outbreak of war he has been with Egyptian Army, now going unattached to
Gallipoli for his two months’ leave. Taking his holiday by going into
battle.
_7.30 p.m._
Had boat drill to-day. Gurkhas thoroughly enjoying it. Gurkha guards
posted all round the ship on lookout for submarines, with orders to
fire when one comes in sight. They are watching intently, and I really
believe would rather appreciate the fun if one came along, so that they
could show off their marksmanship. We do not arrive at Lemnos till five
to-morrow afternoon, so we have still plenty of time to be torpedoed.
Passing plenty of islands, but not a sign of a ship anywhere. Beautiful
moonlight evening. Skipper playing chess with Captain Simpson of the
Gurkhas. Other officers sitting about reading. Only fifteen officers
all told—white officers of the Gurkhas and Sikhs, and a few unattached.
_July 25th._
Three months ago to-day the landing, and Achi Baba is not taken yet.
_2 p.m._
Entering Lemnos Harbour.
It is very hot now, and the water dead calm. The harbour is full of
transports and warships, and on shore there are large camps in all
directions.
_July 26th._
We are now moored alongside the _Seeang-Bee_, which arrived almost
simultaneously with us. She has 950 troops on board, drafts, and others
returning to duty. No news from Gallipoli, except that things there are
much as usual. After August, I hear, the weather breaks up, so that
if something is not done in August, we shall have great difficulty in
landing supplies and ammunition. The outlook is far from bright. Up to
date the points are with the Turk.
An officious M.L.O. comes on board, and tells each of us in as
imperious a way as possible our respective destinations.
I get on to the _Seeang-Bee_, and hang about waiting. I find Morris on
board, who was at the Regina Palace Hotel with me.
At six o’clock the M.L.O. comes on board again, and after arranging for
our departure, casually mentions that he had heard that “W” Beach was
heavily shelled last night. He almost licked his lips as he spoke. He
had never even heard a gun fired himself. An R.N.D. officer tells me
that he has a great desire to chuck the M.L.O. overboard. This officer
is quite an interesting person; went to France in the early part of the
war in the R.F.C., had a spill which laid him up for six months, and
now is in charge of a Machine Gun Section in the R.N.D.
We get on board a small steamer, _Whitby Abbey_, and sail over to
the _Aragon_, the L. of C. Headquarters boat. A very nice boat, the
_Aragon_, fitted out with every luxury.
At eight we push off, loaded to the boat’s limit with troops, mailbags,
watercarts, sand-bags, and ammunition.
We pass through the host of transports and warships that now crowd the
harbour of Mudros. As we pass each warship the sailors come running to
the sides and cheer and cheer. Shouts of “Are we downhearted?” etc.,
freely pass between us, and this inspiring demonstration is repeated
enthusiastically as we pass each great ship of war. It is very nice of
them. I think they feel it a bit, being bottled up at Mudros. But it is
all right; we shall win, even if the war lasts ten years. Stick at your
training, you British Boy Scouts!
We leave the hills of Lemnos, as we did on that memorable evening of
April 24th, three months ago, just as it is getting dusk, the sun
quickly setting in the sea. A full moon rises, and on a calm sea we
steam north.
They provide some food for us on board, bully beef and bread, and later
we lie about and try to sleep.
A very nice R.N.R. officer on board stands me a drink.
Curiously enough, I came away from the Peninsula on this boat on July
3rd, and the same man stood me a drink, though he had forgotten. I
suppose he regularly stands a drink to all officers coming and going.
At twelve midnight he is called up on deck, and I go too and find that
land is showing dimly in front. Dark, depressing, mysterious land of
adventure, heroism, and death, and a chill feeling runs through me.
It is the reaction after having a good time in Alexandria, playing
soldiers with the little Italian boys and my little cropped-haired
Russian Cossack and their pretty French governess. Oh, that little
French governess!
The officers and men crowd to the upper deck and bows, and strain
their eyes to the black outline in front. The starlights are sailing
up and down in the dark background, from the Ægean to the Straits. A
distant shriek is heard, followed immediately by another, and two quick
flashes burst over the beach in front, followed by two sharp reports,
“c-r-r-u-m-p,” and the young R.N.A.S. officers, who have been training
for months, at last are within short measurement of the real game of
modern warfare.
Then the land in front resumes its still mysterious outline, until, as
we get close, quiet figures can be seen moving about on shore working
at the unloading of lighters.
