see a friend. Then to the beach. While issuing, shells burst on the
top of the high ground and back of the beach. Feel rotten, and so turn
in for a rest. Sea very rough, and we are unable to land stores, etc.
Rather cloudy day, cold and windy.
_7 p.m._
Sixty-pounders on our right start firing again on to the hill, and Asia
answers back with that 7·5-inch. Shells come screaming over to our
cliff, and we have to take cover again.
Doctor has given me medicine, and I feel a bit better, but horribly
nervy and jumpy.
Brigade coming back to-morrow.
My complaint is only bilious attack, and when one is like that, shells
make one jump. Nearly everybody is getting jumpy, however, as we are
so exposed and get no peace day or night. Several men and officers are
being sent away for a rest. There is rumour that when the hill is taken
the 29th Division is going to be withdrawn for a complete rest. Things
will be much easier here when the hill is taken. At present it is
_awful_. Oh! for tons and tons of ammunition. Buck up! you workmen at
home. The army with the most guns and unlimited shells wins in modern
war. You should see the damage the dear little French “75’s” make, and
they pop off day and night. God knows what we should have done without
them.
_July 3rd._
Turks shell transport this morning, but no damage done. Feeling very
run down and seedy, and doctor orders me away to Alexandria for a rest,
but I do not think I shall go, as I should be fit in a day or so, if
only they would stop shelling on the beach; we could then get exercise.
Men fall ill day by day through having to continually lie in their
dugouts and then go out in hourly fear of “Asiatic Annie’s” shells. It
is much worse over in the French camp by Morto Bay.
The doctor says I have to catch the 2.30 boat for Lemnos. I tell him
that I have decided not to go. He replies that in the Army you are
under two forms of discipline—one when on the Active List, and one when
on the Sick List; that I am on the Sick List, and that until an M.O.
certifies that I am fit for active service my O.C. will be an M.O.,
whose orders I am bound to obey; that he has certified me as sick, for
the Army cannot have men on the Peninsula who feel faint when they walk
ten yards. This eases my conscience; I was beginning to feel like a man
who was getting “cold feet,” and I tell him so. He tells me that a sick
man always gets “cold feet” from shelling, and that it is due to his
being a sick man more than to the shells.
So I proceed to catch the 2.30 boat. What are my honest feelings?
I do want to stay and stick it out, and yet I want to go. There, I
am quite honest about it—the two thoughts are equally blended. I go
down to the beach along the Red Cross Pier, on to a lighter bobbing
about in a rough sea, and then I wait. Sick officers and men dribble
down steadily, each with a label attached to his tunic; my label has
written on it “Syncopal attacks.” I look enviously at the labels on
which are inscribed different kinds of wounds. By comparison with their
inscriptions, mine reads like another title for “cold feet,” and I long
to get up and walk back up to the beach.
We are towed away out to a little steamer called the _Whitby Abbey_,
in charge of a good fellow, a “pukkah” Naval Lieutenant. I sit on deck
and watch the land gradually get further and further away. Krithia
looks but a short walk from “W” Beach, yet it is well within the
Turkish lines. Never before did I realize what a little insignificant
bight of land do we hold on the Gallipoli Peninsula, and Achi Baba
looks impregnable. Tommies on board are telling each other how they
came by their respective wounds. A few Punjabis, wounded, sit apart
philosophically and say nothing. Officers in wardroom, mostly wounded,
have tea and chat shop. I, not wounded, and A.S.C., sit in a corner by
myself.
We arrive at Lemnos about 8 p.m. and enter the harbour that I was in
last April. What a lot has happened since those days, and what ages
it seems ago! We go alongside a hospital ship, the _Sicilia_, and our
stretcher cases are taken off on to the ship. Have a look through
the port-hole and see a very big saloon full of beds and doctors,
orderlies and very smart and efficient nurses busily in attendance.
Then we go nearer into the shore and get on to a pinnace, and go to
a pier. Here three of us—namely Weatherall, Williams, of the Royal
Scots, and myself—get into an ambulance motor and are driven inland,
and arrive at the Australian hospital. Then we go into the orderly
tent, and a sergeant takes down our names, etc., and religion.
Religion! Let us talk of religion when all Huns are exterminated. Then
a pleasant-looking Australian Captain comes in, diagnoses my case, and
says “Milk diet,” which is entered in a book.
