plains of Troy in vivid detail. Some 6-inch shells come over from Asia
to “W” Beach this morning, and after lunch we receive a few more, one,
very close to our bivouac, falling into the sea and throwing up a large
waterspout.
_August 18th._
So far it has been a very quiet morning, not a single shell on the
beach. The other day one of our machines dropped bombs on a Turkish
transport in the Sea of Marmora, sinking her. One of our transports
on the way to Suvla has been sunk, and nearly a thousand lives lost.
Rumour now whispers that the Suvla Bay landing has not been as
successful as was at first thought. But we learn that many more troops
are being landed. We are still hoping for victory, which so far we have
not tasted. Dismal news reaches us from Suvla. A Naval officer just
returning from there informs us that we are digging in hard a line at
the foot of the hills, and that the Turks are also doing likewise.
Also, we must now face a winter campaign. No comment is necessary as
to our feelings. We are shelled a little at night, but are too tired
and bored to bother, and so go to sleep. I am still sleeping in a tent
with Phillips, and if a shell does hit us clean while we are asleep it
is of no consequence, for then we shan’t wake up the next morning with
another awful day before us to live.
_August 19th._
Before breakfast this morning I ride up the West Coast road, my mount
being fresh and lively, enjoying to the full the canter I give him up
to Artillery Road. The ride along that road beats so far any ride I
have ever had for enjoyment. The soft going, though it may be rather
dusty; the view—the sea on the left, Imbros shrouded at her feet by
blue-grey mist, the sound of the waves gently lapping the shore on the
road below; the view in front, of stately and formidable Achi Baba
and of the mountains of Asia, with now and again a glimpse of the
blue waters of the Dardanelles on the right. All is quiet; I might be
miles from war, and yet I am in the centre of war on a large scale,
concentrated in an area that would be lost on Salisbury Plain. To
obtain an idea of on how large a scale the war on this little tip of
land is, as far as fighting is concerned, one has only to compare our
casualties here up to now with those of the South African War. And now
we have Suvla Bay, where six Divisions are on shore.
Passing the road leading down to Gully Beach, my horse shies badly as
two 60-pounders in action on the cliff overlooking the beach fire over
our heads. These 60-pounders have moved forward from their original
position on the cliff by the beach, much to our satisfaction, for they
were too near our bivouac, and a 60-pounder is a noisy toy.
I ride down from Artillery Road, and turning to the right, ride up
the foot of the beautiful gully, now more honeycombed than ever with
dugouts and terraces and flights of steps. Leaving my horse at a
small camp near Bruce’s Ravine—named after the gallant Colonel of
the Gurkhas, who sailed on the same hospital ship in which I went to
Alexandria in July, because of the gallant and victorious fight the
Gurkhas made for the capture of Gurkha Bluff, in the early days—I walk
up this ravine, used as a mule-track, to the trenches up on the high
ground on the left of the gully, forming the extreme left of our line.
And after a short walk through a series of trenches forming our support
line, I turn down a communication trench, which after a while brings
me out on to a long and wide terrace overlooking “Y” Beach. “Y” Beach
was the scene of a terrible fight between the K.O.S.B.’s and the enemy
on April 25th, in which the K.O.S.B.’s were successful in effecting a
landing, only to evacuate a day after. But how they landed there at
all is a feat to be marvelled at, for the beach can hardly be called
a beach. It is a narrow ravine, widening slightly at the water’s edge
to a width of not more than a hundred yards, and flanked by steep,
almost precipitous gorse-covered slopes to a height of 150 feet. Troops
attempting to land on such a beach from small open boats could not be
expected to even reach the shore; yet by the night these Scotsmen had
conquered the heights and penetrated inshore. But their position was
too precarious, and it was a wise move to order them to evacuate.
At the end of the terrace on the north side of the top of the ravine,
my Brigade H.Q. is comfortably dug in, and it is a pleasure sitting
there talking, with such a picturesque view to enjoy from the position.
It is far the prettiest site our Brigade has had up to now for their
Headquarters, and also convenient, for they are situated but a few
hundred yards behind the front line.
