ABROAD—1915
The last few days at Fakenham were busy ones, chiefly owing to the
floods of new equipment which were at last showered upon us. Two
squadrons got a complete issue of new saddlery, harness, and vehicles,
which meant, in the first place, handing over the old issues to
representatives of the second line, and in the second place,
assembling all the new saddlery (which was issued in small pieces) and
packing it into sacks ready for the voyage. The rest of the saddlery
was put on board without being unpacked. Then our complement of
machine guns was increased from two to six per regiment, which meant
taking from each squadron 1 officer and 20 men to form the new
personnel, and replacing them in the squadrons with men from the
second line. By this arrangement we lost also our adjutant, Captain
M.E. Lindsay, who was made Brigade Machine Gun Officer. Lieutenant
H.S. Sharp took Captain Lindsay’s place as adjutant. All ranks were
fitted with helmets (on which pugarees had to be fixed under the eye
of the few old soldiers who had been abroad and knew how to do it),
and also with a complete outfit of khaki drill clothing. This last
caused no end of trouble and annoyance both to the tailors and the
men. However, it was all finished somehow, and it was a very cheery
party which embarked on the train at Fakenham station just after dusk.
The entire population turned out to see us off and wish us luck, and
gave us a very hearty send-off.
Next morning we found ourselves at Devonport, where we were to embark
on H.M.T. _Andania_ (Captain Melsom), a second-class Cunard Atlantic
Liner, and set to at once to load our baggage in the holds. Speed
seemed to be the main concern, the safety of the cargo being quite a
secondary consideration. The Brigade arrived in some dozen or more
trains, each carrying what corresponded to a squadron, its baggage,
which consisted of all sorts of heavy cases and things more or less
breakable such as personal baggage, and saddlery in sacks, and also
motor bicycles and vehicles. Each train was unloaded as it arrived and
its contents thrown holus-bolus into one of the holds, except for the
wheeled vehicles. The result was that there were layers of saddles at
the very bottom of the hold, and further layers at intervals up to the
top sandwiched between ammunition and heavy cases of all kinds.
Fortunately we were never asked to unpack the saddlery.
On Wednesday, 8th September, about 5 A.M., we left the harbour
escorted by two destroyers who took us to abreast Cape Ushant and
there left us.
The first day or two on board was regular pandemonium and most
uncomfortable for the men. Four officers and 140 other ranks from the
second line had joined us at Devonport and we were very overcrowded.
Each man had a stuffy and inaccessible bunk and a place at a table in
the steerage saloon for meals, which had to be served in three relays
owing to the numbers on board. This meant either very perfect time
keeping or very perfect chaos, and, needless to say, for the first few
days it was the latter. The captain also had a habit of always having
his alarm boat drills while some relay was feeding, which did not add
to the harmony. After a few days, however, things went very much more
smoothly, but at no time could it be called a comfortable voyage. For
the officers it was very different. They were not too overcrowded and
were fed like fighting cocks. The deck accommodation was, of course,
ridiculously inadequate, and muster parades, boat drill, and physical
drill in relays was all that could be managed. We also had lectures on
flies, sanitation, and how to behave when we got to Constantinople.
We steered a very roundabout course to avoid submarines and came into
the Straits of Gibraltar from the south-west keeping well south of
the Rock. We hugged the north coast of Africa, and passed a Greek
tramp who signalled to us to stop as a large enemy submarine was ten
miles east of us. As such ships had been used before as decoys for
German submarines, we gave her a wide berth and informed Gibraltar who
were to send out a destroyer to have a look at her. We reached Malta
on 14th September, but we were too late to get into Valetta Harbour,
so we anchored in St Paul’s Bay for the night and got into Valetta
Harbour early next morning. For most of us it was our first glimpse of
the Near East, and no one could deny the beauty of the scene—the
harbour full of craft of all sorts down to the tiny native skiff, and
crowned by the old Castle of St Angelo, the picturesque town, the palm
trees, and the motley crowd of natives swimming and diving, and
hawking fruit and cigarettes from their boats. Some of us got ashore
to see the historical old town, full of memories of the Templars—St
John’s Cathedral, the Governor’s Palace, the Armoury—but most had to
stay on board to bargain and argue with the native vendors. We slipped
out of the harbour at dusk, showing no lights, but to show we were not
downhearted, Lovat’s entire pipe band started to play. But not for
long; as the captain threatened to put them all in irons, which
brought the concert to an abrupt conclusion.
