Shortly after, all our shore batteries join in, and the 60-pounders
make our ears feel as if they would burst until we get used to it. The
bombardment increases; the battleships and destroyers now join in with
all their guns. The noise is infernal, after the quiet that we have
been used to. I go up to the high ground at the back of “W” Beach, lie
down in a trench, and watch the show through strong glasses. Only a few
are with me in the trench. Next to me is Beetleheimer, our _liaison_
officer. He speaks Turkish like a native, and is a very charming and
decent old boy. Tremendous shelling now going on, and it seems to grow
more and more intense—hundreds of shells bursting along the Turkish
positions. Turkish artillery replies furiously, mostly with shrapnel,
all along our trenches. No shells come on the beaches. Hundreds of
white puffs of shrapnel burst all along the line, and fountain-like
spurts of black and yellow smoke, followed by columns of earth, are
thrown into the air, ending in a fog of drifting smoke and dust.
_12 noon._
The bombardment slackens and almost dies away suddenly, and I hear a
faint cheer, but searching the line carefully with my glasses, can see
no signs of life.
After a short pause the bombardment bursts again, even more intensely,
and then slackens, and our guns increase the range. I can see three
armoured cars on the right of our centre, which before I had not
noticed, one behind the other, each one a short distance to the right
of the one in front, moving slowly along the flat ground on either side
of the Sed-el-Bahr road, and they actually pass over our front line
and creep up to the Turkish front, driving backwards. They halt, and
I see the spurts of flame coming from their armoured turrets as their
machine-guns open fire. After about ten minutes I see the car furthest
behind move back to our line, now driving forwards, and after a while
the remaining two follow. Our shells burst thickly, smothering the
Turkish first and second lines and all the way up the slopes of Achi
Baba. I see our men in the centre leap from the trenches, and the sun
glistens on their bayonets. I see them run on in wave after wave, some
falling, and remaining lying on the grass like sacks of potatoes. I can
see nothing on the left. Now I see the French on the hill on the right
of our line, and the hill is covered with dark figures rushing forward.
The din and roar continues, and I am called away to my dump.
_2 p.m._
Rumour hath it that we have taken the first two lines of trenches. The
armoured cars return to their dugout garage, one with one man wounded
inside.
_4.30 p.m._
Prisoners come marching down the beach under escort. Big, hardy chaps,
in ill-fitting khaki clothes, and many with cloth helmets on their
heads, looking rather like the paper hats I used to make when a kid.
_6 p.m._
I go up to see the Quartermasters, to pass on instructions that rations
to-night will be dumped at the same place as last, namely at the ruined
house in front of Pink Farm—and so we cannot have advanced much. I meet
a wounded R.N.D. officer, and he tells me that the French have been
forced to give way on the right, and that his Division, immediately on
their left, having advanced, are in consequence rather hung between
the Devil and the deep sea. I stop and look through Butler’s strong
telescope, and see in front of Krithia, before a green patch, which we
on the beach call the cricket pitch, little figures digging in hard at
a new line.
_9 p.m._
Rifle fire still intense, and shore batteries going at it—all out. The
battleships have gone home to bed.
Achi Baba looks more formidable than ever.
_11 p.m._
Steady rifle fire going on. We have advanced some five hundred yards in
centre, and are holding the ground won. The French have not advanced.
I learn that when our bombardment suddenly stopped, shortly after noon,
and when our infantry raised a cheer, the enemy stood right up on the
fire-steps of their parapets, preparing to meet their charge. Our
infantry did not leave their trenches. Instead, our machine-guns got on
to the Turks, waiting exposed, and bagged many by their fire.
_June 5th, 6 a.m._
Steady rifle firing still continues, having gone on all night.
_Noon._
Row to French submarine with Phillips, Williamson and Foley, and after
pulling round, looking interested, are invited on board.
Phillips has one foot on the slippery back of the submarine and one
foot on the boat, rocking in the sea, when a dog comes rushing along
the deck of the submarine barking furiously. Pained expression on
Phillips’s face a study. Dog held back by a French sailor.
Most interesting on board the submarine. Engines and mechanical gear
a marvellous piece of work. Very interesting looking through the
periscope. Two charming officers, having lunch in a dear little cabin,
talk to us. Submarine four times as big as the British one that we went
aboard two days ago.
