During the Second World War, hundreds of journalists, photographers and correspondents risked their lives alongside soldiers, airmen and sailors. Among them were recognized best selling-authors of the highest renown. Edgar Rice Burroughs of Tarzanfame, covered the Japanese attack at Pearl Harbour while George Orwell worked for the BBC. There were, among these men and women, two giants of American Literature who were recipients of both a Pulitzer and a Nobel Prize— Ernest Hemmingway and John Steinbeck. Hemmingway was present during the Normandy landings and later attached himself to the 22nd Infantry Brigade and covered the Battle of Hürtgen Forest. Like Hemmingway, John Steinbeck, author of Of Mice and Men, The Grapes of Wrath and East of Eden, didn't just report from the battle front, he was right in the thick of it.

In 1943, Steinbeck served as a war correspondent for the New York Herald Tribune and worked with the Office of Strategic Services (predecessor of the CIA). It was at that time he became friends with Will Lang, Jr. of Time/Life magazine. During the war, Steinbeck accompanied the commando raids of Douglas Fairbanks, Jr.'s Beach Jumpers program, which launched small-unit diversion operations against German-held islands in the Mediterranean. At one point, he accompanied Fairbanks on an invasion of an island off the coast of Italy and helped capture Italian and German prisoners using a Tommy Gun. Some of his writings from this period were incorporated in the documentary Once There Was a War. Steinbeck returned from the war with a number of wounds from shrapnel and some psychological trauma.

However, his war correspondent work was not always carried out under a hail of bullets or from a field of mud. For a while, he covered human interest stories in wartime England, visiting Allied servicemen as they fought the war from air bases and harbours in the United Kingdom and brought the fight to the continent until the day came for the great invasion of Normandy.

On November 29, 1943 Steinbeck left London to visit RAF Manston in North East Kent where RAF Hawker Typhoons of 609 and 3 Squadrons and the Hawker Hurricanes of 184 Squadron (soon to convert to the Typhoon) were conducting daily raids on French ports and military targets. While the great author witnessed operations, got introduced to pilots and commanders and got an up-close introduction to the hulking Typhoon fighter-bomber, it was the strange glycol-quaffing, cigarette munching 609 Squadron goat mascot that seemed to pique his interest most of all.

The aircraft shown to Steinbeck by Ingle and Raw is well known to historians. Here we see two photos of Mavis in all her glory at Manston at around the same time. A very successful ground attacker, Mavis sports 18 locomotive&nbsp…

He penned a short humour piece about the goat that eventually was published in the Daily Express, a nationwide tabloid newspaper based in London. It was an extraordinary piece of fluff considering the stature if its writer, who had by that time had been awarded a Pulitzer Prize and National Book Award for The Grapes of Wrath, his powerful portrait of Oklahoman families during the Dust Bowl. Perhaps it was more in the ironic and comic style of Tortilla Flat.

Steinbeck's story today sounds a bit awkward or old-fashioned, but still it makes a fine aviation story as it demonstrates the quirky behaviour and anti-establishment attitudes of frontline fighter pilots. We republish it here as it was written after Steinbeck's visit to Manston in late 1943:

William, a British Toggenburg goat, relaxing in the sun with a bemused look on his face. Photo via 609wrsquadronassocation on Twitter

