the same thing: that we took prisoners and treated them well; that
the essential quarrel was between us and the Germans and not between
England and the Turks; that the Turks had been our friends in the
Crimea; and I ended by quoting the Turkish proverb “Eski dost dushman
olmaz” (An old friend cannot be an enemy). These speeches probably
caused more excitement amongst our men than in the ranks of the Turks,
though the Constantinople Press declared that a low attempt to copy
the muezzin’s call to prayer had been made from our lines. There were
many pictures drawn of the speech-maker and the shower of hand-grenades
that answered his kindly words. It must be admitted that there was
some reason for these caricatures. Upon this first occasion nothing
very much happened--to me, at any rate. Our lines were very close to
the Turkish lines, and I was able to speak clearly with and without a
megaphone, and the Turks were good enough to show some interest, and in
that neighbourhood to keep quiet for a time. I got through my business
quickly, and went back to the beach. It was then that the consequences
of these blandishments developed, for the places from which I had
spoken were made the object of a very heavy strafe, of which I had been
the innocent cause, and for which others suffered. When I returned two
days later to make another effort at exhortation, I heard a groan go
up from the trench. “Oh, Lord, here he comes again. Now for the bally
bombs.” On the first occasion when not much had happened it had been:
“Law, I’d like to be able to do that meself.”
* * * * *
_Diary._ _Friday, May 7th._ On getting back here we had a very heavy
fire, which broke up our dinner party, wounded Jack Anderson, stung
Jack (my servant), hit me. Jack is sick.... Here are three unpleasant
possibilities:--
1. Any strong attack on the height. The Navy could not help then. We
should be too mixed in the fighting.
2. The expected blessed big guns to lollop over howitzers.
3. Disease. The Turks have dysentery already.
There is an uncanny whistling overhead. It must come from the bullets
and machine-guns or Maxims a long way off. It sounds eldritch. T. very
sick after seeing some wounded on the beach, and yet his nerves are
very good. Eastwood told me that he was sure to get through. I told
him not to say such things. He had three bullets through his tunic the
other day. I went on the _Lutzow_ to get the rest of my stuff off, and
found Colonel Ryan (“Turkish Charlie”)[5] full of awful descriptions
of operations. Many wounded on the boat, all very quiet.... Had a
drink with a sailor, the gloomiest man that ever I met. He comes from
Southampton, and thinks we cannot possibly win the war. It’s become
very cold.
* * * * *
Most of the diary of May 9th is too indiscreet for publication, but
here are some incidents of the day:--
Worsley[6] says it’s very hard to get work done on the beach; in
fact its almost impossible. It was said that the gun which had been
enfilading us was knocked out, but it is enfilading us now, and it
looks as if we shall have a pretty heavy bill to pay to-day. The beach
is holding its breath, and between the sound of the shrapnel and the
hiss there is only the noise of the waves and a few low voices....
Harrison, who was slightly wounded a few days ago, was yesterday
resting in his dugout when he was blown out of it by a shell. To-day he
was sent to the _Lutzow_, and we watched him being shelled the whole
way, his boat wriggling. It seems as if the shells know and love him.
I am glad he won’t be dining with us any more; a magnet like that is a
bore, though he is a very good fellow. The land between us and the 29th
is reported to be full of barbed wire entanglements.
_Monday, May 10th._ Raining and cold. Jack better.
Colonel Braithwaite woke me last night with the news of the sinking of
the _Lusitania_. Last night we took three trenches, but lost them again
this morning. S. B. came last night; I was glad to see him.
S. B. had been a great friend of mine in Egypt and brought me and
others letters, of which we were badly in need, and stores, which were
very welcome. We met upon the beach, and decided to celebrate the
occasion in the Intelligence dugout, for my friend had actually got
some soda and a bottle of whisky, two very rare luxuries on the beach.
* * * * *
_Diary._ We went into the Intelligence dugout and sat there. Then a
shell hit the top of the dugout. The next one buzzed a lot of bullets
in through the door. The third ricochetted all over the place and one
bullet grazed my head. I then said: “We’d better put up a blanket to
save us from the ricochets.” At the same time J. was shot next door
and Onslow’s war diary was destroyed. A pot of jam was shot in General
Cunliffe Owen’s hand, which made him very angry. V., the beachmaster,
dashed into our Intelligence dugout gasping while we held blankets in
front of him. Two days ago a man was killed in his dugout next door,
and another man again yesterday. Now two fuses had come straight
through his roof and spun like a whipping-top on the floor, dancing a
sort of sarabande before the hypnotized eyes of the sailors....
