The Gauntlet

Martin settled down into the white sheepskin that covered Valentines saddle.  He loosened his grip slightly on the leather reins that he held in his left hand and settled his right hand holding the hilt of his shining silver sword on to the top of the soft sheepskin roll above his thigh.

Under him, Valentine shifted his weight from one side to the other as he made himself more comfortable, ready for the coming hour of traffic and touristy sounds and smells.  Martin had lost count of the number of times he and his faithful black horse had sat on duty in one of the two boxes at Horse Guards.  A crowd started to form in front of them, people from all over the world anxious to take photographs of the white plumed, scarlet coated soldier sitting on his magnificent black horse, guarding the entrance to Horse Guards Parade.

One hour on, two hours off until four o’clock, then a cooked meal in the canteen for Martin and a sweet smelling hay net and bran and oats in the stables for Valentine.

It wasn’t only tourists who came to see them, there were several people who regularly came to join the throng on the pavement in front of the boxes.  One of these was a little girl in a wheelchair.  She had been coming for six months or so…two or three times a week according to all the others who came to stand guard.  She was usually accompanied by a tall, well dressed middle aged woman.  Although come to think of it…he hadn’t seen her or the girl for a while.

Martin found himself looking for her each time he was on guard duty.  She had a lovely smile and would always give him a little wave as she arrived and he would wink at her, then another wink and a wave as she was wheeled away, leaving him wondering what her disability was and also feeling sad for her, so young and bright and having to rely on a wheelchair instead of being able to run and play like most other girls and boys.

Martin’s train of thought was interrupted as Valentine shifted his weight again and turned an enquiring head towards a tall woman who had suddenly appeared by his glossy black shoulder.

“I know you’re not supposed to talk to me” the woman said softly,
“but I just wanted to let you know that Millie won’t be able to come and see you any more, she’s very ill.”

Glancing down Martin recognised her. She was the well-dressed woman who pushed the little girl’s wheelchair.  Without moving his lips he managed to breathe a question

“How ill?”

Looking down as she stepped back slightly, she gently stroked the side of Valentines cheek. Looking back up at Martin again…she replied,

“Very ill!”

She paused then said

“I know this will sound very forward, but it would make her so happy if you could perhaps visit her and tell her all about the beautiful horses that you all ride.”

Opening her handbag the woman fished around and produced a small card.

“The address and telephone number are on here…just in case you will,” she said imploringly.
“And if you will…it would need to be soon”

Reaching up she slipped the card into the top of Martin’s shiny jackboot, then turning away she disappeared into the stream of passers-by.

Martin couldn’t get the image of the little girl out of his mind. He’d had lots of messages and other things slipped into his boot during the last couple of years – notes from girls wishing to make his acquaintance, handfuls of loose change (that nearly crippled him when he dismounted) from over enthusiastic American tourists, who usually drawled

“Hey buddy…have a drink on me!”

Even a whole bag of chocolate buttons on a hot summers day from one little old lady, who informed him sternly that:
“These are for your horse…not you!” as she poured the open packet into the top of his boot (he could still remember feeling the chocolate melting and trickling down and around his foot).

This, however, was a definite first and he knew he couldn’t let this little girl down. So that evening he decided to call the number on the card.  The tall well-dressed woman turned out to be Angela, Millie’s mother. Millie was eight and was terminally ill. They lived at an address near the Household Cavalry barracks in Knightsbridge and from an early age, Millie had loved to see the shining breastplates and glossy black horses. Whenever she could, she would persuade her parents to take her to Horse Guards or sometimes the Hyde Park entrance to the barracks where she would wave as the guard rode out to, or returned from guard duty. They talked for a long time… mainly about Millie and during the conversation he promised to visit their home on the following Saturday afternoon.

Saturday proved to be a wet and windy day, but after lunch and, as the address was fairly close at hand, Martin decided to walk there.  So, slipping on his raincoat, he set off to keep his promise. He carried a holdall in one hand, zipped up to protect its contents from the elements. Even though it was against rules and regulations, (no part of any ceremonial uniform should be removed from the barracks) the holdall contained a white horsehair plume, a brass ringed helmet chinstrap and his two white leather gauntlets.

When he arrived at Millie’s house, he was warmly welcomed by Angela and introduced to Dennis, Millie’s father. They ushered him into a comfortably furnished sitting room and over a cup of coffee, Angela and Dennis told him all about their daughter; that she had been in and out of hospital for a good part of her young life, her bravery in dealing with her condition and how her love of horses and all things connected to the household cavalry had been a source of constant comfort to her.

