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John Simpson Kirkpatrick was born in South Shields, England, on
the 6th July 1892. He was the son of a seaman, Captain Robert
Kirkpatrick, who for 20 years sailed on the London and
Edinburgh run. An accident in 1904 kept Captain Kirkpatrick
home until his death in 1909. Two days after the death of
his father, Jack joined his first ship, the SS Heighington,
and set sail from the Tyne. He had just turned seventeen.
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It was a year later, in February 1910, that he became a
stoker on the SS Yedda, the ship that would bring him to
Australia on the start of a journey that would end in
Gallipoli. The Yedda was bound for Newcastle in NSW.
Apparently Simpson was less than impressed with the
conditions on board and jumped ship in Newcastle,
dropping his last name, Kirkpatrick, to help conceal
his identity.
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Jack had many and varied jobs over the next few years
but the call to the sea was always in his blood. The
First World War broke out in 1914, and he was one of
the first to enlist, signing up in Perth, on 25th
August 1914.
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He became Private 202 in C section of the 3rd Field
Ambulance, and was chosen as a stretcherbearer,
probably because of his stocky build and the strength
he had developed after years of working as a stoker and
fireman on board ship.
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He undertook training at Blackboy Hill Camp, near Perth,
and held high hopes of returning to the Old Country
to see his mother and his sister, Annie, before going
to fight the war in Europe. It was a great disappointment
to him when the ships left Australia, bound not for
England, but for a training camp in Egypt.
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After this he was sent to the island of Lemnos in the
Aegean Sea where the ships anchored in Mudros Bay. This
was the place for further training for the assault on
what was to become known as Anzac Cove. It seems very
likely that the donkey that became his constant
companion was also on Lemnos; expecting that they
would need assistance to carry their guns to Constantinople,
they paid two pounds and fifteen shillings for their
long-eared transports. At Anzac Cove they dropped them
overboard and saw them swim ashore, and forgot about
them until they saw them in partnership with Simpson.
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On 25th April 1915 at 11.30am, Simpson stepped into
the rowboats to head for the shores of Gallipoli. All
of Simpson's C bearer section was in the same boat. The
firing had already begun as they rowed towards the
beach in the darkness. The flash of gunfire would have
been clearly visible on the shore as the Turks, in the
hills and on the beach, shot down the men as they were
landing, some at point blank range. Simpson lived
through the landing but like thousands of others he did
not have long to survive.
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That first day was spent with the other bearers of
his company carrying the wounded on stretchers. But on
the second day, Simpson was reported missing from his
unit. What happened next was surprising. Simpson had
come across a stray donkey wandering around in a
gully, quietly cropping the grass. After helping to
carry a heavy wounded man down to the beach, he hit on
the idea of using the donkey as a transport.
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The task would be easier, as it would take only himself
and the donkey, rather than a team of men, to carry
each wounded man, and it also meant that he could
make more trips up and down the hill.
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From then on Simpson and his donkey became a team
and were allowed to work separately from the unit. It
was the start of the legend.
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All the diggers knew Simpson and his donkey. They
camped with the 6th Indian Mountain Battery Mule
Camp but spent most of their time on the trail up
and down Shrapnel Gully from the front line to the
beach and back again. Estimates of the number of
men that he and his donkey helped vary from seventy
to several hundred.
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The gullies leading down to the beach were often
considered more dangerous than the front line. They
were open to sniper fire and shelling, and for the
stretcher bearers there was no chance of taking
cover or of running with their loads to escape being
hit. Each man simply had to take his chance and trust
that the bullet with his name on it was not yet on
the way.
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The diggers kept asking: "Has the bloke with the
donkey stopped one yet?". It seemed incredible that
anyone could make that trip up and down the gully
without being hit. He seemed to have a charmed
life.
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But Simpson's time was already running out. When
the firing down the valley was at its worst and
orders were posted that the ambulance men were not
to go out, the man and his donkey continued placidly
at their work. Patiently the little donkey would
wait while Simpson would crawl through the thick
scrub to each wounded man. Simpson would then place
him on its back and return to the beaches, the
donkey trotting unruffled by his side.
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There are many anecdotes about Simpson from those
whose lives he saved and from those who witnessed
his courage. One tells of an officer who offered
him a sovereign in reward for rescuing him. A surly
Simpson is said to have told him to "keep your
money, I'm not doing this for the money."
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On another occasion, Simpson was said to have
difficulty with his donkey, and warned the padre
standing nearby to move away a bit because he had
to speak to the donkey in Hindustani and he didn't
want the padre to think that he was swearing at
the animal.
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On the night of 18th-19th May the Turks launched
a violent attack on the Anzac troops in a
determined effort to push them from the hills back
to the beaches. All that morning the battle raged
as the Anzacs held grimly to their lines. Despite
the fire Simpson and his donkey kept up their work,
but it was on that morning towards the end of the
attack that Simpson made his last trip down Shrapnel
Gully. His luck, inevitably, had run out.
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There are various accounts of how Simpson died, but
according to his mate, Andy Davidson, he was shot
through the heart by a machine gun bullet as he was
making his way down the gully. Davidson and others
were working at the top of the gully. After Simpson
fell beside his donkey, they went back and covered
his body and moved it to a dugout beside the gully
while they carried on with their work. They came
back for him that evening and he was buried at Hell
Spit the same night. A simple wooden cross with the
name 'John Simpson' marked his grave.
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Many of those at Anzac Cove were distraught when
they heard of Simpson's death. His survival against
tremendous odds had been a kind of charm to them. The
Indians with whom Simpson had camped are said to
have thrown dirt on their heads and wailed for the
man they called Bahadur, the 'bravest of the
brave'. After Simpson's death, Lieutenant Colonel
Alfred Sutton, wrote: "it is difficult to get
evidence of any one act to justify the VC; the
fact is that he did so many."
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And what became of Simpson's donkey? There are
various versions, but it appears that he remained
in the care of the Indian Field Ambulance until
he was finally evacuated to Mudros, where he
disappeared from view.
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