As I am about to take my leave, four shrapnel shells come over from a
Turkish battery on our extreme left, which burst low on the opposite
slopes of the ravine, with the trenches of two regiments in reserve
for a target. They are followed steadily by several salvos, one or two
of the shells bursting in the air near our H.Q., and one in particular
throwing a few bullets onto the ground at my feet, as I stand at the
door of the General’s mess. The General invites me to step inside,
saying, “Unless you want to get shot,” and gives me a topping breakfast
of scrambled eggs on toast.
After breakfast I go back with Mathias and Arnold to Gully Beach
and see 86th Brigade H.Q. and Sinclair Thomson, and then ride with
Arnold to “W” Beach. Mathias and Arnold came to lunch, as a parcel had
arrived, and we enjoyed the luxuries thereof.
After lunch I receive orders to go with 88th Brigade and 86th Brigade
to the new landing. Way also under orders to go. So after nearly four
months of hanging on to this tip of the Peninsula the poor old 29th
Division is to leave and try its luck at the new landing, and Achi Baba
still remains impregnable.
I look forward to the move with mixed feelings—relief at getting away
from this end, and new feelings at the prospect of being more heavily
shelled than we ever were here.
However, perhaps the move may be a successful one, and the end of the
campaign in this area nearer than we think.
At 9 p.m. I go down to “W” Beach and make inquiries. As usual, nobody
knows anything, and all is confusion. The piers are very congested with
the baggage being shipped on to lighters, which are then towed out
to trawlers. All such work, of course, has to be done after dark. At
twelve, after making exhaustive inquiries and with no result, Way and I
walk over to “V” Beach.
At the fort on the left of “V” Beach, looking shorewards, we find that
a lot of Lancashire and Munster Fusiliers are taking shelter, as the
Turks had been shelling the beach. We lie down just outside the fort
on the stone floor and try to get some sleep. A perfect night, and as
I look up at the stars I wonder what it was like here a year ago, when
war had not devastated this land.
_August 20th._
At 1.30 a.m. we get up and go down to the _River Clyde_. The _River
Clyde_ is now supporting a very fine pier that the French have
constructed. The French are excellent people at organization. After
waiting some time, an M.L.O. tells me that the 88th are not going till
the following night, and so I say good-night to Way, who is going off
with the 86th, and proceed to walk back the mile and a half to “W”
Beach.
I take the wrong turning, inquire the way of a French soldier, who puts
me wrong again, and I find myself in a perfect maze of French dugouts.
Once in the maze, I have an awful job to get out, and after stumbling
and falling about for some time, manage to find the road. Feeling very
tired, I stumble along in and out of the shell holes, it being very
dark, and at last I arrive at “W” Beach.
I find Major Blackburn, Camp Commandant, still at work in his office in
a dugout on the side of the cliff, and he very kindly revives me with
a whisky. It is now 3.30 a.m., and after chatting with him, he giving
a most dismal and chilling outlook of Suvla Bay (20,000 casualties and
only just hanging on to the low land), I go back to the tent. Have no
bed, my kit having gone on. I lie down like a dog and sleep soundly
till five o’clock, when I am awakened by the cold. I go out to try to
get warm, and see the sun rise. The breath of the coming winter seems
to be in the air. Phew! In winter we shall be washed off by rain, not
driven off by the Turks.
I sleep again, and then have breakfast with Phillips. Heavy artillery
duels all day and the Gully people get it badly—twelve men wounded.
I rest during the day, as I shall be up all night again to-night.
I wonder how many other people are keeping diaries on Gallipoli besides
me. It would be interesting for me to read them, for they must all be
told from far different points of view.
The impression the Gallipoli campaign has on the minds of the men in
the trenches, by far the most important men in the machine of the
Dardanelles Army, must be widely foreign to the impression made on the
mind, for instance, of a lighterman. The man in the trenches, probably,
if he has been to France, and many here have, sees no great difference
from life in the trenches in the Ypres salient.
The A.S.C. baker views life here through quite differently coloured
spectacles from the A.S.C. driver, the A.S.C. driver from the signal
operator, the officer in the observation balloon from the M.O. of a
regiment, the platoon commander from the M.L.O., the aviator to the
gunner officer, the commander of a submarine from the veterinary
officer; and yet each respective outlook on life, to each officer
or man, is one of far more vital and of greater importance than all
the views, opinions, thoughts, and actions of any of his comrades or
neighbours, of any newspaper, or public opinion. It is for him his
destiny. The carrying out of orders given to his particular self,
though of seemingly little importance in comparison to the working of
the large Army machine, is to him perhaps a matter of life or death.