Commander Goat, D.S.O.
By John Steinbeck

His name is Wing Commander William Goat, D.S.O., and he is old in honours and some say in iniquity, but when he joined the R.A.F. wing two years ago he was just able to totter about on long and knobbly legs.
For a long time he was treated like any other recruit, kicked about, ignored and at times cursed. But gradually his abilities began to be apparent. He is very good luck to have about. When he is near his wing has good fortune and good hunting.
Gradually his horns grew and his talents developed, until now his rank and his decorations are painted on his horns in brilliant colours, and he carries himself with a shambling strut. He will eat nearly everything. No party or any review is complete without him. At one party, being left alone for a few moments, it is reported that he ate 200 sandwiches, three cakes, the arrangements for piano and flute of “Pomp and Circumstance,” drank half a bowl of punch, and then walked jauntily among the dancers, belching slightly and regarding a certain lieutenants wife, who shall be nameless.
Oxygen appetite
He has the slightly bilious look of the military of the higher brackets. Being an airgoat he has rather unique habits.
If you bring an oxygen bottle into view he rushes to it and demands it. He puts his whole mouth over the outlet and then as you turn the valve on gently he relaxes grunting happily and his sides fill out until he nearly bursts.
Just before he bursts he lets go of the nozzle and collapses very slowly, but the energy he takes from the oxygen makes him leap into the air and engage imaginary goats in horny combat.
He also loves the glycol cooling fluid which is used in the engines of the Typhoons. For hours he will stand under the barrels licking the drips from the spouts.
Indispensable
He has the confidence of his men. Once when it was required that his wing change its base of operations quickly, he was left behind, for in those days it was not known how important he was.
At the new base the men were nervous and irritable, fearful and finally almost mutinous, and at length when it was seen they would not relax a special plane had to be sent to pick up the Wing Commander and transport him to the new base.
Once he arrived everything settled down. The Typhoons had four kills within 24 hours. The nervous tension went out of the air, the food got better as the cooks ceased brooding, and a number of stomach complaints disappeared immediately.
Wing Commander Goat lives in a small house behind the operations room. His name and honours are painted over the door. It is very good luck to go to him and stroke his sides and rub his horns before going out on operation.
He does not go on operation himself. There is not room in the Typhoon for him, but if it were possible to squeeze him in he would be taken, and then heaven knows what great action might not take place.
Evil companions
This goat has only one truly bad habit. He loves beer, and furthermore, he is able to absorb it in such quantities that even the mild nearly non-alcoholic English beer can make him tipsy.
In spite of orders to the contrary, he is able to seek out the evil companions who will give him beer. Once inebriated he is prone to wander about sneering at everything.
He sneers at the American Army Air Force and he sneers at the Labour Party, and once he sneered at Mr. Churchill. The sneer is probably inherent in the beer, since punch has quite a different effect on him.
In appearance this goat is not impressive. He has shabby, pinkish fur and a cold and fish-like eye. His legs are not straight. In fact, he is slightly knock-kneed. He carries his head high, and his horns, painted in brilliant red and blue, more than offset any physical oddness.
In every way he is a military figure. He is magnificent on parade. Eventually he will be given a crypt in the Air Ministry and will die in good time of that military ailment, cirrhosis of the liver. He will be buried with full military honours.
But meanwhile Wing Commander William Goat, D.S.O., is the luck of his wing. His loss would cause great unrest and even despondency.

John Steinbeck

The Life of Billy

Billy de Goat was introduced to 609 Squadron by the famed Belgian ace, Pilot Officer Victor Marcel Maurice “Vicky” Ortmans. Aviation historian Martin Waligorski, writing for The Spitfire Site, explains Billy's early life:

“In February 1941 the squadron was relocated to Biggin Hill. It was there that Billy de Goat was recruited to the unit. He was a kid given to one of the Belgian pilots, Vicki Ortmans by the landlady of Old Jail, the local pub in Biggin Hill (which still exists today). Christened William de Goat, he would remain with the squadron for four years, through all its various postings, firstly in the UK, then into France, the Low Countries, and finally into Germany and the victory in Europe. During that time, he patiently tolerated all Squadron members and their foibles, watched the new pilots come and go, spent long evenings at the bar with them, was cared for and spoiled, exercised his great appetite for Things Eatable and generally became essential to everyone’s morale.

The Old Jail Pub today is not much different today than it was during the Second World War. It was here nearly 80 years ago, that William de Goat became the mascot of 609 (West Riding) Squadron—likely after a night of exuberant drinking by Belgian fighter pilot Victor Marcel Maurice Ortmans, better known as Vicky.  An article in the Yorkshire Post from 2008 explains: “The Old Jail Pub was just beyond the perimeter fence of RAF Biggin Hill, along a leafy Kent road. It was a popular haunt for the Belgian pilots on 609 – by this stage of the war the aircrew came from many different nations and the squadron was popular with those Belgians who had escaped the occupation in their home country. The landlady of the Old Jail was a Belgian woman named Biddie, who apart from providing excellent wine, had access to news from home. Biddie also had a kid goat, which, for reasons that only the two of them knew, she presented to Vicki Ortmans, one of the Belgian flyers who won the Distinguished Flying Cross and was shot down three times in three months.” Photo: John A. King — The Old Jail Pub today is not much different today than it was during the Second World War. It was here nearly 80 years ago, that William de Goat became the mascot of 609 (West Riding) Squadron—likely after a night of exuberant drinking by Belgian fighter pilot Victor Marcel Maurice Ortmans, better known as Vicky. An article in the Yorkshire Post from 2008 explains: “The Old Jail Pub was just beyond the perimeter fence of RAF Biggin Hill, along a leafy Kent road. It was a popular haunt for the Belgian pilots on 609 – by this stage of the war the aircrew came from many different nations and the squadron was popular with those Belgians who had escaped the occupation in their home country. The landlady of the Old Jail was a Belgian woman named Biddie, who apart from providing excellent wine, had access to news from home. Biddie also had a kid goat, which, for reasons that only the two of them knew, she presented to Vicki Ortmans, one of the Belgian flyers who won the Distinguished Flying Cross and was shot down three times in three months.” Photo: John A. King

