The songs in this book: Jack Simpson was known to whistle and sing as he led his donkey around the battlefields. I’ve given him some of the popular songs of his day, which he would likely have heard at the fairground and in the music hall and at camp in Fremantle.
Daddy Wouldn’t Buy Me a Bow-Wow was written in 1892 by English songwriter Joseph Tabrar. It was popular for about twenty years, then became famous again after World War II.
I Do Like to Be Beside the Seaside was written and composed in 1907 by John A Glover-Kind.
Ta-Ra-Ra Boom-De-Ay was copyrighted in 1891 by Henry J Sayers and made famous by the singer Lottie Collins. But Sayers said he didn’t compose the music—he’d heard it sung and written it down, with new words and a slight variation on the original tune.
The lyrics beginning ‘Lottie Collins has no drawers’ were soon sung as a rude variation, and it’s this unofficial version that Jack sings. (I think he’d have preferred it to the real one.)
The ‘real’ words are:
A smart and stylish girl you see
Belle of good society
Not too strict but rather free
Yet as right as right can be!
Never forward, never bold
Not too hot, and not too cold
But the very thing, I’m told
That in your arms you’d like to hold.
Chorus:
Ta-ra-ra Boom-de-ay! (sung 8 times)
Abdul Abulbul Amir was written and composed by Percy French in 1877. It soon became a favourite, especially with sailors. There is also a rude version of this one.
Keep the Home Fires Burning was written by Lena Ford, with music by Ivor Novello, in 1914. It became an immediate hit.
The words at Anzac Cove
You will find a memorial at Anzac Cove. It was erected in 1990, with words written by Kemal Atatürk in 1934. The same words appear on the Kemal Atatürk Memorial on Anzac Parade in Canberra.
THOSE HEROES THAT SHED THEIR BLOOD AND LOST THEIR LIVES…YOU ARE NOW LYING IN THE SOIL OF A FRIENDLY COUNTRY. THEREFORE REST IN PEACE. THERE IS NO DIFFERENCE BETWEEN THE JOHNNIES AND THE MEHMETS TO US WHERE THEY LIE SIDE BY SIDE HERE IN THIS COUNTRY OF OURS…YOU, THE MOTHERS, WHO SENT THEIR SONS FROM FARAWAY COUNTRIES WIPE AWAY YOUR TEARS; YOUR SONS ARE NOW LYING IN OUR BOSOM AND ARE IN PEACE. AFTER HAVING LOST THEIR LIVES ON THIS LAND THEY HAVE BECOME OUR SONS AS WELL.
Acknowledgments
Writing about history is like a detective story—you take the clues, then try to work out what probably happened.
The clues to Gallipoli in 1915 come from people who wrote things down at the time—often in pain or anguish—and from people who have guarded diaries and letters for decades, or who have edited and published such material. These people made a gift of the past to the future. Reading the letters, diaries and even army supply receipts from World War I is heartbreaking. But it is also an extraordinary privilege to be able to hear the voices.
This book wouldn’t have been possible without the (always) extraordinary research of my dear friends Noel Pratt and Angela Marshall; the ever superb editorial rigour and persistence of Kate O’Donnell, Jennifer Blau and Liz Kemp, who stand guard at the bulwarks of excellence; the brilliance and empathy of Natalie Winter’s cover; the generosity of fellow authors Mark Greenwood, who sent me a copy of an authentic photo of the donkey, and Dr Glyn Harper, for her insight and information on New Zealand’s Gallipoli experience; Richard Stubbs, whose mention of his grandfather’s war catapulted this book from being a ‘donkey tale’ into a stronger and stranger journey among the ambulance bearers; Lorain Day, who gathered the information about New Zealand’s Anzac Day, and whose support has meant so much; Dr Virginia Hooker, who shared her love and knowledge about the secret lives of donkeys; and, as always, to Lisa Berryman, without whose vision, support and sympathy this and many other books would never have made it to the page.
