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| A horse called Buttercup https://www.wargame.ch/board/nwc/viewtopic.php?f=5&t=12921 |
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| Author: | John Corbin [ Mon Jan 14, 2013 6:46 pm ] |
| Post subject: | A horse called Buttercup |
A cool crisp evening. Clear night skies, bright shining moon. The Marechal arrives at the stables outside the tavern. He is riding a magnificent light brown horse called Buttercup. Francois, the stable boy approaches with an apple in his hand. The Marechal dismounts and fishes 2 gold coins out of his purse and hands them to Francois. "Thank you Monsieur le Marechal. I will see that your horse, Buttercup, is well cared for". He offers the apple to Buttercup who wolfs it down hungrily. The Marechal smiles and roughs up Francois's hair as he walks out of the stables. He opens the tavern door to see the usual crowd seated at the usual tables. A wave here, a nod there as he walks to the table by the fireplace where Monsieur le Marechal Bardon is talking to Generals Kling and Schmidgall. "Good evening gentlemen, what latest allied folly are we discussing?" |
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| Author: | Aloysius Kling Sr [ Mon Jan 14, 2013 9:26 pm ] |
| Post subject: | Re: A horse called Buttercup |
Generals Schmidgall and Kling stand as the Marechal walks up and General Kling responds: "Marechal Corbin, we can only hope the allies keep eating their own horses and soon they will be riding sheep, Please sit and share our wine and join us for dinner." They sit and order another bottle of wine from Helga. As soon as they are seated Josephine the pretty black cat of General Schmidgall jumps up on his lap and demands attention. |
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| Author: | John Corbin [ Mon Jan 14, 2013 9:38 pm ] |
| Post subject: | Re: A horse called Buttercup |
The Marechal shares a chuckle with his comrades. "I see the allied rabble are deep in their cups again. They just cannot hold their alcohol, if what they drink is really alcohol." |
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| Author: | Mike Peccolo [ Mon Jan 14, 2013 10:04 pm ] |
| Post subject: | Re: A horse called Buttercup |
The rain poured down upon the hapless soldier. The horse, was tired and it took the brief respite to hang its head low. The horse did not even shuffle its hooves in the mud. The soldier, wiping rain from his eyes for he had lost his hat, looked at the fork in the road. Without a map, he tried to remember, which way, which way back towards the main camp. "Vell, Ich habe miene Gluck verloren", muttered the soldier. Yes, it had been quite a ride for him and the horse too. It was truely a tale to tell, when he would be old, to his grandchildren, if he lived so long. Taking a coin from his pocket, he said, "Mit ein Kopf wir gehen links". He flipped the coin and looked at the result. "Zo, gamma wir!", he remarked as he mounted the horse. Gad the horse was small for him, he felt as if his feet would drag upon the ground even while his feet were in the stirrups. Whoever had been the former rider of the horse was definately a puny mensch. But, you never look a gift horse in the mouth, and at the time he really needed one to get out of a terrible jam, having lost his brute of a heavy Russian charged he had been loaned. Now, that was a horse, nothing like this thing he road now. Gad, it was raining a lot........ |
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| Author: | clifton seeney [ Tue Jan 15, 2013 1:37 pm ] |
| Post subject: | Re: A horse called Buttercup |
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| Author: | Mike Peccolo [ Tue Jan 15, 2013 11:02 pm ] |
| Post subject: | Re: A horse called Buttercup |
It had been a rough night for the soldier. The rain seemed to never want to let up. He had tried to take a break and rest in the cramped confines of a Foresters shed, but it leaked like a seeve and the dry spots were poplar with vermin. So, back in the saddle he had gone, on the pathetic horse, and they plodded on down the road.  He half slept in the saddle, the rocking motion of the horse acting like a sedative. Thought's came drifting thru his mind. Some seemed so real, could they be dreams, nightmares, memories or harbringers of events to come?  He saw visions of a family with a horse on a magical Isle surrounded by warm tropical waters, a horse for a Prussian General that was way too large, a little bird pecking the bell on the collar of a cat. These all brought a smile to his rain soaked face.  But, then there were the others. French soldiers all around, surrounding brave Russian Cuirassier's. Cannon and muskets roared, French Cavalry appeared.  The Russian General cried, save yourselves men, God Save the Tsar! The formation broke, some surrendered, some died on the bayonet or by gunfire.  Others raced for the gaps between the French units that were ever so closing. Our poor soldier seemed rooted to the ground, looking at his former proud Russian warhorse that lay dying. There seemed to be no way out for him No, no way till his eyes spied the runty horse standing stock still in all the commotion. Not looking a gift in the mouth, Our poor soldier raced to the horse and lept into the empty saddle on its back, dug his spurs into it's sides and the horse took off ......... at the walk   .A French unit to his left about fell over laughing at the sight , our soldiers legs too long to fit the stirrups, his legs seemed to almost reached to the ground  Slapping the animal on the rear with the palm of his hand, swinging his legs out to the sides to urge the horse faster, the horse broke into a slow trott finally  A French Captaine cried out, "Mon Dieu, it iz Jerry Lewis!" as he slapped the shoulder of a soldier as they both laughed and pointed. To the left, things were way too different. The French men looked confused. Some that appeared ready to fire at him dropped their weapons and Officers and NCO's screamed at them not to fire! Onward rode our soldier gouging and prodding this runty mare ever faster, and the French on the left as they came into sight all seemed to fall into confusion, some units even halted, came to attention and presented arms as he rode past Yet, to the right there was more laughing.It was then that our soldier was snapped out of his slumber by the slamming of a door......