We are then taken to another group of three marquees joined together,
full of wounded Tommies in bed. Then a Major Newlands, one of the
leading surgeons of Australia, comes in and sees me, and after a cup
of tea we go to sleep—at least, we are supposed to. Several of the
Australians are chatting, and it is interesting listening to them.
Suddenly one of the wounded stirs in his sleep and says “One, two,
three, four; one, two, three, four,” several times, and finishing by
“One, two, three, four,” and then a pause, and then “Five,” said with
a sigh of relief. He sits up in bed, and making the row that one makes
with one’s mouth when urging on a horse, he says, “Go on.” One of the
orderlies goes over and gently puts his head back on to the pillow.
He was fast asleep, and was going over in his dreams the taking up of
ammunition to the trenches.
_July 4th._
I and three other officers are in a ward with Tommies, for the hospital
is overflowing. Orderlies bring around basins of water to wash, and
then breakfast of bread and milk. Then the Major comes round and sounds
me pretty thoroughly, and orders me to stay in bed until further orders.
Lunch: rice and milk. Very hot; nothing to smoke. Flies damnable, and I
find myself actually longing to get back to work on the Peninsula. But
I do certainly enjoy at present the relief of being away from shells
and bullets and the horrors of war.
_July 5th._
Awakened early by one of the wounded crying loudly for a doctor. The
poor chap had been hit in the leg by an explosive bullet and had a
pretty bad wound. He was in great agony, and amongst other things cried
out, “What a war; and this is what they do to me!” and then he made a
continual cluck with his mouth that one makes by putting one’s tongue
to the roof of one’s mouth and drawing it away when annoyed.
During the morning he was pretty bad, and crying and groaning, but
became quite quiet, cheerful, and confident when the doctor arrived.
However, gangrene had set in, as he had been four days lying on the
battlefield before he was found, and he died suddenly at twelve
o’clock. A Tommy breaks the silence by saying, “Poor Alf ’as snuffed
it.” We were all very quiet for a bit, after they came in and neatly
rolled the body in a sheet, and, placing it on a stretcher, carried it
away. But after a bit a cheerful atmosphere comes over us, and we four
officers “ragged” round, the Tommies enjoying the fun. Why be morbid
about death? We’ve all got to go through it. I am allowed to get up at
two o’clock, and went and had tea on board the _Aragon_. This was the
ship that my original Brigade Staff came out on, with the Worcesters
and Hants.
The old associations that I had with the _Aragon_, through so many
officers that I had become friendly with and who have now gone West,
depressed me somewhat, and I was glad to leave. At every turn I am
reminded of those days in April, and while walking along the upper deck
I could almost see the ghosts of those cheery men who marched round and
round of a morning to the music of popular airs played on a piano by a
gifted Tommy.
I hear that “W” Beach was bombarded this morning. About five hundred
shells came over, the heaviest bombardment the beach had ever had. The
harbour and island have changed completely since I was here last; great
camps, French and English, have sprung up on shore, and the harbour is
full of French and English warships and transports and their attendant
small craft.
_July 6th._
It is funny hearing the bugles again, and looking round the camps,
one might be on one’s fourteen days’ annual training. I am very
rheumaticky, but getting fit fast, but am going to be sent to
Alexandria for a few days’ change. I hope to get back to the Peninsula
before the 29th Division go, for I hear they are going to be relieved
shortly, and I want to be with them at the end.
The 38th Brigade of the 13th Division has arrived here, and the rest
of the Division is following. I think that is the Division which is
going to relieve us. It is curious, because I was in that Division as
Second-Lieutenant.
At five o’clock the motor ambulance comes for us, and we go down to
the British Pier. They have made two piers, one for the French and one
for the British, and they are the centre and hum of life all day and
all night. Troops arriving, troops leaving for the Peninsula, wounded
arriving back from the Peninsula and wounded being sent off, after a
brief stay in the Mudros hospitals, back to the bases, either Cairo,
Alexandria, Malta, or England.
And then, of course, stores and ammunition are continually being
unloaded and reloaded, and all nations seem to be engaged in the
work—black, brown, and white. It looks utter confusion, and yet I
suppose it is not. The French seem to be much better at system than the
British.
I think the Australian Hospitals are better than the British. They have
first-class surgeons, and the orderlies are splendid.