The Goat who Sailed the World
Jackie French
DEDICATION
To Lisa, Emma and Kylie, who launched the Goat on her voyage, with love and gratitude.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Dedication
Maps
Prologue
Chapter 1 Isaac
Chapter 2 The Goat
Chapter 3 Isaac
Chapter 4 Isaac
Chapter 5 The Goat
Chapter 6 Isaac
Chapter 7 The Goat
Chapter 8 Isaac
Chapter 9 Isaac
Chapter 10 Isaac
Chapter 11 The Goat
Chapter 12 Isaac
Chapter 13 The Goat
Chapter 14 Isaac
Chapter 15 The Goat
Chapter 16 Isaac
Chapter 17 Isaac
Chapter 18 The Goat
Chapter 19 Isaac
Chapter 20 Isaac
Chapter 21 The Goat
Chapter 22 Isaac
Chapter 23 The Goat
Chapter 24 Isaac
Chapter 25 Isaac
Chapter 26 Isaac
Chapter 27 The Goat
Chapter 28 Isaac
Chapter 29 The Goat
Chapter 30 Isaac
Chapter 31 Isaac
Chapter 32 The Goat
Chapter 33 Isaac
Chapter 34 Isaac
Chapter 35 Isaac
Chapter 36 The Goat
Chapter 37 Isaac
Chapter 38 The Goat
Chapter 39 Isaac
Chapter 40 The Goat
Chapter 41 Isaac
Chapter 42 Isaac
Chapter 43 Isaac
Chapter 44 Isaac
Epilogue the Goat
Postscript
Notes on the Text
Bibliography
Maps
PROLOGUE
The Goat
June, 1767
KING GEORGE’S LAND (TAHITI)
The Goat stood on the quarterdeck of the Dolphin and gazed out at the blue waters and green hills of Tahiti. She didn’t think much of them.
The Dolphin was the first European ship ever to come to these islands, but that meant nothing to the Goat.
‘Eeegh,’ said the Goat.
The Goat liked green fields, with short sweet grass, preferably with a nice prickly hawthorn hedge to nibble at. She liked routine, someone to milk her twice a day and bring her food at regular intervals.
‘Eeegh,’ she muttered again, to show her disapproval. But no one took any notice. The Goat stamped with growing anger. Why was everyone ignoring her?
The Goat’s pen was next to a big cannon, with old sailcloth draped over it to give her some shelter. She had the best view on the ship. Only officers were allowed on the quarterdeck—except for the master’s mate, who was allowed up to milk the Goat twice a day, feed her and change her bedding.
The Goat took her privileged position for granted. The sheep, pigs and cows needed for fresh meat on the voyage were crammed into odd spots on one of the lower decks. The chickens were kept in pens on the lower deck too, or in the ship’s boats, sheltered by a piece of canvas sailcloth. But they were lowly animals, according to the Goat, and deserved nothing more.
The Goat’s milk was for Captain Wallis, and any of his officers lucky enough to share it. On a crowded ship it was all too easy for a seaman to steal a little of the captain’s milk to vary the monotonous diet of dried pease, salt beef and biscuit.
So the Goat lived high above everyone else except the captain, with fresh straw every day to lie on and to nibble, and a view across the entire ocean, it seemed sometimes, as the ship ploughed its way across the world.
There hadn’t been much of a view this morning though. The ship had sailed through mist, white as the snow back in the paddock that the Goat had known in that far-off almost forgotten time when she was a kid in England.
But snow was cold. The mist was hot.
What was out there? The men and goat on the Dolphin had seen many strange sight
s as the ship circled the world. Maybe the Great South Land was there in the mist, with all its great gold and spices!
No one had found the Great South Land yet, unless it was the land Tasman had called New Zealand. At least that had been rich and green looking, unlike the barren land the Dutch called New Holland.
No, the Great South Land was still there to be found. The sailors had crowded the deck, peering out into the fog. Maybe today…
Slowly the mist had rolled away, to reveal the blue sea and an island like a sailor’s dream: white sand beaches and two green mountains reaching into the sky.
The Goat took a mouthful of hay, and chewed it slowly. Who cared what the place looked like? It was the fresh water and grass that mattered, and the other greenery she liked that added variety.
‘Look!’ yelled someone. ‘Canoes!’
The Goat glanced down, still chewing.
‘There must be a hundred men down there!’ That was Lieutenant Gore, with his soft American accent.