Hear that Prosser and Wyman, friends of mine in the Hampshires, have
been hit and are on hospital ships. Damned fine chaps! Hear later that
Bush, of Worcesters, another friend and a splendid fellow, has gone,
blown to bits by a shell while leading a charge yesterday. Fine man;
he had been wounded, and had been awarded the Military Cross, at the
landing.
Also the two Gypy officers, who reported at Brigade H.Q. when I was
there yesterday, have gone, killed while leading their new companies.
This happens after every battle. One makes friends—such fine
friends!—and one is always suddenly losing them, leaving such gaps as
sometimes make one wish that one could follow them.
But it is against the tradition of the service to be morbid about it,
and so we “carry on,” knowing that those who have gone West would, if
they were still with us, be cheery, brave, cool, and efficient at their
respective jobs.
_4 p.m._
Go up to Brigade H.Q. with O’Hara—leave the horses at Pink Farm and
walk to H.Q. Find them all up at an observation post, just behind the
firing-line, which has moved forward after yesterday’s battle.
The C.R.E. 29th Division joins us. A most unconcerned individual. He
goes on up across country. O’Hara waits a bit to give some instructions
and then goes on, and I follow. After a bit across the country, with a
few “overs” flying about (“overs” are bullets which have missed their
target, but which are still travelling at a high velocity), we dip
down into a gully and follow its winding path for about ten minutes
to the observation post, where C.R.E. and the rest of the Staff have
already arrived. Bullets fairly whizzing overhead. Usher tells me to
step closer to the side, which I promptly do, on account of a few
bullets which are on the descent. Very interesting there. Telephone and
signallers busy, and orderlies arriving and departing. A few shells
scream overhead. We all have tea, and chat. Thompson looks rather ill
and worried. All the time we are having tea there is a constant “ping”
of bullets over the dugout. Look through observation hole and have a
perfect view of yesterday’s battlefield. The Worcesters advanced and
are holding their position. They are exposed to enfilading fire as
well as frontal fire from the Turks, but are digging in to protect
themselves. They are very near Krithia, digging on that green patch of
land which we call the cricket pitch. Krithia looks very formidable
the closer one gets to it. Turkish trenches are very deep, with good
dugouts for sleeping and very deep, wide communication trenches. Hence
we hardly ever see a Turk. Their firing-line and the sleeping dugouts
are actually boarded.
_11.30 p.m._
As I turn into bed there is firing all along the line. Turkish
counter-attack going on. Our casualties yesterday very heavy, but
Turks’ colossal. The _Goeben_ fired over to us to-day with not much
damage; shells did not reach the beach.
I hear that Colonel Williams, or General, as I have up to now been
calling him on account of his having acted as Brigadier of the 88th, up
to the arrival of General Doran, was wounded in yesterday’s battle. On
General Doran’s arrival he went to the 2nd Hampshires, his regiment,
and took command. When the moment for the infantry attack arrived,
they leapt over, and in an incredibly short space of time had taken
their first objective. Colonel Williams, with his Adjutant, then
followed over to make his H.Q. in the newly won trench.
On inspecting it and making arrangements for the attack on the second
objective, he came back to his old H.Q. to telephone the result, an
orderly accompanying him. Half-way back a Turk leapt up from behind
a bush, ten yards away from him, and fired his rifle, the bullet
instantly killing Colonel Williams’s orderly. Colonel Williams drew his
revolver, took deliberate aim, and the Turk, also taking deliberate
aim, levelled his rifle at the same time. For a second an old-time
duel might have been taking place, in the middle of an historic
battleground, which was lately No-man’s-land. Both fire; the Turk falls
dead, and Colonel Williams is wounded in the left arm. That Turk was a
brave man, but I think Colonel Williams is a braver.
_June 6th, 7 a.m._
Shells come over on east side of the beach from a four-gun Turkish
battery, and big stuff too, about 6-inch.
_7.30 a.m._
More arrive in middle of our camp on the west side of the battery. We
take cover under a cliff. I, wanting to get down to Train office, go up
a cliff and am just about to descend the steps when the shriek of one
is heard, by which I could tell it is close to me. I fall flat into a
hole on one side of the cliff, and it passes over the cliff and bursts
on the beach, killing gunner sergeant-major. Ugh! how they shriek.
Heavy firing continued on left all night. We lost a trench, but
regained it. A Turkish Padre is a prisoner on the beach to-day. He
looks rather a dear old chap, with quite a benevolent expression.
