seem so bad now, maybe I could stay here a while longer?

But it wasn’t to be, I was dragged out of the floating barn in to what can only be described as hell.

There was noise and movement everywhere, lots of two legs rushed around us and poked and prodded and decided what work we would do.  I was horrified, the short ears were selected for cavalry duty while we long ears got cargo duty.  Maybe it will be a carriage I pull?

To get us ready for work the two legs tested out our education; could we pull, carry, have our hooves shod and behave?  We could, but what about them?  Some of them could barely look at me without shaking with fear, they called these two legs the City Boys, apparently they didn’t know mules well and were scared of us.  I was a good Molly though and showed how hard I could work.  They said I was ready for work, they clipped my coat to stop me catching lice but oh my goodness I was so cold, there were no blankets and it was nearly winter.

And then I went off to work.  I was put with a gang of long ears and it was our job to haul and pull and pull some more.  I didn’t mind hard work, for I am a mule.  But I did mind what happened next.

I was sent to the trenches, great pits of mud and blood, wire and metal, noise and despair. I was sent to hell.  There were two legs everywhere, many were thin and bloodied, gaunt and grieving, confused and hopeless.  We were all there because of the arguments of their ‘leaders’; I never did understand what makes humans such a destructive species?

Ref 3

My days in those trenches all blur in to one; days of pulling carts, gun and sleds through mud so deep and thick that it reached my elbows and I frequently got stuck.  I tried to pull and pull, I was not afraid of hard work, for I am a mule.  I never forget the day that my pal that I pulled with got so stuck that he just couldn’t move, he tried and I pulled with all my might but the mud was like glue, eventually he stopped trying, exhausted.  He gave in. The two legs said we had to go, we had to leave him, so they took me away and the last thing I heard was yet another bang.  He was my friend. 

The bangs and blasts happened every day.  There did not seem to be an hour that passed without those devil guns exploding around us, and the devil’s work they were.  Some of my friends were blown to pieces by those bangs or injured by the metal they slung in the air.  I learnt early on that the best thing to do was stand, frozen still when the bangs went off, my shorter eared friends panicked more and often injured themselves in their blind panic.  They even made us carry those devil guns, so that they could blow up my friends that the other two legs used.  That was not OK.

The nights were as bad as the days.  Quieter but awful for other reasons.  It was so cold and although we were exhausted to lie down meant lying in thick, putrid mud, no easement for aching bones.  We were hungry too.  There were few rations for any of us; man or mule.  Our meagre rations of mouldy hay and a tiny handful of oats barely filled us for an hour or two before we were hungry again.  Us mules fared better than our short eared friends.  We could eat twigs and bushes and somehow stay from getting too thin.  Our short eared friends turned in to monstrous skeletons before our eyes, they could not cope with the hard work, the cold and no food.  For once they wished they were a mule.

It became winter and was so very cold.  Our coats had been clipped away, no sparse mane or wintry fluff to drive away the cold, just freezing rain with no shelter, no protection and no respite.  It was miserable.  Often times we would wake from our standing exhaustion to find icicles in our tails and one of our friends fallen to the ground never to stand.  It was hard.

Ref  4

The humans suffered too.  They were hungry, cold, scared and grieved just like we did for our fallen friends.  I had a two leg friend, his name was Harry.  He was kind to me and did not laugh at my voice or ears and whispered about his hopes and fears to me; he told me about the green grass of England and how he hoped one day we would walk on it together.  He scratched my ears and we shared what meagre biscuits he had.  Strange friends perhaps, but friends we were.

Every day I worked with Harry, when things got tougher he would whisper at me “please Molly, for me, try a little harder”.  He would try to protect me from some of the other two legs who would beat me and prod me and push me to make me try more, I was already exhausted but try I did, for I am a mule.

Mules stuck in mud - WWI, Ref 1

Ref 1

The days drew on and I dreamt of the dusty pastures of my youth, what was once boring and unwanted now seemed like heaven.  My days passed by, always with this daydream.  I became weaker, I knew I could not carry on much longer.  I tried, I tried for Harry but one day I fell and I could not get up.  It was enough, I’d had enough.  I lay my head down in the stinking mud and dreamt of Missouri, of the land of my mother and I breathed deeply and left hell to take the journey to heaven over the Rainbow Bridge.  Now I sleep on soft straw beds and I eat sweet hay and oats and I have never again heard another of the devil’s guns. 

Ref 2

For I was a war mule and I served you.  Please on this day of remembrance remember me and remember my brothers and sisters, for we were war mules and we served you well.  We had no choice.

Remember Me 

Remember me, I was a war mule

Remember me, I toiled for you

Remember me, I was starved and frozen

Remember me, I pulled and carried

Remember me, I was hungry and thirsty

Remember me, I was loyal and endured

Remember me, I was beaten and mocked

Remember me, I was your friend

Remember me, I had no choice

Animals In War Memorial: Hyde Park, London

For more general information about mules and horses in war please see our post here: We Will Remember

Ref 1: Great War Primary Document Archive: Photos of the Great War - www.gwpda.org/photos

Ref 2: Australian National Archives

Ref 3: Department of National Defense, Canada

Ref 4: National Library of Scotland

We Will Remember

Today we remember those long ears, short ears, two legs and four who sacrificed themselves in war.  Here in the UK we remember them today; Remembrance Sunday.

