CHAPTER 11
The Decision
Several lines of machine-gun fire converged on the short strip of ground over which the two attacking waves of Victorian light horsemen had tried to pass. Added to this were the cracking fusillades of rifle fire from the Turks’ front line, and from the tiers of trenches that rose up the slopes of Baby 700. Those men who had taken cover may have been safe from the bullets but they were still exposed to bombs being thrown over.
The distance between the opposing trenches was reckoned to be about 40 metres. Since these were not parallel lines, the gap was greater at some points but smaller near the centre. The land between was rough and broken. The Australians had to charge up a slope over ground covered in parts by thick low scrub, in some places stripped by machine-gun fire or burnt by flares, and concealing dips and holes and an old sunken gravel track. Fortunately, it did provide a couple of places of shelter for those few men whom fate allowed to escape the hail of bullets.
The continuous machine-gun and rifle fire chopped through the scrub, shaking the bushes and throwing up dust and stones. Bullets ripped and tore through the men. Not only were the living hit, but the dead also, including the rotting corpses of those from earlier fighting. Tom Austin records that ‘the air reeked with the smell of cordite and the stench of dried Turkish victims left here since the attack on the 29th of June’.1 When the last man of the second line dropped, the firing gradually slackened like a passing squall. The 10th Light Horse, making up the third and fourth lines, now filed into the front trenches and saps.
In the trenches there was chaos and confusion. It was not clear to those on Russell’s Top exactly what was happening, although the concentration of heavy fire mounted against them was obvious. The front line was choked with the dead and wounded who had fallen back into the trenches. There were others dropping over the parapet, or into the shallow saps, who had crawled back desperately seeking safety. A few men were dragged in by comrades. So deadly was the fire that it was not safe even to peer above the top of the trenches.
The brigade headquarters had placed some observers to report on progress throughout the attack. While the second wave was out, Antill was advised that a small yellow and red marker flag had been seen. It flew for only a couple of minutes, then it was torn down. Perhaps it was the act of an individual who had ignored everything around him, and with a single-minded determination, carried the flag and stuck it defiantly in the enemy’s parapet before being killed. But the flag could also indicate that part of the enemy line had been taken and that there were men there fighting desperately, holding on, and waiting for support. How should this sign be interpreted?
Lieutenant William Oliver later told the official historian: ‘I am in a position to absolutely confirm the suggestion that a red and yellow flag was raised. It was my duty on that day to watch carefully for those flags as I was to hurry our trench mortars across as soon as the Turks had been driven out.’2 Oliver said that he felt ‘very nearly certain’ that the flag was planted by Sergeant Roger Palmer. Others have suggested it was a Sergeant Cameron, or Trooper Grant. Geoffrey Grant was a lanky 19-year-old and his parents’ only son. He had previously served in the army cadets and been an active boy scout and a good amateur athlete.
The orders for the attack stated that the captured trenches were to be marked by the small red-and-yellow flags such as were already widely used on Gallipoli as a means of identifying ‘friendly’trenches to distant observers. They were carried by four men in each line. In a letter of sympathy to Grant’s mother, his sergeant, Albert Pearce, reported that ‘[Grant] carried his signalling flags, though wounded, right to the Turkish trench’.3
Whether or not it was Grant or one of the others, the gallant soldier could not have anticipated that his determined act with his flags would send his comrades forward to their deaths. When Antill heard that the flag had been seen, he gave the order for the attack to continue, sending the Royal Welch Fusiliers, now waiting in Monash Valley, to make their assault on the trenches between The Nek and Pope’s Hill.
While the 10th Light Horse was taking up its position, ready to continue the assault, the commanding officer, Noel Brazier, went to No. 8 Sap, in front of, and not far from, the brigade headquarters dug-out. Knowing it was too dangerous to raise his head, he used a periscope to look out on the battlefield. It was quickly apparent to him that the two previous waves had totally failed. All he could see were men lying prone and most of these seemed bloodied and still.
