Gurkhas of the 29th Indian Infantry Brigade pressed up the slopes
of Sari Bair, crowned the heights of the col between Chunuk Bair
and Hill Q, viewed far beneath them the waters of the Hellespont,
viewed the Asiatic shores along which motor transport was bringing
supplies to the lighters. But the fortune of war was against us. At
this supreme moment Baldwin’s column was still a long way from our
trenches on the crest. And instead of Baldwin’s support came suddenly
a salvo of heavy shells.
The Turkish commander saw his chance; and the South Lancashires and
Gurkhas, who had seen the promised land, were forced backwards over
the crest.
That evening from Chunuk Bair the line ran down to the Farm and
almost due north to the Asma Dere southern watershed, whence it
continued westward to the sea near Asmak Kuyu. On the right the
Australian Division was still holding its line and Lone Pine was
still being furiously attacked. The 1st Australian Brigade was now
reduced from 2,900 to 1,000, and the total casualties up to 8 P.M.
on the 9th amounted to about 8,500. But the troops were still in
extraordinarily good heart.
[Sidenote: A great Turkish Attack]
During the night of the 9th-10th the New Zealand and New Army troops
on Chunuk Bair were relieved. For three days and three nights they
had been ceaselessly fighting. They were half dead with fatigue.
Their lines of communication, started from sea level, ran across
trackless ridges and ravines to an altitude of 800 ft., and were
exposed all the way to snipers’ fire and artillery bombardment. It
had become imperative, therefore, to get them enough food, water, and
rest; and for this purpose it was imperative also to withdraw them.
Chunuk Bair, which they had so magnificently held, was now handed
over to two battalions of the 13th Division.
[Illustration: ANZAC
_Facsimile of a beautiful example of Map Drawing by Pte. R. T.
GOULDING, N.Z. Inf._]
At daybreak on Tuesday, August 10, the Turks delivered a grand attack
from the line Chunuk Bair—Hill Q against these two battalions,
already weakened in numbers, though not in spirit, by previous
fighting. First our men were shelled by every enemy gun, and then,
at 5.30 A.M., were assaulted by a huge column, consisting of no less
than a full division plus a regiment of three battalions. The North
Lancashire men were simply overwhelmed in their shallow trenches by
sheer weight of numbers, whilst the Wilts, who were caught out in the
open, were literally almost annihilated. The ponderous mass of the
enemy swept over the crest.
Now it was our turn. The warships and the New Zealand and Australian
Artillery, the Indian Mounted Artillery Brigade, and the 69th Brigade
Royal Field Artillery were getting the chance of a lifetime. As the
successive solid lines of Turks topped the crest of the ridge gaps
were torn through their formation. They became exposed not only to
the full blast of the guns, but also to a battery of ten machine-guns
belonging to the New Zealand Infantry Brigade, which played upon
their serried ranks at close range until the barrels were red-hot.
Enormous losses were inflicted, especially by these ten machine-guns;
and of the swarms which had once fairly crossed the crest line only
the merest handful ever straggled back to their own side of Chunuk
Bair.
At this same time strong forces of the enemy were hurled against
the Farm, where there arose a conflict so deadly that it may be
considered as the climax of the four days’ fighting for the ridge.
Portions of our line were pierced and the troops driven clean down
the hill. At the foot of the hill the men were rallied by Staff
Captain Street, who was there supervising the transport of food and
water. Without a word, unhesitatingly, they followed him back to
the Farm, where they plunged again into the midst of that series of
struggles in which generals fought in the ranks and men dropped their
scientific weapons and caught one another by the throat.
By 10 A.M. the effort of the enemy was spent. Soon their shattered
remnants began to trickle back, and by night, except prisoners or
wounded, no live Turk was left upon our side of the slope.
[Sidenote: End of the Battle of Sari Bair]
By evening the total casualties of General Birdwood’s force had
reached 12,000, and included a very large proportion of officers. The
13th Division of the New Army, under Major-General Shaw, had alone
lost 6,000 out of a grand total of 10,500. Baldwin was gone, and all
his staff. Ten commanding officers out of thirteen had disappeared
from the fighting effectives. The Warwicks and the Worcesters had
lost literally every single officer.
But physically, though Birdwood’s forces were prepared to hold all
they had got, they were now too exhausted to attack—at least until
they had rested and reorganised.
The enemy’s positions were now being rapidly entrenched, and, as I
could not depend on receiving reinforcing drafts, I was faced with
the danger that if I could not drive the Turks back I might lose so
many men that I would find myself unable to hold the very extensive
new area of ground which had been gained. I therefore decided to
mass every available man against Ismail Oglu Tepe, a _sine qua non_
to my plans whether as a first step towards clearing the valley, or,
if this proved impossible, towards securing Suvla Bay and Anzac Cove
from shell fire.