Also S. B.’s whisky was destroyed in the luncheon basket. He broke into
furious swearing in Arabic.
_Wednesday, May 12th._ Rain, mud, grease, temper all night, but we
shall long for this coolness when it really gets hot. No bombardment
this morning, but the Greek cook, Christopher of the Black Lamp, came
and gave two hours’ notice, with the rain and tears running down his
face. I am not surprised at his giving notice, but why he should
be meticulous about the time I can’t think. Conversation about the
shelling is getting very boring.
Had a picturesque walk through the dark last night, past Greeks,
Indians, Australians, across a rain-swept, wind-swept, bullet-swept
hillside. Many of the Colonels here are business men, who never in
their wildest dreams contemplated being in such a position, and they
have risen to the occasion finely. The Generals have at last been
prevailed upon not to walk about the beach in the daytime.... Two
German and one Austrian submarine expected here. The transports have
been ordered to Mudros.
_Thursday, May 13th._ Very calm morning, the echoes of rifle fire on
the sea. I went with C. to take General Russell[7] up from Reserve
Gully to Walker’s Ridge. It was a beautiful morning, with the sky
flaming softly, not a cloud anywhere, and the sea perfectly still.
The scrub was full of wild flowers; not even the dead mules could
spoil it. Guns thundered far off.... After breakfast examined an
intelligent Greek prisoner, Nikolas, the miller from Ali Kenì. Then I
was telephoned for by Colonel Monash in great haste, and went off up
his valley with a megaphone as quickly as possible. In the valley the
men were in a state of nerves along the road because of the snipers.
The Turks had put up a white flag above their trenches opposite Quinn’s
Post. I think this was an artillery flag and that they hoped to avoid
the fire of the fleet by this means.... The people at Helles aren’t
making headway, and it seems unlikely, except at tremendous cost, and
probably not then, that they will. We are pretty well hung up except
on our left; why not try there? The Turks are not yet entrenched or dug
in there as in other places.... I had to bully Yanni of Ayo Strati till
he sobbed on the cliff. I then threatened to dismiss him, after which
he grew cheerful, for it was what he wanted....
The Turks have again got white flags out. Have been ordered to go up at
dawn.
_Friday, May 14th. 4 a.m._ Walked up the valley. The crickets
were singing in the bushes at the opening of the valley and the
place was cool with the faint light of coming dawn. Then a line of
stretcher-bearers with the wounded, some quiet, some groaning. Then
came the dawn and the smell of death that infects one’s hands and
clothes and haunts one.
They weren’t over-pleased to see me at first, as after my speech the
other day they had had an awful time from hand-grenades, and their
faces fell when I appeared. I spoke from the same place. Then I went
to another, and lastly to a trench that communicated with the Turkish
trench. The Greek who had surrendered last night came down this trench
and the Turks were said to be five to ten yards off. It was partly
roofed, and there were some sandbags, between two and three feet high,
that separated us from them. Leading into this was a big circular
dugout, open to heaven. I got the men cleared out of this before
speaking. In the small trench there were two men facing the Turks and
lying on the ground with revolvers pointed at the Turks. I moved one
man back out of the way and lay on the other--there wasn’t anything
else to be done--and spoke for five minutes with some intervals. Once
a couple of hand-grenades fell outside and the ground quivered, but
that was all. I then got the guard changed....
The loss of the _Goliath_ is confirmed and the fleet has gone, leaving
a considerable blank on the horizon and a depression on the sunlit
beach. Four interpreters were arrested to-day and handed over to me.
I put them on to dig me a new dugout, round which a colony of
interpreters is growing: Kyriakidis, who is a fine man and a gentleman;
Ashjian, a young Armenian boy, aristocratic-looking, but very soft,
whom I want to send away as soon as possible; and others. My dugout is
in the middle of wild flowers, with the sea splashing round. Since the
ships have all gone we are, as a consequence, short of water.... The
Turks have been shelling our barges hard for an hour. We are to make an
attack to-night and destroy their trenches.
_Saturday, May 15th._ The attack has failed. There are many of our
wounded outside our lines. Have been told to go out with a white flag.