It was now Brazier’s task to signal each of the two lines of his regiment forward. He had no vainglorious notions of leading his regiment in the attack, nor did anyone think that the commanding officers should. The timings were to be indicated by officers from the headquarters. Two or three officers had been assigned to this work: one was Bill Kent Hughes, the other, Kenneth McKenzie, a young Duntroon officer who had come over with the 9th Light Horse.
Brazier was greatly troubled by what he had seen of the destruction of the Victorians’ two lines and could not give the order. A young staff officer rushed up to ask why he had not sent the waiting line. He replied that he would not do this without first seeking confirmation, or cancellation, of his orders. The progress of the attack lay in the balance. One of the 10th Regiment’s corporals later recalled: ‘It was a nerve-racking time waiting there for orders to go out, while the 8th Light Horse wounded dragged themselves back past us.’4
It was fully daylight as Brazier pushed his way back down the lines of trenches to the temporary brigade headquarters. There he found Antill and told him of the futility of continuing. Antill replied that a flag had been seen on the Turks’ parapet and the attack must proceed. Brazier said that he had not been able to see a flag or any sign to indicate that a trench had been taken.
At this crucial moment there was a total absence of communication. The antagonism between these two men was in no way reduced by the gravity of the situation. Antill was furious at the impertinence of this troublesome and argumentative officer who had left his post to query orders which had so firmly been given. Brazier claimed that Antill responded to his appeal by roaring, ‘Push on’! He then had to return to the front line where he gravely announced: ‘I am sorry lads but the order is to go.’5
Asmall group, containing several of the best known men in the regiment, had gathered near a junction of the trenches waiting for Brazier to return with their orders. There was some expectation that the further assault would have to be cancelled. When they heard his news, Captain Piesse, Lieutenants Turnbull and Kidd, Captain Rowan, Sergeants Sanderson and MacBean, and Sergeant Major Springall solemnly shook hands and said goodbye to each other. Then they quietly took their places with their men. Each man was resigned to his fate, determined only that he should not fail in his duty.
The word spread along the line. Trooper Harold Rush, a young farmhand, realising he was likely to die in the next few moments, turned to his mate beside him and said: ‘Goodbye cobber. God bless you.’6 Later, when his grieving parents were told this, they arranged for his last words to be inscribed on his headstone, which today lies in the cemetery on Walker’s Ridge, a short distance from where he fell.
Major Tom Kidd, who was in command of the third line, steadied himself, gripped his revolver, then gave the order and led out the next wave. Once again a furious fire erupted from the Turks opposite and the Western Australians’ attack was torn away. The roar and the smoke of the rifle and machine-gun fire had been joined by a Turkish 75-millimetre field gun bursting shrapnel low over no-man’s-land.
It was proper for Brazier to have referred the situation back to headquarters. Similar action, as we have seen, resulted in the attack at Quinn’s Post being abandoned and many lives saved. Unfortunately, the response here had been quite different.
Hughes had not been at the temporary headquarters when Brazier went there. Early on he had gone up to a bombing emplacement close to the front line to see for himself what was happening. As a sportsman Hughes had the reputation as a ‘stayer’, someone ‘who would shut his teeth and fight out the hardest race without once slacking’.7 When Antill was approached to stop the attack, he felt no need to consult with the brigade commander to consider this possibility.
Although Antill claimed that the sighting of a marker flag demanded that the attack continue, he appears to have taken no action to learn whether more flags were now flying or, indeed, whether the single flag was still there. After the war he claimed that he ‘immediately’ advised divisional headquarters of the ‘hopelessness of it all’, but in the same sentence admits that this was not done until the attack finished.8
Major Love made an effort to find out what had happened to the Western Australians. He crawled out in front of a sap, where there was some protection, to see what could be done. He found Deeble of the 8th Regiment lying not far away, unable to move, and spoke briefly to him. Both officers agreed that it was quite impossible to advance against such firepower. Almost everyone else seemed to be dead or wounded, so he made his way back.