The same day, a force consisting of two battalions of New Zealand
Mounted Rifles, two battalions of the 29th Irish Brigade, the
4th South Wales Borderers, and 29th Indian Infantry Brigade, the
whole under the command of Major-General H. V. Cox, was working
independently to support the main attack.
[Sidenote: Hill 60: First Assault]
General Cox divided his force into three sections; the left section
to press forward and establish a permanent hold on the existing
lightly-held outpost line covering the junction of the 11th Division
with the Anzac front; the centre section to seize the well at Kabak
Kuyu, an asset of utmost value, whether to ourselves or the enemy;
the right section to attack and capture the Turkish trenches on the
north-east side of the Kaiajik Aghala.
The advance of the left section was a success; after a brisk
engagement the well at Kabak Kuyu was seized by the Indian Brigade,
and, by 4.30, the right column, under Brigadier-General Russell,
under heavy fire, effected a lodgment on the Kaiajik Aghala, where
our men entrenched and began to dig communications across the Kaiajik
Dere towards the lines of the 4th Australian Brigade south of the
Dere. A pretty stiff bomb fight ensued, in which General Russell’s
troops held their own through the night against superior force. At 6
A.M. on the morning of August 22, General Russell, reinforced by the
newly-arrived 18th Australian Battalion, attacked the summit of the
Kaiajik Aghala. The Australians carried 150 yards of the trenches,
losing heavily in so doing, and were then forced to fall back again
owing to enfilade fire, though in the meantime the New Zealand
Mounted Rifles managed, in spite of constant counter-attacks, to make
good another 80 yards.
A counter-attack in strength launched by the Turks at 10 A.M. was
repulsed; the new line from the Kaiajik Aghala to Susuk Kuyu was
gradually strengthened, and eventually joined on to the right of the
9th Army Corps, thereby materially improving the whole situation.
During this action the 4th Australian Brigade, which remained facing
the Turks on the upper part of the Kaiajik Aghala, was able to
inflict several hundred casualties on the enemy as they retreated or
endeavoured to reinforce.
The last days of the month were illumined by a brilliant affair
carried through by the troops under General Birdwood’s command. Our
object was to complete the capture of Hill 60 north of the Kaiajik
Aghala, commenced by Major-General Cox on August 21. Hill 60
overlooked the Biyuk Anafarta valley, and was therefore tactically a
very important feature.
[Sidenote: Second Assault]
The conduct of the attack was again entrusted to Major-General
Cox, at whose disposal were placed detachments from the 4th and
5th Australian Brigades, the New Zealand Mounted Rifles Brigade,
and the 5th Connaught Rangers. The advance was timed to take place
at 5 P.M. on August 27, after the heaviest artillery bombardment
we could afford. This bombardment seemed effective; but the moment
the assailants broke cover they were greeted by an exceedingly hot
fire from the enemy field guns, rifles and machine-guns, followed
after a brief interval by a shower of heavy shell, some of which,
most happily, pitched into the trenches of the Turks. On the right
the detachment from the 4th and 5th Australian Brigades could make
no headway against a battery of machine-guns which confronted them.
In the centre the New Zealanders made a most determined onslaught,
and carried one side of the topmost knoll. Hand-to-hand fighting
continued here till 9.30 P.M., when it was reported that nine-tenths
of the summit had been gained.
On the left the 250 men of the 5th Connaught Rangers excited the
admiration of all beholders by the swiftness and cohesion of their
charge. In five minutes they had carried their objective, the
northern Turkish communications, when they at once set to and began
a lively bomb fight along the trenches against strong parties which
came hurrying up from the enemy supports and afterwards from their
reserves. At midnight fresh troops were to have strengthened our
grip upon the hill, but before that hour the Irishmen had been
out-bombed, and the 9th Australian Light Horse, who had made a most
plucky attempt to recapture the lost communication trench, had
been repulsed. Luckily, the New Zealand Mounted Rifles refused to
recognise that they were worsted. Nothing would shift them. All that
night and all next day, through bombing, bayonet charges, musketry,
shrapnel, and heavy shell, they hung on to their 150 yards of
trench. At 1 A.M. on August 29, the 10th Light Horse made another
attack on the lost communication trenches to the left, carried
them, and finally held them. This gave us complete command of the
underfeature, an outlook over the Anafarta Sagir valley, and safer
lateral communications between Anzac and Suvla Bay.
