Isabel George - Murphy the Hero Donkey - A true WW1 story

A true WWI story

Isabel George

HarperTrueFriend

An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street,

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published by HarperTrueFriend 2015

FIRST EDITION

Text © Isabel George 2015

Cover photo © Shutterstock 2015

Cover layout © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2015

A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library

Isabel George asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

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Ebook Edition © February 2015 ISBN: 9780007584352

Version 2016-10-19

Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.

Contents

Cover

Title Page Murphy the Hero Donkey A true WWI story Isabel George

Copyright Copyright Contents Cover Title Page Copyright Prologue Every man – and donkey – for himself ‘Stretcher-bearer!’ Murphy’s war Brave warriors … and their donkey Into the valley of the shadow of death Tuesday, 18 May 1915 Wednesday, 19 May 1915 Murphy works on Moving out … Murphy enters the history books About the Author Also by Isabel George … Also by Isabel George … Coming soon from Isabel George … Moving Memoirs eNewsletter Write for Us About the Publisher HarperTrueFriend An imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk First published by HarperTrueFriend 2015 FIRST EDITION Text © Isabel George 2015 Cover photo © Shutterstock 2015 Cover layout © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2015 A catalogue record of this book is available from the British Library Isabel George asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books. Find out about HarperCollins and the environment at www.harpercollins.co.uk/green Ebook Edition © February 2015 ISBN: 9780007584352 Version 2016-10-19 Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.

Prologue Prologue He was a small grey donkey who, in April 1915, happened to be in the wrong place in wartime. But when Murphy was given the job of carrying wounded soldiers from the craggy battlefield of Gallipoli, he not only saved countless lives, he also became a decorated Australian war hero.

Every man – and donkey – for himself

‘Stretcher-bearer!’

Murphy’s war

Brave warriors … and their donkey

Into the valley of the shadow of death

Tuesday, 18 May 1915

Wednesday, 19 May 1915

Murphy works on

Moving out …

Murphy enters the history books

About the Author

Also by Isabel George …

Also by Isabel George …

Coming soon from Isabel George …

Moving Memoirs eNewsletter

Write for Us

About the Publisher

He was a small grey donkey who, in April 1915, happened to be in the wrong place in wartime. But when Murphy was given the job of carrying wounded soldiers from the craggy battlefield of Gallipoli, he not only saved countless lives, he also became a decorated Australian war hero.

Standing muzzle to tail, the donkeys nudged into each other’s dusty bodies as the seawater slopped against the creaking boat. More accustomed to hoofing through the hot Greek earth, the huddled beasts swayed stoically against the swell. There had been some nervous braying when the cramped vessel sailed away from the island of Lemnos, but at least this time none of the animals had panicked and leaped overboard, as sometimes happened. The donkey drivers could put up with their charges’ mournful call, but not the feeling of helplessness when they could only stand by and watch one of the frightened creatures splutter and gasp as the water claimed them. It seemed an unfair end, especially as the donkeys had made the job of rounding them up so easy. Taken from the safety of their farmers’ barns and fields, they obligingly boarded the transport ships to make the short but hazardous journey to the steep and craggy slopes of Turkey’s Gallipoli peninsula.

Under the cover of night, the vessels slipped into the bay as close to the shore as they could get. No breeze. No lapping of the sea on the shore. Nothing met the muffled slosh of the donkeys’ hooves as they stepped into the water and ambled towards the beach. Their drivers moved in like sheepdogs, keen to keep their charges on track and to minimise the chance of them uttering a sound that would give them away. Never one to miss a chance to eat, Murphy, the smallest of the lot, picked up a slight trot to the shore. He must have smelled something edible, as the darkness was blinding and the others seemed more intent on finding their footing rather than food. With his hairy nose down to the ground, Murphy was soon nipping at the sparse vegetation that spiked between the black rocks. There had been no food and only a little water offered on the boat, and he couldn’t smell anything, not even clean drinking water where they had landed, so grabbing as much food as he could, while he could, was a good instinct.

‘Somebody grab the bloody donks!’ The loud whisper filled the space. Several of Murphy’s group answered with a deep bray, and within seconds they were surrounded by soldiers reaching through the shadows, their black forms illuminated by starlight as they grasped at as many bridles as they could handle at once. Murphy managed to dodge the first lot to be whisked away, only because he was head down and nose-deep in the few clumps of scrub that he had managed to discover underfoot.

‘Get a move on, will you?’ the voice from the darkness urged the men on. ‘We need to get this lot shifted before sun-up or we’re dead where we stand. You lot,’ said the officer, pointing at a group of men already staggering under the weight of their own equipment. ‘Strap the water containers on the donks. As far as I can see they are the only ones with the right feet to get anything anywhere in this godforsaken place.’