(HORN PLAYS) (POIGNANT MUSIC) WOMAN: It was always on my bucket list to go to Gallipoli. WOMAN: Gallipoli always had a special meaning for me. It's just part` part of our very young nation's history. WOMAN: Anzac means the essence of really being Australian and a New Zealander. MAN: It's a pilgrimage that most New Zealanders should try and do if they possibly can ` especially if you've had anyone in the military in your family. In many ways, I think it's a... almost birth of nation for New Zealanders. Everyone are probably here for the same reason I am ` because it's Anzac 100. Going to Gallipoli, I think it was necessary, because some things, reading about it... is` is nothing like... actually... being there. All those who came to Gallipoli to commemorate the 100th anniversary of Anzac had their own personal story and reason for being there. (POIGNANT MUSIC CONTINUES) For Ross Henderson, it was to bring his father's medals back to the place where he'd earned them a hundred years before. It was also to fulfil a promise he'd made to his brother and sister. My purpose for going back to Gallipoli this time was... I thought... that I would like to take my father's medals back there. Um,... that was... (POIGNANT MUSIC CONTINUES) ...just a very small thing that I could do for him. Ross' father was just one of many thousand Anzacs who served at Gallipoli, but, largely due to this photograph, Dick Henderson became an unwitting icon of the campaign. Doubts about his identity, claims of misinformation and political propaganda, particularly from Australia, have all impacted on the Henderson family's wish for national recognition. This is the untold story of an ordinary and extraordinary New Zealander ` the man with the donkey. (GUNFIRE, INDISTINCT SHOUTING) (GRAVE MUSIC) My father, he'd signed up as bugler because he was underage, but he was a stretcher-bearer, so he would have been in the front line for a lot of the time, because wherever the wounded were, that's where you'd be. To be a` a stretcher-bearer or a medical corpsman on Gallipoli was to risk life and limb because of the situation and the nature of the terrain and the closeness of the enemy and the fact that in that jam-packed 800 acres, no one was safe, whether you were on the beach or moving up the gulley. And those who had to expose themselves unthinkingly, because the job demanded it, were stretcher-bearers and the people working the donkeys. Certainly, we know that the lightly wounded ` uh, usually with leg wounds ` but who could still sit erect were ideal. It was impossible for the stretcher-bearers, and often we just simply rolled a badly wounded person down the slopes, because a stretcher party couldn't carry him down and that` the sheer mechanics and the number of men that were involved. So to have... people that would have been stretcher cases if it weren't for the donkeys, uh, being able to be transported just relieved the burden of what was badly overstretched medical resources. To understand the story of Dick Henderson, we must first understand the story of John Simpson Kirkpatrick. Though they probably never met, the Kiwi and British-born Aussie both landed on the first day of the campaign. Both were medics who became experienced donkey handlers. As their stories intertwined, the legend began. Simpson takes the initiative, but, quite clearly, he's not alone. He becomes the iconic focus because he is moving up and down Shrapnel Gully, uh, but, um, also at the same time, there were other donkey handlers doing exactly the same job. The confusion was so great there that people who were with` with the West Australian group, which Simpson was with, would know who he was. But the New Zealanders would know by repute that there was a man who rescued you by donkeys and his name was Simpson. But they didn't really know whether it was their man or somebody else. And there were a lot of them doing it. Simpson wasn't the only one. Someone is going to represent the greater mass who are doing an equally good job, and so the person that was featuring in the letters home and eventually in the public press was Simpson. And so, almost like it or not, the first time you see a photo of a man with a donkey, then that's gotta be Simpson too. It is this original black and white photograph, taken by Henderson sergeant's, James Jackson, which caused the greatest confusion in identity and debate between Australia and New Zealand. In fact, this is the only known photograph ever taken of Dick Henderson on Gallipoli, but for years, it was thought to be John Simpson Kirkpatrick. The pursuit of this authentic image really was a comedy of errors. Um, it was inevitable. There were so many cooks, you know, there to spoil the broth and` and one way or another to get it wrong. There were so many conflicting opinions` The other` ...about what he looked like. The other thing is once the legend was underw` underway, there were characters who wanted to be part of it. 