Stretchers soon ran out at Gallipoli. They’d practised with six men carrying a stretcher and there soon weren’t enough stretcher-bearers either. Jack began carrying wounded men on his shoulders down the gully to the beach. Then, on the second (or first) night, he found a donkey grazing in Shrapnel Gully.
No one really knows how the donkey got there. Two donkeys had been bought by an Australian quartermaster (a supply officer) at Lemnos, and were then thrown overboard, as the landing craft were full when they got to Gallipoli. The poor creatures had to swim to shore. This is the story that I’ve assumed is true for this book.
Another theory is that the donkey was a wild donkey—but it takes months to train a donkey, especially to carry wounded men. The donkeys may also have been brought to carry kerosene tins of water to the troops. But this is unlikely, too, as mules—a cross between a horse and a donkey—had been brought to do this. Mules are bigger and stronger than donkeys, and no one would have brought donkeys with the mules.
Jack improvised a headstall and lead rope from field dressings and used the donkey to carry the wounded men from the battlefield down Shrapnel Gully to the hospital station on Anzac Cove, dodging bombs and facing sniper fire as they trudged through heat and flies.
He used at least one other donkey, too, as there is a record of one of his donkeys being shot, but he also called his donkey by various names, even on the one journey: Abdul, Murphy and Queen Elizabeth. But the favourite name—or the favourite donkey—was Duffy.
Jack worked by himself, risking being shot as a deserter in the first few days before his work was officially recognised. He slept and ate with the 21st Kohat Indian Mountain Artillery Battery, whose mules were used to haul big artillery. They’d brought plenty of fodder for them and were happy to feed Jack’s donkeys too. The Indians called Jack ‘Bahadur’, the bravest of the brave.
Jack and his donkey (or donkeys) worked through every night till about 3 am and then they’d be up again at dawn, dodging shellfire. Soon everyone in the trenches knew ‘Simpson’ and his donkey. They may have made twelve to fifteen short journeys a day, mostly from Shrapnel Gully down to the beach, but they may also have made fewer longer trips too, as it appears that Henderson did later on, treading up the narrow paths into the hills much further off. They mostly rescued men who had either head or leg injuries, because they could be held on a donkey without suffering further damage. (Simpson left the men with large abdominal and chest wounds to the stretcher-bearers.) He may have rescued up to three hundred soldiers, but we will never really know how many, as no records were kept of which member of the 3rd Ambulance Brigade rescued which person. It’s likely, however, that he either rescued fewer men, or his journeys were short ones—it took most of a day to get up to the far trenches and back again, especially with a wounded passenger.
The man and the donkey were considered unkillable by the soldiers watching Jack whistle and sing in full view of both the Allied and the Turkish trenches. It is probably this bravado—the singing and the whistling—that made him a legend. Other stretcher-bearers (and men with donkeys) were equally heroic, but not as charismatic.
On 19 May, only twenty-four days after the landing, Jack was shot through the heart—killed by machine-gun fire as he and Duffy carried a man down Shrapnel Gully, with another wounded man hobbling alongside. The wounded man on the donkey was shot again. The man who was walking with them was killed along with Jack. According to one story Duffy panicked, but still carried the last wounded man down to the dressing station by himself. But other stories say that the passenger was killed too, or that he survived, but that another ambulance bearer led the donkey down to Anzac Cove.
This is another bit of history where we probably will never know the truth. I, too, have preferred the dramatic story of the loyal donkey rescuing the wounded man by himself. But I may just want to believe that was the way it happened.
I also don’t believe the donkey panicked. He had accepted a lot already—this was no flighty animal. Donkeys have been known to do a ‘dance’ around a dead person or a dead donkey, often bawling and making other loud noises, in mourning or recognition or maybe something we just don’t understand. I think this is what the donkey did when the man he’d followed was shot.