After leading the second line out, Deeble had sought some protection, where he waited hoping to join the following line of Western Australians as it came across. He later reported:
This line scarcely left our trench before being broken, and the few men with me managed to dash a yard or two forward before falling down. I threw myself again on the ground. Seeing one or two to my left whom I could make hear me, and who were the few alive, I told them to scratch a little cover.9
The sun was rising, and in the morning light the men still fighting desperately on Pope’s Hill saw the third line at The Nek shot away. The Royal Welch Fusiliers, fighting nearby, were seen to suffer a similar fate. The New South Welshmen at Pope’s Hill now knew that their struggle could not be supported on either flank. Seeing their position was without hope and that many of the men were dead or wounded, they finally made a difficult withdrawal. Two hundred men had taken part; 154 were casualties.
Back among the light horsemen in the trenches on Russell’s Top, the left of the line had become so choked with dead and wounded, and men trying to get back to safety or to receive treatment, that movement was difficult. Henry Foss would survive this day only to be killed, like his two brothers, later in the war. He was in a group in the trenches who found they could not get into position.
My troop sat down in a fire trench waiting for orders, while D Troop of A Squadron filed past us. They halted for a while … I spoke to Gres Harper and Wilfred [Harper], Bob Lukin, Hassell, and Geoff Lukin, and some others I knew. They were cheery and confident, and soon passed on. A few minutes later a terrific burst of fire told us our first line had gone. There was a short lull of scattered fire then another burst more furious than the first signalled the second line had moved. Blocks ahead made our progress slow, and we found the bottom of the trench fairly littered with wounded men trying to get back for aid. With difficulty we passed them only to be blocked again, and word came back that some of the 8th LH were in the trench in front. A third burst of fire, followed soon by a fourth and fifth, told us our chaps were still moving. Still we were blocked. A few men trickled past belonging to the 8th LH. A few minutes later came to order ‘about turn’, and we filed out again.10
Shortly after the third line had gone out into the fire storm, a scribbled message came back from Major Todd. It said that his line was pinned down unable to move forward, and asked for further orders. Brazier recalled the moment:
The message was on a bit of pink paper. I took it back to Antill who refused to listen to me, and ordered me to push on again. I made him write it on the paper. On getting back to the trench again – only 15 or 20 yards – there was a similar message from Major Scott, on the right flank, asking for instructions. I would not go to Antill again as he had never left his trench, and looked for the Brigadier. After explaining the position and telling him it was murder to push on he said: ‘try Bully Beef Sap’!!11
This time Brazier had decided to ignore Antill’s demands, and had to spend some time looking to find Hughes. While he was doing this, others were looking for him. In another account of his confrontation, Brazier says that he told Hughes that ‘the whole thing was nothing but a “bloody murder”’.12
The next minutes are heavily clouded by the fog of war. Scott was waiting to learn what the absent Brazier had to say before committing his line to the attack. Because of the noise from the firing he told his troop leaders to order the next movement forward with a wave. His men waited tensely for the signal.
Suddenly, and without any signal having been given by Scott, the troops on the right rose out of their trenches and saps and rushed forward in a charge. ‘By God, I believe the right has gone!’he cried in dismay.13
One of those in the fourth line, Sergeant William Sanderson, was later able to confirm that a signal had been passed along. Where it had started nobody could tell. Sanderson had seen Captain Rowan wave, then get up, be struck, and immediately fall back dead. Sanderson passed on the signal then climbed out and ran for the enemy’s trench as hard as he could.
In his own account Sanderson said that Troopers Weston, Biggs and Hill charged alongside him. Weston and Biggs dropped, then he saw Hill spin around and fall, shot through the stomach. Glancing back over his shoulder he saw the only remaining men all falling together. In that moment, he tripped over a rhododendron bush and lay where he fell, hardly daring to move.14
Major Scott was able to stop the last line’s attack before all the men left the trench and were lost. It is difficult to establish who made up the two lines of the 10th Light Horse. The few remaining records, including the official historian’s account, do not agree. What is clear is that the men who took part in the assault met the same fate as their comrades in the 8th Regiment.