We reached Alexandria on the morning of the 18th, and the first stage
of our trip was over—to everyone’s regret. We had had a lovely
voyage, a calm sea and perfect weather, and only the most persevering
had managed to get seasick. Those of us who had still lingering hopes
of seeing horses at Alexandria were speedily disillusioned, as we were
ordered promptly to unload all our saddlery and transport vehicles.
This was done with just as much organisation and care as the loading.
The following morning we all went a route march for a couple of hours
through the town. Perhaps the intention was to squash any desire we
might have had to linger on in Alexandria. All the same some bits
undoubtedly stank less than others.
Meanwhile stacks of infantry web equipment had come aboard, and
fortunately for us about forty infantry officers who were able to show
us how to put it together. That kept us busy for the next few days.
A cruiser met us in the Grecian Archipelago and conducted us safely
into Mudros Harbour on 23rd September. It had got very much colder as
we got farther north, and the day before we made Mudros it was
absolutely arctic, which was lucky indeed as it made us all take on to
the Peninsula much warmer clothes than we would otherwise have done.
Mudros Harbour was a great sight—British and French battleships,
hospital ships, transports, colliers, and all sorts of cargo ships
down to the little native sailing boats, and the steam cutters which
tore up and down all day looking very busy. The island itself looked
very uninviting, stony, barren, and inhospitable, and a route march
only confirmed our opinions—the race ashore in the ship’s boats,
however, compensated us—and nearly drowned us.
Our ration strength at Mudros was 32 officers and 617 other ranks, but
of these 9 officers and 63 other ranks remained behind as first
reinforcements when the Regiment went on the Peninsula. Each squadron
went forward 4 officers and 136 other ranks. When we returned to
Mudros three months later our effective strength was 8 officers and
125 other ranks.
On 26th September the Regiment filed down the gangways of the
_Andania_ on to the _Abassiyeh_ and landed that night on Gallipoli.
From the _Abassiyeh_ we were transhipped into a “beetle” packed like
sardines and loaded like a Christmas-tree. These lighters being
flat-bottomed could run ashore on the sand and land troops dry-shod.
The gangway was very steep and slippery and the men were so
overloaded, each carrying a bundle of firewood as well as full
equipment, and a pick and a shovel, that nearly everyone, like William
the Conqueror, bit the dust on landing. Otherwise, we had an
unmolested landing and started off for our billets in some reserve
trenches about a mile and a half away.
Here our difficulties began with daylight, as we were in full view of
the Turkish positions and within easy range of their guns, with the
result we were not allowed to move about outside the trenches during
the day. Water had to be fetched by hand about a mile and then had to
be boiled, and we had not, like those who had been on the Peninsula a
few weeks, collected a stock of petrol and biscuit tins for storage.
Later on we even got water-carts filled with water brought from Mudros
or Egypt, but not for at least six weeks, and meantime everything had
to be carried and stored in petrol tins, rum jars, and such few
biscuit tins as were water-tight. The wells were so congested, and the
water so scarce that water-bottles were not allowed at the wells, and
all we could do was to keep them in the cookhouse, ready to be filled
and issued as the water was boiled. Apart from the November blizzard
our first week in the reserve trenches, until we got our water supply
in working order, was the most uncomfortable of our stay. Rations were
really wonderfully plentiful and good.
That night we were ordered forward to complete the digging of a new
reserve area. Just as we were falling in to move off, a regular strafe
started in the front line only just over a mile away, but luckily it
stopped just before we were to move off. It was our first experience
of being under fire, and for all we knew it might have been the sort
of thing that happened every night, so we just carried on as if
nothing unusual were happening. Familiarity may breed contempt in most
cases, but bullets singing about four feet above one’s head is one of
the exceptions, and Heaven knows we had plenty of experience of
“overs” on the Peninsula. They are undoubtedly a fine incentive to
work however, and once on the ground the men dug like beavers—and
they _could_ dig—and by dawn at 4 A.M. we had a continuous though
somewhat narrow trench. The soil, for the most part, was clay, and it
was tough work digging, but once dug the trenches stood up well.