The Australians are a wonderful race, and the physique of the men is
splendid. Everything they do is done thoroughly. They lack discipline
as we know it, yet have a discipline that is not so common with us,
namely, a rotter and waster is not allowed to comfortably exist. They
are an exceptionally formidable weapon, for when they fight they go
on like wild men, never showing fear or attempting to go back. They
perform the most extraordinary and hair-raising deeds that history can
record, all the time to a flow of very sanguinary and strong language.
What a superb Army! Admirable spirit; pride in their race and country
and Mother Country. Cheery and merry all the time, having a very keen
sense of humour.
As we came off in a pinnace, with lighters lashed on either side
conveying wounded, the 38th Brigade of the 13th Division, part of the
first of Kitchener’s New Army, were embarking on pinnaces and boats
towed behind to go on board destroyers to be taken to the Peninsula.
They were dressed in light drill khaki, with short knickers, putties,
and helmets, and their packs, blankets, and ground sheet strapped to
their backs, looking exceptionally smart and business-like. They are
very fine men, above the average of the British Regular Tommy, and
brigaded together appear to be troops of the high standard of our first
line. One of course could only judge by personal appearance and the
ordinary parade drill, which is as perfect as could be, but the near
future will prove whether they have the fighting power of troops like
the 29th Division. If so, then Britain has become the leading Military
Power in the world, as well as the leading Naval Power.
We came alongside the hospital ship, the S.S. _Neuralia_, a fine boat
of the British India Line. Arriving on board, we were welcomed by a
nurse, and Wetherall, a Royal Scots officer, and myself were given a
cabin, and after a wash we go down to dinner. Imagine our feelings when
we were shown to a fine table daintily laid for dinner, waited on by
Singalese dressed in white, long-skirted coats, white trousers, and
curious wide-brimmed hats decorated with blue. Go to bed very early,
but cannot sleep much.
_July 7th._
Got up just before 6 a.m. and found that the ship had weighed anchor.
It is a beautiful morning, and the sea and green hills of Lemnos
look very fresh. We pass slowly through the Fleet, which looks very
formidable, yet which at present is unable to help us on our way. So
out of the harbour to sea.
The past seems now like a horrid dream, as one lives idly on board in
every luxury that one could have.
At times I feel a shirker, yet when a medical officer sends one off
the Peninsula his orders take precedence of an order of one’s superior
officer on the Active List, and once you have left you are passed on
from doctor to doctor and clearing station to hospital, and one’s
future remains in the Medical Authorities’ hands.
Personally I am feeling much better, the fainting feeling having left,
and the rheumatism nearly so. But war is so horrible that I wish it was
all over. I’ve seen more of the horrible side than some of those in
the fire-trenches, who sit comparatively safely there until the attack
(this only applies to the unique situation in Gallipoli), and then with
one objective in mind, namely to get another trench in front, they leap
out and charge.
Most of them say the feeling is exhilarating and glorious, and those
of the slightly wounded say they felt, when wounded while running on
cheering, as if some one suddenly hit them with a hot stick. However,
the risk I have run is not nearly so great as infantry run; but in
future give me gunnery every time, they having the most thrilling and
interesting work to do of any branch of the Service. However, let us
hope our future will not hold war and its horrors in store for us.
_July 8th._
This is an ideal ship for a hospital ship, luxuriously fitted with
cabins and saloons. The ship is painted white, with a red band running
all round and a large red cross in the centre on either side. At
night a large red cross of electric globes is illuminated, and the
great ship, lit up, makes a pretty sight. We had a burial yesterday,
stopping, and a great hush falling over the vessel as the body was
shot over the side and fell with a big thump and splash into the sea,
resting on the surface a few seconds and then slowly sinking. I thought
of the words of Prince Henry in “Henry IV,” Part I: “Food for worms,
brave Percy,” but the word “fishes” should be substituted for “worms.”
A great number of wounded men sleep on deck, and, by Jove! they do look
glad that they are out of it for a bit, although they want to get back
after a change—some of them.
All the nurses are dears, dead keen on their job. I am not wounded, so
I don’t like talking to them.
The badly wounded officers are in beds in a large saloon, and one can
look over a balustrade and see them. They are patient, and they stick
the monotony admirably.