‘Indeed.’ That was Captain Wallis. ‘And every one of them naked as the day he was born. Order the trinkets brought on deck, Mr Gore. We’ll see if they’ve a mind to trade.’
The men in their canoes paddled around the anchored ship, exclaiming and waving green branches in the air. The Goat looked at the branches with interest. She was sick of hay and the branches looked good.
The crew made encouraging gestures, but no one dared come aboard. Finally one man, braver than the rest, stood up in his canoe and made a speech, loud and passionate but incomprehensible to everyone on board.
The man held up his branch, then threw it into the sea. It was evidently a gesture of friendship, as all the others threw down branches too.
The Goat snorted. What a waste of good food!
At last they climbed one by one up the ladder to the ship. Soon the main deck was full of dark-skinned men, exclaiming and looking round excitedly.
‘Eeegh,’ complained the Goat uneasily. She didn’t like strangers. She especially didn’t like strangers who came too near.
Suddenly one of the dark-skinned men clambered up the stairs to the quarterdeck. He stared around, then bent down to look at some of the knives and beads on the deck.
Her deck! That man dared come onto her deck! And he hadn’t even brought a fistful of grass or a wisp of hay!
‘Eeegh!’ bleated the Goat angrily. She nudged at the gate of her pen. Aha! It had been left off the latch! She trotted out onto the quarterdeck and lowered her head.
The man looked up. But it was too late! The Goat charged…
Wham! Her head and horns hit the man’s buttocks. He crashed onto the deck face first, then turned to see the goat rearing on her hind legs behind him.
The man scrambled to his feet and ran. Just as the Goat reared up to charge again, he reached the rail and flung himself overboard, into the sea.
The Goat clattered to a halt. She gazed around at the newcomers.
‘Eeegh!’ she announced triumphantly, wondering who to butt next.
No one waited to see. Within seconds every Tahitian had dived off the Dolphin and was swimming back to the canoes.
The sailors dissolved into laughter. Even Captain Wallis was trying not to grin. ‘Mr Gore!’
‘Yes, sir!’
‘Get that goat tethered and off the deck!’
‘Yes, sir!’
It took six men to grab the Goat and take her below, where she wouldn’t frighten any more visitors. Captain Wallis watched her go.
‘If every man in England were as tough as that goat,’ he muttered, ‘we’d have won the Seven Years’ War in a week.’
CHAPTER 1
Isaac
28th May, 1768
ROYAL DOCKYARD, DEPTFORD, ENGLAND
Isaac Manley dipped the lump of coarse sandstone—the holystone—into the bucket then began to scrub the deck again. The Endeavour had seemed such a small ship when he’d come aboard two days before. But that was until he’d been told to scrub the deck…and then to scrub it again.
Who could have guessed there’d be so much muck on a ship? Not just the mud from the dockyard on the officers’ boots, or the bare feet of some of the seamen, but cattle droppings and hen manure and soft pellets from the sheep in the pens across the deck.
It was funny, he thought, but back home in Exeter he’d never imagined the deck of one of His Majesty’s ships crammed with animals. But of course they were to be food for the officers, or the gentlemen like Mr Banks, the rich botanist who had put up most of the money for this expedition.
Ordinary seamen like Isaac had to live on oatmeal and salt pork and pease, or dried peas, but gentlemen needed fresh meat and plum puddings, fine wines and sweetmeats—even a violin player to amuse them as they ate.
Isaac felt slightly sick at the memory of last night’s supper, the crumbly ship’s biscuit and thin rind of sweaty cheese, maybe ten years old, smelling of dirty stockings. He’d known that life was hard on board ship, but back home the hardships hadn’t seemed quite real.
Home seemed far away now, the manor in the gentle countryside where he’d dreamed of making his fortune in the navy. He’d find the Great South Land, or fight the French, or see a mermaid…
Somehow none of the dreams had involved scrubbing the deck.
But when you joined the navy you had to start at the bottom, even if you came from a manor house like Isaac. Rich men could buy their sons a commission in the army, where they could start as an officer. But when you came from a large family like Isaac’s there wasn’t enough money to buy your son an army commission. At least in the navy a boy with good brains and an education could rise to the top with hard work, and a lot of luck.
