Me, its January 1943, and i’m at Manston with 609 (West Riding) Squadron. Roland Beamont is in command, and we are doing night intruder train busting sorties, and daytime anti tip-and-run raids. There are some real legends here, and the press keep coming to visit! They write about us, they love us! But the star of the show, certainly in John Steinbecks view, is William.
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.
Daily Express 15th July 1943.
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