The story goes something like this.
During the darkest days of the second world war, Great Britain spent an entire year fighting the Germans and Italians by herself. With the majority of her armies scattered all over the globe, Britain was desperate for more troops to defend the homeland.
So the British government put a call out to the general public asking for volunteers. Preferably anyone with any military experience. It wouldn't be frontline combat stuff. Just things like operating anti-aircraft guns and manning coastal defenses in the unlikely event of a German invasion.
Well, among the people who responded to this call were a group of elderly veterans who had fought in the Anglo-Boer War in the late 1890's. That would have made them around 60 to 70ish years old.
So these geezers were taken to a training ground and shown the latest artillery cannons. The operation of cannons had not changed much in the last 40 years. You load the shell in, close the hatch, fire the cannon, open the hatch again, unload the empty shell and point in a new one. Wash, rinse, repeat.
When the officers felt they had the hang of it, they backed off and let the old dudes get back up to speed. But while watching the geezers practice, they noticed a peculiar routine.
Every time the old dudes fired the cannon, they would immediately run back 15 feet. And they did this over and over. Fire the cannon. Run back. Fire the cannon. Run back.
The officers watched this for a while and tried to figure out what the hell the geezers were doing. To no avail.
So the officers found an elderly general on base and brought him to the training ground to see if he could make heads or tails of it. The general watched the old men firing the cannon and then running back. After a couple minutes, he figured it out.
"Ah," said the general, "They're running back to grab the horses."
You see, before the advent of the automobile, all heavy equipment had to be transported to the battlefield by horse. Whenever a cannon was fired, the loud bang would freak the horses out and they would try to run away.
Therefore, every time the cannon was fired it was necessary for the men to run back, grab the horses and calm them down before firing another shot.
But after 40 years, trucks had replaced the horses on the battlefield. But the old men's training was so ingrained in them that after almost half a century, they were still running back to grab the horses that were long gone.
I've always liked that story. I'm not sure whether it ever actually happened but it is a powerful metaphore nonetheless.
I think of my past relationships especially the one with the missus. I see now that by the end, we were just like the old men in that story. The love was long gone but we were still going through the motions as if it was still there.
We were truely toiling in futility.
And yet I can think of other examples. One time I moved into a dump for no other reason than because it was close to my work. I eventually changed jobs but never thought to move out somewhere else. Even though its original purpose of that place was no longer valid.
Lately, I've been taking inventory of my life. Work, home, drugs, friendships, and etc. I'm asking myself if the original purpose of embarking on each is still relevant.
Or if I'm just chasing after horses who are no longer there.
During the darkest days of the second world war, Great Britain spent an entire year fighting the Germans and Italians by herself. With the majority of her armies scattered all over the globe, Britain was desperate for more troops to defend the homeland.
So the British government put a call out to the general public asking for volunteers. Preferably anyone with any military experience. It wouldn't be frontline combat stuff. Just things like operating anti-aircraft guns and manning coastal defenses in the unlikely event of a German invasion.
Well, among the people who responded to this call were a group of elderly veterans who had fought in the Anglo-Boer War in the late 1890's. That would have made them around 60 to 70ish years old.
So these geezers were taken to a training ground and shown the latest artillery cannons. The operation of cannons had not changed much in the last 40 years. You load the shell in, close the hatch, fire the cannon, open the hatch again, unload the empty shell and point in a new one. Wash, rinse, repeat.
When the officers felt they had the hang of it, they backed off and let the old dudes get back up to speed. But while watching the geezers practice, they noticed a peculiar routine.
Every time the old dudes fired the cannon, they would immediately run back 15 feet. And they did this over and over. Fire the cannon. Run back. Fire the cannon. Run back.
The officers watched this for a while and tried to figure out what the hell the geezers were doing. To no avail.
So the officers found an elderly general on base and brought him to the training ground to see if he could make heads or tails of it. The general watched the old men firing the cannon and then running back. After a couple minutes, he figured it out.
"Ah," said the general, "They're running back to grab the horses."
You see, before the advent of the automobile, all heavy equipment had to be transported to the battlefield by horse. Whenever a cannon was fired, the loud bang would freak the horses out and they would try to run away.
Therefore, every time the cannon was fired it was necessary for the men to run back, grab the horses and calm them down before firing another shot.
But after 40 years, trucks had replaced the horses on the battlefield. But the old men's training was so ingrained in them that after almost half a century, they were still running back to grab the horses that were long gone.
I've always liked that story. I'm not sure whether it ever actually happened but it is a powerful metaphore nonetheless.
I think of my past relationships especially the one with the missus. I see now that by the end, we were just like the old men in that story. The love was long gone but we were still going through the motions as if it was still there.
We were truely toiling in futility.
And yet I can think of other examples. One time I moved into a dump for no other reason than because it was close to my work. I eventually changed jobs but never thought to move out somewhere else. Even though its original purpose of that place was no longer valid.
Lately, I've been taking inventory of my life. Work, home, drugs, friendships, and etc. I'm asking myself if the original purpose of embarking on each is still relevant.
Or if I'm just chasing after horses who are no longer there.