[Illustration: Bombing Practice in Shrapnel Valley]
[Illustration: In the Trenches
A sniper with a periscope rifle and an observer with a periscope
_Official photographs by E. BROOKES, circulated on behalf of the
Press Bureau; supplied by Central News_]
[Illustration: AUSTRALIAN GUNNERS
_Photograph by courtesy of “Daily Mirror”_]
Three Turkish machine-guns and forty-six prisoners were taken, as
well as three trench mortars, 300 Turkish rifles, 60,000 rounds of
ammunition, and 500 bombs. Four hundred acres were added to the
territories of Anzac.
And now, before affixing to this dispatch my final signature as
Commander-in-Chief of the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force, let
me first pay tribute to the everlasting memory of my dear comrades
who will return no more. Next, let me thank each and all, Generals,
Staff, Regimental Leaders, and rank and file, for their wonderful
loyalty, patience, and self-sacrifice.
So I bid them all farewell with a special God-speed to the
campaigners who have served with me right through from the terrible
yet most glorious earlier days—the incomparable 29th Division; the
young veterans of the Naval Division; the ever-victorious Australians
and New Zealanders; the stout East Lancs, and my own brave
fellow-countrymen of the Lowland Division of Scotland.
IAN HAMILTON,
General, Commander-in-Chief
Mediterranean Expeditionary Force.
ANZACS
_The children unborn shall acclaim
The standard the Anzacs unfurled,
When they made Australasia’s fame
The wonder and pride of the world._
Some of you got a V.C.,
Some “the Gallipoli trot,”
Some had a grave by the sea,
And all of you got it damned hot,
And I see you go limping through town
In the faded old hospital blue,
And driving abroad—lying down,
And Lord! but I wish I were you!
I envy you beggars I meet,
From the dirty old hats on your head
To the rusty old boots on your feet—
I envy you living or dead.
A knighthood is fine in its way,
A peerage gives splendour and fame,
But I’d rather have tacked any day
That word to the end of my name.
I’d count it the greatest reward
That ever a man could attain;
I’d sooner be “Anzac” than “lord,”
I’d rather be “Anzac” than “thane.”
Here’s a bar to the medal you’ll wear,
There’s a word that will glitter and glow,
And an honour a king cannot share
When you’re back in the cities you know.
_The children unborn shall acclaim
The standard the Anzacs unfurled,
When they made Australasia’s fame
The wonder and pride of the world._
EDGAR WALLACE.
TO MY BATH
This lyric may be bad, O Muse,
But do not press on me too hard;
In times of war you must excuse
Somewhat your bard.
A dug-out where I have to bend
My back, and even lodge my knees
Against the roof, would suit our friend
Diogenes—
But hardly seems a meet abode
For any would-be laureate
Who’ll sing, ad lib., an epic—ode—
Or hymn of hate.
Consider my attempt to write
Iambic tetrametric lines
As influenced by gelignite
And bombs—and mines.
No high falutin’ stilted phrase,
No feeble tribute of a “sub.,”
Can ever adequately praise
Thee, dearest Tub.
Perchance I’m sun-scorched: then I sigh
To hear thy crystal waters lap
And trickle o’er my toes when I
Turn on the tap.
If blizzards fresh from Samothrace
Are mingling with December snows,
When icicles in clusters grace
“My youthful hose
A world too wide for my shrunk shanks”——
Then I, nostalgia stricken, dream,
And see thy white enamelled banks
Through clouds of steam.
Just as when corybantic drakes
(Or ducks, just as the case may be),
With clamorous quack, seek limpid lakes,
So seek I thee.
But _baths_ are not our rations in
Gallipoli. ’Tis too far south—
“The _bubble_ reputation’s in
The cannon’s mouth.”
H. H. U.,
Northamptonshire Regt.
ANZAC LIMERICKS
There’s a certain darned nuisance called “Beachy,”
Whose shells are exceedingly screechy;
But we’re keeping the score,
And we’re after your gore—
So look out, “Beachy Bill,” when we meet ye.
They’ve given us all respirators,
And we’ve bundles of ancient _Spectators_;
But we’d give up the two
For a good oyster stew,
Or a dixie of chipped pertaters.
C. D. MC.
[Illustration: THE NEW STAR
_Drawn by TED COLLES, after F. J. Leigh_]
[Illustration: Turkish Divisional Orders (some time in July): “The
Australian and New Zealand Army Corps is approaching the limits
of its resources. Most of the men have no clothing at all, except
trousers, and even these are now being cut into pieces, so that one
pair of trousers is sufficient for four men.”]