'I knew Simpson,' even when they didn't. and they certainly wanted the man in his uniform. And once photographs started appearing of` of a man in a uniform, if there was a donkey anywhere within the frame, then, you know, they were pretty keen to grab it. 'This is Simpson.' The nature of that photo, you know, the photo of Henderson which Jackson takes, and, um,... Henderson in it has got that impassive look ` almost saintly look, the way he's standing there. And that in itself starts the sense that here's this saintly man who everyone at that stage believed was Simpson. But the Simpson story was distinctive because it was a man with a donkey ` a very emotionally powerful image with all sorts of connotations. It had the Christlike connotations of Jesus coming into Jerusalem. It had your Good` Good Samaritan connotations in it. It also had connotations, of course, that did link to the stretcher-bearers, who were often described as saints. And it was said by many that, uh, they were the bravest men on the battlefield, cos they went unarmed into the shot and shrapnel, as it were, to` um, well, so the` so the, uh, propaganda insisted. So Simpson both stood out and he featured very typically in what was usually said about the Anzacs. That I found was the hardest part to accept ` that this lovely story about this man and the donkey who helped became a spin, I suppose we'd call it today, for the army to` to try and recruit other people to come and actually be part of their` their cannon fodder machine. Everything that came out in the newspapers about the war was` was overseen by government and was` and was committed to the` what I call the propaganda offensive to win` win recruits under more and more difficult circumstances. So Simpson's very much` is very much an outstanding sort of feature of that. One of phrases that was used was, 'War is hell, but it is splendid.' So it really was old world, and it's something that I think we'd find very hard to understand today, cos our attitudes to war have changed dramatically. John Kirkpatrick Simpson, when he enlisted, he'd been in Australia as a stoker on a ship, and he deserted, and he'd worked in gold mines and coal mines and things like that, and he was a very strong man. He was also a great lover of animals, and that was part of his appeal too. Apparently he travelled with a possum inside him, which he used to show to the girls in Cairo. I mean, (LAUGHS) imagine producing a possum in the middle of` in the middle of the Cairo girls, but, never mind; that's what he did. But he` So he was a character, and that was part of his appeal. He was sort of like the` the typical Australian larrikin, really. Dick Henderson was quiet. He was probably fairly unassuming. He was given a job to do, which he did. I don't think he had the, sort of, sense of humour. So all those things, I think, fit in with the man I see in that picture. Really, the reality is that the quiet doer achieves and continues to achieve, whereas the man who makes the flamboyant statement about it all, while he becomes the so-called hero, is in the end` he's shot very early on. I mean, he` he hardly survives the month on Gallipoli before he is shot, whereas somehow Dick Henderson manages to survive much of the campaign there. So there's a sort of a` In a way, there's a sort of an Australia-New Zealand thing here, because here you have your New Zealander in Dick Henderson, who is` who is quiet, retiring, um, who doesn't make a fuss, doesn't` doesn't drag his name out, and even when he knew ` and he knew quite some time before he actually admitted that he was the man in the picture ` um, you know, he doesn't make a big fuss about it cos this is not good for the myth or the legend. And the other thing is that Simpson, of course, is the flamboyant larrikin whom the Australians like. He's the man who flouts authority, who rescues people in spectacular situations and` and makes the story. So there is` Yes, there is an irony in it all. Who is the real Simpson? But the preoccupation isn't, 'Who is it?' It's, 'Which one of these is Simpson?' Because Simpson has already become that legendary figure. But now, looking back from a hundred years, every New Zealand schoolchild who looks at Anzac Day knows it's not Simpson. He knows what Simpson` They know what Simpson did, but they know this particular person is Dick Henderson, and I think in that sense, uh, history and time has evened the field. (STIRRING MUSIC) 1 (STIRRING MUSIC) As Simpson and Henderson came ashore on day one of the campaign, so did the British-born New Zealand war artist sapper