We drop anchor and are informed that we shall disembark in the early
morning, and so lie down again and sleep soundly till morning.
_July 27th._
We wake at five and go on deck, and the old familiar sight of “W” Beach
greets me, and I point out, to several officers who ask me, the various
points of interest. At 6.20 the R.N.A.S. people are informed that they
have to go back to Mudros, as they have come to the wrong place, and at
seven o’clock, with Captains Nye and Koebel and Wilson, we go ashore in
a wobbly lighter, which seems about to turn over in a rather rough sea,
and we come alongside one of the piers.
“W” Beach had altered somewhat. Large cemented water reservoirs had
been made by the Gypy Works Department on the high land near our
“bivvy,” and it seems more congested and crowded than ever.
I take the officers up to our “bivvy” and surprise the others, who did
not expect me, and I feel quite pleased to get back—the same feeling
one has when one gets home to the family after a few weeks’ holiday.
We have breakfast, and I hear that the 13th Division are on the shore,
and that several of the officers of the 13th Divisional Train are just
along the cliff, and so go along to see them. I found Frank Edey there,
a friend of many years’ standing, and this was the third time during
the war that we had run across each other unexpectedly. I was three
months with the 13th Division at Bulford, so it was nice seeing them
again. They are leaving soon for some unknown destination, further up
the coast.
I find that “W” Beach has been heavily shelled on the 5th July, seven
hundred coming over in four hours. They are mostly high explosive
shells, and make a nasty mess of any victim which they find. To people
working in the various administrative departments, where they are
continually walking about in the open, the continual exposure to high
explosive shell fire is wearing on the nerves, and cases of nervous
breakdown here are becoming more and more frequent. In spite of the
most heavy shelling, the administrative work has to go on, and at high
speed too.
I hear bad news about my old mare. She was killed by a shell while I
was away, on July 5th. She had been an awfully good pal to me, and we
had some good times together, and I think that her name should be put
in the Roll of Honour.
Warham, the servant of Storey, of the 13th Division Train, was blown up
by a shell yesterday in his dugout along the cliff. He was a good chap,
and for a short time had been my servant at Bulford.
There has been but little shelling our way to-day—in fact, everything
seems extraordinarily quiet.
At 6 p.m. we go down to the breakwater to bathe, and I find Frank
Edey there, and other Bulford pals. And then, wonder of wonders, whom
should I run into but my friend of many years, the versatile Gordon
Findlay-Smith. The last time that I saw him was in Piccadilly Circus on
December 22nd, while motoring. We looked at each other in amazement,
and then burst out laughing. He has been here ten days, and is in a
beastly place which is shelled every day, namely the Ordnance depot.
_8 p.m._
The night falls quicker now, but with the same lovely colouring, and a
full moon is shining.
_July 28th._
See my friends of the 13th Division this morning. At twelve noon high
explosive shells come over our camp and kill six fine horses.
_4 p.m._
On duty at Main Supply depot, and ugh! beastly high explosive shells
come over. One bursts in Ordnance depot and blows two men to bits. Very
glad when I am off duty, but I would rather be here than in Alexandria.
My Brigade has been away at Lemnos resting, but comes back to-night.
Nothing much has been done since the battle of June 29th, which I saw,
except the French have straightened their line in accordance with our
move.
Everything is very quiet; even the French “75’s” hardly fire a shot;
but something big is afoot. Three of our companies have their horse
lines dug in at the foot of the cliff in the lower road, half-way
between “W” Beach and the bakery, past the Greek camp; and the cliff,
which is higher than in most places, affords almost perfect protection
for the animals. Officers and men live there, but it is not a very
sanitary spot to live in, what with the manure and the flies and the
heat. Occasionally, to make the atmosphere more savoury, a dead horse
or mule is washed ashore, after having floated about for several days.
Most of the animals which die or are killed are towed out to sea and
there sunk, either by the firing of bullets into the carcass or by
stones fastened to their legs. Many carcasses are, however, in spite
of all precautions, washed ashore, causing great unpleasantness to all
near who are living dug into the cliff-side. One such decaying carcass
this morning, lying on the water’s edge half submerged, aroused the ire
of a Staff Officer, who immediately strafed the officer living in the
cliff-side nearest to the place where it lay. He was politely told that
“The Navy are responsible for everything up to high-water mark,” and
of course could strafe no more. But the poor old Navy have their hands
pretty full, keeping the seas open for we on shore, and it is rather
hard lines on them to add to their heavy responsibilities the keeping
of the shores and beaches clear of washed-up carcasses of poor old
mules and horses who have died for their country.
