cookhouses, and the general sanitation of the trenches. Myriads of
flies, which precede us on our way; when we halt, they all promptly
settle in black patches on the sand-bags and sides of trenches. When we
continue our tour, they, rising immediately with a loud buzzing, lead
the way for us.
An inspection of the cookhouse of the Newfoundland Regiment is made.
It is built in a small sunken ravine at the back of the support line.
Panton and Frew, their M.O., go to the end of the ravine. I wait at the
end near entrance to the trench. A Newfoundlander says to me, “Excuse
me, sir, but in the place in which you are standing our cook was killed
yesterday by a sniper from the hill.” I am rude enough to forget to
thank the man. I simply turn round on my heel, practically diving into
the trench. But I shouted thanks to him as we left, five minutes after.
After a short walk along the front line—the usual front line, with men
at short intervals on the keen lookout through periscopes—we return by
“D” communication trench, half an hour’s walk. We pass Gibraltar Hill,
and so over the gorse to Gibraltar road, arriving at D.H.Q. on the
hill, where I am given a topping lunch.
It is a beautiful summer day, and the Turks are sending over sporting
shots at the shipping. The battleships answer, so the enemy turn their
guns on to them instead, and actually record two hits on the _Prince
George_, which then manœuvres for a fresh position. Then they get
on to the supply ships again, which have to clear outside the boom,
further away from the end of the promontory. Suddenly a good shot at
long range gets a supply ship, which is loaded with hay, and quickly
sets it on fire. Our battleships get very angry at this, but it is
some time before they can silence the Turkish batteries. At sunset the
hay supply ship is still smoking, but the fire is well under control.
A new officer arrives, named Hunt, a good fellow from Tipperary. Good
omen, for though we are a long, long way from Tipperary, one from that
immortal place has come to join us.
_November 4th._
The ship that was set on fire yesterday lost practically all the hay in
the forward hold. Consequently, for some time our poor little Indian
mules will be on half rations. Destroyer has now broken her back and
is a total wreck, waves breaking over her. Rain is beginning now. We
had a few showers this morning. A little shelling in the morning, but
the afternoon was quiet. Go up to Brigade H.Q. with the new Transport
Officer, Hunt. Find conference on, so McLaughlin and Morris entertain
us to tea. Have to make detour through flat wooded country, getting
to and from H.Q., on account of this beastly new battery. Very quiet
this afternoon; no shelling, and hardly any rifle fire. Hunt remarked,
coming back, that it was a nice country walk, and reminded him of his
homestead in Tipperary. He has been at Blackheath for the last six
months at Headquarters at the Ranger’s Lodge, and left there only three
weeks ago, so I like getting him to talk about Blackheath, which I knew
so well. I have been on this place so long now, that a new-comer has
only to mention about riding on a tramcar or going into a cakeshop,
when I am held thrilled with interest and pleasure.
_November 5th._
A beautiful, cool summer day. Shelled at ten this morning for quite an
hour. The destroyer has now completely broken her back, and her stern
has disappeared. The Turks discovered the mishap, but they could not
see that she is a wreck, as she is “bows on” to the Turkish position.
Thinking, therefore, that the destroyer was still intact, though
stuck on the ground, they attempted to finish her off, and for three
hours shelled her. They only recorded two hits, however, and it was
satisfactory to see old Turk wasting his ammunition. To-day another
old friend has gone. He is Way, the 86th Supply Officer, who has been
here since April 25th without ever going sick. He felt rather dicky
two days ago, and was told to stay in his dugout, and to-day I find he
has developed diphtheria badly. He tries not to go, but a doctor soon
settles that. I shall now feel more lonely than ever, for we were great
pals, and our walks to our respective H.Q. were among the few pleasures
that I could look forward to. When casualties occurred at his dump he
was always there to attend to the wounded, and as S.O. the 86th Brigade
will miss him. I wonder how many of the old 29th are left. Well, Way is
for Blighty, and good luck to him. But diphtheria is a nasty illness,
and I hope he pulls through.
_November 6th._
Walker has gone off permanently to hospital with jaundice, and Hunt and
myself are left on our own.
Beautiful summer day, to-day. Turk very quiet and hardly any shelling.
_Swiftsure_ back, and the _Canopus_ and _Prince George_ busy shelling
Turkish positions this afternoon.
