shell fire, with the fear of getting hit oneself removed temporarily,
the humour of them enters into our thoughts and conversation. What
So-and-so looked like when he slid down the cliffs. “Did you see
Colonel —— dive behind those boxes, or the R.E. General competing in
a fifty yards’ sprint with his batman?” If it were possible to record
on a cinema film these scenes that are instantaneously caused by the
arrival of big shells, without recording the bursting of a shell or the
occurrence of casualties, then a film could be produced which would
rival in knockabout comedy any film of Charlie Chaplin’s. The French
have been fighting this afternoon, and the “75’s” banging away for
all they are worth. A very big battle has been going on on the right.
Perhaps this is why we have been given a taste of shelling.
_May 19th._
I hear that General D’Amade has gone home, which we all regret. He was
very gallant and brave, and was continually with his troops in the
trenches. Big gun not very active to-day, thank Heaven. A couple came
over, however, while Gregory and I were walking down to the beach. We
both dived flat on the ground behind an S.A. ammunition-box—really no
protection at all, but any cover is better than none. I got behind
Gregory when we fell flat, as his “tummy,” being nice and large, made
extra cover for me. I admit I considered only myself at the moment and
not Gregory, and the temptation of taking shelter behind his massive
form was one that on the instant I could not resist. I told him this,
and he got very annoyed with me.
“W” Beach has now been officially named Lancashire Landing, after the
Lancashire Fusiliers, who took the beach on the 25th of last month.
The Gurkhas in their last scrap of a few days ago took an important
bluff on the left of Krithia, overlooking the sea, and this bluff has
now been called Gurkha Bluff.
Just heard that one of our submarines has been up the Sea of Marmora.
Not coming back for twenty-one days, it was given up for lost, but
reported back safe and sound to-day, having sunk two Turkish destroyers
and three Turkish transports. Commander awarded the V.C.
Aeroplanes very active now; tried to get a flight to-day, but failed.
They go back to Tenedos each night, and come sailing over the sea back
here after breakfast. It is too dangerous for the machines to remain on
at the aerodrome here, on account of shell fire.
_May 20th._
Brilliant weather once more. It gets frightfully hot now in the middle
of the day. After lunch, had a delightful bathe, and then went to
Brigade H.Q. in centre of position. All quiet there, but French made
ground to-day on right. French now doing excellent work. At Gaba Tepe,
Australians heavily attacked last night by Turks in great force,
supported by artillery, including 92 gun. Attack under personal command
of Von Sanders. Australians hold their own, the enemy losing heavily,
leaving heaps of dead on the field. They come on in the German massed
formation, yelling “Allah!” and are literally mown down. I prophesy
that Dardanelles will be open by June 30th, if not before.
Hear that they now have a Coalition Government at home.
We now have issued to us regularly in print one sheet containing
“wireless news” and local news. The sheet is called the _Peninsula
Press_. At times it endeavours to become amusing at the expense of the
Turk, but it falls rather flat.
_May 23rd._
This afternoon I walk over with Jennings, Phillips, Williams, and Way
to find Major Costaker’s grave, as there is some doubt as to where he
has been buried. We had difficulty in passing through Sed-el-Bahr, as
the French are very strict about others than French passing through,
but an Australian military policeman came to our rescue and passed
us through. The French have the advantage in having Sed-el-Bahr, for
amongst the ruined houses are several untouched by shell fire, in
which they are enabled to make very comfortable quarters. But the best
quarters of all are in the large fort which looks over the Straits.
The other fort that I have referred to stands back from the beach,
on the right-hand side looking seawards. We have our photographs
taken, sitting on the muzzle of one of the big Turkish guns at this
latter fort; also, to the huge delight of the Senegalese, we take some
photographs of their camp, and one of them insists on my being in the
group. We meet with no success in finding Major Costaker’s grave, and
I can only conclude that he is buried in one of the two large graves
down on the beach marked “Gallant dead of the Dublins and Munsters and
others.”
On the way back we sit for a while in front of Hill 138 and have a
long look at the beautiful country lying between us and Achi Baba.
