is now called the Gibraltar road, as it leads to the small hill we have
called Gibraltar, which lies between our first line and 86th H.Q. On
the way I meet the 88th Chaplain, and we walk back together. Behind us
we hear three tremendous explosions over to the left of Chocolate Hill,
and looking back, see columns of smoke and dust. They are caused by
Turkish aerial torpedoes bursting in our front line, equivalent to a
hundred-pound shell, and terribly effective. Fortunately, they appear
to have very few of them, but we have none at all. There have been
sixty-three casualties on the beach to-day through Turkish gun fire and
shrapnel. At night a great gale springs up, and we have heavy rain,
many men being washed out of their dugouts, having to spend the night
in their wet clothes on the hills.
A navvy’s battalion has arrived.
_October 13th._
A fine day, but a very strong, cold wind blowing down the Peninsula.
Arthur McDougall has now rejoined his regiment in the trenches. We have
now a black cat in our establishment. It walked in, and we do not know
where it came from. Probably off one of the boats.
We were shelled with the 5·9 at eight this morning, and had about six
casualties in this valley. They were, however, very quiet for the
rest of the morning. Just as Way, Cox, Baxter, and I were leaving for
Brigade, they started to shell, and we were glad to get off the open
space of the beaches. Now they have three guns firing 5·9 shrapnel at
us, and they come over in threes, usually bagging somebody. The Turks
seem to be getting very cocky lately. They actually cleared away all
the barbed wire that one of our battalions in the 88th had put in
front of our trenches, only fifteen yards in front. Also their bombing
parties are getting very daring, creeping up each night to within
throwing distance of our trenches.
Barbed-wire lines and trenches are now being constructed further back
towards the coast—in case!
As we are up at Brigade H.Q., we notice one of our aeroplanes swoop
down on to the Salt Lake, obviously having to make a forced landing.
A short pause, during which we notice the pilot and observer climb
out, when suddenly shrapnel bursts over the machine and very near. It
is quickly followed by another and another, and later high explosive
shells, when the pilot and the observer scurry away pretty quickly.
They are wise, for the Turkish artillery are now well on to the
machine, which is rapidly becoming a helpless wreck. I should think
they put a hundred shells on that machine before they stopped.
_October 14th._
Last night they tried to disturb our rest by putting one shell over to
us every hour. One seemed to come very near our dugout, but we were too
sleepy to bother. What’s the good?
At eight this morning they get very busy again with their shelling, and
at nine three of the big deadly shrapnel come over at once, followed a
few minutes after by three more, and then later still another three.
It is evident that they cannot spare very many of these every day, but
after each bout the cry of “Stretcher-bearers!” is shouted down the
valley. Shortly after, the wounded are carried away to the hospital,
and this scene has now become a painfully familiar one.
It is very cold to-day, and the gale still continues, hampering the
Navy’s work of landing stores.
The afternoon was quiet. A great gale sprang up at dark and blew hard
all night. It is now very cold. One consolation, flies are dying off.
_October 15th._
To-day has been cold and cloudy, with a strong wind. Artillery duels
all day, with ships joining in. We were shelled this afternoon, but
fortunately to-day had no 5·9 shrapnel. Cox and Gennison came to tea,
and Walker and myself walked back with them. Called in at Brigade H.Q.
Hear that now we are at war with Bulgaria.
_October 16th._
At five this morning (dawn) the Turks began a general bombardment,
chiefly on our right (Chocolate Hill) and at Anzac, but the subsequent
attack on their part seemed to die away quickly. No news as to results.
At 11 a.m. an enemy aeroplane sails over. Our two anti-aircraft guns
on shore start firing, and make such good practice that the machine
quickly gets out of range and sails over towards Anzac, disappearing
suddenly into the clouds. Many thought that she had been brought
down, and a great cheer goes up and clapping of hands. Shortly after,
however, she is seen coming back over the bay once more, flying low.
H.M.S. _Glory_ and _Canopus_ fire with their anti-aircraft guns, but
wide of the mark. She turns and sails up inland once more, perilously
close to our shore anti-aircraft guns, which make excellent practice.
One shell bursts dangerously near the machine, whereupon she dives,
swings to the right, and climbing again, sails over Chocolate Hill.