Was sent for by Skeen[8] to see General Birdwood in half an hour. While
Colonel Skeen and I were talking a shell hit one man in the lungs and
knocked Colonel Knox on the back without hurting him. General Birdwood
was hit yesterday in the head, but won’t lie up, General Trottman the
day before. While we talked water arrived. A message came from Colonel
Chauvel to say there were only two wounded lying out.... In a few
minutes a telephone message arrived from the doctor in the trenches
that the two wounded had died.... I came back to Headquarters, and
heard General Bridges[9] asking the General if he might go up Monash
Valley. In a few minutes we heard that he was shot in the thigh. The
snipers are getting many of our men. If the Germans were running this
show they would have had 200,000 men for it.
Last night Kyriakidis heard a nightingale. I notice that the cuckoo
has changed his note, worried by the shrapnel. I don’t blame the bird.
My new dugout is built. It has a corridor and a patio, and is sort of
Louis Quinze. The food is good, but we are always hungry.
Went out with Colonel N. He is a very great man for his luxuries, and
looks on cover as the first of these. He is very funny about shelling,
and is huffy, like a man who has received an insult, if he gets hit by
a spent bullet or covered with earth. They have got the range of our
new Headquarters beautifully--two shells before lunch, one on either
side of the kitchen range. The men and the mess table covered with dust
and stones. The fact is our ships have gone; they can now do pretty
much as they like.
Most people here agree that the position is hopeless, unless we drive
the Turks back on our left and get reinforcements from Helles, where
they could quite well spare them.
_Sunday, May 16th._ A day fit for Trojan heroes to fight on. As a
matter of fact, there is a good deal of Trojan friction. Went into the
Intelligence dugout, as five men were hit below it. They have just hit
another interpreter, and are pounding away at us again. I was warned to
go out with a flag of truce and a bugler this afternoon.
_Monday, May 17th._ I walked out to the left with S. B., and bathed in
a warm, quiet sea. Many men bathing too, and occasionally shrapnel
also. There was a scent of thyme, and also the other smell from the
graves on the beach, which are very shallow. I got a touch of the sun,
and had to lie down. When I got back I heard that Villiers Stuart had
been killed this morning, instantaneously. He was a very good fellow,
and very good to me.
_Tuesday, May 18th._ Last night Villiers Stuart was buried. The
funeral was to have been at sunset, but at that time we were savagely
shelled and had to wait. We formed up in as decent a kit as we could
muster, and after the sun had set in a storm of red, while the young
moon was rising, the procession started. We stumbled over boulders,
and met stretcher-bearers with dead and wounded, we passed Indians
driving mules, and shadowy Australians standing at attention, till we
came to the graves by the sea. The prayers were very short and good,
interrupted by the boom of our guns and the whining of Turkish bullets
overhead. His salute was fired above his head from both the trenches....
We shelled the village of Anafarta yesterday, which I don’t much care
about. A good many here want to destroy the minaret of the mosque. I
can see no difference in principle between this and the destruction of
Rheims Cathedral. Kyriakidis told me a Greek cure for sunstroke. You
fill the ears of the afflicted one with salt water; it makes a noise
like thunder in his head, but the sunstroke passes. Christo thereupon
got me salt water in a jug without telling me, and several thirsty
people tried to drink it....
A German submarine seen here.... A day of almost perfect peace; rifle
fire ceased sometimes for several minutes together, but 8-inch shells
were fired into the trenches.... Men are singing on the beach for the
first time, and there is something cheerful in the air. The enfilading
gun has been, as usual, reported to be knocked out, but gunners are
great optimists. No news from Helles.... Turkish reinforcements just
coming up. Attack expected at 3 a.m. We stand to arms here.
_Wednesday, May 19th._ Work under heavy shell fire. This grew worse
about 6.30. Several heavy shells hit within a few yards of this
dugout and the neighbouring ones, but did not burst. A little farther
off they did explode, or striking the sea, raised tall columns and
high fountains of white water. Colonel Chaytor badly wounded in the
shoulder. A great loss to us. He talked very cheerfully. I have got
leave to send away Ashjian.... This, after all, is a quarrel for those
directly concerned. The Germans have brought up about twelve more
field-guns and four or five Jack Johnsons, and the shelling is very
heavy. Saw a horrid sight: a barge full of wounded was being towed
out to the hospital ship. Two great Jack Johnsons came, one just in
front of them; then when they turned with a wriggle, one just behind
them, sending up towers of water, and leaving two great white roses in
the sea that turned muddy as the stuff from the bottom rose. They had
shells round them again, and a miraculous escape. It’s cruel hard on
the nerves of wounded men, but of course that was bad luck, not wicked
intentions, because the enemy couldn’t see them.