One fine chap, a Captain, has a lump of flesh torn from his back by
a bomb, and has to lie in one position. As I pass along the gallery
overlooking the ward at all hours of the day I can see him, either
calmly looking at the roof, reading or dozing, and always in the same
position, in which he will have to lie for weeks. Bombs make terrible
wounds. My friend Cox, of the Essex, is on board. He was the officer
that I saw limping back after the battle on the Wednesday after we had
landed, and we have some chats together about those thrilling days. He
and his officers were on the _Dongola_, from which boat we landed, and
I have mentioned how they played “The Priest of the Parish.” I never
want to play that game again. A good percentage of those chaps have
gone now. There are only two officers in the Essex who have not been
hit.
Cox has been back to the Peninsula once, but is now going to
Alexandria, sick. I am nearly fit, but bored stiff, and want to get
back to my job. The sea is calm and it is a lovely day, and awfully
peaceful and quiet on the ship.
The stewards are very attentive; they are natives, as are also most of
the crew. I always think that the nigger makes a better servant than
the white man. Colonel Bruce, of the Gurkhas, is on board wounded,
and has his servant with him. A ravine up the gully that he captured
is now called Bruce’s Ravine. This servant at the hospital in Lemnos
was allowed to sleep on the floor beside his master’s bed, and if his
master stirred in his sleep, he sat up watching him intently.
We all had to go before the Medical Board this morning, a R.A.M.C.
General at the head.
We had another burial to-day.
_July 9th._
We arrive at Alexandria at 6 a.m. and berth alongside about twelve.
It is strange seeing the old familiar scenes again. At one o’clock a
hospital train comes alongside, with all the carriages painted white
with a Red Crescent on, not the Red Cross. Curious that our R.A.M.C.
should use both the Red Cross and the Red Crescent! The Australian sick
and wounded are taken off and sent on board this train, which leaves at
three o’clock for Cairo.
At eight o’clock we go off in ambulance motor-wagons and are taken
off to the German Hospital. It is a very fine hospital, now of course
British, and we are put to bed and given cocoa.
One of the officers of our party is suffering from a nervous breakdown,
and a brother-officer of his, an awfully decent chap, who had been
wounded in the arm, takes charge of him just as one would a frightened
child. In the motor-ambulance the nervous broken officer put out his
hand quickly and made as if to rise, and the wounded officer with his
unwounded arm linked the other arm in his with a reassuring look. I
think little touches like that are very fine. In the hospital one
officer is completely off his head, and has to have an orderly in
attendance all day and all night. Last night he shouted out in great
fear once or twice, imagining shells and Turks.
_July 10th._
It is now 9.30, and I have bathed and shaved and had breakfast, and am
in bed awaiting the doctor.
They are wheeling bad cases to the dressing-rooms. A hospital is most
depressing.
Went out in the afternoon and did some shopping.
_July 11th._
Very nice day. An Arab procession passes outside our hospital, headed
by a band making a most infernal din. All blowing brass instruments
as loudly as they can and beating drums, and all marching anyhow.
Difficult at first to make out what the tune is, as it is such a
discord, but on listening intently we made it out to be Sousa’s “Stars
and Stripes.”
Procession consists of a whole convoy of wagons loaded with what looks
like “Manchester goods.” What it is all about no one but the Arabs
appears to know.
Found out afterwards they were going to a fair and they were taking
goods along to sell. Went out in afternoon and called at Club. Saw
Chief Padre of the Forces, Horden, and had a long chat with him.
Later saw Shuter, Captain of the H.A.C. “A” Battery. Curious running
across him.
Called on Mrs. Carver at Ramleh for tea, and found several convalescent
officers there and a few other people.
Lovely house and garden and hard tennis court. But give me an English
garden every time.
Ramleh is very pretty, and is a very big suburb of Alexandria,
stretching along by the sea. Very fine white mansions standing in
lovely grounds. Also several lovely public gardens, beautifully laid
out. Much more picturesque than the English public gardens. They have
no railings or walls around, and consequently no entrance by gates;
they simply join on and run into the neighbouring suburbs.
Passed a very fine Arab cemetery, full of magnificent mausoleums of
marble which must have cost thousands.
_July 12th._
Went out in afternoon into town. Plenty of troops about. Feel fit, and
so applied to go back to Peninsula, as the atmosphere in Alexandria is
not unlike the feeling of being in khaki in London with all your pals
at the front.
_July 14th._
Went before Registrar at twelve, and sent into convalescence. To report
to-morrow morning.
_July 15th._
Left hospital.