Martin’s heart ached for them as he sat and listened to their quiet words.  He just couldn’t imagine the agony they were going through, knowing that, despite everything…Millie was losing her fight. Martin took a deep breath and said quietly.

“I’ve brought a couple of things to show her…if that’s alright with you.”

They all rose from their chairs as Angela said

“Yes, yes…of course…I’ll take you up to her bedroom”.

As they mounted the stairs Angela said over her shoulder

“She does seem to be a little brighter today”.

They walked along a short landing and Angela opened one of the bedroom doors.

“Hello darling, I’ve brought someone to see you,” she said brightly as they walked into the room.
Millie was laying propped up in bed on two enormous pillows.

“Oh you’ve come…mummy said you might…oh thank you so much!” Millie exclaimed, pushing herself up on her elbows.
Martin walked across the room and putting the holdall on the floor, he eased himself into a small armchair by the bedside table.  Angela walked across to the window and opened the curtains a little wider.  It had stopped raining and watery sunshine played across the room and onto the wall above Millie’s head.

“Right then…I’ll leave you both to it, I’ll leave the door open…just call if you want anything,” Angela said as she left the room.
Martin watched her leave, then looking back at Millie, he studied her face for a moment. There were dark shadows around her eyes and the pretty blonde curls that he remembered from her visits to Horse Guards, were completely hidden under a gaily coloured yellow scarf tied pirate fashion around her head.

“Well now Millie…where have you been?…we’ve all missed you down at Horse Guards.” Martin said gently as he reached down and lifted the holdall on to his lap.

“I know…I’ve missed coming to see you all as well, “she quickly replied, then she pointed at the holdall
“What have you got in there?”

Martin opened the zipper and took out the chinstrap and his white plume encased in a cloth sleeve.

“I’ve brought a couple of things for you look at,” he said.

He went on to tell her about the plume…how it was put in its sleeve…soaked in luke-warm water and tied tightly just below the top to form the distinctive onion, before being hung up to dry. He told her how it was screwed on to the top of their brass helmets.  He went on to explain to her about the brass ringed chinstrap, how it was attached to their helmets and how it was worn just below the lower lip.  He told her that if things got a bit bumpy as the troopers were riding along all they had to do was drop their chin a tiny bit and that held their helmet on more firmly.

Martin reached into the hold all and pulled out the pair of gauntlets.

“Ooh gloves! “Millie exclaimed, she held out her arms,
“Can I try them on?”

Martin slipped them on to her hands and smiled as she gave him a mock salute.

“They’re much too big for me”, she laughed as she took them off,
“The hand part is so soft…but the bit that goes up your arm is ever so hard,” she said.

She peered inside the one that she had removed from her left hand,

“Oh and look…there’s some writing inside…TPR SIMS.1892″

Tilting her head as she read the crudely printed lettering she asked

“What does TPR mean?”

Martin explained that TPR was short for trooper and that a lot of the uniform that the men wore today was very old.  In the early days when all the men used to live in big rooms together with all their kit, they would write their names inside their belts, boots and gauntlets so that they would know whose kit was who’s.

“But there’s no writing in the other one” Millie said as she examined the inside of the right hand one.
“That’s because it’s not a matching pair. I expect the original right hand one got damaged at some time or another and was replaced with that one” Martin explained.

Martin went on to tell her about the rest of the uniform that they wore and how they would spend many hours polishing and cleaning the breastplates, boots, buttons and swords.  Millie asked about the horses and Martin told her that each trooper had a horse to look after.  His horse was called Valentine and he was sixteen hands tall.

“What’s a hand?” Millie asked and giggled when Martin held up his hands and said laughingly,
“These things on the end of my arms.”

When Millie stopped giggling he said,

“Horses are measured in hands and a grown up hand is about four inches wide, so if you put your hand sideways on the floor and then put your other hand on top of it and so on, then continue up until you reach the horses withers, then that’s how tall the horse is.  Valentine is sixteen hands, so he is sixty four inches tall.”

“Where are Valentines withers?” Millie asked.

“It’s the bony bit at the bottom end of his mane,” Martin replied.

Millie was full of questions.  The afternoon seemed to fly by as Martin did his best to answer them.  Eventually he glanced at his watch and looked across at the window.  The clouds had re-appeared and spots of rain were decorating the glass once more.  He looked back at Millie.