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| Author: | MCJones1810 [ Tue Jan 15, 2013 11:56 pm ] |
| Post subject: | Re: A horse called Buttercup |
| TDF, Mike! Oh, Heaven help me, but I do think I see what is coming next.  "Brace for impact!" the Captain cried, but it was too late, the ship was already upon the rocks. 
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| Author: | Mike Peccolo [ Wed Jan 16, 2013 12:42 am ] |
| Post subject: | Re: A horse called Buttercup |
Startled out of his fitful slumber in the saddle, our soldier cast his eyes quickly about…… and saw that it had stopped raining and that the horse had halted and they were standing in the middle of a courtyard… a courtyard he knew oh so well… the horse had somehow brought him to the Rhine Tavern! Oh happy day! It will be Oh so fabulous to get a drink with good company, good food and good drink! But first, as a good soldier, he must take care of his horse, even one so runty as this one. It had done well and got him home, eventually. He heard more commotion from the stables, no doubt where the sound that had woken him came from. Dismounting, he lead the horse into the stable, thru it’s arching door and his attention was drawn to a stall off to the right of the main corridor. Inside the stall was a stable hand doing the lowliest chore of the stable, “Guten Abend mein Herr” spoke our soldier. The stable hand stood up from the hunched posture he had as he was trying to use a pitchfork and turned to look at our disheveled, wet, and filthy soldier. “And what can I due for Ewwww?” , spoke the stable hand. Our soldier could see that the stable hand wore a French uniform, which until recently had a sergeants rank upon the sleeves….. hmmm, tread lightly here. “If you could, see to mein pferd mit fodder, hay und wasser, Bitte”. Reaching into his coin pocket, our soldier found himselve without. The French soldier processed a keen eye and caught it all.  “Meinnn Herr,” putting as much sarcasm in the Mein as any good French waiter could, “ I have no time for the animals of lowly Germanic peazants, especially such a runty and pitiful looking one such as zhat.” Pointing across the corridor at another stall, the French man continued, “Zhat is a real horse, a French horse, a horse that is fit to carry a Marechal of France!” he said with much pride, “Your nag is only fit to carry filty rabble such as yourself, if eww wish feed, fodder and ze hay, down ze corridor and on the left, mesieur, otherwise, I must tend to ze Mareschals beloved Buttercup.”  With that, the French man picked up the slop bucket and headed outside to dump the contents. “Zo, I guess trading my horse for Buttercup is out of der Frage?” asked our poor soldier. “Ha! I would not pay a franc for such a nag!” “I’d take it” thought the soldier, and with a shrug, our dirty soldier headed down the corridor. He stopped and looked at the wash rack, then at the runty horse, sighed and tied the mare up so he could wash her down and clean her up. Bone tired and weary, he cleaned the animal without thinking, as he had learned the task long ago and could, (and was nearly) doing it in his sleep. He was just about finished when a familiar voice called out and caused his body to reflexively snap to attention. “Where in the world have you been, Major?!” “Mein Gott, Es ist Herr General!” thought our poor soldier As the familiar figure of his commanding officer appeared coming up the corridor, wearing his usual British Guards Uniform, the General said, “Stand easy mein Wurger, and where in the world did you find such a curious mare as this?” Knowing that the General had a keen eye for good horse flesh, the soldier was quite ashamed of the runty appearance of the horse. “She ist a gut mare fur Kinder, aber I prefer a fine Russian warhorse. But, she got me out of ein pickle, so, I must take care of her.” The General walked down the right side of the horse, taking in her conformation, he rounded her head and started down her left side. He said, “You missed a fine bar-be-cue, but there may still be a few pieces left, you must che…..”, and he froze in mid-sentence. Our soldier, the Major (or Der Wurger), looked up at his General, “Ich muss was, Herr General?” But he noticed the General gazing at the left rear haunch of the mare. “Was ist los Herr General?” The General looked up at Der Wurger and said, “Major, did you just ride in from Russia? And if so, I’ll buy your mare?” Well, maybe Der Wurgers luck was changing. The General had not even looked at the teeth of the horse yet. “Ja, ja, es war a long vay from Russia. Aber, Mein General, if you like diese Mare, I shall gladly present her to you as a spoil of war.” “Are you sure Major, I’ll gladly pay you a 100 pounds” Mein Gott, Herr General ist drunk, no, maybe crazy.