_6 p.m._
I go up to Brigade with Carver in the afternoon, leaving our horses at
Pink Farm. My old mare knows Pink Farm well now. When I dismounted
to-day and let go the reins, she walked over to the tree that I always
tie her to, under cover of the farm, quite on her own.
At H.Q. bullets are zipping over more frequently than I have ever
known them to do before. Waiting to see General Doran, who should I
see strolling calmly across the country but my friend Dent, of the
Inniskillings. The last time we had met was at a gramophone dance at
some common friends’ home in Edgbaston. We have a chat about those
days, and ask each other for news of the partners we used to dance
with. All the time, “ping-ping,” bullets fly about, but as he does
not seem to mind, I take my cue from him and try not to mind either.
Besides, it would be rather nice to get a cushy one in the arm.
_11 p.m._
We are being shelled by a battery from Kum Kale. This is the first time
we have been shelled at night. They do not reach our side of the beach,
and, as Phillips says he “can read the mind of the Turkish gunner” (he
is always saying this, and I have great confidence in him), and that we
are off the target, I go to sleep without anxiety.
_June 7th._
Heavy gun with high explosive kicking up a devil of a row all day, but
not reaching the beach, bursting in the valley on the way to Brigade
H.Q. Plenty of artillery duelling all day. Asiatic battery fires on
transports and hits one several times, setting her alight, and she now
has a heavy list on. French crew rush to boats and clear off quick.
British torpedo destroyer goes alongside, puts crew on board the
transport, and they put out the fire. All transports move further out
to sea, and Turkish battery shuts up.
I have to feed the prisoners, and a party of them come up to our depot
under a guard to draw rations. Transport is provided by two G.S.
wagons. There are ten of them in the party, and one of their N.C.O.’s.
They fall in in two ranks, and wherever I move they follow me with
their eyes. I then motion to their N.C.O. to load up a certain number
of boxes. He gives an order in Turkish, and they load up in remarkably
quick time. They are then fallen in by their N.C.O., and one of them
who is rather dilatory is pushed into his place by the others. Marching
in front of their G.S. wagons, they go back to their barbed wire
enclosure. They appeared most anxious to do the right thing. Many of
them were raggedly clothed, with their boots almost out at heel. No
shelling during night.
_June 8th._
Hardly any Turkish shelling this morning. Went up to Brigade H.Q.
While there, Usher, the Brigade Major, shows me the wires that were
received and sent to and from the Brigade H.Q. during the battle of
June 4th, and they make interesting reading, telling a grim story in
short, pithy, matter-of-fact sentences. Troops now consolidating line
and making it firm. The Lancashire Fusiliers successfully took a trench
last night, and straightened the line somewhat. _Askold_ popping off on
the Asiatic side to silence Turkish batteries.
My friend Dent, of the Inniskillings, hit last night by a spent bullet
in the gully, but I think not seriously. Grogan, of the K.O.S.B.’s.,
a delightful chap, was killed by a shell on June 4th. Such a splendid
fellow!
My mare, looking very fit now, gets quite frisky when I ride out to the
front every morning, and is getting better at jumping across trenches.
_June 9th._
Blowing a great gale down the Peninsula, and the dust is perfectly
awful. I have never experienced such a wind, and yet an aeroplane goes
up, but for a bit is absolutely stationary, and soon has to land.
Turks in a very strong position on the left. Country lends itself
naturally to defences. Ride up to line with Phillips and Way. Coming
back, Way’s horse lashed out at my mare, kicking me in the shin, making
a nasty place. My leg is now bandaged, and I limp rather badly.
Very little firing to-day. Asiatic battery woke us up at 5.30 a.m. and
tried to bombard transports, all shells falling into the sea.
Rowed out to sea and went on board submarine B10 with Phillips, and saw
North. Actually had a drink. Also they have a gramophone, and it was
absolutely gorgeous listening to familiar music, carrying us back to
our past peaceful existence once more.
As we go up on deck to take our leave, a torpedo boat circles round
us, a signaller wagging to us. The signal is taken by one of the crew
of the submarine, transmitted to the commander, and reads, “Anything
we can do for you?” He replies, “No, thanks. Any news?” and the
torpedo-boat destroyer signals back some news that has just come
through of progress made by our force in Mesopotamia on the road to
Bagdad. We are told that daily torpedo-boat destroyers come along and
offer to do little jobs for the officers on board the submarine, and
sometimes send over delicacies, such as roast fowl hot, etc.