Death or grievous wounds may prevent him carrying out an order; in that
event he will be excused, but while alive and effective, he must carry
out that order to the letter.
The position that Destiny has placed him in, as part of the huge
machine, controls his thoughts, actions, character and outlook on life.
His daily work may bring him in a constant danger of sudden death, and
he naturally views his life from the point of view of the probability
of leaving it suddenly, and possibly in an awful manner. That constant
thought usually makes a man braver than we would expect, for his will
forces him to carry out to the letter his orders and rules his mind,
which is fully aware of the danger he incurs in doing so. As well as
making him braver, the thought decides his will to make the most
of the pleasures of life that may pass his way, and as a result he is
usually to be found of a cheery, optimistic nature, easily pleased and
hard to depress. For optimists, go to the front-line trenches—or the
Navy—and for pessimists, go to overworked administrative officers.
[Illustration: A VIEW OF THE PROMONTORY, SUVLA BAY, TAKEN FROM 29TH
DIVISIONAL HEADQUARTERS.
The animals are just hidden from the enemy by the dip in the ground,
while the high ground on the right of the picture is in full view of
the enemy.]
If it were possible for all ranks, from O.C. to private, in an army
fighting in any certain campaign to keep an accurate diary of all they
do and see, then there could be published a perfectly true record of
the development and history of that campaign, so it is not possible,
and never will be, for the truth of all happenings in that campaign
to be known. And it never will be in any campaign. Hundreds of deeds,
gallant, tragic, cowardly, and foolish, occur which are never, and can
never be, recorded. When the daily Press, arm-chair critics in clubs,
etc., criticize any statesman or Army Staff, they are simply talking
hot air, for how is it possible for them to judge, when their source of
information is as unreliable as a “W” Beach rumour? So why waste words?
Much better go and do something useful, or shut up and go and hide. War
is like a big game. This war we must win—or we shall lose.
If we lose, it is on too huge a scale to be through any man’s fault—it
will be Destiny.
At 9.30 p.m. I walk over to “V” Beach again and find much more order
there than last night. Our Brigade is moving off systematically from
the pier alongside the _River Clyde_. I embark with the Essex on to a
small trawler. Algy Wood is with me. We are a merry party. We cast off
and steam out to a paddle-boat, which we come alongside, and make fast
to tranship. We are packed very closely together. The skipper makes
all the Tommies laugh by shouting through a megaphone, in a deep Naval
drawl, to a small tug in the offing, “Finished with you, Jessie!” and
off we steam north, for our unknown fate at Suvla Bay.
A Tommy expresses his feelings by the remark, “I don’t know where I am
going to, but I shall be glad when I get there.”
So shall I. I take a farewell glance at the _River Clyde_ and
Sed-el-Bahr, and express the prayer that I shall not see either again
during this war, and lie down on deck to sleep.
_August 21st._
I awake at 2 a.m. and find a blaze of lights on our starboard, and so
sleepy am I that for the life of me I cannot make out what is happening
or where I am. There seem to be thousands of little fairy lamps,
and at first I think that we are entering an English watering-place
alongside an illuminated pier. Coming to my senses, I find that we are
passing close to three hospital ships, which are always illuminated
at night, and entering a small bay. After a lot of manœuvring, we get
off into lighters and are towed for a mile, coming finally alongside
an improvised pier, where we disembark, thence on to a sandy beach,
where inquiries are made as to our future. I go off in search of a
Supply depot, but can only find one belonging to the 11th Division. The
Brigade move off inland to a place called Chocolate Hill, the other
side of a salt lake, and I lie down for an hour behind some hay.
I awake at 5 a.m., get up and shake myself and wander about,
endeavouring to gain some information. I find Panton, with whom I go up
on to the high ground behind the beach.
I learn that this is called “C” Beach. It is a small beach, flanked
on its north side by a high rocky promontory called Lala Baba, the
other side of which is Suvla Bay. Suvla Bay is in turn flanked on its
north side by a high rocky promontory, jutting nearly two miles from
the mainland into the sea. Where the bay washes the mainland, there
starts a salt lake, looking like a large flat, sandy plain, evidently
under water in the winter. In the background are high rocky hills,
covered with gorse, looking beautiful in the early morning sun. At the
foot, on the left and right of the Salt Lake, lies meadow land, with
occasional clusters of olive groves. The hills on the promontory to
the north of Suvla Bay continue in a range inland, curving round the
low land immediately in front of us, when to the right of where I am
standing they join and rise to a high peak called Sari Bair. Sari Bair,
which commands the right of our line—for I learn we are on the low
land—sweeps down to the Australians’ position at Anzac or Gaba Tepe.