After a day or two we began to be sent up to the front line for
instruction, 30 men per squadron at a time, the remainder digging
trenches and going down singly to the beach for a bathe. That was the
one thing for which Gallipoli was perfect. The beach was rather far
away, perhaps two miles, but we were all glad of the exercise, and the
bathing was glorious—the water beautifully warm and so refreshing.
As regards the lie of the land and our positions there—coming up from
the beach at Suvla there were fully two miles of flat country before
you reached the foothills. The northern part of this plain was a
shallow lake dry in summer but with a few feet of brackish water in
winter called Salt Lake, and the southern part a few feet higher
stretched down to “Anzac,” where spurs running down from Sari Bahr to
the sea terminate it abruptly. Our front line, generally speaking, was
just off the plain, a few hundred yards up the slopes of the
foothills, with any reserves there were lying in trenches on the
plain.
Imagining the whole Suvla plain and its surrounding hills to be a
horse-shoe, you might say the Turks held round three parts of the
shoe, leaving us with the two heels at Caracol Dagh on the north and
Anzac on the south, and a line between these two points across the
plain. This plain was practically bare, but Caracol Dagh was thickly
covered with dwarf oak and scrub, and Anzac with a good undergrowth of
rhododendron, veronica, and other similar bushes. At Sulajik (the
centre of the horse-shoe), and immediately to the north of it, and
also round the villages in the Turkish lines, were numbers of fine
trees, but nowhere that we could see was there anything that could be
called a wood. As regards the soil, the gullies at Anzac on the spurs
of Sari Bahr were quite bewildering in their heaped up confusion,
partly rocky, but mainly a sort of red clay and very steep. In the
centre it was a yellower clay with patches of sand and bog, and on
Caracol Dagh it was all rock and stones, so that digging was
impossible, and all defences were built either with stones or
sandbags. The view looking back to the sea from almost any part of our
line was glorious. Hospital ships and men-of-war, and generally
monitors and troop-ships in the Bay, and on the horizon the peaks of
Imbros and Samothrace reflecting the glorious sunrises and sunsets of
the Levant.
In these surroundings we spent about a week before getting a turn in
the front line. We struck a reasonably quiet sector and fairly well
dug, but there were several details in which the trenches varied from
what we were accustomed to read about. The first and most noticeable
difference from the point of view of the inhabitants was the entire
absence of head cover. Even after we had been on the Peninsula nearly
three months all we had collected were one or two poles, a sheet of
corrugated iron (ear-marked as a roof for a signal station), and a few
yards of wire-netting. There was not a house or a building of course
in the country-side, and as our neighbours were as badly off as we
were, there was no scope for the enterprising.
Our first turn only lasted four days, and we had hardly a casualty
until an hour or two before we were to move back into support. The
support trenches were very much less comfortable than the front line,
and as there were lots of parties to go up at all hours of the day and
night to dig and wire in front, it took a lot of scheming to get
everyone satisfactorily fixed with water and food. We also had to send
out officers’ patrols to fix the Turkish line, as we were intending to
have a dash at capturing his barrier across the Azmac Dere—a dry
watercourse which ran right through both the Turkish and our
lines—and so straighten out our line. Patrolling was very
difficult—there were no landmarks to guide one, the going was
exceedingly prickly, and at that time the place was full of Turkish
snipers, who came out at dusk and lay out till morning in the broken
and shell-pitted country. We soon got the better of these sportsmen
though—our snipers out-sniped them, and our bombing officer, if he
frightened them with his catapults and other engines of offence half
as much as he frightened us, must also be given credit for a share in
dispersing them.
[Illustration: GEBEL-EL-GHENNEIM, KHARGEH OASIS.
_To face page 18_]
[Illustration: THE HIGHLAND BARRICADE, ASMAK DERE, SUVLA.