So now Isaac was a master’s servant. A servant, just like Jane in the kitchen at home, and it seemed that a master’s servant was only good for scrubbing—especially one who was twelve years old and the youngest of the Endeavour’s crew.
Isaac bit his lip. I’m not going to get homesick, he told himself. I can live on wormy cheese and weevils if I have to.
I am not going to feel lonely, either.
But he was, a bit.
Over on the shore the docks were filled with the usual bustle—workmen bringing stores, barrels of beer or water, barrels of biscuit, more barrels of salt pork and beef; gentlemen with powdered wigs and high heels and lorgnettes inspecting passenger ships and merchant ships; lounging sailors on shore leave; and women selling hot chestnuts or baked potatoes.
Isaac rose stiffly to his feet to haul up another bucket of seawater, then bent to his job again, keeping one eye out for the captain.
Isaac had seen him already on one of the captain’s brief visits to the ship. James Cook had been taking the chance to spend the last few days with his family, so he was more often ashore than on board. Lieutenant Cook was shorter than Isaac had thought the brilliant surveyor would be, and he still spoke with a broad Yorkshire buzz.
Cook wasn’t born to be a gentleman or an officer. He was the son of a Yorkshire labourer, who’d started work as a shop assistant, then gone to sea on a coal ship when he was eighteen. And now Cook commanded his own ship, even if he still only held the rank of lieutenant.
Suddenly there was a commotion on the docks. Isaac looked up. Was the captain coming aboard again?
But it wasn’t the captain. It was a goat.
She was small for a goat and mostly white, with patches of rusty black and brown. Her ears were long, but not as long as her horns, and her tail was short. But what struck Isaac most was her self-possession. This goat strutted as though she was captain of the ship, and everyone else her servants.
Two kids followed her, both black where she was brown, with patches of white and rust, and velvet ears and inquisitive faces. But despite their interest in everything that was going on they still kept close to their mother.
The goat was on a tether, and the other end of the tether was held by a sailor, in the grubby sailcloth trousers and jacket and tough bare feet of a man w
ho has spent a long time at sea. He glanced at the Endeavour’s name, newly painted on her side, then at Isaac.
‘Hey matey,’ he yelled, ‘permission to come aboard.’
‘I…er…’ said Isaac. He had no idea what ship’s protocol said about a sailor and a goat wanting to come on board.
‘Ah, there she is, then.’
Isaac breathed out in relief. It was Robert Molineaux, the ship’s master and Isaac’s immediate superior. ‘Bring her aboard.’
Isaac moved the bucket out of the way as the sailor led the goat and her twins over the gangplank and onto the Endeavour’s deck.
‘Where do you want her?’ The sailor nodded towards the quarterdeck. ‘Up there?’
‘But that’s for officers only!’ said Isaac before he could stop himself. It was one of the first things you learned aboard ship—no one, no one, ever went up there without the captain’s permission.
But Molineaux just laughed. ‘It’s what she’s used to,’ he said. ‘Haven’t they told you about the Goat yet?’
Isaac shook his head.
Molineaux looked at the goat with respect. ‘This is the Goat,’ he said. ‘The one that sailed with us on the Dolphin.’
‘Oh,’ said Isaac. He felt himself blushing. Of course he’d read about the Goat. She had sailed around the world with Captain Wallis, the first animal ever to do so. Molineaux had been on the Dolphin too, as had several other members of the Endeavour’s crew.
Even the Goat knows more about seafaring than me, thought Isaac.
The Goat stared at him. A look half challenge, and half boredom, as though she was saying, ‘I’ve bested better men than you, boy, so leave me be.’
‘Eeegh,’ said the Goat dismissively. She lifted her tail and a small cascade of droppings bounced onto the deck. Suddenly Isaac had the feeling that the Goat knew more than most humans—and didn’t think much of them either.
Molineaux took the rope from the sailor. Isaac watched, astounded, as the Goat led the master calmly over to the stairs. She leapt up them like a…Well, like a goat, thought Isaac. Her two kids clambered up behind her, bleating excitedly. Within seconds the Goat had found a sheltered spot by a coil of rope. She peered around expectantly.
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