Now and again a dead mule or horse is buried on land, but we still,
after over three months’ effort, are holding such a small bit of land
that room is very scarce and a burial-ground for animals is out of the
question.
_July 29th._
A hot day, rather gusty and dusty, and of course not a cloud in the sky.
My Brigade is back from Lemnos, and is along the cliffs of the West
Coast with H.Q. at the mouth of the gully or the now famous nullah.
West Coast cliffs now absolutely honeycombed with dugouts, arranged in
terraces as far as possible. The whole tip of the Peninsula is alive
and teeming with troops and followers of all nationalities—British,
French, Senegalese, Greeks, Arabs, Sudanese, Hindus, Gurkhas, Punjabis,
and Sikhs.
13th Division now moving off the Peninsula.
Poor old Findlay up to his eyes in ordnance; fortunately he was away
when shell burst in his compound yesterday. He says, “Gott strafe the
Kaiser!” from morning to night.
Only half a dozen high explosive shells come over our way to-day, but
inland Turkish artillery has been fairly active, but nothing much doing
on the front. Aeroplanes busily humming overhead. Beaches very busy,
with all kinds and manner of work day and night.
Meet Fulford, pal of Birmingham hockey days, a few years ago, and
again of Salisbury Plain days of 1914, now a chaplain in the 40th
Brigade, 13th Division. Having tea with him to-morrow. He tapped me on
the shoulder on “W” Beach, saying, “Thanks very much for the gloves,
Gillam.” I borrowed a pair of gloves from him on November 14th, had
lost them, had sent him another pair, and he had forgotten to write and
thank me. I had not seen or heard from him until to-day.
Observation balloon up, captive to a steamer off the Gully Beach, but
little or no artillery firing on our part.
13th Division of Kitchener’s Army have had their baptism, but in
defence, not attack; Turks had a taste of what Kitchener’s Army is like.
I believe in after-years the name of Kitchener will be wreathed in a
blaze of glory that will dim the lustre of all other famous names in
our history. Not only will we beat the enemy with the splendid troops
his genius has created, but if his spirit still endures in the nation
after the war, we shall defy the world for all time, and in that way
form an impregnable barrier to the mad ambitions of other States.
_July 30th._
Ride my new horse to-day along to the gully (nullah) and see
Brigadier-General Cayley. Awfully pretty at the gully, with cliffs
honeycombed with H.Q. and terraces leading to them. Brigade now almost
up to full strength again, and Tommies enjoying bathing and domestic
duties. Tommy is a most lovable animal sometimes. Met Panton, who
is now D.A.D.M.S. to Division. He was wounded in the leg in May, but
is now quite fit. Talked of those early days. Also see Fulford again.
Come along top road on cliff with Major O’Hara and Major Collier as far
as “X” Beach, when we ride down and finish the ride back to “W” Beach
walking along the lower road, for much traffic was passing and going.
Heavy shelling on “W” Beach from high explosive gun on Achi, but most
burst into the sea. Plenty of fire to-day.
[Illustration: COAST LINE, CAPE HELLES.]
[Illustration: A VIEW OF THE GULLY, CAPE HELLES, LOOKING TOWARDS THE
ENEMY LINES.]
I think the 13th Division are going to attempt a landing up the coast
soon, but news is very scarce. Whatever is on is being kept very
secret. Hear that about five enemy submarines have been caught out here
in nets stretched between two drifters, and blown up on contact. Only a
rumour though. The Navy keep very “mum” about these things. I think one
submarine has actually been brought into Malta.
Aeroplane falls into the sea; pilot and observer safe, and both picked
up. It glided down beautifully.
I learn that a French ship was torpedoed while I was away, but none of
the crew was drowned, and ship was empty of supplies.
Findlay-Smith came to dinner. Awfully amusing hearing him grousing
about the shelling, just as he used to grouse in the old days about
such a thing as a train being held up between Clapham Junction and
Waterloo. It is topping dining in our “bivvy” listening to the gentle
wash of the waves, and after dinner enjoying the view of the sun
setting behind Imbros, while we smoke and have coffee. Guns from Asia
seem to have been silenced. Cannot see any signs of life on the plain
of Troy, which looks pretty peaceful meadow land! Can see it in detail
from here. They must have observing stations there, and see all that we
are doing, and hence the shelling of “W” Beach.