Horace Moore-Jones. He too was a medic, but it's for his work as an artist that he'll be remembered. What happened when he landed on Gallipoli ` he landed as a sapper, but he was, of course, commissioned to paint the topography so that they could find out where they could fire their shells. So he had a` he had a` sort of, a twofold aim, if you like. One was to paint what he saw, so he painted the landscape so they knew where` where to fire, and that was a very old use of war artists. It went back to the 18th century. But the` the new one was the one where he painted scenes like the headquarters, like Bully Beef Gully, where he actually recreated the life of the soldiers through his artwork, and unfortunately, most of those were the ones that were sold in Australia to the Canberra Gallery. There's something in his art that is quite different from a photograph. You can't possibly capture from a photograph what he was able to put on a piece of paper. And I think a good example, um, are the bird's-eye view, uh, scenes that he did when he was up in that balloon. There he was, tethered off a boat, hanging from this basket of a balloon, looking at the coast of Gallipoli, and with obviously there's stories about the Turks began to realise what he was doing and would take potshots at him. The Gallipoli campaign became such a focus for New Zealanders because Moore-Jones went around the country and lectured on it. He talked about it. He explained it to hundreds of New Zealanders. So this was a man that was able to speak to an audience and tell them what was going on. I mean, he talked about the dead bodies, the smell, the flies, and yet he could also paint the picture with watercolours. Now, what happened was he was talking in Dun` in Dunedin, and by that time, Simpson was a well-known figure in Australia. This man who had rescued the wounded on his donkey had become a sort of an icon in Australia. And there were two reasons for that ` one, the Australians wanted to show that the men who were at the front were looked after by` by their mates and nobody was allowed to suffer too long, and the man bringing the wounded down the slopes on the donkey was an ideal source for that. But the other reason was that the Australians had no conscription, and so they wanted to push Simpson and his mateship and looking after others and the fact that if you were a hale and hearty young Australian, it was your duty to go the front line to replace those that had been wounded and brought down from the front, and so there was a sort of psychological part of it too. And they pushed it very, very hard in Australia, whereas in New Zealand it wasn't so important, because, you know, they` they had conscription and they` they sorted out who went and who didn't go. So that's the first thing. So he knew the story, and he was telling the story in Dunedin, and this, um, chap, Jackson, came forward and said, 'Look, I've got this picture. 'It's` It's come from my brother, who's on Gallipoli' ` don't forget there were a lot of cameras on Gallipoli ` 'and it is Simpson who` who I've got.' So that's what he did. He` He got the paint` the photograph, and he painted the picture from that. Jackson turns up and shows Horace a photograph of the very thing that he had been describing, and immediately he sat down and he made a sketch of that, and I think` my reading of that is he suddenly realised he had an image that meant a great deal to people. It was going to be a valuable image, so he painted it. Great. It's quite unlike anything that he'd done, uh, in the rest of the Gallipoli series. (REFLECTIVE PIANO MUSIC) If the man in the photograph had never been named mistakenly, then the question of identity may never have arisen. But as a result of Horace Moore-Jones' paintings, confusion surrounded the name of the man with the donkey. He sees that he's on to a good thing, and he paints a number of copies, two of which are sent to England to be turned into lithographs. They come back to Australia and New Zealand, and they're everywhere. And Jackson ` who probably knows the truth, the sergeant who took the original photograph ` when he's back, he doesn't want to tell anybody because he believes it will destroy the power of the myth. It's much better to have this idea that he's an Australian larrikin ` of course, he wasn't; he was English ` um, helping others than to have a New Zealander. And I don't think I` I'm the person to judge whether it's a great painting or whether it's a great piece of documentary evidence. But I do think that we need to see it as a symbol, not as` not as the reality ` that he has taken this photograph that he got and made it into a symbol of the helping of others in Gallipoli and working together. (CHILDREN CHATTER) Before Gallipoli, Dick