Jack was buried on the desolate beachfront the men called ‘Hell Spit’. After the Armistice he was given a headstone in the Beach Cemetery at Anzac Cove. He has been recommended for the Victoria Cross twice, as well as the Distinguished Conduct Medal, but despite much public pressure has never been decorated for his heroism, partly because there was so little written about him officially at the time, and because some of the deeds attributed to him were probably done by others just as brave.
After Jack’s death a letter arrived from his mother, the last one of many she had sent to her much-loved son in the years he had been away. It is the letter quoted in this book. The words are all hers, not mine.
The pictures of Simpson and his donkey
The picture of ‘Simpson and his donkey’ that so many people know quite possibly isn’t of Simpson. We do have photos of Simpson—and the man in the ‘donkey’ photo looks quite different. The photo may not even be of his donkey, though it probably is, as the distinctive pale nose is there. The photo of the man with a donkey helping the wounded was taken by Sergeant James (Jas) G Jackson of the New Zealand Expeditionary Force. The photo is probably of Private Richard Henderson, a teacher who’d joined the New Zealand Medical Corps, and who took over carrying the wounded on a donkey after Simpson died. Some sources say it was only for a few days, but there are other stories of men swearing that ‘Simpson’ carried them, despite the fact they were wounded weeks after Simpson had died, so perhaps Henderson—or others—carried on for much longer.
Private Henderson survived the Gallipoli Campaign and went on to serve in France on the Western Front. Henderson was awarded the Military Medal for Gallantry during the Battle of the Somme in 1916. He was wounded at Passchendaele in 1917, and his lungs, skin and eyes were poisoned by mustard gas. He was sent back to New Zealand in early 1918.
Henderson went back to teaching. But he still suffered from the gas that had burnt his lungs and his eyes, and he went blind in 1934. He died on 14 November 1958; he was sixty-three.
On 20 April 1990 a bronze statue of Henderson and his donkey was unveiled at the New Zealand National War Memorial by his son Ross Henderson, to commemorate the 75th Anniversary of the landings at Gallipoli on 25 April 1915.
The real picture
We do have pictures of ‘Simpson’ and there is at least one picture of the donkey. Mark Greenwood, author of the extraordinary picture book Simpson and his Donkey, with superb and heart-wrenching illustrations by Frané Lessac, found a photo from the South Shields Gazette at the South Shields library, and most kindly sent me a copy. It is worn and faded, but you can just make out the small scrawny donkey. Without Mark’s kindness I would never have seen the donkey I had spent so much time researching and had come to love so much.
The stretcher-bearers of Gallipoli
The stretcher-bearers were perhaps the bravest among men of already incredible courage. Most other soldiers stayed in the trenches or behind shelter for much of the time. The stretcher-bearers went wherever there were wounded men, and whenever they heard a call.
It is impossible to describe how brave those men were. They carried stretchers not guns in their hands as they faced the enemy, usually without shelter, dashing out from cover to bring in the wounded—often in the midst of shelling because that is when they were most needed—or after a big shell had gone off and another was expected. Perhaps half of them died or were wounded on that first day at Gallipoli—and that was just the beginning.
They worked day after day with no let-up. Often into the night as well, the gully lit by rocket fire, they’d be finding their way up and down rough gullies or, later, steep narrow paths or rough steps up the scrawny hills of Gallipoli.
These men are some of the greatest heroes of
our history—and we remember only one of them by name: Simpson. The heroism we ascribe to him belongs to all of them.
According to the war correspondent Bean, the most dangerous place to be after a shell exploded was right next to it, as that was where the next shell was likely to explode. But that most dangerous spot was exactly where the stretcher-bearers had to dash to, crouching without shelter while they tended to wounds or rolled the man onto the stretcher.
The stretchers were designed to be lifted by six men, one on each end of each pole and the other two carrying whichever bit needed extra support. (This might be the lower points, for example, when they were going downhill.) But there were so many wounded—and far too few stretcher-bearers. From the very first the bearers at Gallipoli managed four to a stretcher, then two—an incredible effort as they tried to make their way down rough and steep ground, bearing men who often rolled or twisted in their pain.