Through glasses we notice some precipitous slopes in front of Achi
Baba, and wonder how long the day will be before our troops will be
storming them. Not a sign of the enemy can be seen: just now and then
little white puffs of shrapnel, now from our guns over their lines, and
now from theirs over ours. Now and again the French “75’s” bark out,
bang-bang-bang-bang-bang-bang—bang-bang. About as rapid as a machine
gun. The F.O.O. (Forward Observation Officer) watches the enemy as a
cat does a mouse. Any sign of life in an enemy trench, such as the
sight of shovels appearing over the parapet and earth being thrown
up, a body of Turks moving across the open behind their lines, or a
new communication trench that appears in course of construction, is
immediately telephoned to the battery commander at the guns, and before
it is possible to count sixty seconds, half a dozen shells burst near
or on the target. No target appears too small or too insignificant for
them, and ammunition is plentiful. A great pile of shells in boxes is
tidily stacked against the walls of Sed-el-Bahr fort, and the stack
steadily grows. We are not in the same fortunate position with our
ammunition.
On April 27th, when I was at “V” Beach, I saw a “75” battery being
hauled up from the shore. I was standing amongst some French soldiers,
and one standing next to me turned to me and pointed to the guns,
saying “Soixante-quinze, bon—eh?” He looked upon them with pleasure
and almost awe. Then I did not appreciate their immense worth, but
now I do. We strolled back in the evening, had a peaceful dinner,
and at night, but for fitful bursts of rifle fire, all was quiet.
Mowatt, my friend of Birmingham days, looks in to have a chat, but his
conversation is rather depressing to us all.
If his theories are right, then we are stuck here in front of Achi till
the end of the war—or driven into the sea. A listener to one of his
arguments puts forward the theory that if we had effected a landing at
the Bulair Lines, the Peninsula, being cut off from Turkey in Europe,
would automatically have fallen into our hands; but that theory is
immediately exploded by the knowledge of the fact that at present
Chanak, on the Asiatic side, is the main source of supply, via Maidos
on the Peninsula separated as they are from each other by under a mile
of the water of the Straits, easily crossed by regular ferries. From
Chanak we believe that the enemy receives nearly all his ammunition,
stores, supplies, and reinforcements, which are ferried to Maidos and
transported from there by pack-mules to their army on the Hill. We have
seen convoys of pack-mules now and again on the slopes of Achi Baba,
but they seldom show themselves, for fear of the heavy shells from the
guns of the Fleet. But they must swarm over each night.
Mowatt says that if an army of ours landed at the Lines of Bulair,
it would be flanked on either side by Turkish armies, one on the
Peninsula and one on the mainland. Both these armies would be kept
in the field by plentiful and safe sources of supply, and our army
would quickly find itself in an ever-tightening vice, rendering it
in a short time impotent. He argues that once it had been decided
to land on the Peninsula we landed at the right place, but that the
success of taking the hill might have fallen to our armies if the
Australians had landed where the 29th landed, namely at Helles, on
the tip of the Peninsula, and if the 29th had landed up the coast
behind Achi, where the Australians had landed. The 29th, being a more
tried and disciplined machine, would have conquered its way to Maidos,
forming a line of steel behind the small Turkish Army (we are told its
strength was about 30,000 men on April 25th), and this Turkish Army,
being cut off in rear, would have fallen a victim to the oncoming
gallant and all-conquering Australians and New Zealanders. The fall
of Constantinople would not have been far off, the Straits would have
been opened to the Allied Fleets. Another theory is that a landing
could then have been effected at Alexandretta, north of Syria, and a
march from there could have been made by a strong and overwhelming army
of French and British to the gates of Bagdad, and that after the fall
of Bagdad we should have been able to link up with the Russian Army.
Then there would follow a sweep through Asia Minor to the coast of the
Marmora and shores of the Dardanelles, the Fleet would dash up the
Narrows to the Golden Horn, and, as the Arabs say, “Turkey mafisch.”
Mowatt appears to have studied the question logically, but it is the
Staff’s job to think these things out and ours to do our job in our
humble way.
However, he depresses us, and I shall have to go and have a chat to
those Naval optimists again.
Sed-el-Bahr is a mass of ruins now, but, however ruined a village may
be, one can always picture to a certain extent what it was like in its
lifetime. Sed-el-Bahr must have been a very charming place before the
bombardment, with its ancient fifteenth-century houses, orchards, and
gardens. The fort, evidently fifteenth or sixteenth century, is a very
picturesque and massive building, having spacious chambers with the
roofs going up in a dome shape—more egg shape though, than dome—made
of solid masonry, four or five feet thick. The walls also are just as
thick, but the guns of the _Queen Elizabeth_ simply smashed through
them like butter.