If the Turks had attacked us fiercely on the top and shelled us as
badly down here earlier, they might have had us out. Now we ought to
be all right, and they can hardly go on using ammunition like this.
Their losses are said to be very great. New Turkish reinforcements
said to be at Helles. They have done what we ought to have done. Now
they are throwing 11-inch at us. It’s too bad.... I saw Colonel Skeen.
He said to me: “You had better be ready to go out this afternoon. We
have just shot a Turk with a white flag. That will give us an excuse
for apologizing”; quite so: it will also give the Turk an excuse for
retaliating. A Turkish officer just brought in says that the real
attack is to be this afternoon, now at 1.30. I spent an hour in the
hospital, interpreting for the Turkish wounded. The Australians are
very good to them. On returning I found the General’s dugout hit hard.
Nothing to be done but to dig deeper in.
From the third week in May to the third week in June was the kernel of
our time at Anzac. We had grown accustomed to think of the place as
home, and of the conditions of our life as natural and permanent. The
monotony of the details of shelling and the worry of the flies are of
interest only to those who endured them, and have been eliminated, here
and there, from this diary.
During this month we were not greatly troubled. The men continued to
make the trenches impregnable, and were contented. It was in some ways
a curiously happy time.
The New Zealanders and the Australians were generally clothed by the
sunlight, which fitted them, better than any tailor, with a red-brown
skin, and only on ceremonial occasions did they wear their belts and
accoutrements.
Our sport was bathing, and the Brotherhood of the Bath was rudely
democratic. There was at Anzac a singularly benevolent officer, but
for all his geniality a strong disciplinarian, devoted to military
observances. He was kind to all the world, not forgetting himself, and
he had developed a kindly figure. No insect could resist his contours.
Fleas and bugs made passionate love to him, inlaying his white skin
with a wonderful red mosaic. One day he undressed and, leaving nothing
of his dignity with his uniform, he mingled superbly with the crowd of
bathers. Instantly he received a hearty blow upon his tender, red and
white shoulder and a cordial greeting from some democrat of Sydney or
of Wellington: “Old man, you’ve been amongst the biscuits!” He drew
himself up to rebuke this presumption, then dived for the sea, for, as
he said, “What’s the good of telling one naked man to salute another
naked man, especially when neither have got their caps?”
This month was marked by a feature that is rare in modern warfare. We
had an armistice for the burial of the dead, which is described in the
diary.
On the Peninsula we were extremely anxious for an armistice for many
reasons. We wished, on all occasions, to be able to get our wounded in
after a fight, and we believed, or at least the writer was confident,
that an arrangement could be come to. We were also very anxious to
bury the dead. Rightly or wrongly, we thought that G.H.Q., living on
its perfumed island, did not consider how great was the abomination of
life upon the cramped and stinking battlefield that was our encampment,
though this was not a charge that any man would have dreamed of
bringing against Sir Ian Hamilton.
_Diary._ _Wednesday, May 19, 1915._ _Kaba Tepé._ General Birdwood told
me to go to Imbros to talk to Sir Ian Hamilton about an armistice, if
General Godley would give me leave.
_Thursday, May 20, 1915._ _Kaba Tepé._ Have been waiting for four
hours in Colonel Knox’s boat, which was supposed to go to Imbros.
Turkish guns very quiet.... Hear that Ock Asquith and Wedgwood are
wounded. A liaison officer down south says: “When the Senegalese fly,
and the French troops stream forward twenty yards and then stream back
twenty-five yards, we know that we are making excellent progress.”
There is a Coalition Government at home. We think that we are the
reason of that; we think the Government cannot face the blunder of the
Dardanelles without asking for support from the Conservatives.
_6 p.m._ “_Arcadian._” Found George Lloyd. Have been talking to Sir Ian
Hamilton with regard to the armistice.... Clive Bigham[10] was there.
He lent me some Shakespeares.
_Friday, May 21, 1915._ _Kaba Tepé._ Saw Sir Ian Hamilton again this
morning. The Turks are said to have put up a white flag and to have
massed behind it in their trenches, intending to rush us. Left with
four “Arcadians.”
