AEROPLANES
THE ANGEL OF DEATH ABROAD--THREE MATES--LAUGHING IN THE FACE OF
DEATH--HARD SWEARERS, HARD FIGHTERS--A CURATE'S "LANGUAGE"--GERMAN
AEROPLANE DROPS BOMBS ON TURKS--SAFETY IN AIR FLIGHT--"SAVE US FROM
OUR FRIENDS"
"My turn at cooking comes round every third day," wrote a gunner of the
6th Battery, Victorian Division of Artillery, Anzac, at a time when
victuals were not too plentiful. "I give them bully-beef and biscuits
one day, and biscuits and bully-beef the next for a change. How I think
with envy of the wonderful messes of pottage the mater used to make for
the hens at Sandringham!... It is a most peculiar sensation at first to
have 'Weary Willies' bursting over you and to see the pellets dropping
on the dusty road like rain after a dry spell."
[Illustration: Anzacs in Reserve.
An Australian Brigade in dug-outs in Rest Gully.]
And another wrote: "The trenches are certainly the safest place to be
in. One 8-inch shell took the roof (blankets) off our officers'
heads, just missing Major Hunt, O.C., Lieutenant Smith and Lieutenant
Perry, of our Company, by inches--not the whole shell, but a piece of
it. The shell killed a couple of our men when it burst.... We were
continuously at it for five solid weeks, and then we were taken to Rest
Gully for a rest, which consisted of fatigues, sapping, trenching under
fire and working parties on the famous beach, where 'Beachy Bill' and
'Lonely Liz' used to scatter men by the score, with also an 11-inch
shell dropping now and then from the Straits. Splendid rest, this!"
Change! What change could one have there? Rest! What rest? "The Angel
of Death is abroad throughout the land," said John Bright in one of
his most memorable orations. "You can almost hear the beating of his
wings!" But on Gallipoli you could hear the beating of his wings day
and night, knowing not what the next moment might bring forth.
There were three mates in Junee, a western town of New South Wales,
who used to play cricket and football together. When their country
asked for soldiers they answered the call. The three enlisted
together, shared the same tent in camp, and fought side by side in each
successive engagement, from the landing to the fight for Lonesome Pine.
One of them--Reg. Humphreys--fell with a bullet in his brain, and died
in the arms of his comrade, Joe Charlton. Later in the day, Charlton
fell, and the third man, Paul White, carried him back to the ship,
where he died of his wounds. Out of 120 men of A Company only White and
one other man remained. The rest were all killed or wounded or sick.
Such is War. And yet our boys went cheerfully on with their work. Hard
work--hot work, so hot that we followed the example of the Indian Army
and cut our trousers short. Very comfortable were these "shorts" when
climbing about the hills. We looked like Boy Scouts. You should have
seen the gunners on a hot day, stripped to the waist, and stripped from
the knee to the feet--wearing their "shorts" and nothing but their
"shorts"! Infantry and Light Horsemen, you could scarce tell one from
the other. "Shorts" put us all on the same level. And we were all as
jolly as sandboys, having our fun and cracking our jokes, reading the
official _Peninsula Press_ and enjoying the unofficial humour of our
own trench organs, such as the _Dinkum Oil News_ and _The Dardanelles
Driveller_. We knew that Death was near, but we laughed in his face.
One day a bread ration was issued, instead of the inevitable biscuit
ration. "Well, they might have given us butter with it!" exclaimed one
trooper, with a smile. "Butter!" cried his mate--"you'll be wanting
flowers on your grave next!"
They had many names for the Australians on Gallipoli, and one of them
was "The Linguists." Some of the British Tommies used to stand in
awe when they heard an Australian bullock driver giving vent to his
feelings. I have even heard it said that a reputable Australian curate
who went to the front in the ranks used the most disreputable language
in charging a Turkish trench. One morning a German aeroplane dropped
two huge bombs behind our lines. They exploded with a terrific blast,
but did no damage. As the glistening bombs shot earthward, one of the
men exclaimed, "'Ere comes 'er 'ymn of 'ate from 'ell!"
Another day we thought we would see an aerial duel. Already we had seen
about everything else that twentieth-century war could show us. But
the duel never came off. One of our 'planes took wing and flew north
from Helles, over Anzac, towards Enos. Shortly afterwards, a German
aeroplane took the air, and hovered over our lines. Evidently our
airman could not see the Taube, for he circled aimlessly about over
the Ægean Sea. Meanwhile, the German got quite venturesome. He sailed
low--barely 2,000 feet above us--and though we blazed away with rifles
and guns, he managed to have a good look at our position. Also, he
dropped a couple of bombs at the right of our line before he bolted.
But they fell harmlessly into the sea.
We got several good laughs every day. It made life worth living to
note the wonderful good humour of our soldiers. Sometimes we laughed
at the Turks, sometimes at each other. We had one great laugh at a
German airman. He went up with a big bomb, evidently intent on some
frightfulness. A British aeroplane immediately sighted him, and started
in pursuit. Then a couple of French airmen took the air, and joined in
the chase. With three of them hot on his trail, the German fled over
the Turkish lines. The Allies gained on him, so to lighten his load he
dropped his bomb overboard. But it landed on the Turkish trenches. They
thought he must have been an enemy, for they at once opened fire with
rifles, machine-guns, and anti-aircraft artillery, and the poor Taube
had a very sultry time.
The Germans erected a new aerodrome, "somewhere on Gallipoli." The
French airmen sighted it, dropped a few bombs, set fire to the petrol
store, and did considerable damage. We had an aerial night attack on
the Turkish camps at the Soghan Dere. Our aeroplanes first fired with
their machine-guns at the flashes of the enemy's rifles. Then they
dropped a couple of 20-lb. bombs, which burst in the centre of the
Turkish camp. Finally they dropped 300 arrows amongst the bewildered
enemy.
After watching the airmen operating over the Suez Canal and the
Mediterranean, and in Gallipoli, we came to the conclusion that flying
is easily the safest job in war time. We used to think otherwise. To
the onlooker it appeared so hazardous, that the marvel was that those
dare-devils were not all blown to smithereens. But for about three
months, we watched them at work, and not a hair of one of their heads
was harmed. Time and again the airman sailed across the enemy's lines,
while their anti-aircraft guns worked overtime. The blue of the sky
was flecked with white puffs of smoke where the shells burst, yet the
aeroplane flew on serenely. I counted forty-one shells one day, which
burst all round one of our airmen on reconnaissance. Many seemed to go
very close indeed; others flew wide of the mark. The Turkish trenches
would spring to life as our 'planes passed over, and thousands of
rounds would be poured into the atmosphere. Their machine-guns would
sound the rataplan as the belts were emptied. But the wild fusillade
never disconcerted the airmen. All of which proves what an exceedingly
difficult target the aeroplane must be.
We did not have any Zeppelins buzzing round the Dardanelles. Perhaps
they were too busily engaged on their baby-killing enterprises on the
east coast of old England. The nearest thing we had was an observation
balloon, looking for all the world like a huge German sausage suspended
in mid-air. But it was very helpful to our warships for observation
purposes.