Fiddler's Green
In 1925 the "Fiddler's Green" was published in The Cavalry Journal and later included in the Cavalry and Armor Heritage Book Series, Volume 1, Leadership published by the Armor Association (and still available in very limited quantities). 

 

Fiddler's Green

* * * So when the cavalrymen die, their souls ride away with full pack and arms down the long dusty Road to the Next World. But two miles before the fork where the road turns north for Heaven and south to Hell, they ride off the road and dismount. They lead off to the right and past them march the infantry and the artillerymen drive their guns and caissons past, marching on to the fork of the Road to the Next World.

But the dead troopers lead away from the road to the green fields with trees and streams where by the river are pitched row on row of tents. Up on the hill is Headquarters and there are the marquees of the dead old cavalry officers-they too halted here, for they stayed with their own rather than swagger about Heaven or sweat through Hell. They ride with staff and orderlies, flags and escort, Murat and Seidlitz, Forrest, Ziethen and Stuart, and many more, or sit about the tables in the shade, over maps and glasses, as they did in the years when they fought and rode in this world.

Along the picket lines under the trees, the dead troopers feed and groom, each man his own horse that he loved and rode in life. Now "Recall" blows, and "Mess Call": mess is served by celestial cooks and for K.P. and stable police the angels do miracles. The darkening sky shows its jewelry of stars and troopers rest about the fires, lying on the warm grass, with pipe and mug for every man. All together, man-at-arms and squire, cuirassier, lancer, hussar and dragoon; Briton and Frank, Cossack, Roman, Greek, Yank and Reb-all races and every uniform, at peace by the white and brown tents, the horses resting at the lines; the sergeants cease from troubling, the officers too are at rest; cavalrymen all, dreaming out eternity in the Last Camp.

And afar through the day and night, from the distant Road to the Next World, comes the muffled tramp of the infantry and the rumbling of the guns (and of late there has been the clangor of tanks and from overhead the hum of planes) marching on to the South Fork of the Road to the Next World.

The Cavalry Journal, January 1925