One or two smaller hills, from fifty to a hundred feet high, stand near
to us, rising out of the low meadow and wooded land. Some are in our
hands, and some are still Turkish. One hill in particular, lying at the
other end of the Salt Lake, inland from its centre, is called Chocolate
Hill, and I learn D.H.Q. are to be there to-night. I hear also that
there is to be a battle to-day. Many troops are landing, including a
whole Division of Yeomanry, amongst them the Warwicks, Worcesters, and
Gloucesters.
I meet one of our D.H.Q. Staff, and he, with Panton, proceeds to
Chocolate Hill, while I continue to make inquiries as to where I am to
go. Nobody appears to know or to care, and so I go on to the top of
Lala Baba and have another look round. On the opposite side of the bay
I see the promontory alive with troops. In the centre of the bend of
the bay I see hospital tents pitched. Four battleships are at anchor
in the bay, together with a few transports and Supply ships. They are
shut in and protected from submarine attack from the outer sea by a
boom of submerged nets stretching between the ends of two flanking
promontories. Over the wooded low land now and again there begins to
burst Turkish shrapnel. Half-way up the promontory on the opposite side
of the bay I see stacks of Supply boxes. I go back to “C” Beach and
call at the depot to make further inquiries, and learn that the Supply
depot that I have seen on the other side of the bay is on “A” Beach,
and, as no orders have been received to feed the 29th from “C” Beach
depot, the “A” Beach depot must be my destination.
As I stroll across “C” Beach I notice a damaged aeroplane, around which
men are clustering, inspecting it with curiosity. A Naval Lieutenant
comes up and clears them away, saying to me that if only a few men
collect together in a bunch they are very soon shelled by a Turkish
6-inch gun on Sari Bair, which commands the beach.
I walk up to the back of the beach once more, and start for a tramp
round the bay to the Supply depot that I see in the distance. It is
to be a long tramp, and I feel a bit tired and devilish hungry. On
the other side of Lala Baba I pass 18-pounder batteries in position,
hidden from the enemy by little rises of the ground and screened from
aeroplane observation by gorse-bushes. Their position tells me that our
front line cannot be very far inland. Presumably the same thing has
happened that happened at Helles on April 25th. We have got on shore
all right, but that is all. The Turks hold all the prominent positions,
and appear to have us in the hollow of their hands. I walk along on the
sandy beach, very tiring for my feet, until I reach “B” Beach, which is
in the centre of the beach running between the two promontories of the
bay; there I come to a casualty clearing station of the Welsh Division.
I am dog-tired and almost faint from hunger, and call in, begging some
breakfast. They tell me breakfast is at eight, and make me lie down to
get an hour’s sleep, for it is seven o’clock. At eight I wake up and
join the officers at breakfast. Hot cocoa, without milk, for milk is
reserved for the patients; bacon, biscuits, and jam. No bread has been
issued at Suvla up to now. I then learn some news. We had actually
taken the high hills on the left of Anafarta Village, which lies just
behind the lower hills in front of us. The Gurkhas and Australians
had actually been on top of Sari Bair—had been treated to the joy of
looking down on to the Dardanelles on the other side.
Something went amiss. Our troops had to retire, and now our line ran
from the hills on the left of the bay, but about a mile and a half
inland on the mainland, dropping down to the low lands in front,
continuing in front of Chocolate Hill, which was ours, across the low
land on the right of Chocolate Hill, then running gently a short way
up the slope of Sari Bair, finally joining hands with the Anzacs in
position some distance up the slope of the hills in front of Gaba Tepe.
Burnt Hill, a small eminence in front of Chocolate Hill, is to be
attacked to-day. This is so named because of the gorse which had been
burnt by the shelling at the landing. We saw this burning gorse from
Helles on the 7th and 8th.