Henderson was a trainee teacher here at Three Kings School in Auckland. A century on and he's still remembered with pride. He's a man that used to teach at our school, and he went to war with a donkey, and he saved people's lives. And to be in the same school of Dick Henderson a hundred years ago... It was amaze` It's amazing. ...is quite a good priv` privilege. The facts might be a little exaggerated, but the passion cannot be denied. He got have got shot, and he could have died there, but he risked his, uh, life to save people who were wounded and took them back to their country and so they could get fixed up. He was willing to do anything to help. Overall, he's just, like, a wonderful man. Yeah, he's pretty much like... Think about, like, all the things that he's done for other people. ...a hero. And also he teaches. He must really like children, because if he teaches and helps other people, he must be a really lovely man. ...really amazing. As the life of Dick Henderson inspires today's generation, for Ross it is time to step back and reflect on where it all began, to ask some hard questions and find meaning in the actions and behaviour of the man he called Dad. This is, uh, Dad's f` family around about 1904. And then this is my grandfather John Henderson. Um, he was the engineer in charge of the Martha Mine at Waihi, and I` I believe this was taken in Waihi of the whole family. OK, Jean, Elva, Will, May, Dick, John, Elva and Jack. For the purpose of the story, this is our beginning. (PENSIVE PIANO MUSIC) Ross' grandparents', John and Elva Henderson, arrived in Waihi in the late 19th century. He was from Scotland, and she from Australia. Looking back is often considered a gateway to the future, and in the archives of the Waihi Museum, the Hendersons' story comes alive. We found John Henderson in the Ohinemuri electoral roll in 1896, living in Waihi with his wife, Elva, and in 1905, 1906, we found him in, um, Waihi as an engineer, and the reference is the Bay of Plenty electoral roll. We got these directories and stuff in here, which is the sort of thing that you look for for family history. In here are all the councillors of the old of Waihi Borough Council are listed, and there is a J Henderson there who was a councillor between 1902 and 1906. And that's a very small photo of him there. And J Henderson was one of the first councillors, and he served between 1902 and 1906, so it leads me to think it is the John Henderson, as he was the John Henderson around Waihi at the time. We checked Papers Past mainly and found that, um, John Henderson had more of a history than we had discovered and, um, that he was highly respected, that he had been the instigator or cause of a mine accident, which two people were killed, and that he was` went through the court system, and he, um, took ownership of it, and possibly for that reason, um, he moved on from there, and, as far as we've been able to determine, he went to Huntly. At the time, he was an assistant engineer at the mining company, and he turned off the steam, and, as a result, two miners were killed. But he owned up to it and decided it was an accident and, uh, that was that, really. John Henderson was given several farewells when he left, and each one of them, um, spoke highly of him in the speeches that are recorded in the papers. (REFLECTIVE PIANO MUSIC) Although Ross never knew his grandfather, the discovery of these highly respected personal qualities brings a sense of pride. The patriarch has provided a strong bloodline of moral fibre from which the Henderson family can flourish. Dick and his brother, Will, were the first of three generations to enter the military. And after Gallipoli, they both served on the Western Front. Dick was repatriated to New Zealand in 1918, having been severely gassed at Passchendaele. This whole experience climaxes with him being badly gassed to the point where they don't think he's going to live, um, at Passchendaele, and he's blind for three months, and he recovers his sight, and it's only when he recovers his sight that he's got a future, really. And so` and he goes back to teaching. He was blinded for a time, and then his vision returned, and then it` it faded again, which, um, was one of the reasons that he retired from teaching. But he had either the first or the second corneal graft that was done in Auckland. War destroys. The reality is everyone who experiences war eventually will be broken by it, and we sent, you know, 100,000 men to war. 60,000 casualties, 18,000, 19,000 dead. But everyone who went was scarred in one way or another, and those ripples, uh, went out throughout New Zealand society, and the scars were carried, really, in a sense to this day, by their wives and their children and the generations that followed. You