There was a parley yesterday while I was away. The Turks had put up
some white flags, but it was not a case of bad faith as the “Arcadians”
believed. We are said to have shot one Red Crescent man by mistake.
General Walker went out to talk to the Turks, just like that. Both
sides had, apparently, been frightened. I walked back to Reserve Gully
with the General, to see the new brigade. The evening sun was shining
on the myrtles in all the gullies, and the new brigade was singing and
whistling up and down the hills, while fires crackled everywhere.
_Saturday, May 22, 1915._ _Kaba Tepé._ S. B. was sent out yesterday
to talk to the Turks, but he did not take a white flag with him,
and was sniped and bruised.... This morning, suddenly, I was sent
for. S. B. and I hurried along the beach and crossed the barbed wire
entanglements. We went along by the sea, through heavy showers of rain,
and at last met a fierce Arab officer and a wandery-looking Turkish
lieutenant. We sat and smoked in fields splendid with poppies, the sea
glittering by us.
Then Kemal Bey arrived, and went into Anzac with S. B., while I went
off as hostage.
* * * * *
S. B. and Kemal Bey, as they went, provided the Australian escort with
much innocent laughter. Our barbed wire down to the sea consisted
only of a few light strands, over which the Turk was helped by having
his legs raised high for him. S. B., however, wished him, as he was
blindfolded, to believe that this defence went on for at least twenty
yards. So the Turk was made to do an enormously high, stiff goose-step
over the empty air for that space, as absurd a spectacle to our men as
I was to be, later, to the Turks. The Australians were almost sick from
internal laughter.
* * * * *
_Diary._ Kemal Bey asked for a hostage, and I went out. They bandaged
my eyes, and I mounted a horse and rode off with Sahib Bey. We went
along by the sea for some time, for I could hear the waves. Then we
went round and round--to puzzle me, I suppose--and ended up in a tent
in a grove of olives, where they took the handkerchief off, and Sahib
Bey said: “This is the beginning of a life-long friendship.”
* * * * *
At one moment, as I was riding along, the soldier who was supposed to
be leading my horse had apparently let go and had fallen behind to
light a cigarette or pick flowers. I heard Sahib Bey call out: “You old
fool! Can’t you see he’s riding straight over the cliff?” I protested
loudly as I rode on, blind as fate.
We had cheese and tea and coffee, Sahib Bey offering to eat first to
show me that it was all right, which I said was nonsense. He said:
“It may not be political economy, but there are some great advantages
in war. It’s very comfortable when there are no exports, because it
means that all the things stay at home and are very cheap.” He tried to
impress me with their well-being. He said he hated all politicians and
had sworn never to read the papers. The Turks had come sadly into the
war against us, otherwise gladly. They wanted to regain the prestige
that they had lost in the Balkans.... He said, after I had talked to
him: “There are many of us who think like you, but we must obey. We
know that you are just and that Moslems thrive under you, but you have
made cruel mistakes by us, the taking of those two ships and the way in
which they were taken.” He asked me a few questions, which I put aside.
He had had a conversation with Dash the day before, when we parleyed.
Dash is a most innocent creature. He had apparently told him that
G.H.Q. was an awful bore, and also the number of Turkish prisoners we
had taken....
_Sunday, May 23, 1915._ _Kaba Tepé._ We landed a month ago to-day. We
now hold a smaller front than then. Also the _Albion_ has gone ashore.
The rest of the fleet has left; she remains a fixture. All the boats
are rushing up to tow her off. The Turks are sending in a hail of
shrapnel.... It will be a bad business if they don’t get her off....
They have got her off, thank the Lord, and every one is breathing more
freely.
We wonder if all the places with queer, accidental names will one day
be historical: Johnson’s Jolly, Dead Man’s Ridge, Quinn’s Post, The
Valley of Death, The Sphinx, Anzac--by the way, that’s not a name of
good omen, as “anjak” in Turkish means barely, only just--Plugge’s
Plateau. Plugge is a grand man, wounded for the second time. The New
Zealanders are all most gallant fellows....
The big fight ought to come off, after the armistice. Two more
divisions have come up against us. All quiet last night, but a shell
came into the New Zealand hospital on the beach and killed four wounded
men and a dresser and some more outside. It’s these new guns whose
position we still do not know.