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I was in Brittany, aged 5. The Germans came to requisition my grandfather's horse, Nick. He was a strong, brave stallion, the one everybody relied on to pull the heavy threshing machine up the hill to the village. When my grandfather handed over his favourite horse, I remember him crying; the only time I remember him crying when I was a child.

Christine Thurgur, nee Cloarec.

P.S. Most horses didn't come back

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