know, we... The impact of the First World War still resonates on New Zealand. GROUP SINGS: # Swift to its close # ebbs out life's little day. A growing number of New Zealanders come together each year to remember those that gave their lives. # ...pass away. For some, it's a time to celebrate nationhood; for others, a time to face the emotional stress and nightmare of war. # ...around I see. # Anzac Day for Ross is a time when the dark side of childhood returns, when the memory of his father overwhelms him with pride and fear. My father, he was a very strict disciplinarian, and what he said was` was law. We were babies when we met. We grew up together. Now, Ross was brought up in a completely different environment, where his mother and father didn't show any love. Dick definitely showed the disciplinary, um, actions and` and took action, and his mother seemed to support Dick, and it was always, uh, this` this hardness, this unfeelingness, this` this no love, and it was such a... The environment was so different to mine. He certainly was an alcoholic and a chain-smoker. He'd come out and give us a bit of a shout, and then he'd send Ross to pick his willow that he was gonna thrash him with, and that was, uh` didn't happen` It didn't happen once; it happened more than once. And I always felt sorry for him and could never understand why they were, uh, so, to me, mean and nasty to him. Yeah, the hi` hidings from my father were` were` were pretty severe. Dick was a hard man because of life experiences, I think ` you know, cos he` he joined the army underage, and the stories that he's told me... When we were in the dining room one time ` there was a group of us there; I don't actually remember who was there ` and Dick was` told the story of when he was bringing somebody down, um, at Gallipoli, he came across a human head severed from the body, and it was laughing, and I think that's a` a terrible story. It, uh, haunted me for a while, and even now I don't like to talk about it, and I think for a young fellow` Cos he joined the army, uh, you know, before he should have. He wasn't old enough to join the army, and he joined. Um, so I think that would be awful for a young` awful for anybody. I don't know if I could have survived seeing such a thing. But he was in the midst of war, and that... that upset him, that story. But he must have been in there in a lot of carnage and wounds, dead people and that, but that somehow... stayed with him. Looking at... and talking to veterans from the First World War on to the present day, war either drives you to God or drives you away from it. You know, how could God sanction the sheer bestiality of war? Henderson is simply someone who needs solace. CONGREGATION: # Blessed be the name of the Lord. # In the last few years of his life, when he was racked by ill health and blindness, Dick turned to God, and it's here, at the Church of Christ in Mount Roskill, that he and his wife, Margaret, came to worship. # My heart will choose to say, # 'Lord, blessed be your name.' # Well, yes, I would say his life was turned around as a result of becoming a Christian. From what he told us in his testimony, he was` he was an alcoholic and he spent most of his days` because he was unable to work, um, he spent` most of his time was spent at the RSA. And because he was well known and famed for his, um, Simpson and the donkey or, uh, his life, every time he went in there, well, there'd be` somebody would want to shout him a drink. And so he had no problem finding something to drink. He wasn't dependent on an income for that. Later someone invited him along to this church, and he heard the gospel message ` that Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners. And he made a` a commitment- That was before my time, but he had made a commitment to become a Christian. Just before he died, Dick recorded his testimony to be played at his funeral. Perhaps it was finally time to speak out about his life. Owing to my war disability, I have upon many occasions been at death's door, and while at such times I've looked upon death as a means of escape from pain and suffering, fear has always filled the heart. But now, since I live a life in which sin has been forgiven through my faith in Jesus, I know beyond all doubt that when this life ceases, I immediately pass into eternal life. Well, I used to` In those days I'd go with a group of men. We'd go up to Greenlane Hospital of a` of a Friday night, and we'd break up into single groups and visit` go around the wards and just speak to patients and, you know, do whatever we could to` to, uh, show friendship and kindness to them. And it so happened that as I walked down the ward, I saw Dick Henderson, you know, in a bed there. Um, I'm not sure whether he was