“Nein, nein, she ist mein gift”. “Very well, I shall take her to my tent, oh, by the way, you look a mess, get yourself cleaned up and look like and Officer”. “Jawohl mein Herr!” As the General lead the little mare out of the stable, Buttercup snorted and stamped. The little French former sergeant, having overheard the conversation, thought that the two Germans were truly insane. Ha! 100 pounds for such a puny horse. Why, Buttercup would be worth ten times that amount! Oh, 1,000 pounds, what one could do with such money. The dirty one was a fool to turn down such a sum. He saluted the General as he came past, all the while trying to stifle a tremendous laugh that fought to burst forth from his mouth. As tears started to well up in his eyes, his shoulders started to shake, the General was past and the French man got his last look at the little mare, at the left side of the little mare………..Where his eyes became glued to the left haunch….. And out by the front of the Rhine Tavern, a little bird danced in a lemon tree looking for a nice thorn to place a bug upon. The bird stopped and cocked his head toward the stables as an unearthly sound echoed forth.
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| Author: | Mike Peccolo [ Wed Jan 16, 2013 6:06 pm ] |
| Post subject: | Re: A horse called Buttercup |
The dogs of the village needed little prodding in the night. The moon was full and high when the sound emitted from the stables of the Rhine Tavern. It was an unearthly wail that quickly found the hounds and mutts all joining in. The poor stable boy Francois, eyes wide in terror, roused from his youthful slumber, ran from the stables with his hands over his ears. The sound even penetrated the thick stone walls of the tavern, where many an Officer, French and Allied, Marshall to lowly Lieutenant, all had been enjoying an evening of drink, song and camaraderie. Die Ratte turned to Der Falcon and asked, “Werewolf?” The reply was, “There wolf!” as Der Falcon pointed towards the stable. They both laughed and took another drink. As General Jones made his way towards his tent he thought, “Where have I heard that terrible sound before?” He stopped and scratched the little horses head and noticed a name plate upon its’ bridle. “Marie” read the General aloud, “Well, Marie, let us get you to my tent and a nice bag of oats.” The horse nuzzled his hand and away they went. Oh, yes, the little French man had seen this…….  For his face was framed on either side by his hands, his mouth shaped into a very round hole from which the sound emerged.  He could have had the horse for a single lowly franc, and no doubt received a nice reward from, not a German peasant, but an Emperor. Oh yes he screamed……….. And Buttercup wondered, “Hey, what iz with zis screaming, I want my oats toot sweet!”
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| Author: | Sir Muddy [ Mon Jan 21, 2013 10:37 am ] |
| Post subject: | Re: A horse called Buttercup |
Upon hearing this entertaining tale, Sir Muddy thought to himself that it made the trip trip out in the pouring rain all worth while and that is why he of.ten sought out the warm fires of the Tavern on nights such as these. A well told tale indeed! Helga, a drink for the Prussian soldier and his tale of the fine steed that brought him home. |
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| Author: | MCJones1810 [ Mon Jan 21, 2013 10:53 am ] |
| Post subject: | Re: A horse called Buttercup |
Prussian soldier, sir? No, sir. I am afraid our Prussian brothers have not 'rightfully' annexed us yet. Der Wurger serves the noble King of England, Herr Field Marshal. He is one of the fine officers belonging to the Kingdom of Hanover, in the service of our Anglo-Allied Army.
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| Author: | Mike Peccolo [ Fri Jan 10, 2014 12:40 am ] |
| Post subject: | Re: A horse called Buttercup |
Ja, ja, es ist all true! Genau! Die Frenchies were all upset last Jahre. Aber, Herr Mareshal Kling always muss sprechen about our fine horses, zo, I thought it vood be a good time to relive a fine tale. Helga, Helga!... Ach mein Schotz mein tankard ist empty .. Oh! Du bist die Best..... Hmmmmmm, das ist gut Bier!
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| Author: | MCJones1810 [ Fri Jan 10, 2014 8:28 am ] |
| Post subject: | Re: A horse called Buttercup |
And I, for one, enjoyed every minute of its retelling! God Save the King! God Save the Mighty and Irrepressible Anglo-Allied Army! God Save the Hanoverians!
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