When over our trenches heavy rifle and machine gun fire break out at
her, but she sails calmly on over Sari Bair to her base behind in
safety. Result, honours with the enemy pilot, a damned cool customer,
but a very nasty trip for him. It lasts under ten minutes, so that
he has not much time for observing, but no doubt time enough for his
purpose. The rest of the day we have the usual artillery duels, rather
heavier than usual, and at 3.20 p.m., and again at five, we have our
usual shelling by our old friend “Whistling Rufus.”
_October 17th._
At nine this morning the Turks very heavily bombarded our reserve lines
and our batteries on our left. They were very prodigal of ammunition,
showing that their supply had been replenished, probably from Bulgaria.
They put in some very large stuff, 9-inch at least, and at very long
range. Our batteries and ships were active in reply. It is cold and
windy and raining.
Went up to Brigade with Way, and later to 86th, where the Padre was
holding Sunday service. Beach shelled a little while we were away.
To-morrow is the great Mohammedan feast-day, and we expect a general
attack on the part of the Turks.
_October 18th._
Rainy morning. Bit of shelling in morning and early afternoon, but not
very damaging shells.
At four they started dropping large shells, about 11-inch, which
whistled over with a tremendous shriek and burst with a thunderous
crack. They must have come a long way, as we could not hear the report
of the gun. They were bursting too near for our liking, and we were
glad when they stopped. Some say they came from the _Goeben_. They
finished up their bout with 5·9 shrapnel. So far no attack by the Turks.
News that Sir Ian Hamilton is going and that General Munro is taking
his place reaches us.
_October 19th._
A quiet morning, but at four we were shelled as usual. Not much damage.
_October 20th, 2 p.m._
Quiet so far to-day, except for a bit of shelling this morning. News
reaches us that the 10th Division, who were here in August, are at
Salonika, whether interned or not we do not know. Turkish festival
still on, and I believe it ends to-morrow. They make a row in their
trenches at odd times of the day by the shouting of “Allah” and the
ringing of bells. Sometimes our men, for a joke, throw jam-tins full of
jam into the Turkish trenches. This happening to-day, the Turks thought
that we were throwing bombs, instead of four harmless tins of jam, and
they promptly threw back two bombs. Whereupon we have to throw six
bombs back. This quietened them. Later, however, they threw the four
jam-tins back—empty—having eaten their contents.
_October 21st._
A very heavy gale blowing all day from the north-west. Sky heavy with
rain, but wind too high to allow rain to fall. Heavy shelling all
morning for three hours without stopping, and again in afternoon. None
near our patch. We get the shrapnel, however, from “Whistling Rufus,”
which is more comprehensive.
Enemy aeroplane, in spite of gale, is over this morning. Anti-aircraft
guns fire—and miss!
_October 22nd._
A great gale blew all night, and is still blowing. Cold and cloudy.
Artillery duels going on as usual. Not much shelling on this beach. At
four, we have three of the 5·9 shrapnel over our little corner. One
could not hear them coming, because of the gale.
_October 23rd._
Beaches shelled a bit this morning. Gale continues all day, and it is
very cold. Soon after four we are shrapnelled once more, having about
ten large ones over in a period of half an hour, causing casualties.
The gale prevents anybody hearing them coming. Go up to Brigade H.Q.,
and it is hard work walking against the wind. Country looking bleak and
miserable. Come back on motor-ambulance. At night I am up at the C.R.E.
nullah forming a forward dump of reserve rations. We have to work in a
cold, driving rain.
_October 24th._
Gale still continues. Flights of birds, which had collected in great
numbers some few days ago, now seem all to have left. Has been raining
all morning. Very little shelling from Turks.
Go up to Brigade H.Q. and have tea. Gale dies down towards evening.
Beautiful colouring of sky over the sea. A background of grey rain
clouds, golden-buff coloured strips of sky, grey sea, against which are
silhouetted sepia-coloured trees and gorse-bushes. Imbros, now grey
as the sea, is always in the picture—the eternal picture in which is
painted our monotonous life on Gallipoli. We are waiting, waiting, with
no news, and some of us are saying with no hope. These latter, however,
suffer from “tummy” troubles.
_October 25th._
Six months ago to-day I landed at Helles—it seems like six years.
To-day we are still an hour’s walk from the sea to the front trenches,
at all three landings. This morning is a cool, beautiful summer
morning. Flies seem to come again from somewhere, but not so bad as
before, yet sufficient to be called a pest in England. Usual artillery
duels all day, and we are shrapnelled again in the afternoon. At 6 p.m.
go up to C.R.E. dump about the reserve rations we are putting there.