aware he was in hospital at the time, but he had been quite ill, and, uh, I walked up to him and said, 'Hello, Mr Henderson. How are you?' Oh, and he grunted. He wasn't` And, uh, I was only a new Christian. I didn't really understand so much as what I do now, and we talked for a little while, and, uh, I said, 'Well, you'll be home in a few days, won't you?' And he said, 'No.' He said, 'I won't be coming home'. He said, 'I'm going home.' And I probably didn't really understand exactly what he meant there, but I got` the next day, I` we had a call to say that Mr Henderson had passed away in the night. And so, in some respects, I was probably one of the last people to speak to him. Though I can't be sure on that, cos possibly his family might have been there in the night. I'm not sure. (PENSIVE MUSIC) Very few personal records of Dick's life survive today, as his wife, Margaret, burned all his letters, diaries and memorabilia here on her family farm in Northland. The incineration of the family history has brought a mix of emotions. For Ross, never being able to get close to his father has been one of his greatest regrets. I think he really wants his father to be acknowledged for what he did in the war. Now, this is us looking back at our own forebears and their role in the war. They didn't want to talk about it. Now we want to know what they did. So in a way it's this generational change. The people who were, um, in the actual horror of that war didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to remember what they did, but their children want to know, and Ross' father was fairly old when he had him, so that he` he's even more into our generation where, um, we're looking at how` say, for instance, our parents or grandparents ` w-what happened to them in World War II? We want to know, and they didn't talk about it. And I think it's the same thing ` that people now want to know what their story is in their family. It's part of this whole movement of genealogy too. (REFLECTIVE PIANO MUSIC) I'm just surprised there is the connection coming through the family when there's been no` we haven't pushed it. I just sort think, 'Where did it come from?' (MUSIC CONTINUES) I think it's rather interesting that Ross' father was a soldier, and then Ross was also involved with services and did a turn in Fiji. Then our sons have joined the services ` our older boy in the air force in Australia, and our younger one in the army in Australia. I never dreamed our boys... or Ross when I` I first met him would be in the army and that our sons would go that way. I was quite surprised. Ha` Always having had Grandad in the background, that was` I'm not sure if` if it was something to aspire to, but it was always a presence in our childhood and growing up, and Dad having been a Territorial Force soldier, he always had a` a positive reflection of his time in Defence. So when I, uh, originally applied for police force and got knocked back, um, to me the army was the next best thing, and they, uh, welcomed me with, um, open arms. Speaking with my brother when I was working full-time as a civilian, um, and, sort of, expressing my interest in joining Defence with relocating country, and he sort of, uh, suggested to me, having` having a young family, that, really, the air force would have been the most nine-to-five, family-oriented job that I could find, and that` that suited me to a T. And so I wound up in Defence, and I'm quite happy with it. I wouldn't go back. With, sort of, going down to Te Papa in Wellington and having it unveiled there when my brother and I were pretty young, we sort of became fairly familiar with the symbol, because there's sort of been a bit of contention about who it act` actually portrays, so... I really prefer to think of it just as representative of a` of a symbol or as a role that was played at that time. I get a` I do get a sense of pride in knowing that my grandfather had a famous image taken of him, and, uh, I feel` I do feel a great sense of pride when I look at that. Um, it's some` somewhat confusing. Uh, I feel like I want to tell people the correct story, but I can't come across in a way which doesn't seem disrespectful to the legend of Simpson as well. So, um, yeah, a quiet sense of pride, I'd say. (FLURRYING PIANO MUSIC) Why it is that the Simpson legend catches on fanatically, if you like, in Australia, is a separate story, and to understand Dick Henderson's part in the kind of annals of` of New Zealand's wars um, is a totally different business, I think. The fact that Dick Henderson's story didn't have a similar impact in New Zealand is a New Zealand matter. And the only way that can be, kind of, sorted, I think, is by looking at the circumstances of New Zealand in the war and the post-war period. But