_To face page 18_]
A squadron (Major de Pree) and the bombing squad under Mr A.C. Smith,
in conjunction with a squadron of 2nd Lovat Scouts, carried out the
raid on the Dere on the night of the 17th/18th October. It was a
complete success—all the Turks holding the barrier being killed by
the bombing party, and about sixty or seventy yards of new trench
being dug the same night. This little exploit was the subject of
congratulations from both the Divisional and Corps Commanders,
Major-General W. Peyton and Major-General Sir Julian Byng. Mr Smith
got the M.C., and Lance-Sergeant J. Valentine and Private W. Roger
the D.C.M. for that night’s work.
The Brigade was then due for relief, but we wanted to finish the job
of straightening the line before we went, so we stayed on to the end
of the month, by which time the work was practically complete. During
this time we had the joy of receiving some letters and parcels, and
even a very limited supply of canteen stores. People at home hardly
realised as yet where we were, the conditions under which we were
living, and the time it took for parcels to arrive. One officer
received three parcels—the first containing his keys which he had
left on his dressing-table at home, the second, some sort of
collapsible boot-tree, and the third, about a three years’ supply of
Euxesis shaving cream. Many a good cake too had to be hurriedly
removed and buried deep in the refuse pit. All the same, parcels were
a great joy to receive, and provided many an excellent tit-bit for
supper. Many, unfortunately, went missing—especially if they had the
labels of Fortnum & Mason, John Dewar, or Johnnie Walker. We sometimes
wondered if they were timid and preferred the comforts of the beach to
the hazards of the trenches.
The canteen arrangements could hardly be called a success either.
Occasionally a few supplies trickled through to us, and once an
expedition to Imbros was arranged to purchase stores at the local
markets. Eggs, fruit, biscuits, oatmeal, chocolate, etc., were ordered
by the hundredweight, and an officer sent to make the purchases. He
returned to tell us the expedition had fallen short of complete
success. His share of the plunder for the Regiment had been one packet
of chocolate which he had eaten.
[Illustration: OUR TRENCHES IN THE FRONT LINE AT SUVLA
Emery Walker Ltd. sc
_To face page 20_]
We had now completed our turn in the line, and were relieved by the
158th Brigade, and went back to our old place in reserve which we
found very filthy. How we wished there were Dr Tukes in every regiment
and battalion. He had so inculcated everyone of us—officers and men
alike—with the vital necessity of cleanliness and the deplorable
habits and peregrinations of the household fly, that we sometimes
wondered if we were scavengers or soldiers. Though we lay no claims to
perfection—or anything like it—few trenches were cleaner than ours
were, and right to the very end of the war we never left a trench or
billet without it being cleaner and more “lime and creosol”-ated than
when we entered it.
The water arrangements had also been revolutionised, and we actually
had cookers and water-carts in the lines, but the greatest joy of all
was to go bathing again. The weather was not nearly so hot, and the
flies which had tortured us in their myriads during the hot weather
were now nothing like so numerous, which made it possible to enjoy
what food we had.
Rumour as to our future movements meantime was rife. Lord Kitchener
had come and gone, and all sorts of stories came from the beach. It
was not till 26th November that we knew definitely that evacuation had
been decided on, and that we had to make arrangements to get rid of
all surplus kit and all our “lame ducks.”
Meantime, we were busy improving our trenches and digging South Lane
and Peyton Avenue communication trenches, and generally making
ourselves more comfortable.
On 26th November we got orders to pack all surplus stores which were
dumped, along with officers’ valises, ready to be taken off that night
by the Sikh muleteers. We parted with great reluctance from our
tarpaulins and cart covers which provided the only shelters we had,
but that night even they would have been of little use. At five
o’clock the downpour started, accompanied by thunder and lightning,
such as you only can see in the tropics. Thunder-clap merged into
thunder-clap, each one noisier than the last—sheet lightning lit up
the sky, north, south, and east at the same time—and the rain came
down in torrents. It was a wonderful and awful sight. Trenches and
dug-outs were quite uninhabitable and a foot deep in water.