_June 10th, 5.30 a.m._
Shells popping off at shipping again, and one hits the beach. Also the
Turks in front get very busy, for four hours bombarding our position. I
believe that they really think that they are going to push us into the
sea.
_5.30 p.m._
I walk along the road at the foot of the cliff towards “X” Beach. The
road is now a good one, and the transport is making continual traffic
up and down. It is very convenient, for transport can move not only
under cover from the enemy, but in safety to a certain extent, for up
to now but few shells drop over the cliff on to this road. I know a
place, however, from which they can shell this road and the slope of
the cliff, and that is on their extreme right overlooking the sea. From
there they can look along parts of the road and side of the cliff,
which is in view of their trenches; though other parts, by the coast,
jutting out a little for small distances, are under perfect cover, and,
in fact, quite safe.
Passing the Greek Labour Camp, I continue my walk to “X” Beach, which
is about half as wide as “W” and a quarter as deep. Instead of the
ground sloping up gently at the back, as is the case at “W” Beach, it
rises at a steep angle to the top of the cliffs. Unlike “W” Beach, it
comes constantly under shrapnel shell fire, but receives very few heavy
shells, and is far more under cover than is “W.”
The road to Gully Beach, at the foot of the cliffs of “X” Beach, is
not finished yet, and is in a very rough state. Just before I reach
Gully Beach I come upon Brigade H.Q. dug in at the side and foot of
the cliff. The battalions are “dug in” in as much regimental order
as possible along the sides of the cliff, which are higher here than
further down the Peninsula, and more under cover. Shells now and again
burst, shrapnel chiefly, on the top of the cliff, and a few come over
and fall with a big splash into the sea, but none burst on the slopes
of the cliff. I hear, though, that one man yesterday was cut in half by
a shell while bathing. A horrid sight!
This camp on the slopes of the cliff is now the Rest Camp of the
Division, and while two Brigades are in the line, one Brigade is at
rest. At rest, that is, from bullets, and, if they keep under the
cliff, from shells, but not at rest from digging fatigues. The road has
to be made, and so have the dugouts on the side of the cliff. They get
good bathing though, and bathing out here beats any that I have ever
struck.
I talk to the only two officers left of those who were with the
Worcesters in England. They appear very breezy and bright.
We are hard at work building our men’s bivouac, which is in the form of
a funk-hole. We are digging it in the side of the cliff, from the top,
and it will be entered by about ten steps leading down on to a terrace,
which will run on the outside of the house, dug into the cliff’s side,
under a sloping roof made with a sailcloth. It will be so situated
that, should shells come our way, they will either burst on top, where
our old bivouac still is, or fly over the cliff and burst in the road
below or in the sea.
We are modelling ours on a bivouac of some R.N.D. officers about fifty
yards further up the cliff-side. On their terrace they have all their
meals, including dinner at night, which is a luxury, with the sound of
the waves washing against the road below and the view of Imbros in the
distance. In their dugout house at night they go to sleep with more
feeling of security than I have at present.
I share a tent with Phillips. Just as I am turning in, Way comes in to
say that Asia has just started sending over high explosives. None reach
us, but they make a devil of a row, and I fall asleep feeling rather
uncomfortable.
_June 12th._
Woke up at 5.30 a.m. by shelling, shells from Asia nearly reaching
a big transport that had come in overnight, on the opposite of our
“bivvy.” Wind and flies as bad as ever, and it is getting very hot.
Dust smothering everything. Turks reported to be sick of the war, and
rumoured to be individually seeking a chance to give themselves up. But
it is still a long, long way to Achi Baba. That must be taken first.
Cliff on the west side up to Gully Beach covered with troops, looking
like a lot of khaki ants from a distance; all back resting. They have
to keep well under cover of cliffs, as they would soon be shelled.
Major Lang, Worcesters, killed in the last battle. He was the officer
I saw in the trenches when I went up for Bush’s letters. Bush also
killed. This side of the war is the most difficult to bear.
Just heard that Brigade are moving back to trenches after three days’
rest.
