Kabul Calling (Again) – Frank McNally on horses, heroes, and history repeating

One of the things we all learn as schoolchildren is that history repeats itself. But you know you're getting old when it repeats in your own lifetime, as it is currently doing in – for example – Afghanistan.

Events there have reminded me that only 20 years ago, elsewhere in this newspaper, I wrote a column about one of my regular walking routes in Dublin, beginning as follows: “Most of the old soldiers buried in the Royal Hospital Kilmainham, close to where I live, had only two legs. Indeed, some had considerably fewer as a result of their services to the British Empire. But at least one of them had four.

And this week, as Kabul fell again, I stopped by his grave for the umpteenth time to read the epitaph. Vonolel was a horse, to put it bluntly. But the Victorians didn’t hold this against him, and when he died in Dublin 102 years ago, he was buried with full military honours. Or at any rate a handsome headstone and an exclusive plot in a corner of the hospital’s formal garden.

Survivors of the defeat and the subsequent retreat to Kandahar included a 21-year-old Sgt Patrick Mullane, whose name would have interested Kipling

"Horse or not, he knew all about Afghanistan. He was, as the tombstone says, for 23 years 'the charger and faithful friend' of Lord Roberts of Kandahar, Kipling's favourite general and eventually commander-in-chief of the British Army. As such, he was a veteran of Roberts's epic march from Kabul to Kandahar in August 1880 to relive the remains of the regiment routed at the Battle of Maiwand […]

Exercise in Rinkmanship – Frank McNally on contrasting figures who did the skates some service

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Piccadilly Circus – Frank McNally on the colourful, coded history of a famous London address

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Fighting Words – Frank McNally on the best and worst songs of the Northern Troubles

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Churchyard Bard – Frank McNally on the lasting fame of Thomas Gray, who died 250 years ago on this day

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“He was extensively decorated with the Afghan medal, the Kandahar star, and the 1897 Jubilee medal. And in the queen’s jubilee procession, he had the special honour of parading behind the royal carriage.”

One small detail I have learned since writing that in 2001, courtesy of historian Vivien Igoe, is that while the gravestone may be in the corner of the walled garden, the horse is not. The stone was relocated during refurbishments that transformed the RHK into the Irish Museum of Modern Art in the 1980s.

Vonolel had been, and remains, buried somewhere in the middle of the gardens, so that Roberts could see the spot from his rooms when master of the hospital in his later years.

This was in keeping with the old soldier’s sentimentality about the animal, which is also expressed in a verse on the headstone, wondering if he and his horse will be reunited in heaven.

Anyway, Kabul has not fallen again – yet – as I write this in 2021. But Kandahar has, and neighbouring Maiwand may not be far behind.

So my next lap of the RHK grounds may feel even more circular than usual.

Getting back to four-legged heroes, Vonolel was not the only one of that campaign

The fate of would-be occupiers of Afghanistan down the centuries is summed up by an incident during the 1880 battle, as recorded in the memoirs of Sir Robert Baden-Powell, in which the Berkshire Regiment discovered too late a geographical disadvantage of their position: “Unknown to the British, a deep ravine ran in a horseshoe form almost entirely around the spot on which the brigade was standing. The brigade formed a square to receive the attack, expecting to see the enemy coming across the open, instead of which the Afghans poured down by thousands unseen, and then suddenly made their attack from three sides at once.

“Some Bombay cavalry, ordered out to charge them, swerved under their attack and charged into the rear of their own men, and the native infantry broke and ran with them through the ranks of the Berkshire Regiment […] These stuck to their posts as well as they could but were driven back, and then held one position after another to cover the retreat of the remainder, but in the end were practically wiped out . . . ”

Elsewhere, survivors of the defeat and the subsequent retreat to Kandahar included a 21-year-old Sgt Patrick Mullane, whose name would have interested Kipling.

Although the latter had a problematical relationship with Ireland, he also had a habit of romanticising its fighting men.

Whenever he needed a reckless hero, he tended to make him Irish, or at least give him an Irish name.

Although too young to be a soldier, even his most famous character Kim – full name Kimball O’Hara – is an Indian of Irish parentage. So was Patrick Mullane, who won one of only two Victorian Crosses awarded for Maiwand.

Getting back to four-legged heroes, Vonolel was not the only one of that campaign. Participants in the 1880 battle included a dog called Bobby, described in most accounts only as a “white mongrel”. He made it home to England eventually and was also decorated by the queen but did not otherwise enjoy the same distinctions in retirement as Vonolel, being first run over by a London cab and later stuffed.