Cloudy evening.
_October 26th._
A cool, fine morning, rather cloudy. Birds again flying in large coveys
overhead—wild geese and crane, etc.; men fire at them, though it is
strictly against orders. Hardly any artillery duels in morning. Go up
to C.R.E. dump with Major Fraser, and later, leaving him, go on to
Brigade and have tea. Adjutant of Worcesters, who was wounded in the
landing in April, and who has been back in England, was there. We who
have been out here all the time look upon those who have been back in
England with great interest.
After tea, Morris, the Machine Gun Officer, takes me out to see his
machine gun emplacements on Gun Hill, which is a little hill lying some
two hundred yards behind our front-line trenches, the ground on its
left rising steeply to the high ridge overlooking the sea, and on its
right sloping gently down to the low land.
We pass the Worcester Regiment in the reserve trenches dug in an open
space on the left of Brigade H.Q. looking inshore; then we pass down
a communication trench, coming out into an open space behind a small
mound called Gibraltar, round which we pass down a slope leading to a
rocky ravine filled with large boulders, a few trees, and patches of
thick gorse-bush. There the Hampshire Regiment are dug in.
To the left of the ravine are a few graves, and now and again a bullet
kicks up the dust close by them. Smith, the Hampshire Quartermaster,
jokingly informs me of a certain way of getting a cushy Blighty wound.
If I want one, all I have to do is to stand by these graves after dark,
and wait. In under two hours, most probably in five minutes of waiting,
I shall get one in the leg. The bullets come from a Turkish trench high
up on the cliff-side on our left front. To the right of the ravine one
is safe, protected by a rise in the ground. On the left of the ravine
one is in constant danger of a smack from a bullet, and more so at
night.
We continue our way, passing down another trench, and shortly after
come out into the open in a lovely glade of grass and trees situated in
dead ground, protected by a little hill in front called Gun Hill. On
its slopes we once more enter a trench, which encircles the hill, very
similar to the ramparts of an ancient castle. It is a little fortress
on its own, standing aloof from the system of trenches situated behind
our front line, but in front of our support line, yet blending in with
the uneven lie of the land, thereby not making a conspicuous target. At
intervals are machine gun emplacements, with machine guns in position,
pointing through apertures in the sand-bagged breastwork. At the first
that we come to we find the sentry not looking out. I shall never
forget the frightened look on his face as it meets Morris’s suddenly
appearing around the corner of the sand-bagged wall a few inches from
him. He gets a stiff “strafing.” We continue our way, and at the next
emplacement come upon a sentry who presents a unique object. For his
head is covered by a sand-bag, through which are holes made for his
eyes and mouth. To this headgear are fixed sprigs of gorse-bush, and
as he stands stock-still, with his head and shoulders filling the gap
in the breastwork, it must be impossible for an enemy observer to
detect his presence from the background of gorse and trees. Yet if he
is detected a sniper has him for a dead certainty. It is so far safe
for such sentries, however, for up to now no casualties have occurred
amongst them from a sniper’s rifle.
Morris asks, “Is everything O.K.?” and the sentry, without looking
round, replies, “All’s well, sir.”
I stand beside the sentry and look at the view in front of me—a
beautiful view of sloping hills up to the heights of the cliffs which
overlook the sea; and on their slopes I see distinctly the irregular
light-brown lines of thrown-up earth, denoting the Turks’ front-line
trenches and ours, running opposite each other to the summit of the
cliffs, about three hundred yards apart.
We are six hundred yards from the enemy line, and can be certain
victims for a Turkish sniper should he be aware of our presence.
From this position at night sometimes the Turk receives the contents of
belt after belt of machine gun ammunition poured on to his second and
third line and communication trenches by indirect fire, ranged by day,
causing him great inconvenience and to wonder from where the bullets
come.
Our front line is always warned when any such stunt is on, so that
they may not arrange for their working parties or patrols to be out in
front. Looking at the country in front of me, I can see that here on
these rugged slopes the Turk would have but short shrift if he attacked
us—as of course would we if we attacked. Result, deadlock, like two
cats spitting and sparring at each other. Morris says he is always
pleased to show people round his pet hobby. I was immensely interested,
and Morris might have been showing me round a farm.