Lieutenant Kidd wrote:
When the order ‘Advance Third Line’ came, with the exception of 1 troop, we leapt the parapet and the four troops on the right were practically annihilated before they could advance 5 yards. I went over with my troop, it was necessary to move to the right front in order to gain the neck. The pace was slow owing to the heaped up dead, rubble, bush, and wire. A slight depression in the ground afforded us a little protection, advantage of which had been seized by men of the 8th regiment who had escaped the holocaust. Just as we were forcing our way over the slight protecting rise, the order to ‘Halt and Dig In’ passed down the line.15
Another officer, Hugo Throssell, had arrived on Anzac just in time to take part in the attack. ‘I am to lead you in a charge and it is the first time I have ever done such a thing,’ he said. ‘If any man doubts me, let him step forward now, and he may go with someone more experienced.’ All of them followed him out into the fire. When it was seen that the task was absolutely impossible, he hastily ordered his men to throw themselves on to the ground. Most managed to take some cover in a small hollow, where the lieutenant shouted cheerily: ‘A bob in and the winner shouts.’16
The 10th Light Horse’s lines had proceeded more carefully than the two that had gone before them. Being pledged to go, the men climbed out of their trench but few felt any obligation to throw their lives away needlessly and most quickly sought any available cover. In one line a youth, Trooper Charles Williams, was placed between his sergeant and the squadron sergeant major. These older men were aware of the soldier’s age and told him to get down as soon as he was out of the trench. Even before he could do this he was pulled to the ground.17 In this way he became one of the survivors.
At least two pairs of brothers, including the Harper boys, were killed in the 10th Light Horse. Ross and Lindsay Chipper were farmers from Claremont who died in A Squadron’s charge. Both were buried, just a few metres apart, in the Ari Burnu cemetery. Edmund MacGregor was one of the troopers detailed to carry ammunition but was not called forward. He waited anxiously in the trenches, knowing that his brother, Fred, had gone over the top. He later found him safe. Sergeant Duncan Bain was one of those killed when the right of the fourth line broke away. His brother was on the left and did not leave the trench. The sergeant was brought in dying, but his brother could not reach him in time. He attended his burial in the same cemetery in which the Chippers and many more of the bodies recovered that day were laid.
There were pairs of brothers among the 8th Light Horse too. The Cole boys, Dyson and Lionel, were just 19 and 21 years old. They had left the farm at Cobrico and enlisted together the previous September. Both had been mortally wounded and were carried down to the beach for evacuation. Lionel died before sundown while Dyson lingered until the following day. They were buried at sea. Albert and Alexander Evans had been Gippsland farmers; their bodies were never recovered. Lieutenant Keith Borthwick lay out dead on the battlefield but his brother was one of the survivors.
Norman Bethune lost his brother Douglas in the first wave. His only wish now was to recover his body. He explained to their sisters:
We were unable to get any of our dead in except just a few who were a few yards out, and therefore we had very faint hope at first that some might have escaped, and would manage to get in at night time … At first we hoped to be able to go out that night and bring in any we could, and I of course volunteered to be one of a party. The Turks however all that night kept up a continuous rain of fire on the ground … and we weren’t allowed to go out. I can hardly realise that we have lost him. I can’t write about things like this …18
After part of the brigade’s fourth line left, and the fire was beginning to die away, Major Love climbed out again to see what had happened. He managed to get to Todd, and near to McLaurin. They agreed that it was impossible to move forward, so Love and Todd inched their way back and, unknown to Brazier, set out to find Hughes. Getting back into the trench at some stage, Love fell heavily on his knee, damaging it badly and causing it to swell to the size of a football.
When the two officers reached the brigadier, they saw that he was clearly rattled. They insisted that no more progress could be made and that the battle was over. Hughes may have chosen to ignore Love, but he had to listen to Todd. He told them to gather the surviving men, and go around by Bully Beef Sap to support the Royal Welch Fusiliers. The brigadier had already sent two companies of the Cheshire Regiment into Monash Valley to assist the fusiliers, who had discovered that their task was as impossible as that of the light horsemen.