apart from that, the two of them, actually, you know, should be thought of as a pair, I think ` a really, really valuable pair. And it's` it's a shame in a way that they weren't thought of as a pair, you know, long ago. Simpson and Henderson were synonymous in many ways. But for Ross it has become a matter of justice being seen to be done. (SOLEMN MUSIC) He believes the work and status of his father has been overshadowed by the Simpson legend, and he wants to set the record straight. This man is my father, and I have frequently been accused of dishonesty or even lying for saying... that it is Dick Henderson, my father, not John Simpson. But it is not to discredit Simpson but simply to identify that that is not John Simpson; it is Dick Henderson, my father. Um, and` and this is something that I think, you know, the family has sort of struggled with a little over the years. But for Ross, it's been a losing battle. Commissioned to mark the 100th anniversary of Gallipoli, this 7m-high Big Paint project in Whanganui was created in just one day. It comprises a hundred panels, each painted by a different local artist. The scale of the project continues to affirm the importance of this image, but for the Henderson family, they wonder if their name will ever be officially recognised and replace the name of Simpson with their own. The legend continues to grow today, largely because of this painting and all the other images and symbols that are associated with the man and the donkey. (STIRRING MUSIC) In July 2015, against all predictions, this work by Horace Moore-Jones sold at auction for a record $492,000. It's got a lot of mana. It's a special` special painting. It's a piece of history, and it's so important in our` in the story of New Zealand and where we are as a nation, and so it's more than just a painting. It's got history, and it's got provenance, and it's got everything else. And look at the story behind Dick and his` and his struggles. It's incredible. Dick found out. I believe he` he knew that it was him in the painting. Uh, but the artist never found out. The artist always thought he was painting Simpson. He died thinking it was Simpson. He never knew he had actually painted Dick Henderson. Sapper Horace Moore-Jones lives on today in the main street of Hamilton. He's acknowledged as one of the city's most celebrated heroes. So, this is, um, Matt Gauldie's bronze, and it's officially named The Line of Fire because it shows` it portrays Moore-Jones in his Gallipoli, uh, uniform, holding his pencil out, which is what he did, of course, when was on the fields of Gallipoli doing the maps, but in this case he's pointing at the Hamilton Hotel, and the original 1923 facade is still there. But, of course, that was the hotel that was built after the one the year before burned down, which, of course, was where he died the heroic death, rescuing others. What's also marvellous about the statue is Horace is actually kneeling on a 7-ton block of Gallipoli granite that was gifted to us for this project by the Turkish people ` and particularly the people of Canakkale, which is Gallipoli ` to acknowledge that today, uh, um, it's a whole different world from wartime, and it expresses the unity hopefully between us today. (BUGLE MUSIC) (MUSIC CONTINUES) I can't think of anyone that was there just for the cruise. All of us had something in common in that we had either a relative or a close interest, or keen interest in the Gallipoli campaign. (EXHALES HEAVILY) I think... in` in my case that service was,... um,... very personal, but on a selfish level ` you know, I wasn't too aware of others. It was special, but... probably on an emotional level, I was probably pretty introverted. Um... But it was lovely the way it came` the sun came up and shone across the... the sea, the daylight, um... And you had all the poppies around the` the pool, and tiny gusts of wind would come through. (SOFT BUGLE MUSIC) And each time there was a little puff of wind, three or four, five or six poppies would fall into the water. (MUSIC CONTINUES) And... that was a bit much for me. Pass me the ball. (DOG BARKS) Can I stop this one? Wow! That was a big kick! In Australia, a new generation of Hendersons are now ready to take up the story. And so the first word is... Sharay and Connor are the children of Kris and Aida, and Mason and Nate are the children of Lee and Bianca. All Hendersons, and all descended from John and Elva, then Dick and Margaret, then Ross and Lyn. READS: You got it. Let us in! (CHUCKLES) Five generations with a proud lineage intimately connected to the man and the donkey. (STIRRING PIANO MUSIC) Captions by Amenda Quang Edited by Imogen Staines. www.able.co.nz Captions were made possible with funding from NZ On Air. Copyright Able 2017