War horse… war dog

A cross between “Black Beauty” and “All Quiet on the Western Front,” it tells the heart-rending story of a horse raised on a quiet farm in Devon, loved dearly by the quiet shy boy who trained it, later suffering a series of traumatic adventures following his enlistment as a cavalry horse in World War I.

But this is not just any old children’s story. It is Morpurgo. So it is infused with deep humanity. It tackles themes that many authors shy away from. By introducing children to hard issues that adults struggle with, it keeps the attention of parents and teachers too. But Morpurgo is careful to ensure that while he pushes open doors that sugary sweet authors leave firmly shut, and provokes thought and debate, he does it only in the measure that youth can handle.

Issues of the horror of war, the strong sacrificing themselves to help the weak, loyalty, friendship and courage, and ultimately the thorny problem of ownership, which in itself leads to nearly all wars, run as strong themes throughout this film, which is sure to become as much a classic of the cinema as the London stage production, using puppets for the horses, has become a ground-breaker in theater.

I knew I would need my Kleenex handy. Every Morpurgo book I have ever read has moved me to tears at some point, and the Sunday Times reviewer for the “War Horse” theater show admitted, “I wept like a baby through War Horse at the National.” It seems that members of the audience for the film fall into either one of two camps: those who succumb to the emotional temperature and allow themselves to be moved by the love, courage and sheer humanity, and those who spend the whole film cynically fighting against this impact.

Having studied 20th century history and World War I poets at school at just the impressionable age that Morpurgo’s books are aimed at, and being a devoted dog-lover, I was definitely in the first camp.

Which is why, with great anticipation, I picked up the recent bestseller by Morpurgo: “Shadow.” “War Horse” was published in 1982, “Shadow” in 2010. The former book looks back to the war of nearly a century ago. “Shadow” deals with the ongoing topical issues of fighting in Afghanistan, improvised explosive devices and asylum seekers. Joey was a horse. Shadow is a delightful Springer Spaniel. The novel “War Horse” is narrated by Joey himself. “Shadow” is narrated in turn by three human characters.

But each of them raises disturbing issues about the horror of war and its affect on ordinary civilians. In each book Morpurgo uses the way a relationship between an animal and a human can enable the human spirit to triumph both to keep the emotional interest of the story running, and to provide a safety valve for the emotions of impressionable teenagers when the hard issues being tackled become almost too much to bear.

Polly is the star sniffer dog used by the British forces in Afghanistan to detect IEDs placed by the roadside, and in so doing has saved hundreds of civilian and soldier lives. But in a particularly savage attack by Taliban insurgents she disappears, turning up hundreds of miles later in cave in Bamiyan, inhabited by Aman and his mother and grandmother who are hiding from the Taliban. Aman cares for the deeply injured dog and nurses her back to health; she stays loyally by his side so the lonely and scared boy calls her Shadow.

This dog has two names because she has two lives, and her two human owners love her and value her deeply for her loyalty and service, and the way she has brought safety and security to their lives in the midst of turmoil and terror.

We first meet Aman, however, not in Afghanistan, but in a detention center for asylum seekers in the UK. Without discussing the moral issues related to war in Afghanistan -- whether it be the Russian invasion, international troops sweeping in after 9/11 or Taliban insurgency -- Morpurgo hones in on the outrage of people trafficking and the harsh realities of how European society deals with asylum seekers.

After two years happily in Britain, when their case is abruptly rejected, Aman and his mother are seized by police in the early hours of the morning and taken to Yarls Wood detention center, pending extradition. Aman, though just a child, is locked up, his best friend Matt recounts after receiving a letter: “There’s six locked doors and a barbed wire fence between him and the outside. He counted them.” Morpurgo’s descriptive genius takes us into a world of bleak locker rooms, unsmiling guards, an institutional smell and the sound of keys turning in the locks. But the humor counterbalances the pathos to give us a tale of gritty survival of the human spirit. Matt is not allowed to visit his friend, as he is a child, so his grandpa goes instead. This strikes Aman as ironic “Strange. We want to get out, and they won’t let us. He wants to get in, and they won’t let him.”

Morpurgo’s beautiful prose needs no augmentation to enable us to see the events vividly, but it is accompanied by the most stunning black and white illustrations by Christian Birmingham.

Aman looks Matt’s grandpa in the eye, and us too, as he declares: “I don’t want promises. I just want you to listen to our story. That is all. Will you do that?”

There follows a heart-rending tale of hardship on a trip from Bamiyan to Manchester. Imprisonment and torture by police officers still affiliated to the Taliban, their money for the journey stolen by officials checking identity papers on the road to Kabul, mistreated by “fixers” -- human traffickers who treat the refugees cruelly while fleecing them for all they have, and seeing a fellow traveler -- a young Pakistani boy -- die in the cramped conditions in the truck. The clear implication of statements such as “We thought we were safe now. But we weren’t” is that treatment of asylum seekers in the UK is equally abusive and appalling: just another episode in a long-running nightmare.

But this is also classic Morpurgo: a heart-warming tale of the bond between a boy and a dog. “We had just lost all we had in the world, and only minutes before everything had seemed completely hopeless, but now this waving tail had given us hope.” Shadow does in fact lead them out of Afghanistan into England, but not before she is reunited with her soldier owners and Aman has to leave her behind. True to form, Morpurgo provides us with a Kleenex moment.

But the rest of the story is gritty. At every turn the reader thinks surely such and such a good thing will happen. But real life is not like that, so it doesn’t. Surely the British soldiers in Afghanistan will help Aman and his mother get to England legally when Aman has been so brave and saved so many lives, and British military ones at that? Surely the appeal authorities will relent and allow Aman to stay? Surely the soldier who was so grateful that Aman saved his dog will intervene on his behalf?

Accept Aman’s challenge to listen to his powerful story, and Morpurgo’s challenge to change your attitudes towards asylum seekers.

“Shadow,” by Michael Morpurgo, published by Harper Collins, 6.99 pounds in paperback ISBN: 978-000733961-7