[Illustration: How I Won THE V.C.
(_The sort of thing we must expect to hear after the War is ended_)]
Yes, that’s the red ribbon I’m wearing—
Just a small strip of scarlet, you see,
But there’s no one can tell how I prize it
Nor the glow it occasions to me.
For it speaks of the broad fields of honour
Which we wrung from the red jaws of hell—
And my eyes grow bedimmed for the cobbers[13]
Who battled and conquered and fell.
Yes, that’s the V.C. How I won it,
It isn’t for _me_ to relate.
(We heroes are always so modest,
And boasting’s a thing that I hate.)
Well—seeing you write for the papers,
I’ll make an exception of you;
Don’t mention _my_ name if you write it,
Tho’ every partic’lar is true.
It was during a fight for an outpost—
It was called the Green Knoll, I believe—
And the Turks on the top dealt out slaughter:
They’d a week of defeat to retrieve.
It was five thousand feet to the summit,
And almost as steep as a wall;
And they met every charge as we rushed it
With bayonet, shrapnel, and ball.
’Twas defended by nine tiers of trenches
(That’s strong for an outpost, you’ll guess),
With twelve 42 centimetres,
Which kicked up the deuce of a mess.
We’d been fighting five days without resting,
When the eighth line of trenches we took;
For ev’ry man there was a hero—
From me to the company’s cook.
And there was the knoll just before us—
Some two hundred paces or more;
With barb-wire and bayonets bristling,
And the parapets sloppy with gore.
And the howitzers roared like perdition
And vomited fire and death;
Till we saw it was madness to charge them,
And halted a moment for breath.
Ah, stranger, imagine the picture,
And then stand with horror aghast—
_We had fought for a month without sleeping,
And we stood facing failure at last!_
We had squandered the best of our Army,
We had “stuck” to our ultimate gasp;
And there, in the moment of triumph,
The prize was to slip from our grasp.
Then suddenly out sprang the Major,
His face lighted over with bliss—
“Pass the word there for Lance-Private Wilson;
_He_’ll find us a way out of this!”
(If there’s one thing I hate, it is skiting,[14]
When I hear it I always feel sore,
So you won’t think I boast when I tell you
He ought to have done it before!)
And a great cheer arose as I faced him
And nodded (I never salute),
And said to him: “I’ll see you thro’, sir,
And win you some glory to boot.
The chaps of the 16th Battalion
Are not easy snoozers to beat;
I’ve a notion (I says) that will lick them—
’Arf a dollar I line them a treat!
“I don’t want no red-tapey orders,
And I don’t want no kudos nor pelf;
You get back to your own little dug-outs,
And I’ll tackle the knoll _by myself_!
I’ll lay down my life for my country,
For old England, the land of the free;
And you’ll find that the bloke called Horatius
Was only a trifle to me!”
Then I shook hands with all the battalion
(There were only thirteen of us left),
And they cheered me again till the foemen
Must have thought us of senses bereft.
And I gathered my arms and my rations,
And girded myself for the fray—
If I live to be ninety or over,
I will always remember that day!
I had five hundred rounds for my rifle,
And of hand bombs I took forty-one;
A machine-gun was slung to my shoulders,
And I carried a periscope gun.
As for rations—well, all I took with me
Was a tin of Fray Bentos[15] or two,
And in my breast pocket I planted
A nice Army biscuit to chew.
Then I waved a farewell to my cobbers—
I was too much affected to speak;
There are times when the bravest of soldiers
Have feelings that render them weak.
One tear—then I turned to the trenches,
And charged like a lion at bay
As I caught the last words of our Colonel,
Crying: “Bonzer[16] ... Gorstrafem ... Hooray!”
You talk of charmed lives—I’d a thousand;
As I rushed up that hill like a goat
I got thirty-two shots thro’ my trousers
And nine shrapnel balls thro’ my coat;
And a Japanese bomb burst beneath me
—For a moment I gave up all hope,
But it proved the best thing that could happen,
_For it pushed me half-way up the slope_.
Then a fifteen-inch shell came straight at me
—I hadn’t a moment to shirk—
But it struck on that hard Army biscuit
And rebounded—and blew up a Turk!
You doubt it? Well, if you want proof, sir,
The truth of this tale to endorse,
Here’s the biscuit—that dent in the middle
Is where the shell struck it, of course!
Ah, yes, ’twas a terrible moment;
I was then slightly wounded, ’tis true—
Just a bayonet stab in the gizzard
And a crack from a bullet or two.
But I gathered new strength for the conflict,
And, just as the darkness came down,
I was under their parapets, resting,
And I knew I had beaten them brown!