_November 7th._
Another beautiful summer day. Turks shelled our valley at ten and again
at three. No damage, though some were uncomfortably close to us. Our
ships and shore batteries fairly busy. Monitors busy at night.
_November 8th._
A cool, lovely day. Flies are dying rapidly—the best news to record for
a long time. Two new A.S.C. officers arrive to join us, named Matthews
and Elphinstone. Very few shells this morning, but they come very near
our dugout this time. Cox, of the Essex, comes in for a chat, the
only original officer now left of that regiment. I walk back with him
to Brigade H.Q., and Matthews comes with me. Walking across the flat
space just leading to the 86th Brigade H.Q., I point out to Matthews
the lines of light-brown earth running up the slopes of the hill on
our left front, and he hardly believes me when I tell him one line is
Turkish. Like all who newly arrive, he is surprised at the short walk
from the beach to the line. Our batteries are dusting the Turkish line
with shrapnel, and their batteries are retaliating. They make very good
shooting on both sides, as, of course, they have all ranges registered
to a nicety. We call at both Brigades, and have tea at each. Coming
away, Matthews tells me that he is of a retiring disposition, and that
he does not like being thrown suddenly into new society, and that two
tea-parties is more than his nerves can stand, more especially when a
General is present at each.
_November 9th._
Usual visit to Brigade H.Q. with Hunt, and after, inspect the forward
reserve rations at C.R.E. dump. Men busy digging trenches back near
beaches now. Another beautiful cool summer day, cold at night. Turks
busy shelling batteries and shrapnelling trenches.
There is only one possible game for the Turk to play, and he is playing
it well. That is to say, he must keep us at bay at all costs. Therein
lies his only chance, for once we can get across the Peninsula to
Maidos, his game is up, for we cut his main line of communications,
so he shells us continually to keep us occupied. The shelling is so
effective that elaborate dugouts have to be built. These are made as
strong as possible, the inner walls being strengthened with sand-bags,
the roof formed with strong cross-beams, on which rest, first, iron
sheets or wire netting, then two layers of sand-bags, then soil.
These dugouts are perfectly secure against shrapnel or high explosive
splinters, but, of course, could not stand against a direct hit. But
that would not worry the occupants much, as it would be all over in a
few minutes. Inside such houses we have lounges cut out of the earth
and covered with sacks. Our furniture is rough-and-ready, and made on
the spot. It is marvellous what can be done with any ordinary wooden
box, if you know how to deal with it. Out of our wooden boxes chairs
and tables appear like magic—chairs with arms and adjustable backs;
strong tables, and various other bits of furniture. Some of them are
really quite good, and show clearly the ingenuity of their makers. We
also have candlesticks, recesses for books, and toilet articles, all
from the same source. Fireplaces are made out of home-made bricks—for
there is a good deal of clay on the Peninsula. They are good fireplaces
too, complete with mantelpiece, bars, and hob. So we sit round of an
evening reading periodicals a month old with the same zest and interest
as we read the latest editions at home.
By the papers, England sounds depressing.
So we would rather be here. We do know _the truth of Gallipoli_ here.
Man likes to know what he is up against. Seven Divisions at the start
would have fixed this job, no ships would have been lost, and our
little friend Bulgaria would have thought twice of coming in against
us. All night outside we hear the crack-crack-crack of the rifles
in the trenches. Worcesters did a good bit of work the other night,
capturing a sniper’s post three hundred yards in front. Only two
casualties over that little job; they expected more. Turks in front of
the 29th have fairly “got the wind up.” We bomb and shell their nerves
away.
General Cayley says he is quite happy and does not want to go to
Salonica, as he is looking forward to sitting round his fire of
a winter’s night. General Percival says bother General Cayley’s
fireplace; he wants to go to Salonica and get a move on. And so they
live their lives, these men—lives full of danger, yet joking about
their fireplaces.