We come back in the gloaming, Morris now and again stopping to order
paper and litter to be picked up, for General de Lisle is around here
frequently, and has the eye of a hawk.
_October 27th._
A fine morning, with a very warm and strong wind, almost a gale,
blowing from the sea. Smith, of Hampshires, pays us a visit, and as
we sit in our dugout we hear “Whistling Rufus” coming over from Sari
Bair. One corner of the roof over our dugout is only of tarpaulin,
for corrugated iron is scarce. Rumour says that a ship which set out
from England loaded with corrugated iron has been torpedoed and sunk.
An officer, newly arrived, who is sitting with us, appears to rather
scorn my advice to move from where he is sitting under the tarpaulin,
which is of no protection to him from shrapnel bullets, when, “Crash”
from “Whistling Rufus” is heard overhead, and the sound of bullets
spattering on our roof follows immediately after, just as if an unseen
hand with a bowl of pebbles had taken a handful and thrown them with
violence down on to our abode. A shirt hanging outside on a line to dry
receives two bullets through its tail, causing large rents. The new
officer immediately gets up from where he is sitting and comes round
to our side of the table, where we sit under a roof of corrugated iron
with a layer of sand-bags on top, safe from everything but a direct hit.
This 5·9 shrapnel is followed by others, and in the distance we hear
the roar of Turkish artillery and bursting shrapnel. “Whistling Rufus”
ceases worrying us after a while, and we go up to behind our dugout and
look inland at the Turkish shelling. All along our line and behind,
Turkish shrapnel is bursting thickly, being more concentrated over
Chocolate Hill and on Hill 10, which is situated on the left of the
Salt Lake and half a mile from “B” Beach.
About half an hour after, we hear rifle fire, which dies down quickly,
and all is quiet. What it was all about I do not know. Probably the end
of the Turkish festival, or probably Enver Pasha has paid a visit, and,
sitting on top of Sari Bair, has asked for a show to be demonstrated
to him. I must say such a show, viewed from the top of Sari Bair, must
appear a wonderful sight.
_October 28th._
A hot, sultry day, and the flies a pest. A very quiet morning. No
news. Hardly any shelling on the part of the Turk, but our artillery
and ships’ guns fairly active. I go up to Brigade H.Q. to tea, and
after, on the way back, call in at the 88th Field Ambulance, situated
in a tent encampment on a plateau lying between Karakol Dagh and the
Turkish positions. Here the situation is most interesting. The white
tents and marquees are in full view of the Turks, and not a shot comes
near, for John Turk plays the game. It is almost like living in a
garden city, with the open country all round, and the feeling one gets
is very odd—so near to war and yet so far! Patients rest quite at their
ease in their walls of canvas, while over their heads, singing their
dread song, the Turkish shells pass on their way to the beaches.
_October 29th._
A hot day, and flies very trying. Turks busy with artillery at
Chocolate Hill and Anzac. Our artillery busily replying. Nothing our
way. Heard firing off coast of Bulgaria last night. Our artillery have
been very active all day, and are still firing, although it is dark. We
have now several new batteries ashore, and for the past few days the
Turk has been very quiet. We had only two shells over our way to-day.
Our artillery seems to be getting well on top. Munro has arrived, all
good luck to him. Now perhaps we shall get a move on. We feel now,
either move on or off. But Heaven defend us from the inaction and waste
of time of the last six months! Stewart has gone off, suffering very
badly with dysentery. He was stubborn about it, and would not see the
doctor, until at last he had to be carried off on a stretcher. I shall
miss him very much, as he was good company.
_October 30th._
A hot summer day, and flies a plague. The Division has sustained a
sad loss to-day. Algy Wood, of the Essex, has gone West. He had been
through everything since the landing, and at noon to-day was shot in
the throat while in the support trench near his “orderly room.” He
became a friend of mine, as he became a friend of all he met, and I
have often referred to him in my Diary. He just had time to say to his
sergeant-major, who went to him, “I’m finished, sergeant-major,” and
then died. A name that will never be forgotten by the survivors of the
29th Division. Nearly all the best have gone now. Lord Howard de Walden
comes into our dugout in the evening and has a chat; he is our D.A.A.
and Q.M.G., and very popular. Munro is ashore to-day with Staff for a
pow-wow at IX Corps H.Q. No news from Salonica.
_October 31st._
Another summer day. Hardly any shelling on our part, and absolutely
none on the part of the Turk. And so ends October, a monotonous, dreary
month. Phew! how many more such months?