For this was the scheme I had worked on,
’Twas a little bit mean, you may say—
But I knew that the Turks were half-famished,
And fought on one biscuit a day;
And the tins of Fray Bentos I carried,
I chucked in the trench then and there;
And I heard the poor beggars pounce on it,
And I knew they were caught in the snare!
* * * * *
The morning broke, smiling and peaceful—
Ah, shame that we soldiers must fight—
’Twas a piteous scene met my vision
With the first rosy quivers of light.
When I peeped in the trench, not a Turk, sir,
Was left of that legion accurst—
For they’d whacked the Fray Bentos among them,
_And each man had perished from thirst_.
That’s the yarn. If you know the 16th, sir,
You’ll know how our Colonel can smile.
He said to me: “_Corporal_ Wilson,
You’ve dished up the beggars in style.”
Promotion! Some say I deserve it,
But _that’s_ really nothing to me;
I don’t want no honour or glory,
But—that’s how I won the V.C.
“CROSSCUT,” 16th Battalion, A.I.F.
FOOTNOTES:
[13] Cobber is Australian for a tried and trusted friend.
[14] Skiting—Australian for “swanking” in speech.
“Skite”—blatherskite.
[15] Fray Bentos is a brand of tinned meat.
[16] Bonzer—Australian for “excellent.”
ICY
Nobody seemed to know much about him except that he was generally
considered by all those who knew of him in the squadron to be a
“cold-foot,” and his nickname was appropriately “Icy.” Not that
the others had any particular cause to call him that, but whenever
“Beachy Bill” came screeching overhead he would involuntarily duck
and then smile in that peculiar manner of his as much as to say, “I
can’t help it!” Beachy wasn’t his worst enemy, though, for if there
was anything that he dreaded it was those Turkish “75’s.”[17] It used
to make us feel as if we could shake him when we saw how he would
double himself up. And yet one never liked to attempt anything of the
kind whenever he used that smile. Moreover, as he was over six feet
in height and correspondingly strong, it would not have been politic.
His was a baffling smile, recalling the peculiar smile of the “Monna
Lisa,” and, like it, unfathomable. He was a very quiet kind of chap,
and when it was his turn to do fatigues, he would go and perform
whatever was required of him without ever grumbling. His mates used
to take a mean advantage of his good nature, and would shunt all the
work, such as sweeping out the “possie,” or trenches, on to him.
About the time of which I am writing we had noticed that Abdul was
sapping somewhere down the gully. Sometimes we could distinguish dark
shapes moving about, and no amount of sniping on our part would stop
them. They worked only during the night, and each morning we found
that the pile of new earth down the gully had grown higher. At last
we understood his plan—and it came to our turn to make a counter move.
One evening I was told off among others to go out and dig a new
trench in front of Abdul’s new sap. We had to block him from getting
to a certain place on the little ridge which hitherto had been in
“No-Man’s Land.” I noticed that Icy had also been told off, but he
was to be one of the covering party. All that night we worked hard,
digging ourselves in and filling sandbags which we threw up in front
of us. At first we were undisturbed, but suddenly the bullets began
to ping-ping over our heads, and we knew that Abdul had tumbled.
Still, as he was himself intent on digging he did not come out at us,
but contented himself by sniping, thinking to drive us off in that
way. However, it was a bit late in the day for that; since by the
time he found us out we had already several good sandbags filled, and
these protected us as long as we kept well down.
Several of our chaps were winged, but as none of the wounds was
very serious we didn’t mind that. When it had struck five in the
morning we knocked off and retired to sleep away the day. Half a
dozen bomb-throwers who had volunteered for the job then took our
places, bringing with them a few bombs, their rifles, ammunition,
water bottles, and a supply of bully beef and biscuits. There they
spent the whole day, lying low under cover of the sandbags. But Abdul
troubled them not! Next night we went out again to resume work, and
then it was that certain things happened which made us look upon Icy
in a different light.
We had no sooner started work than _ra-ta-ta-ta-ta_ went a
machine-gun somewhere out to the left, and the bullets came pinging
round hot and close, winging three and killing two on the first
discharge.
John Turk had stolen a march on us by placing a machine-gun away out
on his extreme flank where he could to a certain extent enfilade us.
That sort of thing could not be allowed to last, as we had to bury
our noses in the ground each time the confounded gun opened up. Our
covering party, being out ahead of us, escaped the hail of bullets
better than we did. The place was now becoming too hot to stay in, so
the order came along to retire independently to our trenches, until
something could be done to stop the machine-gun.