_November 10th._
Another fairly quiet day. Ships firing a bit against Turkish batteries,
which are sending back shrapnel. Take up Elphinstone to Brigade and
have tea at the 86th. Have some excellent rock-cakes, made by their
cook. General Cayley calls in. We walk round with him to the 88th. I
get awfully fed up at times, but every time I see General Cayley he
gives me a spurt for a few days. I had jaundice badly about two weeks
ago, and they were going to send me off, and that meant England. I got
a spurt, and soon felt fit again, and have never felt so well in all
my life. Morris, Machine Gun Officer of the 88th, seriously ill with
rheumatism, but he is trying to hang on. Destroyers and Monitors make
a practice of shelling the Pimple from the Gulf of Saros now. Amusing
watching destroyers. They fire, then emit a cloud of smoke, sail
round behind it, then fire again, and so on. Old Turk can’t hit back.
Shelling Pimple much in fashion just now. Poor old Turk! fancy trying
to get to sleep on the Pimple with big guns throwing great shrieking
shells at him all night.
_November 11th._
Lovely summer day. Are moving camp to IX Corps Gully. Busy arranging
the necessary digging. Turks very busy with shrapnel this morning
around Chocolate Hill and to the left. Battleships very angry and fire
back, making a fearful noise. Old Turk sticks at it, though. General
de Lisle, riding with A.D.C. and orderly, nearly gets hit. He takes too
much risk and seems to have no nerves.
_November 12th._
Getting rather cold now. Fleet firing heavily to-day, and Turks, as
usual, busy with shrapnel. “C” Beach badly shelled, and 13th Division
Supply depot gets it badly; several casualties. A year ago to-day I
received my commission and joined the 13th Division. If I had not
joined the 29th Division I might have been on the “C” Beach to-day with
the 13th Division. Go up to Brigade with Elphinstone and see new Staff
Captain—Armstrong. Hadow is now with the 11th Division, and I am sorry
he has gone. Stay till dusk. Turkish snipers always creep out at dusk.
Bullets freely coming when we take our leave. Over the gorse outside
the Brigade H.Q. I say to Elphinstone, “At this point at night I always
walk fast,” and he, this being his first experience, says, “I am with
you.” Out of range we light our pipes, then a comfortable walk back in
the moonlight. Finish up work at the depot. Dinner and a smoke, and to
Hell with the Kaiser!
_November 13th._
It is getting very windy and cold, but day quite fine. Flies still
worrying, but not nearly so badly as a few weeks back. No shelling from
Turk. Ships firing on Turkish batteries, which are badly shrapnelling
Chocolate Hill. Kitchener in neighbourhood. Matthews leaves to be
Adjutant of train at Helles, and Hunt and I go out in his pinnace
to see him off. Sea a bit choppy, and I, sitting on the top of the
engine-room, nearly fall through the skylight into the engines. Horne
arrives to take his place. Has seen Kitchener at Mudros with a numerous
Staff. Staff-Captain 86th Brigade comes to tea. Show him over our new
camp for winter, which is in course of preparation. It is going to
be “some” camp. It breaks the monotony, making this camp. Guests for
dinner. Beautiful moonlight night and very quiet.
_November 14th._
A bit of a gale blowing. Another quiet day, absolutely no shelling.
Kitchener arrives here at three o’clock with Staff. Was up Brigade
with Horne at the time, and so missed the show; but my sergeant told
me about it. He landed at little West Beach, walked through the Main
Supply depot, and then past our depot, up IX Corps Gully to the top
of the hill, and had a good look round the positions. He was only
here about two hours. Tommies came running up and stood in groups at
attention, while their C.O.’s and officers saluted, and he passed along
saluting gravely right and left, now and again stopping to look at some
dugouts. There is now general satisfaction that Kitchener has been and
seen for himself what things are really like here. No shelling of the
beaches while he was on shore, but the low lands were being shrapnelled.
_November 15th._
Quiet morning. In the afternoon the Turks put a dozen of the best over
the beach, but did no harm. Bit of a battle on Chocolate Hill this
afternoon at five, and rifle fire, and a great deal of shrapnel, for
half an hour. Our battleships firing heavily and making a deafening
din. Heavy thunderstorms at eight, with vivid forked lightning and
rain. I suppose this is a foretaste of what is to come.
The safety of the beaches has now greatly improved. West Beach and
the beach adjacent are now joined by a deep cutting. A deep trench,
starting at the Main Supply depot, runs down to West Beach, in which is
laid a tramway used for carrying supplies from the piers to the depot.