Fortunately by this time it was dark, so we climbed out of the
trenches and prepared to spend the night on the top, where the water
was only lying in places. Then came down the water from the hills. The
Azmac Dere came down in spate, washing away the Turkish and the
Highland barricades, carrying horses, mules, and men, dead and alive,
down with it. Peyton Avenue and South Lane were culs-de-sac and soon
filled, and the overflow flooded our trenches. The 2nd Lovat Scouts
were completely washed out, and had to retire and dig in down near the
beach. By this time the rain had stopped, and by next morning we saw
the water subsiding gradually. Fortunately it was a misty morning, and
we could wander about on top, though we did have one or two shrapnel
bursts over us. We then discovered that our valises and stores were
still floating in the water-cart emplacement—the Sikhs having turned
tail when the storm broke. It was six weeks later when we opened our
valises.
We had hoped the relief would have been cancelled, but not so, and at
5 P.M. we started off for the front line. The Turks evidently
anticipated something of the sort, and their rifle fire soon forced us
to take to the communication trenches. North Lane was not too bad.
There was 18 inches of water, but the bottom was gravelly and the
going not too bad. Where this trench struck the old support line we
found guides awaiting us who took us past Willow Tree Well through
the most awful trenches-too narrow for a heavily ladened man, greasy
and slippery, and full of holes which took us up to the waist in
water. Some idea of the going may be gathered from the fact that the
journey of less than two miles took upwards of five hours to
accomplish. And then our troubles weren’t over. The firebays we found
crammed with the infantry we were relieving—a helpless, hopeless
mob—and it wasn’t till midnight that we had the place to ourselves.
A Squadron (Major de Pree) held from the Azmac Dere to Fort Conan, and
B Squadron (Major J. Younger) from Fort Conan to the old road leading
to Anafarta, C Squadron lying in support. We could only man every
second or third bay lightly, and our left flank was in the air—the
159th Brigade on our left, being about 120 yards away. Lovats were in,
and to the south of, the Dere.
Movement in the trenches to promote circulation was impossible—one
was exhausted long before one felt any life in one’s limbs, and to add
to our troubles snow fell during the night, and it turned bitterly
cold. Next day was even more bitterly cold with snow and rain, and a
lot of men had to go down the line sick with trench feet and
exhaustion, many of them suffering from jaundice and diarrhoea as
well. The area was again very heavily shelled with shrapnel, and we
suffered a few casualties. By night time everything was covered with
snow, but what really put the lid on was a sudden blizzard about 2
A.M. with ever so many degrees of frost. Everything one had on was of
course soaking wet and covered with mud, and this was now frozen stiff
by the frost. Most of the rifles were out of action, and even the
water in the machine guns froze. However, daylight put new heart in
us, and we made good progress in improving the trenches, getting
rifles once more in working order, and generally tidying up and making
things as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. That night
about six or eight Turks crawled up the sunken road on our extreme
left flank and caused quite an excitement, but finding the trenches
still manned retired hastily. Unfortunately the message that they had
retired miscarried, and headquarters stood to impatiently for about an
hour.
Gradually the weather improved and the sun came out, and we managed to
drain off more and more of the water from the communication trenches.
But the damage had already been done—the wet followed by the cold and
intense frost brought on trench fever in an acute and terrible form.
One poor fellow had died of exhaustion and 142 left the Regiment in
two days, some few never to recover and others to be maimed for life.
In the week following the storm 7 officers, including Major Younger
and Captain Tuke, R.A.M.C., and 221 other ranks were admitted to
hospital through sickness. Owing to the washing away of the Highland
barricade, three men, bringing water up the Azmac Dere, foolishly
missed our trenches and wandered into the Turkish lines.
By this time our numbers were so reduced that C Squadron was brought
up from the support line and divided between A Squadron (Major de
Pree) and B Squadron (Captain D.D. Ogilvie). A troop of Lovats and a
section of machine gunners were in support to us. Later we were all
amalgamated into one squadron under Major de Pree, 8 officers and 103
other ranks, the entire strength of the Regiment, including
headquarters, being only 13 officers and 190 other ranks.
