Horses

I was up in London this week, saying a quick "hello" to two friends stopping off in Britain en route to the United States from South Africa, where they have been for the last 6 months.  Having asked the usual lame questions about jet-lag, etc., I was amazed to discover that SA is only an hour ahead of the UK, time-wise, and thus jet-lag was no more of an issue for them than it is for my daughter, who returned this afternoon from France.  Obvious, really, if you look at a map; after all, those swifts and swallows still zipping around overhead (though not for much longer) showed no signs of jet-lag when they arrived from their winter in the African sun, though it's true they did take the scenic route.

On the way back to Waterloo station yesterday morning, I thought I'd stop off on the Thames Embankment with my camera, which has been fruitful territory recently.  However, I hadn't reckoned on the weather -- hot and humid -- and the seasonal influx of tourists and school parties converging on the London Eye, Parliament and all those other places that get pictured on souvenir tea-towels and t-shirts.  I trudged around for several hours, but couldn't even see the entrance to the Zone, never mind get into it.  The queue was too long...

The best I could come away with was some contrasts of the sunny side vs. the shady side, which seemed appropriate.

I wandered over to Whitehall, for a change of scene, and was amused to watch tourists posing for selfies with the impassively professional mounted guards in front of the entrance to Horse Guards Parade.  The horses were remarkably unbothered by the constant barrage of flashes and idiotic posing going on under their muzzles; it would be good battle training, I suppose, if there was even a remote chance of a cavalry charge ever taking place in a future conflict.  Perhaps when the petrol finally runs out...

This reminded me of my great-uncle Jim, who joined the Royal Dragoons -- then a cavalry regiment, now a tank regiment -- as a 15-year-old trumpeter in 1908, and retired as a provost sergeant (trumpet major) in the 7th Dragoon Guards in 1934.  At the outbreak of WW1, his regiment was stationed in India, and immediately embarked for France, presumably along with their well-drilled horses.  The conditions on the Western Front turned out to be famously unsuitable for cavalry manoeuvres, however.  Nonetheless, 10 minutes (TEN MINUTES) before the Armistice came into effect on 11th November 1918, a squadron of the 7th Dragoons galloped several miles to capture the town of Lessines.  Insane...

I was struck by the small size and boyish appearance of the horseguards on duty yesterday.  Getting closer, it became apparent, to my surprise, that all of them were women.  I'm not good on uniforms, but I think this must mean they were from the Royal Horse Artillery, giving the Household Cavalry their summer break.  I don't think this will have bothered the selfie-seekers.