This is under cover, entirely hidden from the enemy by day. The earth
taken from this cutting or deep trench has been thrown up in great
mounds at the back of the two beaches, rendering them safe from high
explosive shells, though, of course, not from shrapnel. But “Whistling
Rufus” has not worried us since the late days of October, devoting his
attention to the unfortunately situated “C” Beach on the other side
of Lala Baba. The road leading up on the higher ground to our D.H.Q.
is now sunk and the dug out earth, thrown up on the side facing the
enemy, hides all transport by day entirely from his view. Since this
has been done this road has been almost entirely free from shrapnel.
_November 16th._
Men are hard at work digging our new camp in IX Corps Gully. We move
there, when IX Corps H.Q. move to the end of the promontory. IX Corps
new Headquarters should be entirely winterproof, even during the
severest weather. They are also practically invulnerable, by reason of
their position and the vast amount of labour that has been expended
upon them. I myself saw sheds in sections being put bodily into the
rock excavated to receive them. There were communication trenches cut
in the living rock connecting dugout with dugout. Also, elaborate
excavations in the rock formed shell-proof living quarters, and, when
necessary, unlimited wood, iron, and sand-bags have been lavishly used.
The whole place is a perfect engineering achievement—the most wonderful
nest of safety that the mind of man could conceive. How different are
the conditions at Lala Baba, but three miles away, where the wretched
hovels of the troops cluster as thickly as the cells in a honeycomb. No
coping of iron or beams there. A man is lucky if he has as much as a
blanket or a waterproof sheet to stretch over his miserable hole in the
ground—not enough shelter to keep out the raindrops, let alone shrapnel.
The system on which our camp is being modelled is the same as for all
the other beach camps here. An effort is being made to house the men
through the rigours of the winter storms, which no doubt will soon
be upon us. Taking advantage of the sloping ground in the fold of
the gully on the promontory, which increases in height as it extends
inland towards the high land, deep trenches are dug parallel to the
lines of our trenches inshore. They are 7 feet wide, with parapets and
parados 8 feet and 6½ feet high respectively. They should be roofed in
by corrugated iron; some only of them are, however. Corrugated iron
is still a luxury here. Filled sand-bags are then laid on the top,
which should render them shrapnel-proof. As they generally run at right
angles to the line of Turkish artillery fire, a high explosive shell
would explode on the mound of earth thrown up in front of the parapet,
and not in the roof.
Each trench is dug on lower ground than the one in front. The whole
system is being organized by an able technical engineer officer, who
is hard at work from morning to night. His camp is taken as a model.
Although in view of the enemy, its safety against casual shelling,
such as we are daily subjected to, has been demonstrated several
times. Against a heavy bombardment, of course, no trenches are proof.
Shrapnel bullets have spattered harmlessly on his sand-bagged roofs.
High explosive shells bursting full in the middle of his camp have
been caught by the mound of earth in front of the trench. Should the
shell miss one line of trenches, it is caught by the mound of earth in
front of the other line behind. A direct hit on the roof, except from a
howitzer, is almost impossible.
Drains are cut about and around the trenches to catch the water of the
forthcoming heavy rains, and advantage is taken of the formation of
the gullies to make one main drain into which smaller drains can run.
One has only to look at the great boulders of stone standing half in
and half out of the earth all over the high ground of the Peninsula,
and at the large, medium, and small gullies, which are of all kinds of
intricate geographical formations, to realize that at some time of the
year not only a series of ordinary rainfalls, but raging deluges of
water, fall in all-powerful torrents, mercilessly driving all before
them, even great boulders of stone. No trenches, no matter how well
constructed, can withstand heavy driving floods. Let the engineers
first study the formation of the land, pause and reason a little, and
they will see that all this labour will be lost, and their trenches
full to the brim at the first heavy downfall. In dry weather, though,
the system is excellent, and the men inside are very comfortable.
The trenches are entered by steps from the road or path at either
end, or from the terrace behind between each trench. At night the men
sleep in one row side by side, their kits hung on the earth wall
behind them. Quarters for N.C.O.’s are partitioned off by timber and
sacking. By day their blankets are rolled up neatly, and the whole
makes a roomy apartment. A cookhouse constructed on the same principle
is built at the end of a series of trenches. Officers’ dugouts are
built near by, dug in the slope or behind protecting boulders. The
whole, neat, orderly, and compact, affords remarkably good cover from
shrapnel and high explosives—but for protection against weather,
never. For protection against weather I prefer the de Lisle system of
terraces, built on a steep slope in tiers, the whole practically a
flight of very large steps. But, of course, a steep slope is necessary.