Nor were there enough stretchers. The men had to use oilcloth instead, trying to grasp the slippery edges. Their hands soon became blistered and torn, and their muscles screamed from the awkward positions needed to keep hold of the cloth.
Like Simpson, these men became legends. It was impossible to weave and duck, as other soldiers did, to try to make yourself less of a target. You can’t weave and duck carrying the wounded, not in country like that. So they ran, walked or staggered, making jokes or cursing the enemy. Whenever they were needed, whatever the danger—they were there. Every one of them, perhaps, was a hero. When you remember the man and the donkey, remember the other heroes too.
World War I
World War I cost Australia more lives than any other war. There were fewer than five million people in Australia when war was declared, but 300,000 enlisted. 60,000 Australian men were killed. A further 150,000 to 200,000 were wounded or gassed, or suffered shell-shock and other mental problems.
But when war was first declared it was known as ‘The Great Adventure’. People ran cheering through the streets when, on 4 August 1914, the United Kingdom declared war against its long-term rival Germany, after Germany invaded Belgium.
And because Australia was part of the British Empire, this meant that it was at war, too. The Australian Prime Minister, Joseph Cook, declared: ‘Our duty is quite clear—to gird up our loins and remember that we are Britons.’ The leader of the Labor Opposition, Andrew Fisher, said that Australia would defend the United Kingdom ‘to the last man and the last shilling’.
Australia, New Zealand, Canada and India joined the UK’s other allies, France and the Russian Empire, against the Central Powers—Germany, the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the Ottoman Empire—when they too declared war on 29 October 1914. Japan joined in because they had an agreement with the British. Italy joined the Allies nine months later. In 1917, when the Allies were in dire straits, the United States ended its neutrality and entered the war.
The war eventually involved thirty-two countries.
This was Australia and New Zealand’s chance to fight for the Mother Country, to show the world what ‘colonials’ were made of. It was a chance for men and boys who had never been further than the next town to see the world. Many were also escaping long-term drought and poverty.
Women started knitting socks for soldiers and scraping cloth for lint-free bandages that wouldn’t stick to wounds. Brass bands played and flags waved in Australia as the call went out in town after town for men to enlist—and crowds cheered the marching soldiers. Even sports clubs ran recruiting drives. Women stopped strangers in the street to beg them to sign up, or sent a white feather—a symbol of cowardice—to any young man who didn’t enlist. (They also mistakenly sometimes sent white feathers to men who had been wounded and sent home as invalids, causing the poor men even more pain and distress.)
All the Australian and New Zealand forces were volunteers. Many would never come home.
Field Marshal Sir John French, the doddering commander of the British Expeditionary Force, said that the war would be over in six weeks, or by Christmas (and many Australian men worried that it would be over before they got there).
But things didn’t go as well as planned, mostly because of the stupidity of many of the actions of the British military leaders, such as Winston Churchill—men who had their jobs because they had been born into wealthy or aristocratic families, not because they knew what they were doing. (By the end of World War I, Winston Churchill had—rightly—been denounced as foolhardy, and blamed for the loss of many thousands of lives, and it looked like his career was over. But he would be England’s revered Prime Minister during World War II.)
The road to Gallipoli
It was a badly planned campaign in a silly war that should never have happened. But the men and women who served in it gave it nobility. So often, when things are bleakest, humans show their greatest courage and friendship.
When I first started researching Gallipoli I thought I’d find that the legends had been exaggerated. But the more diary extracts and letters I read, the more I realised that the legends are mostly true.
The Anzacs were extraordinary. No, of course not all were heroes. But even in the first few weeks of the campaign, dispatches from Gallipoli had people back in England, Australia, New Zealand, Canada and the United States in awe of the bravery of the Anzacs.
So why were they even there?