Once Burnt Hill was ours, the Turks would be forced to retire to
Anafarta. A further attack on our part would capture Anafarta and
the high hills on our left, enabling the Anzacs to capture Sari Bair.
Thence to Maidos, Achi Baba cut off, and the Dardanelles forced.
I am just about to leave, thanking them for their hospitality, when
shrapnel burst outside overhead. I say to them, “Surely this hospital
does not get shelled?” And they tell me that now and again a stray
shrapnel does burst here, but that they are shelling a small column of
carts passing along the beach, a small cluster of horsemen riding in
Salt Lake, or a few men passing over the flat wooded country. No target
appears too small for their shrapnel, even people bathing. The shore in
the centre of the bay is within easy reach of their field-gun shrapnel,
but as a rule they respect this Welsh hospital, though it is within
full view and easy range of their guns.
I continue my walk and keep close to the water’s edge, for shrapnel
now and again bursts not more than a hundred yards inland. I reach the
Supply depot that I had seen from Lala Baba, and learn that we are now
IXth Corps, that I have arrived at the Corps Reserve Supply depot on
“A” Beach, that they get shelled regularly every day, also that Foley
and Way are further up the road, towards the end of the promontory.
I walk up there and find them sitting in a small depot that they have
formed, with a little camp of wagon-covers and ground-sheets, supported
by logs obtained from a broken lighter. I feel glad to see them.
O’Hara comes up soon after with Badcock, who is over from G.H.Q. to
get transport in order, having been here since the landing. We make
ourselves a little more comfortable during the morning; a bivouac for
Way and myself is made of a tarpaulin stretched over balks of timber,
forming a little house open at the sides. We are out of range of
shrapnel, but I learn that high explosive and howitzer shells often
come our way.
In the morning I see Cox, who has returned from Alexandria, and learn
that the 88th Brigade are not to be in action to-day, for which I am
thankful. We get ready to send up rations by A.T. carts and pack-mules
to-night.
At 1 o’clock Way goes up to see his Brigade H.Q.—the 86th—on Chocolate
Hill. The 87th and 88th are there as well, and D.H.Q. and other H.Q. of
other Brigades, and the side of the hill must be very congested. I can
see hundreds of troops sheltering on the low ground by Lala Baba across
the bay.
_2.30._
The four battleships and all our guns on shore open a heavy bombardment
on the Turkish position on the hills in front, and especially on Burnt
Hill, and an hour later the gorse on that hill and on the low ground to
the right of Chocolate Hill catches alight, and is soon burning like a
roaring furnace, spreading like the fire on a prairie. At 3.30 I hear
rifle fire and learn that our attack on Burnt Hill has started. The
artillery simultaneously increases its range. The bombardment, however,
does not ring so confidently as did our bombardment in the victorious
battle of June 28th, nor does it appear to be so powerful.
I see the Yeomanry now marching steadily in open order across the Salt
Lake. It is the first time that they have been in action. Several years
ago I was a trooper in the Warwickshire Yeomanry, who are now with the
rest marching into battle. The Worcesters, Gloucesters, Middlesex,
Sharp-shooters, Sherwood Foresters, Notts and Derby are there, and I
think several other regiments, all troopers and troop leaders on foot,
their horses left in Egypt. Little did they think, when they trained
on Salisbury Plain for cavalry work, that when the hour came for them
to go into battle they would go in on foot as infantry. When they did
their regular fourteen days’ annual training, some of their friends
used to laugh at them, saying that they were playing at soldiers. What
I see before my eyes now is no play. Yet they look the same as they
did on Salisbury Plain. Ah! the real thing for them has come at last,
though many of them only landed this morning, for I see a white puff
of shrapnel burst over their heads. It is quickly followed by another
and another, developing to a rapid concentrated fire. They run the
gauntlet without losing their Salisbury Plain steadiness, except for an
occasional bunching together here and there. Soon casualties occur and
prostrate khaki figures can be seen lying on the sandy salt of the lake
for the stretcher-bearers and ambulance-wagons to pick up—the harvest
of war. At last they are at Chocolate Hill, where they nestle under its
slopes for protection till further orders.
At 6 p.m. Way returns, and tells us that Chocolate Hill was “Red Hell”
while he was there, smothered in shrapnel and flying bullets; that an
officer in D.H.Q. has been killed quite near him, but O’Hara is safe.
It was not safe for Way to leave until five o’clock.