From the beginning of December we began gradually to send off parties
of men to Mudros with surplus kit and stores. On 9th December we were
relieved by the 2nd Scottish Horse and moved back into the support
trenches, from which we sent a party back to the front line who
reported very little firing from the Turks but that they seemed to be
suffering from bad colds. Embarkation orders by Major-General W.R.
Marshall were read to all ranks and we prepared to go. Three officers
and 27 other ranks took over part of 1st Lovats’ line and formed our
rear-guard, and at six o’clock on the evening of 19th December the
Regiment paraded for the last time on Gallipoli and marched to C
Beach, via Peyton Avenue and Anzac Road. The perfect weather of the
last three or four days still held; a full moon slightly obscured by
mist, a calm sea and no shelling made the evacuation a complete
success. The remains of the Regiment embarked on the _Snaefels_ and
sailed for Imbros, where they were joined by Captain D.D. Ogilvie, who
had been acting M.L.O. for the evacuation and left by the last
lighter. A four-mile march to camp and a hot meal, and our troubles
were over.
The complete success of the evacuation caused quite a stir at home.
From Suvla alone 44,000 men, 90 guns of all calibre, including one
anti-aircraft gun, 3000 mules, 400 horses, 30 donkeys, 1800 carts, and
4000 to 5000 cartloads of stores had to be embarked—and only by night
too, as of course the beaches and bay were visible by day from the
Turkish lines. To deceive the Turks, men were actually embarked by
night and disembarked by daylight to represent reinforcements, and the
Sikh muleteers drove furiously all day chiefly to make the dust fly.
On the last night about 12,000 men were embarked from A and C beaches,
and everything had been so well managed that there was never a hitch
of any kind. Needless to say each party arrived at the point where the
M.L.O. were to meet them well up to time and were conducted straight
on to the “beetles.”
We were, of course, exceedingly lucky in the weather and in the lack
of initiative on the part of the Turks. The Higher Command counted on
50 per cent, casualties but actually, on the last night, only two men
were wounded on the way down to the beach—8 old guns, rendered
useless, were left behind at Anzac, 250 cases of Sunlight soap, a few
Indian carts minus their wheels, and one or two hospital tents were
left as a present for “Johnnie,” and that was about all. The A.S.C.
set fire to everything they could not take away, and a fine bonfire it
made. The morning we left the wind rose, the sea became choppy, the
Turks attacked in great style, bombarding the beaches very heavily,
smashing the piers and nearly wiping Lala Baba off the map.
On 23rd December we left our camp and tried to board the _Prince
Abbas_, but the storm was too strong and we had to land again.
However, we got off next day, reached Mudros Harbour, and changed on
to the _Scotian_ on Christmas Day. None of us will forget the kindness
with which we were received on the _Scotian_, and the arrival of a
huge mail _and_ plum puddings completed our joy. We left on Boxing Day
and got to Alexandria on the 28th, where we at once disembarked and
went to camp at Sidi Bishr.
Of the 32 officers and 617 other ranks who sailed from Alexandria on
the 20th September, 8 officers and 107 other ranks returned on 28th
December—each squadron on 20th September was 6 officers and 136 other
ranks strong, the composite squadron on 28th December was 4 officers
and 61 other ranks. On 9th December the strength of the Highland
Mounted Brigade was 39 officers and 854 other ranks—the 2nd Mounted
Division only 2200 all ranks.
In addition to the C.O., Lieut.-Colonel A. Mitchell, we had lost
through sickness alone two squadron leaders (Majors J. Younger and
R.S. Nairn), the Adjutant (Lieutenant H.S. Sharp) and his successor
(Captain G.E.B. Osborne), the Quartermaster (Lieutenant W. Ricketts),
and the M.O. (Captain Tuke, R.A.M.C.), the R.Q.M.S. and all the
S.S.M., and S.Q.M.S., in all 18 officers and 339 other ranks. The
Brigade was commanded by Lieut.-Colonel A. Stirling of Lovat’s Scouts,
Lord Lovat having left through sickness; the Regiment by Major J.
Gilmour. Fortunately a good many of these, after a brief stay in
hospital in Egypt or at Malta, were able to rejoin us later on.