It was a 45 minute drive.
I pulled on wellies, ready to tromp through mud to take a picture. The least I could do, in the circumstances.
I could see no obvious entry point so went to the office labelled ‘RSPCA’ – the animal charity that occupies the land – and waited in line to speak to someone.
‘Could you tell me where I get into the field to see the grave?’ I asked.
‘It’s in the far corner,’ he gestured, ‘but you have to make an appointment.’
‘It didn’t say anything about an appointment online,’ I pleaded with my eyes, ‘I’ve come a long way.’
It didn’t work.
‘Can’t let you in. Health and safety, the ground’s uneven.’
My enthusiasm was rapidly waning as I waited for a contact to call, for next time.
Next time? Hah.
My journey to this place had begun when a literary agent (don’t get excited, friend-of-a-friend) sent me a cutting from the Daily Telegraph.
It told of a gravestone, in the corner of that muddy field, protected by Grade II listed building status.
The grave of a horse.
Called Blackie.
Blackie died, aged 37, in this, the former ‘Horse’s Rest’ in Halewood, near Liverpool, in 1942.
It had been an eventful life. Because Blackie was a war horse.
He served throughout the First World War. Saw action at the Somme, Ypres, Arras, Cambrai. And now lies buried near Liverpool, thanks to Lieutenant Leonard Comer Wall. His partner in war. And poet.
Now, I am not one for horses, nor for wars. Have never read, nor seen War Horse.
But it turned out this story had a link even closer to home – and it intrigued me.
Leonard was born ‘over the water’ in West Kirby, in 1896, but his first school, Terra Nova, was a short walk from where I now live, in Birkdale, Southport.
Though the old gate. Requisitioned for war purpose in WWII it later became a school for the deaf. It is now to be turned into a care home after years of planning disputes
A sad sight round the other side. What looks like a World War II air raid shelter is in the foreground
It felt like fate had thrown down a crumb, told me to follow a trail.
Which is why I was there, boots ready for mud, an hour and a half poorer in time, with nothing to show for it. Except a poignant tale, as are so many of that war which failed to end all wars.
Leonard came from a relatively wealthy family, by dint of the Liverpool merchant’s trade. I don’t know when he left Terra Nova, but the little boy next moved some distance away, to Clifton College in Bristol – a short walk from both the places we lived in that city.
More of those crumbs …
When war was declared, Leonard was still at school, but within days had volunteered.
In August 1914 he became a temporary Second Lieutenant in the 1st West Lancashire Brigade, Royal Field Artillery (RFA) but his service began in earnest in 1915.
After action at the Somme and around Arras, came Ypres. Then the Battle of Messines Ridge, in 1917.
Leonard, more than once passed over for promotion, had at last made Lieutenant. Mentioned in dispatches for bravery, he had also penned a poem which, as far as I can see, was his only published work, but enough to gain him entry to the ranks of the War Poets.
RED ROSES
When Princes fought for England’s Crown,
The House that won the most renown,
And struck the sullen Yorkist down,
Was Lancaster.Her blood-red emblem stricken sore,
Yet steeped her pallid foe in gore,
Still stands for England evermore,
And Lancashire.Now England’s blood like water flows,
Full many a lusty German knows,
We win or die – who wear the rose
Of Lancaster.
Leonard Comer Wall
Liverpool Daily Post
13 April 1917
One week after his promotion, on June 7th 1917, the new Lieutenant, riding Blackie, was in action with the 55th (West Lancashire) Division near the village of Wytschaete when he was hit by shrapnel from an exploding shell.
Blackie was wounded and his groom, Driver Francis Wilkinson was killed.
Lieutenant Comer Wall died the next day.
The two men are buried in Lijssenthoek Military Cemetery.
Leonard was twenty years old. An only child. Engaged to be married to Irene Dorothy Bryan (who later, happily, found a new love with whom to share her life).
As it says. One small part of Southport’s imposing Peace Monument (not war memorial)
In his will, Leonard left £180 – quite a sum for a young man – and requested that, should he not survive the war, Blackie be cared for and his medals buried with the horse when he, too, died.
His partner gone, Blackie rode on to the end of the war, wearing his own ‘decorations,’ the scars of his shrapnel wounds.
When the war ended, in keeping with his wishes, Leonard’s mother brought the horse back to its old home of Liverpool, the city from which he had set out four bloody years ago.
There were happy times ahead in his retirement. Blackie, with another war horse, Billie, is said to have led the annual carters’ parade through Liverpool, wearing Comer Wall’s medals, until he was retired to the Horse’s Rest.
There he now lies, presumably with those medals, in a corner of a not-so-foreign field. Unlike poor Leonard.
But the short-lived Lieutenant would, I hope, have been proud to see what happened to his words.
Under an announcement of his death which appeared in a newspaper, ran his line:
‘We win or die who wear the Rose of Lancaster.’
They were brought to the attention of General Jeudwine, the Divisional Commander, who ordered that, henceforward, they should surround the divisional sign, where they were amended to read:
‘They win or die who wear the Rose of Lancaster’
In 1919, the Division chaplain, Canon Coop, had enamelled plaques bearing the motto (known as ‘cocardes’) placed on the graves of the men of the 55th (West Lancashire) Division.