Farmer, Neave, and Balfour, of the 88th Brigade Staff, have been sent
home invalided. Hear that there is to be a new landing further up, but
when, I don’t quite know, and that this time we shall land quite six
Divisions. I predicted in the early days that 250,000 men would be
found necessary to make this job a success; and troops which have come
and gone, and are coming, nearly reach this figure. It is surprising
what a little bit of land we are on, just as if it was a small corner
of the Isle of Wight.
Fancy being able to take in at a glance our front lines and the Turkish
lines, Krithia, the West Coast, the Dardanelles, and Asia’s mountains,
and the formidable position of Achi Baba, with its supporting ridges on
either side. That is what we can do with the naked eye from the edge of
the cliffs on either side of “W” Beach. And over three months have now
passed since we landed.
_July 31st._
While issuing this morning at depot, high explosive shells come over
from Achi. They burst in different places, searching the beach. One
bursts near Way’s depot, and one man and two mules are hit, the man
badly. Next one on aerodrome. An interval of two or three minutes
passes between the arrival of each shell.
Shortly after the one had burst near Way’s depot, I, standing with
issuers, drivers, G.S. wagons, A.T. carts, N.C.O.’s and ration parties
all around me, hear the shriek of one coming straight at me, for it
shrieks too long. Those who say that, if killed by a shell, one never
hears the shriek of the shell that hits one, are quite mistaken—that
is to say, when being shelled by one, two, or three guns at a time.
In a bombardment, of course, the din is so deafening that you can’t
tell which shell is addressed to you and which is not—and after a bit
you don’t much care. A deafening explosion and dense smoke, dust, and
stones, and I find myself locked in the arms of a transport driver with
my face buried in the stomach of a fat sergeant, and mules kicking all
round. Not a man hit, and the shell five yards away. The nearest I have
ever had. It had burst in a mound of soft earth and right deep in the
ground, and that saved us. I look up, and all the others get sheepishly
to their feet, and I get out another cigarette and smoke. I smoked
six of them hard, and tried to be facetious and to pretend that I did
not care, but not one man there could have been in a more miserable
cowardly funk than I was, while waiting for the next, which, however,
gave us a long miss.
Later in the morning we got a few high explosive shells from Achi. One
pitched clean on the roof of our signal offices, which is a timbered
erection, sand-bagged, and proof against splinter only. There the
clerks work, tap-tap-tap and buz-buz-buz to and from all over the
Peninsula, messages being sent and received every minute, almost all
the day and night, like a central telegraph office in London. Down came
the shrieking thing: a deafening report; splinters of timber, torn
sand-bags, dust, stones, and smoke fly into the air, and then silence.
A pause, and men rush, not away, but to the ruined office. Nine men
and one Signal Officer have been killed outright. Several wounded are
carried up the cliff to the hospital. Operators immediately get to work
connecting up the severed wires to new instruments. Improvised tables
are put in position. In half an hour a wire is sent off to G.H.Q. that
all is “O.K.,” and tap-tap, buz-buz is heard once more, tapping and
buzzing busily away, not for a weekly wage, but—for the King. It was a
near thing for old Findlay in his office, twenty yards away.
I rowed to a submarine this afternoon and went aboard. Delightful
sitting on deck and chatting to the Captain. He has just heard good
news from Persia, and we are all cheery. Go up to Brigade H.Q., Gully
Beach, and have tea, and chat to battalions in rest on cliff-sides.
While away, hear shells from Achi screeching overhead for “W” Beach,
and feel therefore quite safe. The Ordnance had it this afternoon.
AUGUST
_August 1st._
Artillery duels go on again to-day, and several high explosive shells
come over while I am on duty at the Main Supply depot. This afternoon I
am drawing forage for to-morrow’s issue to the Division. We draw men’s
rations for the same day’s issue at six o’clock in the morning, and
forage at four in the afternoon before.
Greek labour loads the wagons with the oats, maize, and hay, which
carry the forage three hundred yards away to our depot of four dumps.
When shelling is on the gang of thirty to forty Greeks melts away, and
often, when at work checking each wagon, one finds when one looks round
but ten Greeks left. Then it is necessary to hunt round behind and in
amongst the large high and wide stacks of grain and hay, where the
missing Greeks are to be found quietly hiding here and there in twos
and threes. Some are very good at sticking to the work, more so the
boys (as young as fifteen) and the elderly men, some of whom are quite
benevolent-looking.