_June 13th._
Perfect day; wind dropped, but still a slight breeze. Have got into our
new “bivvy” on side of cliff. Went up to Brigade H.Q. in front of Pink
Farm. All well. Hear they are moving forward to-morrow three hundred
yards. Creeping nearer to our goal. General Doran gone back to England,
ill after last battle. Lieutenant-Colonel Cayley, late O.C. of the
Worcesters, now Acting Brigadier-General. “Asiatic Annie” popped off
and dropped shells nicely on Krithia road, on spot that I and my mare
had passed five minutes before, and she sends some nasty ones.
Also she is dropping high explosives in French camp in Morto Bay. I
don’t think I shall bathe there for a bit.
_5.30 a.m._
French aeroplane falls into sea. Pilot and observer can be seen sitting
on top of wing. Destroyers come to the rescue, and also several
motor-boats. Officer picked up and aeroplane taken in tow.
_June 15th._
Many reinforcements have arrived, and troops are everywhere now,
covering the Helles plateau up to Pink Farm with their camps, dug-in
in trenches called rest camps. There is not much rest for them to-day,
for Asia as well as Achi is making them their target. As I assay to go
up to Brigade H.Q. I find the West Krithia being shelled. It is almost
impossible to ride across country on account of the camps, and one has
to keep to the roads, so I postpone my journey to later on in the day.
I get laughed at for this. But it is the first time that I have started
to go to Brigade H.Q. and funked it. I reply that if they would like a
nice fat shell in their tummies they can ride up the West Krithia road
now. However, they are only ragging, and any man who looks for shells
is a fool.
We are being shelled very badly from Asia to-day. They appear to have
six big guns over there, somewhere opposite Morto Bay, and, no doubt,
they have observation posts at Kum Kale or Yen-i-Shehr, and can see
all that we are doing. We must make perfect targets. Their shells
are reaching all over the Peninsula now, and one fell right over our
“bivvy,” exploding in the shallow water of the sea, killing a quantity
of fish. These shells from Asia are doing a lot of damage; every time
they come, men lose their lives or get wounded, while the casualties
among the animals are keeping the hands of the Veterinary Services full.
A 6-inch shell came right in the Supply depot this afternoon, but did
not explode, yet it caused a sad casualty. It struck the leg of an
A.S.C. driver, a boy of twenty, and severed it clean from his body. He
evidently did not realize it, for he made an attempt to stand up and
hold back his mule, which was bolting with fright, but, of course, he
immediately fell back. Shortly after, he died.
They shelled us at intervals until dusk, just two or three at a time,
and at intervals of half an hour or so, keeping us on tenterhooks.
Phew! give me the nice deep trenches when this goes on, where one walks
about in comparative safety. There is no cover on “W” Beach. You hear
the distant boom, and then fall and grip the bosom of Mother Earth as
a frightened child does its mother. Then—get up and go on with your
job. But not so the A.S.C. driver. His order is to stand by his mule
on “W” Beach, that bull’s-eye of a target, and I hope that many of
these drivers are not forgotten when names are called to be sent in for
honourable mention. Riding and driving their mules at the same time,
they are prevented from hearing the horrid shriek of the on-rushing
shell by the loud sound that the wheels of their G.S. wagons make,
and only when they see and hear a nerve-racking explosion, or hear
metal whizzing past their heads, making a sound like a propeller of
an aeroplane, do they realize that they are under fire and in instant
danger of being blown to bits. Yet they must not leave their mules.
They must get the animals, wagons, and themselves under cover as soon
as possible. As soon as possible! and that may mean ten minutes, and
ten minutes of Hell.
I have not yet seen a driver leave his mules, but I have seen several
wounded and one or two lads killed. But _c’est la guerre_—it is only
the A.S.C. quietly doing its job. No glory and honour. But ask an
infantry man in the line here if he would change places with an A.S.C.
driver on the beach, and he will say that he prefers to stay in his
trench and take his chance when the moment for the leap over the
parapet comes. But the A.S.C. never talk much; they just do their job,
and when cursed for this, that, and the other trivial matter, say,
“Sorry; we will see if the matter can be improved.” “Improved!” We are
the finest fed army in the world. Where is the room for improvement?
At dusk I go up to Brigade H.Q. with my staff-sergeant, and overtake a
draft for the Hampshires on the way to join their battalions. I meet
Usher, and he conducts them to their new trenches, and asks me to take
Major Beckwith, who is just back, having now recovered from a wound in
his leg, received on April 28th, after he had earned the D.S.O., up to
Brigade; which I do, and I wait and have a drink with General Cayley.
There are not many bullets about. Star lights go up continually from
our and the enemy’s front line.