The men’s quarters are simply built on each terrace; the back wall is
cut out of earth, the roof of corrugated iron, supported by timbers
and made shrapnel-proof, and the sides are built up of loose stones,
tarpaulins, and timber. The hill on which such a system is built
affords the necessary protection against shell fire. It is, of course,
weather-proof, as it is simple to drain.
“C” Beach and Lala Baba across the bay get very badly shelled this
afternoon, and in consequence the battleships are hard at work
endeavouring to silence the Turkish batteries. Sounds of very heavy
firing are heard from Helles, probably Monitors in action.
_November 17th._
Very little shelling, hardly any our way. To-day is very stormy, and
as the time goes on the wind develops into a great gale. All landing
of stores has to cease. Great white waves dash up against our piers,
and after it is over there will be much work for the Australian
Bridging Section. In the evening our flimsy summer quarters are cold
and draughty. The oil-drum fire won’t burn. So we turn in early,
Elphinstone and Horne going to their dugout up the rise to our left.
Suddenly, just as we are getting into bed, the tarpaulin half of our
roof blows adrift. Hunt and I have a job to fasten it back in position
once more. The wind is shrieking outside. A short while after, Horne
and Elphinstone come back, asking for shelter, for their bivouac has
blown down altogether, and so we crowd them in our shelter for the rest
of the night.
_November 18th, 19th, and 20th._
The usual daily visits to Brigade H.Q. forward reserve dumps and D.H.Q.
I get exercise this way. Also to and fro on the beach, paying calls on
friends among the many dugouts there. Some are excellent, especially
those of Naval L.O.’s and Camp Commandant, built in the side of the
high rocks. The Field Cashier has to be “stung” by me now and again on
behalf of my Staff Captain to pay the men of Brigade H.Q. His dugout is
not in a very safe place.
Once, outside the dugout, leaning against the wall of sand-bags talking
to an Australian officer, I heard a shell coming clean for us. I had no
time to get to cover. I saw men several yards away dive for cover. I
watched the Australian. He did not duck, but I noticed that he gripped
his pipe tightly with his teeth. I leant hard against the wall behind
me, and the beastly thing passed low over our heads and burst in the
sea. I said to him, “I wanted to duck, but as you didn’t, I didn’t,”
and he replied, “Same here, son.” Gale has been blowing hard the last
three days, the Navy having great difficulty in landing stores, etc.;
but to-night—the night of the 20th—the wind is dying down. Hardly any
shelling at all now, except inland.
Our flimsy bivouac very draughty and cold. It is hard work keeping our
accounts and doing our office work.
_November 22nd._
Gale blowing hard now and wind much colder. Hard at work building our
new camp. Hunt falls ill and has to go to bed, but trying to stick it
out. Turks very quiet.
We are woke up at twelve midnight by a dugout on fire, and all turn out
to get the fire under and prevent it spreading in the strong wind to
neighbouring dugouts. We curse heartily but manage to put the fire out
in half an hour. No one is hurt.
_November 23rd._
Wind quieting down, thank goodness. We pull down our “summer
residence,” in which we had lived for close on three months. In a
short while not a sign of it is left, and we are hard at work shifting
the whole camp into our new quarters in the late IX Corps Gully. Each
regiment’s Q.M.’s staff, and a few regimental transport details and our
A.S.C. Supply details move with us. Also the two Brigade post-offices.
Our camp is not properly finished, but we are all glad to be in it, for
it is much warmer at night in our dugouts.
_November 24th._
The weather is now much more settled. It was making us all very
anxious, as landing stores was very difficult for the Navy. Brigade
H.Q. country walk again. But life very monotonous. Battleships now and
again pop off. A little shelling from the Turk, but not half a dozen
all day. Hard at work on new camp.
_November 25th._
Hunt very seedy, so I send him to Field Ambulance. At night hear a
rumour that the evacuation of Suvla Bay has been decided on. Go down on
beach in the evening to see about arrangements for getting off, but am
led to believe it is only baggage for a Division which is leaving.
_November 26th._