“Well little one, I’m going to have to make a move now. I’m on guard tomorrow and I’ve still got some of my kit to clean”

He leant forward and picked up the gauntlets, plume and chinstrap and carefully put them back in the holdall.

“Do you really have to go” she held out her arms and looked at him imploringly,
“I’m afraid so” he said gently,
“But I’ll come and see you again if you like,” he said as he stood up and reached for the holdall.
”I think I’ve got to go to heaven soon,” Millie said quietly. The corners of her mouth drooped as she continued,
“I heard mummy and daddy talking and mummy was crying and she said she didn’t want me to go to heaven and I heard daddy say there’s nothing more anyone can do and he didn’t want me to go either.”
She paused to take a breath…then said.

“If I do have to go…will you come with me and look after me?”
Martin sat back down again, trying desperately to hold back the flood of emotion that threatened to engulf him.  He took a deep breath and reaching out, took one of her little hands in his.

“I’d love to…but I can’t, the Queen needs me here to stand guard and protect her.”
He felt his voice catch and clearing his throat he continued,
“I will come and find you one day when the Queen doesn’t need me anymore…until then, there’s lots of us already in heaven who will look after you.”

He gently squeezed her hand,
“Trooper Sims is there and I’ll bet he’ll find you and take you riding through the clouds.”

Do you really…really think he will?” Millie said as she settled her head back on the pillow, Martin squeezed her hand again as he rose from the chair

“Yes, I really…really do, now, I really…really must go,” he said and walking over to the door he paused and looked round at her.
“Bye then, see you soon,”
Millie gave him a little wave and raising his hand he gave her an exaggerated wink, waved back then walked through the door and on to the landing.

After Saying goodbye to Millie’s parents who thanked him profusely for coming, and having made arrangements with them to call again soon, Martin walked back to the barracks with a heavy heart, raindrops mingling with teardrops on his cheek. He couldn’t get Millie’s little face out of his mind….how young… how brave…how sad.  Arriving back at the barracks he went into the stables and went into Valentines stall, he stood stroking his silken neck for a while thinking of the unfairness of life and why it was that good people had to suffer and bad people seemed to somehow escape all the pain and heartache.

It was about a week later while Martin was grooming Valentine in the stable yard, he heard footsteps approaching’
“Parcel for you Martin. Someone dropped it into the guardroom this morning,” called a voice.

Martin turned round and saw it was one of the regimental policemen approaching holding out a brown paper package.
“Cheers mate,” Martin gave him a friendly nod as he took the package and looked at the name written in felt pen on the brown paper. It was definitely his name.

“Thanks for bringing it down'” he said as the policeman turned and walked out of the stable yard.
He put down the dandy brush he’d been using on Valentine and, walking over to a bale of hay, he sat down and started to open the brown paper wrapping “That’s funny” he thought. “Who would send me a parcel?”

He finished tearing the paper off and sat there frowning at the one white gauntlet that came into view.
“What on earth!”…he exclaimed aloud.

There was a folded sheet of lined paper tucked inside the gauntlet, fishing it out, he opened it up and started to read the neat handwriting…

“Dear Martin, I’m so sorry to tell you that we have lost Millie.  It was very peaceful.Dennis and I just wanted to say thank you for taking the time to come and see her last week, it really made her day.  We found the enclosed glove under her pillow…hope you didn’t get into trouble for losing it!
God bless you.
Angela and Dennis, x”

Blinking tears away, he looked at the gauntlet and shaking his head he slipped his hand into it.
“This is weird,” he thought as he eased the gauntlet back off again,
“It’s not mine…I brought both gauntlets back with me last week AND I’ve been on guard duty since then!”

He examined it more closely. It was a right hand gauntlet.  He looked inside and caught his breath as he saw a crudely printed name…TPR SIMS 1892. Looking up he stared unseeingly across the yard, tears started trickling down his cheeks as he remembered that almost the last thing he’d said to Millie last week had been…

“Trooper Sims is there and I’ll bet he’ll find you and take you riding through the clouds.”

Valentine snorted and craned his head round as Martin rose and walked over to him. Throwing his arms around his neck he buried his face in Valentines mane. After a moment or two, Martin looked up at the fleecy white clouds that marched across the sky above their heads and raising his hand…he waved it slowly to and fro.

Martin on his horse

© Martin Silvester 1/2/2016.