I find this book an excellent read, clear, packed with detail, but always human and, when the mounts are horses rather than the later bicycles, full of horse care. In an account of troop movements we meet a man on a train pulling in to a French village, who is gladdened by the sight of cavalry washing their horses in the stream.

We meet the recruits, the volunteers, officers and their backgrounds. To begin with the men were farmers and farmers' sons, many bringing their own good Irish farm horses to the regimental depot in Antrim, and as they were reasonably prosperous their lives and education are well documented, such as a law career interrupted by the war. Consider one of the many to lie about his age, a stout lad of thirteen; and a pre-war enlistee Farrier Quartermaster Sergeant, who had gained his first medal in the Zulu War, fought before he'd been born according to his age claim. In 1915, a lad of seventeen claimed to be nineteen; six months later he applied for a commission and increased his age to twenty-two, and got it.

Consider the horses. The amount of horses depended upon for moving troops, moving supplies, moving artillery, moving civilians, you name it. Australian remounts which needed breaking. And consider the amount of times I was reading 'shot from under him' or 'the first time he saw explosions throw men and horses into the air' or 'gave chase to a fleeing Prussian officer and shot his mount dead, which had the effect of injuring the officer, whose papers detailing troop positions proved valuable'. In April 1915 a squadron sailed to France with 158 riding and draught horses. The 150 saddles were all numbered. Some time later, the horses were fat, it must be said, and the officers were playing polo.

We see what the men saw, such as the Royal Flying Corps, the pigsty shelters overnight, the peasants proving fruit and gratitude, the trail of destruction left after a retreating army. We get their opinions on the Prussians, Khulans, Canadians, other Irish, the Scottish Highland troops. By 1918, of course, the North Irish Horse Cyclists are seeing quite a different life, and the talk is of barbed wire, tanks and Lewis guns. But old conceits died hard: in December 1917 an officer commanding Whippet tanks chose to ride a horse; 'he had two horses shot under him that day'. Spanish Flu took some men. We finally see what happened to the men at the end of the war, including those who were disabled, those who re-enlisted; and how hard it was to know where people had been buried.

The riding, pack and draught horses were all given to other divisions as remounts, transport etc. when the regiment converted in February 1918, because 'cyclists didn't need one man to hold the horses when the others dismounted', and men with equine skills such as smiths and saddlers were transferred to where those were needed. We're not told if any of those horses were brought back home. If, indeed, any Irish horses survived.

The author notes that if a man had to be disciplined, he often does not identify that man, as it serves no purpose, and the man's family has to be considered. That aside, this is the most detailed and readable account of this area of the war which I have read.

Citations are presented as footnotes and placed at the end of each chapter for easy reference. Some basic maps are provided. Some illustrations, such as a photo from Belfast Evening Telegraph. A timeline at the end, and a list of all the casualties. References for your further reading.
I read this book from Net Galley as an ARC of the paperback. This is an unbiased review.

I recently read a good counterpoint, 'An Unladylike Profession: American Women War Correspondents in World War I' by Chris Dubbs.

Prefect book for any horse enthusiasts out there! The writing was engaging and interesting as was the subject matter.