It is wonderful how the country in our possession to date has changed.
Roads are being made everywhere. Pipes lead from wells to troughs.
Piers run out from beaches. Sides of cliffs have little dugouts and
little houses and terraces, with names given them, such as “Sea View”
and “Lancaster Terrace,” such names being officially recognized. Also
camps and horse lines are everywhere. Big gun has been shelling “V”
Beach to-day; “Y” Beach is now known as Gurkha Beach.
_May 24th._
Perfect day after ten; very heavy rain earlier. My job to draw supplies
from Main Supply depot for Division. Rotten job, which starts at six.
Brigade not moved.
Hear that Italy has definitely come in. This closes a channel of
supplies into Austria and Germany, and is bound to tell in a few months.
Japanese bomb shells experimented with in Australian trenches at Gaba
Tepe. They are fired by a trench mortar and have a range of four
hundred yards. They have a small propeller to keep them straight, and
explode with great violence, blowing trench to bits.
The first one tried fell beautifully in a Turkish trench at two hundred
yards’ range, and exploded with great violence. Turks started kicking
up a fearful row, and about fifty rushed out like a lot of hornets.
Machine gun turned on them and scotched the lot. Great request now on
our part for Japanese bomb shells.
News now arrives that two submarines from Germany have got into the
Mediterranean through the Straits of Gibraltar, and that they are
making for this part of the world as hard as they can go. Most of
the Fleet and transports in consequence move off at nightfall for
Lemnos Harbour, off the village of Mudros, where our transports
concentrated before the landing. Looking out to sea from the beach,
the feeling of loneliness engendered by the departure of the shipping
is curious—yesterday I looked seawards and the ocean was dotted with
warships, transports, etc., pinnaces darted to and fro, all was hurry
and bustle, during which one had a comfortable feeling that at our
backs were our Naval comrades, ready to help at a moment’s notice; now,
less than half the shipping lies off the coast than did a week ago, and
a feeling of loneliness, almost of fear, comes over me.
Hindu as well as Sudanese labourers now working on the beach. All the
time that they are carrying anything on a cart, with six pushing,
one of them, evidently in authority, walks alongside laughing and
gesticulating, singing something in a Gregorian chant, to which the
others answer by singing three words in a monotone. This goes on all
the time and causes much amusement to the Tommies, who of course
imitate, whereupon the coolies laugh and sing all the louder.
We have now built a bivouac of boxes on the cliff edge, the right side
of the beach looking towards the sea, and from there we obtain a fine
view of the scenes on the beach and the road below at the foot of the
cliff, which is gradually being widened, built up, and extended round
to “X” Beach.
_May 25th._
Woke up in our new “bivvy” this morning. It is very nice up here now,
overlooking Imbros. From my bed I see the _Swiftsure_ fire a shot into
the water. I get up at once, and looking through my glasses, see her
fire another, this time between the _Agamemnon_, which is moored close
by, and herself. Torpedo destroyer comes dashing up, and immediately
makes big circles round the two ships. A tiny little pinnace slips
out with only four sailors on it, and rushes round and round the
_Swiftsure_ like a little pup defending its mother. A bugle sounds
several times, and men in white swarm out from all kinds of places and
stand to stations on the decks.
A submarine has been sighted right among our shipping; it had darted
like an evil fish between the _Swiftsure_ and the _Agamemnon_, and the
_Swiftsure_ had kept it off.
At one o’clock news arrives that H.M.S. _Triumph_ has been torpedoed
off the Australian landing at Gabe Tepe, and it is a terrible shock to
us all, coming as it has so soon after the sinking of the _Goliath_.
A good many lives were saved—nearly all the crew. No doubt it was hit
by the same submarine that attempted to finish off the _Swiftsure_
and _Agamemnon_ this morning. We are all naturally anxious at further
developments.
A Turkish battery is shelling the aerodrome on the east side of “W”
Beach. Some very good practice is made and one machine is damaged.
This afternoon the same thing starts, and one shell pitches into the
sea. If they move their gun five degrees right, they have the range of
our “bivvy” nicely.
