‘I’ll come again,’ she said.
Kit watched Christiana walk away and looked beyond her to Ross, riding away from her as she always saw him. There would be no need for her to come again.
For today it was different. Another figure rode beside him – a red-headed beauty, young and lithe, a red pigtail flowing out beneath her tricorn. There’s a horizon everywhere you go, he’d always said. And as they rode, over the hills and far away to where the earth meets the sky, Ross held out his hand, and Kit took it.
THE END
Acknowledgements
For a while I had a vague awareness of a remarkable female soldier who had fought as a man, but I only really became acquainted with her many names and her story when I read Daniel Defoe’s book Mother Ross: The Life and Adventures of Mrs. Christian Davies, Commonly Called Mother Ross, on Campaign with the Duke of Marlborough. This contemporary account opened my eyes to Kit’s extraordinary experiences in the British Army, and was an invaluable source for my novel. I had great fun reading Swearing: A Social History of Foul Language, Oaths and Profanity in English by Geoffrey Hughes, and was able to pepper my book with some good barracks language! I learned a great deal about sailors’ votive shrines in Genoa from an article in The Oxford Historian Issue XI entitled Spectacular Miracles by Jane Garnett and Gervase Rosser. The other source which deserves a mention is a work of fiction; Shield of Three Lions by Pamela Kaufman was one of my favourite books growing up, and, as it features a heroine who dresses as a boy to go on Crusade, deserves a mention as the inspiration for this book.
There were other sources for this novel besides written ones. I must mention two films; Farinelli (1994) which is so informative on the experience of the castrato, and Le Roi Danse (2000) which allowed me to see the Ballet de la Nuit as it would have been performed, when the young Louis XIV danced the role of Apollon. Both films were directed by Gérard Corbiau. I must also mention Dublin-based band Lad Lane, who, through both their recorded and live performances, opened my ears to the lively loveliness of traditional Irish music.
Thanks also to Cecil Sharp House, home of the English Folk Society. It was in the library there that I managed to track down Arthur McBride, the folk song which is the touchstone of this book.
I needed many names for my dragoons, and at a Remembrance Day ceremony at my local war memorial I had an idea. So all the dragoons in this book – bar Ross, Kit and Taylor who are real characters – are named after the fallen on the war memorial at St. Mary’s Church, Abbey Road. A very small tribute to a very great sacrifice.
And finally, my thanks must go to all the lovely people who helped me with this book. Martin O’Grady was very helpful in giving me the Dubliner’s history of Kavanagh’s – the Gravedigger’s pub. And I had the great honour to meet a real-life Chelsea pensioner, IP Derek ‘Yorky’ Layton, who was most informative about the Chelsea Hospital’s first female resident. At Hodder I must thank my editor Kate Parkin, who was there at the inception of the book and gave the go-ahead for Kit’s story to be told, and was there too in the final stages to give me the benefit of her fantastic editorial skills. Thanks also must go to Francine Toon for managing the production of the novel and Ian Paten for his eagle-eyed copy edit. As always, I am indebted to my agent Teresa Chris for her unfailing guidance and support.
And, last but never least, my thanks to Sacha, Conrad and Ruby, who are always on my side.
Historical Note
Kit Kavanagh (also known as Christian Walsh, Christian Davies or latterly Mother Ross) was a real person. In this novel I have augmented and embellished her adventures but her own life was no less remarkable.
She was born in 1667 and ran an alehouse in Dublin with her husband Richard. When he was pressed into the British Army she followed him to war dressed as a man, and enlisted in the army too. Initially she was shipped to the Low Countries, where she further disguised her appearance by having a false penis made out of silver.
Kit served as an infantryman and then as a dragoon in the Scots Greys. She fought several campaigns under the Duke of Marlborough. She was known to the duke personally, and he rewarded her for her bravery in action. She accepted the paternity of the daughter of a woman she met on her campaigns, rather than admit her true sex. Kit eventually found her husband Richard, but he was already married to another woman. Kit continued to fight, but her sex was revealed when she took a musket ball in the hip and was operated on by the field surgeon. Upon her return to England she was commended by Queen Anne, who gave her a handsome pension and a pledge to give a commission to Kit’s first-born son.
Kit married Captain Ross and every man in her regiment made a contribution to buy her a wedding gown. After her marriage she enlisted again as a sutler in the army and served for many more years. She ended her days in London’s Chelsea Hospital – the first woman to be admitted there as a pensioner. Kit died in 1739 and was buried at St Margaret’s church Westminster. Some years later the Duke of Ormonde was buried next door in Westminster Abbey.
Arthur McBride
Oh me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride
As we went a walkin’ down by the seaside
Now mark what followed and what did betide
It being on Christmas morning
Out for recreation we went on a tramp
And we met Sergeant Knacker and Captain Vamp
And a little wee drummer intending to camp
For the day being pleasant and charming
Good morning, good morning the sergeant did cry
And the same to you gentlemen, we did reply
Intending no harm but meant to pass by
For it being on Christmas morning
But says he my fine fellows if you will enlist
It’s ten guineas in gold I will slip in your fist
And a crown in the bargain for to kick up the dust
And to drink the King’s health in the morning
For a soldier he leads a very fine life
He always is blessed with a charming young wife
And he pays all his debts without sorrow or strife
And always lives happy and charming
And a soldier he always is decent and clean
In the finest of clothing he’s constantly seen
While other poor fellows go dirty and mean
And sup on thin gruel in the morning
Says Arthur, I wouldn’t be proud of your clothes
You’ve only the lend of them as I suppose
And you dare not change them one night or you know
If you do you’ll be flogged in the morning
And although we are single and free
We take great delight in our own company
And we have no desire strange places to see
Although your offer is charming
And we have no desire to take your advance
All hazards and danger we barter on chance
and you’d have no scruples to send us to France
Where we would be shot without warning
And now says the sergeant, I’ll have no such chat
And I neither will take it from spalpeen or brat
For if you insult me with one other word
I’ll cut off your heads in the morning
And then Arthur and I we soon drew our hods
And we scarce gave them time for to draw their own blades
When a trusty shillelagh came over their heads
And bade them take that as fair warning
As for their old rusty rapiers that hung by their sides
We flung it as far as we could in the tide
To the Devil I pitch you, says Arthur McBride
To temper your steel in the morning
As for the wee drummer, we rifled his pow
And made a football of his row-do-dow-dow
Into the tide to rock and to roll
And bade it a tedious returnin’
And we haven’t no money to pay them off in cracks
; And we paid no respect to the two bloody backs
For we lathered them there like a pair of wet sacks
And left them for dead in the morning
And so to conclude and to finish disputes
We obligingly asked if they wanted recruits
For we were the lads who would give them hard clouts
And bid them look sharp in the morning
Oh me and my cousin, one Arthur McBride
As we went a walkin’ down by the seaside
Now mark what followed and what did betide
It being on Christmas morning
Kit Page 42