As soon as the goat appeared at the dispersal for the first time it was decided to enlist Billy within the ranks of the RAF. His career started in the rank of Flying Officer. The pilots soon decided that in service life, his milk diet should be replaced by quantities of non-rationed beer served to him in a baby’s bottle. He also was appointed a personal assistant and was allowed in the mess.
Within a few weeks of his introduction into service Billy had shown the depth of his character. He was arrested and placed in custody for ignoring Kings Regulations and attacking a sentry. He also ate the station adjutant’s files and records leaving the office in a state of utter chaos, consumed leave passes and ration cards in the Guardroom, nibbled the shoots of the Station Commander’s prized ornamental trees and forced himself past an armed guard to create havoc in the East Anglian Air Defence Operations Room, where, as some members of the squadron claimed later, he vectored several Spitfires to Norway.
Pilots loved all this and did not hesitate to accept Billy as one of their own. Whenever someone was offering a round of cigarettes, Billy was included; he accepted them by chewing and swallowing each cigarette promptly but with dignity. Occasionally, they even took him flying. After some initial misunderstanding, he was later also admitted to the administrative rooms, when it was discovered that the comment “Billy must have eaten it” offers a perfect explanation for some document being missing.
However, Billy’s general disdain for discipline almost cost him his life in spring 1942 when in the rank of Flight Lieutenant. As the squadron moved to Duxford to re-equip with the Spitfires Mk V, Billy detached from his unit, was kidnapped and only narrowly escaped the butcher’s block. Fortunately, a kind soul rescued him and sent him by train back to his unit.

Billy the Kid. A wonderful Public Relations shot taken on June 28 1941 at RAF Biggin Hill shows a group of pilots with a Spitfire and three of their squadron mascots—a puppy, a dog and the newly arrived “William (B… — Billy the Kid. A wonderful Public Relations shot taken on June 28 1941 at RAF *Biggin Hill* shows a group of pilots with a Spitfire and three of their squadron mascots—a puppy, a dog and the newly arrived “William (Billy) de Goat” who would become the chief and legendary mascot of the squadron. **Skeets Ogilvie,** of the Glebe neighbourhood in Ottawa, sits second from right in front with his arm around “Petie”, Sailor Malan’s dog (the legendary Malan was the Biggin Hill Wing Commander). The others in this shot are, left to right, standing: Sergeant Bob Boyd, Pilot Officer Baudouin de Hemptinne, Pilot Officer Peter MacKenzie, Flight Lieutenant Paul Richey, Flight Lieutenant John Bisdee, Pilot Officer Jean Offenberg and Flying Officer Jimmy Baraldi. Sitting: Pilot Officer Vicky Ortmans who brought William de Goat to the Squadron, Sergeant Tommy Rigler (with a squadron dog named “Spitfire”), Skeets and finally Pilot Officer Bob Wilmet. Photo: 609 Squadron Association

An unknown Flight Lieutenant of 609 Squadron feeds a young Billy de Goat as he browses the long grasses at Biggin Hill in the early days. Photo: gahp.org.uk — **An unknown Flight Lieutenant of 609 Squadron feeds a young Billy de Goat as he browses the long grasses at Biggin Hill in the early days.** Photo: gahp.org.uk

Billy joined the men of 609 Squadron when they established themselves at a forward operating base in France following D-Day. He flew by Dakota to a base code-named B10 at Plumetot, France, a few kilometers inland from the Normandy coast. From this point onward, he moved with the squadron ground staff as they hop-scotched across France, Belgium, the Netherlands and Germany, always greeted with joy by the young fighter pilots whose lives were in such jeopardy.

A tongue-in-cheek but loving biography of William de Goat was written and published in 2008 by a former commander of 609 Squadron, Squadron Leader Brian Waite. The comical and very short biography, entitled simply William de Goat (Athena Press, 2008) is written in both the third person and the first goat. William's last days with his squadron are summed up in Waite's and William's (italics) words in the final three paragraphs of the book:

“The squadron remained in Germany at Wunstorf until the Japanese surrendered. In September 1945 the remnants of 609 (West Riding) Squadron returned to the United Kingdom to follow most wartime units to disbandment. Lasham in Hampshire was the disbandment base. William flew back with them and after landing, the remaining aircrew sat with him and patted and stroked him. A last round of cigarettes was offered before William was presented to a local farmer. The farmer was well briefed about how special he had become and that he should be treated as a war hero.
My last view of my boys was of them raising their arms [saluting—Ed.] as this new man in my life led me away to a very large field. He seemed a person who would care for me. The grass was tasty and he stroked me a lot. I knew that my life was going to change. No more cigarettes, no more glycol, no more being blown up by a tube and no more paper [These last words refer to some of William's misadventures. Ed]. Above all however, no more of my boys company. They had been very special friends and without doubt I had enhanced their very full lives.
One hopes that William had a peaceful and contented retirement on the farm. One suspects that he missed everything that was different and which he had adopted supporting his boys as they put their lives on the line every day, bringing freedom back to Europe. If there is a goat heaven then one hopes that William is there, chewing on a cigarette and keeping a keen eye on all his 609 boys.”
Tally Ho!