_May 26th._
It is another perfect day, and it is absolutely ideal at our “bivvy” on
the cliffs overlooking the south-west tip of the Peninsula. The sea is
perfect, yet while admiring the view we hear the old familiar whistle
of a shell, and one comes right over us, “plonk” into the sea. Another
soon follows, and we have to go beneath the cliffs, and our aspect of
the peaceful view is immediately changed. Shelling lasts half an hour,
and after lunch we can come back.
Go up to Brigade H.Q. this morning, and find that South Lancashire
Division have been merged with the 29th Division. Laird, quite fit and
chirpy as usual, in a topping little dugout near by. Reinforcements
arrive to-day, and I show them the way up. One chap asks if there is a
chance of his getting into the firing-line. I answer that he will be in
the firing-line in half an hour, and, poor chap! he looks queerly at
me. He will get used to it, though, in a day. He asked the question as
if to show that he was longing, after months of training and waiting,
to get there, but had rather a shock when he found it was so near.
Flies, ordinary houseflies, are beginning to be awful pests here,
simply myriads of them. People in England do not know what a fly pest
is. They make a continual hum as they fly round, there are so many of
them. One of our officers named Jennings gets very annoyed with them,
and when trying to get a sleep in his dugout of an afternoon, has a
few minutes’ indulgence in Hate, not against Germany, but against the
flies, murmuring to himself “Gott strafe the flies!” over and over
again.
Ritchie, my old H.A.C. pal of the Goring days, who was on the
_Arcadian_, turns up at Supply depot and invites me to dinner in the
near future. It does not seem so very long ago that we were having a
pigeon-pie dinner in our barn at Stoke-on-Thames, when we were both
gunners in the H.A.C.
Late in the afternoon shells come whistling over our bivouac once
more, well overhead, and burst in the sea near to Supply ships. About
fifteen come over, and the transports weigh anchor and clear out of
the way, taking up moorings again behind the _Majestic_, which is
lying about a thousand yards off the centre of “W” Beach. Evidently
the Turks are being “spotted” for at Yen-i-Shehr, where no doubt they
have many observation posts which are in telephonic communication
with Chanak, further up the Straits, which in turn is in telephonic
communication with Turkish H.Q. on Achi. What more ideal conditions
for laying their guns could be wished for? It is fortunate for us that
their artillery and ammunition are scarce. Were the full complement of
artillery against us that the Germans would provide to an army of the
same strength as that of the Turks, I think that we should, as things
have developed now, pack up and be off within one week, and not even
the dear little “75’s” could save us.
The field bakery is in working order now, in a little gully further up
the coast, and we are having most excellent bread each day—not a full
ration, about 40 per cent. being made up by the biscuits.
It consists of three Bakery Detachments of six Bakery Sections each, a
total of twenty-four ovens, and is capable of making bread for sixty
thousand men. The ovens are made of curved metal; the troughs are in
a large marquee, where all the mixing of the flour and ferments is
done. The bread supplied on the whole is good, but of course, under
the conditions in which the men are working it is difficult to turn
out bread of the quality that one expects in London. Baking goes on
practically the whole of the twenty-four hours. The whole bakery is
under cover, and cannot be seen in any way by the Turk, though the
gully in which it has been placed can be shelled, should the Turk
become aware of its presence.
I dine with Ritchie at 7.30 p.m. in his dugout under our cliff, between
our position and the bakery. Five other officers are there; amongst
them is Major Huskisson a charming “Gypy” Army A.S.C. man, who is in
charge of the Main Supply depot here, and also a man who was in the
_River Clyde_ at the landing and who saw Colonel Carrington-Smith
killed. Ritchie is O.C. a Labour Corps, camped on the side of the cliff
around his dugout. We play bridge after dinner, and I actually have
a whisky. First game of bridge I have had since we landed, and it is
weird playing in such surroundings. Outside, a perfect moonlight night.
