A bit adrift off topic but connected in some way.
Once there was a thriving trade of live horses from Ireland to France for the Boucheries. On an unbelievably cold day in Dunkirk (Dunkerque) an Irish ship loaded with horses tied up astern of my ship and the French dockers, probably on piece rate, began to unload them in great haste. Swinging them ashore with a crane and rope slings not the proper canvas belly-bands they should use, the poor old horses were screaming as the rope bit into them.
Eventually the inevitable happened and one big shire, kicking and wriggling fell from the stops and broke a leg on landing on the cobblestone key. Anyone who's heard a horse scream will remember it.. They then hooked a fork-lift truck to the rope strops and started to drag the injured Shire down the cobbled quay on it's side as it couldn't stand up.
Our Bosun was a hard case Scouser of great renown, Big Jimmy Owen. He said something like "Oh! goodness me, I think we should have words with those gentlemen" and led 5 of us down the gangway. For a brief while it was like Agincourt, outnumbered we held our own but then a riot squad called the CRS turned up in those French vans that used to look like corrugated tin sheds on wheels. They had guns and big white batons..
We all got a battering and thrown into vans and ended up at the local Gendamerie in a cell.
Much waving of arms by the shipping company agent and the bloke from the British consulate's office and after about 6 hours they threw us out. (They kept my watch the tealeaves) The happy ending was, when we got back to the docks there was straw strewn on the cobbles, belly bands were being used and there were some (students I think) with clipboards and white coats supervising and controlling a humane unloading process.
A long time ago, but never forgotten, and I don't care if they were 'only' going for meat it was worth a few bruises.
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