Young Leonard’s old school, Clifton College, carved his poet-soldier’s name on the college’s war memorial.
And I’m sure there is understandable pride in the gallantry of its alumni, among them General Haig, Commander of the British Expeditionary Force on the Western Front from late 1915 to the end of the war.
But that pride is far outweighed, for me, by the utter tragedy of the loss, from this one school, of 582 of its boys.
Will we remember them, now 100 years have been and will soon be gone?
I will. With sadness.
And may they rest in peace. Wherever they, their horses and their medals lie.
I drew extensively when writing this on a detailed, well researched and fascinating post by Mike Royden for which I am immensely grateful. It has the pictures I could not provide. If you are at all interested in the military side of the story do read it.
Click to access blackie_leonard_comer_wall.pdf
MEMOIRS OF A HUSK 
Saw the monument at Royal Albert Docks . Did you get to the grave eventually . ? Health and safety has a lot to answer for or maybe all those people who sue for every scratch!
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What monument? No I didn’t. Drag of a drive and the project came to naught over a miscommunication !
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Mary, lovely story. I admire Leonard’s respect for his horse Blackie. I imagine that Leonard would hope that Blackie’s place of rest be grander than his own. I hope you are able to visit Blackie’s grave Soon.
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It is not at all grand, having seen the pictures if not the real thing! Leonard has his name on at least three joint war memorials here but is buried in a military grave Belgium. I have a feeling I won’t be seeing the grave, but I have the knowledge…
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Thank you for this beautiful and touching tribute, Mary. Even if your wellies never got near the grave, you got there with your heart — and through this post you brought us along, too. May they indeed rest in peace, every one of them … wherever they and their horses may lie.
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No matter how many years pass, I never fail to feel the tragedy of that war at this time of year. Yes, peace at last, we can only hope. And do anything we can to stop more wars from happening.
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Very moving Mary.
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Gad you liked it Judy x
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As you would know there were many thousands of horses from Australia shipped off to war, and almost none to return. It really is gut wrenching to me when I hear stories like this. It is one thing for humans who have free will to make a decision to go to war, it is another thing entirely to use horses and more recently, dogs. I’m glad Blackie wasn’t destroyed when he was wounded, unlike the poor horse in Tuesday’s Melbourne Cup race that broke its shoulder and was destroyed after. I’m a sook, I guess, but it seems animals only want to please us, and we just use them up. Thank you for sharing this story, Mary, I hope I haven’t been too much of a downer! xx
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I feel the same way, giving an animal a medal when it had no choice to ‘serve’ and no concept of country; unlike hominids, horses see all other horses as brothers and sisters, no matter what geography they were born in.
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It wasn’t given a medal, P, it was buried with Lt Comer Wall’s medals as far as we know.
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No, but some are; special ‘animal valour’ medals which aren’t even edible!
https://www.mirror.co.uk/news/uk-news/bravest-sniffer-dog-world-war-8620003
https://www.historychannel.com.au/articles/pigeons-awarded-first-dickin-medals-for-bravery/
https://www.pdsa.org.uk/what-we-do/animal-awards-programme/pdsa-dickin-medal
[there’s a picture of the medal on this site, the PDSA created it ages ago. They should know better.
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Yes, I was just referring to the post you were commenting on and thus the horse!
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Not at all! A friend was telling me yesterday how many horses (I have forgotten but it was a huge number) went through a local transit camp – animals from as far away as America and – yes, Australia that came via the port of Liverpool. So sad. Blackie seems to have led a charmed life, except for his shrapnel wounds. At least he had a mellow old age and was able to show off a little in hid declining years! xx
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Reminds me of a video I just watched about an American woman who claims she can ‘speak’ with animals. Oh yes, everyone thinks, a Doctor Doolittle. But the truth was utterly gobsmacking!
She met Charly, a male horse with some problems. Without being told anything other than his name, she then said he was in terrible pain, all down the side of his body, and his left hip especially, he’s been abused badly in the past, she continued. His present owner was stunned. He had indeed been abused for years, and when rescued has a bad injury to his left hip which had to be operated on. She did this just looking at the horse, holding her hands inches from his face, framing it. Now they knew he was still in pain, he was treated by a vet and is now happy and painfree living his retirement.
I already knew other mammals communicate telepathically, without so-far having a rational explanation of how, but this was just stunning. I will practise harder to understand my dog, who certainly seems to understand everything I say, but can only reply with subtle body language.
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Wow!
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Hi Mary,
I have just read your blog, great write up. I’m sorry your trip wasn’t successful to see Blackies grave.
Did you read the article with Merseyside Police and the War Horse Memorial ? I arranged the visit to his grave with the charity on their opening of their events at August 2018. Please see attached link https://www.thewarhorsememorial.org/2018/08/24/merseyside-police/
Also the RSPCA building is closing and a new memorial is going to be built on the site
https://www.telegraph.co.uk/news/2019/03/15/grave-faithful-wwi-horse-blackie-form-centrepiece-housing-development/
I want to attend again myself this year with another wreath for Blackie. Email me at WW1.Centenary@Merseyside.Police.uk and maybe you could attend with me ?
Many Thanks Emma
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Hi Emma and glad you liked he post – I’ve emailed you – check your spam/junk folder if you don’t see it. Look forward to meeting you! Mary
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