NOVEMBER
_November 1st._
Last night was very rough, and several lighters were wrecked on the
beach. We also lost a destroyer, which ran on the rocks just off West
Beach. No loss of life.
A cool summer day again, and no shelling from the Turks this morning.
Flies not quite so bad, but still a plague. They have become persistent,
fat, sleepy ones now. No shelling from the Turks at all, and our
artillery hardly fire a shot.
_November 2nd._
A few shells only this morning. A beautiful summer day, but flies badly
worrying. A battery has been put on the road just by the rise before
80th Brigade H.Q. Destroyer which ran on the rocks yesterday still in
the same position.
_November 3rd._
After breakfast, having arranged for a visit round the trenches with
Panton, the D.A.D.M.S., I go up to D.H.Q. at the top of our gully. We
start off, accompanied by Lord Howard de Walden, pass through the 88th
Field Ambulance camp, dip down on to the beach road, and after a short
way along bear to the right on to Gibraltar road. Instead of walking
up along the Gibraltar road, as has been the practice of most of us up
to now, we bear to the right through the low wooded country between
Gibraltar road and Hill 10. We cross the newly made line of trenches,
with barbed wire thickly laid in front, passing a bombing school on our
left. Turkish bullets fired at a high elevation just reach this point,
dropping with spent velocity. As we walk through the almond-trees just
beyond, the guns of the two battleships bang out suddenly. We hear the
great shells shrieking over our heads, and see them burst with violence
over Burnt Hill on our right front. Passing the almond-trees, we make
a detour to the left, arriving in the open space which leads to 86th
Brigade H.Q. Panton stops here at an advanced dressing station, and
while we wait for him a few bullets sing overhead. But there is never
very much rifle fire in the daytime. We then dip down into “C.C.”
communication trench, and follow its windings to the line. We pass over
one or two bridges crossing large drains that have been dug to drain
the trenches when the wet weather comes. We are warned by the formation
of the irregular hills, nullahs, and ravines, and the great boulders
of stone standing out of the ground, that at some time during the year
rain falls in great quantities. What will our trenches be like on the
low ground when that time does come? Salt Lake on our left gradually
sinking under water answers that question. We see shrapnel bursting low
over that part of the line we are making for, and I have a desire to
turn my coat-collar up. I always do when I am near shells. Why, I don’t
know. We arrive at the support trench, in which are the Munsters and
Dublin Fusiliers. I see a few men clustered together in the trench at a
small entrance leading to a dugout. One comes out from the dugout, and
says, “By Jasus! the poor lad’s gone.” A man had been hit by shrapnel,
and had just died, after about twenty minutes. We continue on, and on
arrival at the Essex Regiment I inquire where Algy Wood had been hit. I
am taken up a short trench which turns sharply to the left, coming to
an abrupt end at a dugout—his dugout. I inquire how it happened, and am
told that he was leaning up against the back of the trench immediately
outside his dugout, with his pipe in his mouth, looking at an aeroplane
which was hovering over our line. Suddenly a bullet strikes him in the
throat; he takes his pipe out of his mouth, makes a gesture of extreme
annoyance with his arm, and mutters the words “Damn it!” Then he sinks
back in the arms of his sergeant-major, who is standing near him, and
saying, “I am finished, sergeant-major,” quietly goes West.
Struck by a chance bullet in a comparatively safe place! Cruel, cruel
luck! At least Algy Wood, one of the most gallant officers of that pick
of Divisions—the 29th—should have been spared. However, he had the
satisfaction of putting up his hard-earned D.S.O. ribbon a week or so
ago. We continue our way along trenches which, instead of running more
or less in regular lines, zigzag in and out in sharp turns and corners,
which face the high hills on our left, each corner protected by strong
sand-bagged breastworks. The reason for this is that these breastworks,
placed at short intervals in that part of the line where we are, screen
us from view of the enemy in his trenches high up on the ridge of hills
which overlook the sea on our left. Of course, we in our trenches up
there also can overlook the Turks in the trenches running through the
low country in their territory, which trenches also are punctuated at
frequent short intervals by breastworks. In consequence of the danger
of being seen by Turks on the hill, our trenches on the low land are
very narrow, and Lord Howard de Walden causes great amusement to some
Tommies sitting on the fire-step by the remark, “These trenches were
not built for a man with an extra large tummy.”