So many men, mules and horses have died throughout the centuries in war - on all sides; we remember and pay tribute to all those lost souls.  In the Great War (1914-1918) where over 8 million horses, mules and donkeys fought alongside their humans, only 60,000 returned; 16 million soldiers and civilians died.  In World War II 60 million people died worldwide, that is the population of the UK, gone.  Another 8 million mules, donkeys and horses lost their lives fighting in places like Burma, Germany and Russia.

You humans obsession with killing each other leaves us speechless and the insanity never seems to end.  Humans have a choice to engage in war, our four legged friends had no choice and followed their humans because they had to and they trusted.

Horses were used to lead cavalry charges on the front line, pull guns, pack food and ammunition, pull ambulances and provide food.  Mules were never used for the frontline cavalry charges, our long eared friends were far too sensible to be persuaded in to galloping in to firing guns.  Our long eared forebears were employed to pack guns, ammunition and food and were used frequently for the ambulances.  The mules of the wars could go where no machine could go and were hardier than the poor short ears who struggled with the cold, the poor food and the work.

Never a harder working, tougher creature has there been than the Army Transport Mule.  Calm under fire, stoic, loyal and sensible following his human where he was bid.  It is well known that the most precious cargo would be trusted to the mules in a transport column, mules would not lose their precious cargo under fire, if a shell exploded nearby pray that your munition was on a mule not a horse for then you may see it again.

Mules and horses toiled in freezing cold and boiling heat, through jungles and up mountain passes.  They endured mud as deep as rivers and wind as cutting as a blade.  Those army mules, horses and men endured more than we can imagine.  They endured together, they lived together, they died together.  Many times the camaraderie between human and equine was all that there was to fall back on and the love and loyalty of a mule or a horse would have meant the difference between life and death, despair and hope.  May we never forget.

 A Soldier's Kiss

by Henry Chappell

Only a dying horse! pull off the gear,

And slip the needless bit from frothing jaws,

Drag it aside there, leaving the road way clear,

The battery thunders on with scarce a pause.

Prone by the shell-swept highway there it lies

With quivering limbs, as fast the life-tide fails,

Dark films are closing o’er the faithful eyes

That mutely plead for aid where none avails.

Onward the battery rolls, but one there speeds

Needlessly of comrades voice or bursting shell,

Back to the wounded friend who lonely bleeds

Beside the stony highway where he fell.

Only a dying horse! he swiftly kneels,

Lifts the limp head and hears the shivering sigh

Kisses his friend, while down his cheek there steals

Sweet pity’s tear, "Goodbye old man, Goodbye".

No honours wait him, medal, badge or star,

Though scarce could war a kindlier deed unfold;

He bears within his breast, more precious far

Beyond the gift of kings, a heart of gold

Much has been written of equines in war. Sadly not much is noted about our mule friends.  FH found this poem about mules in the Great War, we are sure that the writer had some fondness for our long eared friends; somehow you can't help but admire those mules!

MULES - C. FOX SMITH

I NEVER would 'ave done it if I'd known what it would be.

I thought it meant promotion and some extra pay for me;

I thought I'd miss a drill or two with packs an' trenchin' tools,

So I said I'd 'andled horses--an' they set me 'andlin' mules.

Now 'orses they are 'orses, but a mule, 'e is a mule

(Bit o' devil, bit o' monkey, bit o' bloomin' boundin' fool!)

Oh, I'm usin' all the adjectives I didn't learn at school

On the prancin', glancin', rag--time dancin' army transport mule.

If I'd been Father Noah when the cargo walked aboard,

I'd 'ave let the bears an' tigers in, an' never spoke a word;

But I'd 'ave shoved a placard out to say the 'ouse was full,

An' shut the ark up suddent when I saw the army mule.

They buck you off when ridden they squish your leg when led;

They're mostly sittin' on their tail or standing on their 'ead;

They reach their yellow grinders out an' gently chew your ear,

An' their necks is indiarubber for attackin' in the rear.

They're as mincin' when they're 'appy as a ladies' ridin' school,

But when the fancy takes 'em they're like nothin' but a mule--

With the off wheels in the gutter an' the near wheels in the air,

An' a leg across the traces, an' the driver Lord knows where.

They're 'orrid in the stables, they're worse upon the road;

They'll bolt with any rider, they'll jib with any load;

But soon we're bound beyond the seas, an' when we cross the foam

I don't care where we go to if we leaves the mules at 'ome.

For 'orses they are 'orses, but a mule 'e is a mule

(Bit o' devil, bit o' monkey, bit o' bloomin' boundin' fool!)

Oh, I'm usin' all the adjectives I never learnt at school

On the rampin', rawboned, cast-steel-jawboned army transport mule

It's good to know that even our mule pals in war had 'personality', I'm sure the writer learned to appreciate the mule and his exceptional wit and talent ;-)

Still our friends serve with armies worldwide, with soldiers in Afghanistan they provide the means to go where no machine can and of course they provide friendship and solace to those who are caught in conflict.  May we hope that one day no human, horse or mule has need to die in war.

May we never forget

Photographs from NLS archives and Blue Cross.