Go down to the docks. Alexandria is a wonderful place now. Always one
of the most cosmopolitan cities of the East, she has now added the
responsibilities of a military base. Here, from her teeming docks, are
fed the troops in Gallipoli and Mesopotamia—and here may be seen at all
hours of the day and night great ships being loaded by chattering and
chanting natives with food and munitions. Troopships also, swallowing
up men or moving slowly out into the harbour; tugs, lighters, colliers,
and the like, throng her watergates, and the quays present a vivid
picture of bright colours, as the gaily dressed natives go about their
work. Fussy trains puff alongside the ships and disgorge men, mules,
and horses, in never-ending streams. Mountains of hay, bully beef, and
biscuits are stacked along the quays, and the rattle of gear and the
groaning of the great cranes fill the air with strange sounds. And
above it all, the fierce sun glares down on the hot stones, and the
pitiless, steely-blue Egyptian sky, inscrutable and cloudless, spreads
overhead like a vast dome.
Leaving this hive of industry, I turn my steps to the Regina Palace
Hotel, where I am introduced to an Italian family by Cox. Awfully jolly
girls. Have some dancing. Meet Neville, of South Wales Borderers, a
friend of mine in Birmingham.
Go for motor drive into the desert with Gregory.
_July 20th._
Went out in the evening with Prince Adil in his yacht, Henderson and
our French friend. The Prince provided food, consisting of cold dishes,
cocktails in a Thermos flask, and whiskies and sodas.
It was delightful cruising about the harbour in moonlight and skimming
along the water, heeling right over when we ran before the wind.
_July 21st._
Ordered to join _Seeang-Bee_, a filthy little tramp, packed with
troops. Fortunately for us, they are full up, and so I am told to go on
board the _Anglo-Egyptian_, a cleaner boat. Find a draft of Gurkhas on
board and a draft of Sikhs. English officers; fine lot of men. About a
dozen officers all told on board. Sikhs a weird lot; now and again a
mysterious chant, sung by them, comes up from the lower decks.
In the morning had quite a touching farewell at the hotel with all the
Italian girls, the French children, and my little friend the Russian
Cossack, aged five years, and their pretty French governess. I am
getting to speak French quite well now.
_July 22nd._
We were to start last night, but owing to submarine scare we have not
yet sailed.
_5 p.m._
The hospital ship _Sudan_ has just come in, and the hospital train,
ambulance-lorries, and motor-cars are drawn up waiting the wounded.
I have been on board and have spoken to one of the wounded officers,
who tells me that there have been two battles since I left, and that
we have made further advance, in the centre of our line, therefore
straightening it a little, but have lost very heavily. Also he told me
that the 29th Division are leaving Gallipoli, and that one Brigade is
at Lemnos or Tenedos.
_6.30 p.m._
We sail, the Gurkhas and Sikhs giving their respective war-cries,
something like that of the Maoris which the New Zealanders sing.
Two other boats leave at the same time, the _Alaunia_ having 6,000
troops on board. We all steer different courses on account of
submarines.
_9.30 p.m._
The last post sounds, played excellently by a Gurkha, and I turn in,
sleeping on deck on account of the heat. They are neat little men,
these Gurkhas, something like the Japanese, dressed in wide hats,
shirts overhanging the short breech, putties and black bandoliers;
bayonets in black cases, and their native weapon, the kukri, in a black
case.
Curiously enough, they are not British subjects at all. They are
natives of Nepal, governed by the Maharajah of Nepal, and he is quite
independent, except for having to pay a salt tax to China. I believe,
though, that this payment has now stopped, or is about to stop. The
Maharajah lends his male subjects who enlist to the British Government,
and they train them as soldiers, in return having them to fight our
battles when necessary.
Altogether there are about twenty battalions of 20,000 men, and since
the outbreak of war the Maharajah has practically forced every
able-bodied man to enlist. They are good soldiers, but absolutely lost
without their white officers, for they are just like children.
_July 23rd, 9.30 a.m._
Sea rough and ship rolling. Ugh! I do feel ill.
_10.30 a.m._
Four blasts on the hooter call us all to boat drill, with life-belts.
_July 24th, 8 a.m._
We are passing Rhodes on our starboard, and are, therefore, entering
the danger zone for submarines. It is reported that there are two
about. No destroyer to escort us, so I suppose we are safe.
Feel much better now.