This afternoon, one or two shells coming close to us, it was necessary
for me to stop work for fifteen minutes to make sure that no more were
coming, and to place the mules with their wagons behind the stacks
of hay, which afford perfect protection. I have never yet seen a
shell penetrate a wide stack of trusses of compressed hay. A pause—no
shells—and out we pop from our hiding-places like rabbits, and load
busily away once more. It is really funny. Like a game of hide and seek.
Panton dines with us to-night, but I have to leave immediately after
dinner, for I am again on duty at the depot drawing extra supplies.
These are now being drawn nightly, to form a reserve depot in the
gully, but a little way up from Gully Beach, to be ready for us in case
we advance.
As I walk across the high ground on the left of “W” Beach looking
towards Achi, I hear the booming of a Turkish gun, and instinctively I
know that the shell is addressed either to me or in my direction, and
accordingly fling myself to the ground in a manner to rival the best
stage fall. The usual sound of the sky being rent in two is followed by
a deafening explosion, and dust and stones fall on top of me. The smoke
blown my way makes me cough.
I arrive at my depot; a man runs up and reports that the shell has hit
a dugout in which three of our supply loaders live. I send a man back
for Panton, and start to run across to the dugout. I hear the heavens
torn asunder again. I fall flat behind boxes. The beastly thing bursts
in the hay. I wonder if the farmers at home ever realized how we would
bless their compressed trusses of hay, as protection from shell fire. I
run to the dugout. Two men are lying dead. One man, wounded, is being
carried away by his comrades. Panton, who has arrived, takes their
identity discs. One cannot be recognized but for his identity disc. I
go over to depot and continue my job of seeing the wagons loaded. I go
to mount my horse. As I am about to put my foot in the stirrup I hear
again the boom of a gun. I feel jumpy and duck. I hear a laugh. It is
from a driver. It is dark and he can’t see who I am—or my blushes—for
the boom I heard was from a friendly heavy French gun over by Morto
Bay. I ride round the top road with Cooke, who is waiting for me behind
the dugout a little way up the West Coast.
We speculate upon the reason why the advanced depot is being formed in
the gully. If the landing further up is successful, then the Turks are
bound to retire from before Achi, and the hill will at last be ours. At
last! We must therefore be prepared for an immediate advance. Hence the
advanced depot.
We arrive at the gully, riding on to the beach down the winding road.
It is a beautiful starlight night. The gully and its slopes are
illuminated by a host of little lights from the dugouts of various H.Q.
signal stations, dressing stations, etc., all unseen by the enemy; but
from the sea they look like the lights of a small fishing town nestling
in the shelter of gorse-covered irregular cliffs. I call at Brigade
H.Q. and then at a dressing station, where some cheery R.A.M.C. fellows
give me a whisky and soda. Afterwards I accompany Cooke, who is in
charge of a convoy to fetch ammunition, up to Pink Farm. We ride up the
high road on to the high land, and after being stopped now and again by
the “’Alt, ’oo are you?” of a sentry, arrive at the ammunition depot
near Pink Farm, in Trafalgar Square. There we load up with ammunition,
which we cart along Artillery Road, meeting the gully half-way, dip
down, and, our loads disposed of, we ride back home, arriving there at
2 a.m. Cooke persuades me to stop at his dugout and have a “nightcap,”
which I do.
He has built for himself a nice cosy room, dug in on the cliff-side.
Sitting there in the early hours of the morning, I am reminded of
that whisky and soda most men enjoy at 2 o’clock in the morning when
arriving home from a dance. He has made a dug-out stable for his horse,
and invites me to leave mine there for the night, to save me the fag
of taking him back to his lines, and to enable me to take the shortcut
back to the dugout, which is but a little way along the cliff towards
“W” Beach. I therefore tie up my horse, water him, and give him a
little hay, and go back along the cliff to bed.
_August 2nd._
I am up at 6 a.m. on duty at the depot, drawing men’s rations from the
main supply for to-day’s issue. I pass our lines and find my horse,
which I had left at Cooke’s stable last night, standing in his proper
place again. He had disagreed with my leaving him in a strange stable
and had found his way back to his own lines and into his proper place
by some means only known to horses. A horse is not such a fool as some
people imagine.