Elsewhere I have mentioned the Isle of Imbros by night. But really it
is next to impossible to describe the beauty of these Greek islands,
unless one is a poet or a painter. To my mind, Imbros is the most
beautiful of any of the isles in reach of the Peninsula. But to-night,
as it seemed, she surpassed herself in beauty. The sea lies like a
sheet of liquid silver under the rays of the moon. There, like a
precious gem, lies Imbros, sleeping on the face of the waters; her deep
valleys and gorges, running down to the sea, are aswim with purple
shadows, and her rugged mountain crests stand out violet and clear-cut
against the star-spangled velvet of the skies. Her feet are wrapt about
as with a snowy drapery, woven of the little foaming crests of lazy
wavelets lapping around her. From behind her the feathery night clouds
appear to swathe themselves about her, and her mountain peaks seem
like a coronet set upon the dusky brow of some beautiful goddess of
the night. All is silent, and she sleeps peacefully upon the waters,
awaiting the coming of the fiery god of the morning, who, dashing
across the sky in his chariot of flame, will awaken her with a burning
kiss—driving the purple shadows from her valleys and filling them with
a swimming golden glory which shall make her seem even more lovely by
day than by night. Truly is she a goddess upon the waters, a rival
almost of Aphrodite herself.
As I go back to bed, walking back along the foot of the cliff, rifle
fire is rattling away on our left. I climb up to our “bivvy,” being
challenged several times, and turn into bed.
_May 27th._
Woke at 6.30 this morning, feeling very refreshed, and find it is a
beautiful morning. The view is perfect from our biscuit-box “bivvy.”
I am just drowsily thinking about getting up, when a gun from H.M.S.
_Majestic_ fires. This is followed immediately by the report of an
explosion, and Carver says, “Good Lord, she is torpedoed!” We rush
out, and see the green smooth wake of a torpedo in a straight line
horizontal with our “bivvy,” starting from a point immediately in front
of us. H.M.S. _Majestic_ is about eight hundred yards to our left,
immediately in front of “W” Beach, and I see her, massive and strong,
bristling with guns, and crowded with men in white, slowly tilting over
with a list to her port side. Men are doubling on deck to their places
in perfect order, with no shouting or panic. Then, evidently, the order
“Every man for himself!” is given, for I see a figure leap into the
water, making a big splash; then another and another—it is like jumping
off the side of a house—until the sea around is dotted by bobbing
heads of men swimming. Slowly she tilts over, and men clamber on to
the side above the torpedo nets, which are out. As many as possible
get away from the nets, for they make a trap. By this time, after only
four minutes, she is surrounded by destroyers, trawlers, pinnaces, and
small boats, and with perfectly wonderful and amazing efficiency they
systematically pick up the struggling figures in the water.
One after the other men continue to leap, while the big ship lists;
yet there are some, amongst whom are several officers, who stand on
the side calmly waiting, and some still on the platform above the
torpedo-nets. My glasses are glued on these men. I see them plainly in
every detail, and almost the expression on their faces, as they stand
on this platform with their hands behind them, holding on to the side
of the ship. I see an officer in the centre looking anxiously to the
right and the left, shouting directions. A man at the end manages to
clamber to his left and slides painfully over pipe-stays and the usual
fittings on the side of a battleship, falling with an awkward thud in
the water, and another and another follow him. Then, after six minutes
she begins to list quicker and quicker, and the remaining men on the
torpedo-net platform still hang on. The nets curl up into themselves.
These men are now horizontal to the ship, for she is now well on her
side. The nets fling themselves into the air with a horrid curl, and
disappear from view with these brave officers and men underneath. Can
they dive and get free? The emerald green of the keel-plates appears,
and in two minutes she turns turtle, her bows remaining highest and her
stern beneath water. As she turns, men run, slip, and slide into the
water, and at the finish, eight minutes after, her bows are showing and
about fifty feet of the bottom of the ship above water at an angle.
Finally, one man is left on the green, slippery keel, and he, evidently
not being able to swim, calmly takes his jacket off, sits down, and,
if you please, takes off his boots, and walking slowly into the water,
plunges in, having the good fortune to grab a lifebuoy, and is hauled
to a tug.
The submarine has been spotted, and torpedo destroyers give chase,
circling round and round, but all signs of her have disappeared. The
destroyers, six in all, make bigger and bigger sweeps, when the sound
of firing is heard out at sea, and about four miles to the east of
Imbros I can see a big French battleship going hell for leather towards
the island. She is firing astern, and immediately all six destroyers
put out to sea as fast as they can steam; the French ship then fires
an extra big shell astern, which explodes with great violence in the
water; the destroyers coming up, she gives up firing and makes off to
safety. Later: No news as yet of the submarine, and we await with a
little anxiety further developments.