THE LIMIT
In the balmy days of late October it was still possible to enjoy life on
Gallipoli. The ceaseless vigil of the trenches was cheered by contact
with the bravest men I have known. The dirt and drudgery of rest
bivouacs were assuaged by bathing, and by jolly "missing word
competitions" and "sing-songs," as well as our courses of lectures and
discussions on history, politics, the War, and the England to arise
after the War.
Talk gravitated again and again to the tragedy of the 4th June. I have a
record of one such symposium, that illuminates the infinite variety of
human nature. "Franklin says that he and Staveacre could see in the far
forefront of the battle Sergeant Marvin engage four Turks simultaneously
with his bayonet till shot dead. But X. boggled at going over the
parapet. He was told: 'You are a disgrace to the Manchester Regiment.'
He replied: 'I shall never let that be said of me,' rose to climb over,
and was blown to bits by a shell. Whitley carried a badly wounded man a
long way under fire. Creery did splendidly." It may be added that
Whitley's act was afterwards recognised by an award of the Military
Cross. He became Staff Captain at Ismailia. W.F. Creery joined the
Connaught Rangers and was mentioned in dispatches.
Another hero of the men's reminiscences was Captain A.H. Tinker. One
night during the first month of the campaign a working party had lost
itself on the moor. It was so dark that they ran great risk of straying
into the enemy's lines--a fate that befell a number of our men at this
period in that broken country. In spite of the proximity of the Turks,
Tinker left the trenches and boldly sought the men himself, calling out
loudly for them. They heard him and made their way back.
The days of initiative and enterprise had, however, passed. The wind and
grit gave the strongest of us sore throats and high temperatures, and I
gradually joined the crowded ranks of sick men "on light duty only." At
the beginning of November we moved to the northern extremity of the
Allies' line across the Peninsula, and here I saw the last phase of our
warfare on Gallipoli. Sir Ian Hamilton had gone. All ideas of a renewed
offensive had disappeared. After the 24th October the Turks enjoyed
direct communication with Germany, and at Cape Helles there was no sign
of revived strategy or rejuvenated tactics. Our work was simply to carry
on and hold out. Some of the other Divisions took steps to guard their
men against the menace of a "Crimean winter" by preparing sheltered
quarters. Great flights of geese used to fly in V-shaped formations high
over our heads on their way from Russia to Egypt. They were augurs of
our own eventual migration.
The new position of the Battalion was on Fusilier Bluff, a mile to the
west of the ruins of Krithia. The left ran straight down to the sea,
where monitors used to shell the enemy's positions, while destroyers
watched the flank, and at night played flashlights on the ravine that
divided us from the next bluff, where the Turks were entrenched. This
ground had been won in the brilliant British advance of the 28th June.
The Turkish line was close to ours, and our men were always on the
strain. Incidents were common. On the 2nd November a Turk crawled along
the beach with a white flag, and surrendered. At night the Turks built
up in front of their parapet, and two were shot by Sergeant Stanton. One
of our men was killed and two were wounded. On the 3rd, another man was
killed by a bomb, while the daily drain of sickness went on unabated.
General Elliott, at this period our Brigadier, was an energetic pioneer
of new methods and more vigorous tactics. He had the Mule Saps improved.
Even, however, in the secluded Headquarters at Bruce's Ravine I could
not keep my health, and Hummel's art was unavailing.
The average soldier on Gallipoli broke down after a month or two.
Comparatively few endured more than three months. Of our officers only
Scott (the Quartermaster) and Fawcus were on the Peninsula from start to
finish, though Colonel Canning, Higham and Chadwick had almost as fine
a record. Few of the sick came back to Turkey.
Some, like my first batman Dinsdale, died in hospital at Alexandria or
in Malta. Many went to England and passed into other units. Others
rejoined later in Egypt. Somehow, in peace times we had never imagined
that the Battalion could be so dispersed and broken.
My departure from Gallipoli is perhaps worth a description. Would that
the wounded heroes of the landing could have received a hundredth part
of the same care!
I left Border Ravine at six in the evening of the 5th November 1915,
with a high temperature, and feeling very ill. I walked down to the 1st
Field Ambulance Dressing Station in "Y" Ravine, where Captain
Fitzgerald, R.A.M.C., directed me on to the base of that Ambulance in
Gully Ravine. Here my servant, Hawkins, left me, and two medical
orderlies carried my traps. Alas, I left behind me a much-prized Turkish
copper basin and bayonet, spoils of war, which I never saw again. We
walked two miles along the rough and dusky beach, a full tide washing
over our feet and throwing many dead mules high upon the pebbles. At the
station I got a cup of hot milk, and spent the night on a stretcher.
Next morning my case was diagnosed as one of fever and swollen glands,
by Captain John Morley, R.A.M.C., most brilliant of surgeons, and at ten
o'clock (cherishing a label marked "Base") I was swirled off in a motor
ambulance to No. 17 Stationary Hospital above the beach known as
Lancashire Landing since its glorious capture by the Lancashire
Fusiliers on the 25th April. At 4.15 in the afternoon we motored off
once more and boarded a steam launch, whence we transshipped to an
uncomfortable lighter. At 6.30, in the dark, we were lifted by a crane
into the P. & O. hospital ship _Delta_, where 500 sick and wounded were
being collected. Dinner consisted of bread and milk only for many of us,
but we revelled in the luxury of bed and bath. Next morning I sat on the
sunny side of the deck. The shady side, chilly in the November air,
looked out upon Cape Helles, with Achi Baba rising straight behind it,
and to the left upon the grey succession of landing-places, enshrined in
so many English hearts.
We sailed the next morning, and thus avoided the misery of the great
November blizzard on the Peninsula.
The Division remained on the Peninsula until the 29th December.
Dysentery abated and the flies vanished, but gale and storm carried on
the strain, and frostbite was added to the men's trials. The Turks seem
to have much increased their supply of munitions, and the loss of life
continued day by day. "Asiatic Annie" and other guns across the straits
showed renewed activity. A mine explosion on the 4th December killed one
of our men and injured eight. Two popular privates, Hancock and Lee,
were killed on Christmas Day. One singular innovation was the Turkish
practice of shooting steel-headed darts from their aeroplanes. Their
chance of striking any man was, luckily, very small.
Nothing daunted the spirit of East Lancashire. Our men held concerts to
the very last, and the football eleven survived three rounds of an Army
Corps competition, losing their tie in the fourth round on a field in
which shells burst repeatedly to the discomfort of the players. Captains
J.F. Farrow, F. Hayes and E. Townson returned to strengthen the small
band of officers, while R.J.R. Baker, who had been intercepted on his
way out and sent to Suvla Bay, was released for service with us.