Germany was supposed to be the great enemy at the start of World War I, but most of the Australians and New Zealanders accepted into the army in the months after August 1914 were sent first to Egypt, not Europe, on their way to fight the Turks.
The Turkish Ottoman Empire was threatening British interests in the Middle East, especially the Suez Canal, which connected the Mediterranean and the Red Sea by slicing through north-east Egypt. The canal was open to shipping of all nations (except in wartime) but was controlled by the United Kingdom.
The Australians and New Zealanders trained for four and a half months near Cairo. Then they set sail for the Gallipoli Peninsula, together with troops from the United Kingdom and France.
Just before dawn on 25 April 1915, the first wave of 4,000 Anzacs (the 3rd Brigade) landed on Cape Helles at what became known as Anzac Cove. They left the troopships in lifeboats and barges towed towards the beach, then rowed the last few metres to the shallows. Some men had to row the whole distance to the beach from their troop carrier as the tows did not arrive for them.
Some historians now think that the British commanders made an enormous mistake. The men were supposed to land on a gently sloping beach. Instead the boats drifted too far north and the men were put ashore on a very narrow strip of beach with steep cliffs cut by rugged gullies in front of them, and the well-organised Turkish enemy above, firing down on them to defend their country from invasion. The Turks were led by Mustafa Kemal, who later became known as Atatürk, honoured as a great leader of modern Turkey.
Despite the rain of bullets and raging heat and thirst, about 8,000 Anzacs made it up the cliffs by 9 am, thrusting their bayonets into the dirt to haul themselves upwards.
By mid-afternoon there were about 12,000 Allies facing about 4,000 Turks. But the Turks were already in position on the high ground—and their brilliant commander had called for reinforcements.
By evening 2,000 Allies were dead. The position was hopeless and the officers in the field wanted to retreat. But when the Englishman in command of the Australian forces, General Birdwood, warned the British commander, General Sir Ian Hamilton, how bad things were, Hamilton told him the men just had to stick it out. And over the next few weeks the rest of the 20,000-strong Australian 1st Division and the composite Australian and New Zealand Army Corps along with English and French troops would land as well.
They tried to break through the Turkish lines—and the Turks tried to drive them off the peninsula. Both sides failed. Each side dug deep trenches to shelter in while they shot at each other. It was hell on earth. Hot, airless trenches, sometimes with blackened, rotting bodies piled three deep around, guts spil
ling out of wounds, flies and maggots crawling everywhere—the smell of death, the smoke from explosions, the roar of mortar fire, the screams of the dying.
No one survived those days untouched.
Thousands of Anzacs died in the first few days, desperately trying to hold the territory they had gained with so much bloodshed until reinforcements arrived.
What we now call ‘Gallipoli’ was really a series of battles in various parts of the Gallipoli Peninsula.
The Battle of Chanuk Bair, 6–10 August 1915
The attempt to capture Sari Bair Ridge and the hill called Chanuk Bair was one of the most daring exploits of the Gallipoli campaign, as Chanuk Bair was right in the middle of the area held by the Turks.
According to the plan, the Australians were to attack the Turkish lines at Lone Pine as a diversion, while the New Zealanders tried to outflank the Turks to the north and capture Chanuk Bair. At the same time, British and French troops further south at Helles were to attack the Turkish at Krithia and Achi Baba, and other British troops were to land at Suvla Bay north of Anzac Cove.
But the British commanders relied on aerial photos—and the photos didn’t have enough detail to show the timber covers protecting the Turks’ trenches near Chanuk Bair, or a steep gully that would make advancing difficult. Even though the New Zealanders were exhausted before they were ordered to head off to this new battle, they took the ridge of Sari Bair early on the morning of 7 August, with little opposition at first as they took the enemy by surprise. They were led by Colonel Malone—a man who had already risked a court martial when he refused to order his men to cross an open field where the men from the Auckland Regiment had been mown down in the open by enemy fire.
The Animal Stars Collection Page 13