Two companies of the British 8th Royal Welch Fusiliers had arrived on Anzac only a few days before and were under Lieutenant Colonel Hay, a regular army officer who would survive this day only to be killed 18 months later. The leading company, led by Captain Walter Lloyd, an officer recently brought out of retirement, tried to advance while another company was pinned down by Turkish machine-guns. Lloyd led his men up impossible ground from the direction of Monash Gully; they could only advance in single file, ten men at a time. They had barely begun when they came under terrible fire, including bombs which were rolled down on them. Lloyd was among those killed. Attacking up the steep slope of the valley into deadly fire was suicidal. Hay ordered a halt and sent a message to Hughes.
It is hard to imagine what Hughes had in mind for the light horsemen. Two of his regiments had been cut to pieces and most of the senior officers, troop leaders and NCOs were dead, wounded or dazed. It was quite impossible to reorganise the exhausted survivors into a fresh assault elsewhere. Before anything could be done, the word came back that the British attack had failed. The brigadier’s insistence on trying to have his light horsemen assist the attack across Monash Valley shows his failure to grasp the situation.
Hughes had not taken proper command. When he left his headquarters to find an observation spot, he unwittingly split the control of the brigade. Antill had no hesitation in giving orders to keep the attack going, as he believed he was correctly interpreting the commanders’ instructions. After the third line had left, Hughes realised that another effort could not succeed, so he called off the attack. However, as orders were emanating from two points, there was inevitable confusion.
The actions of other officers had also compounded the problems. While Brazier was chasing around trying to have the attacks stopped, Reynell was encouraging Antill to continue. He later wrote:
I felt so strongly that it could get forward that I reported to the Brigade Major that if he gave me authority to do so I would guarantee to get the trenches with the men of the 8th and 10th that were there. However an order was sent to them to rush the trenches but the officers on the spot considered it impossible and they were withdrawn.19
The order to fall back was sent out to the survivors in no-man’s-land. Those who could carefully made their way in, although several were killed in the effort. Others waited all day until darkness provided some cover. Artillery fire was now falling on the Turks’ lines and the diversion gave some the chance to get back to safety.
Sanderson, from the fourth wave, had lain in an advanced position for half an hour. Looking back, he saw Captain Phil Fry kneeling up outside the secret sap, then Todd appeared beside him and shouted something that sounded like ‘retire the 4th line first’.20
Sanderson was among those who began to crawl back. When he finally got close in, he found an officer of the 8th Light Horse – it was probably young Anderson – with a frightful wound. This man had been carrying some bombs in a haversack. These had been hit by a round, causing them to explode, blowing his whole hip away. He was screaming in agony. When some men tried to get him in, he begged them to leave him alone: ‘I can’t bloody well stand it,’ he cried. They did get him back in, but he died on the floor of the sap.
Sanderson saw that the front line was surrounded by a ring of bodies. Most seemed to be from the 8th Light Horse. Once he was safely back he noted that the trenches too were full of the dead, the suffering and the maimed.21 Among those of his regiment who had been mortally hit, he could recognise Turnbull, Rowan, Weston and Hill.
Captain Andrew Rowan had been killed instantly by bullets through the head and chest as he climbed out of his trench. Tall and powerfully built, this popular officer, who was four weeks from his 40th birthday, already wore a medal ribbon from his time as a young officer in the South African War. He had retained a commission in the militia before going on to the reserve in 1910, and shortly afterwards taking up farming in Western Australia. When Brazier had accepted Rowan for a commission in the AIF, he had noted that he seemed ‘a manly, decent gentlemen [who] should do well’.22
Rowan had been wounded at Quinn’s Post earlier but had soldiered on, and in July had been made a captain. News of his death cut his sister Violet deeply. Her grief became anger and she reacted, wanting proof of her brother’s death, and seeking to have his body returned to the family. Most of all, although not knowing the facts, she blamed Brazier for his loss: ‘I was in WA when my brother’s regiment was being trained under the biggest fool at this game ever known. I mean the commanding officer … I am quite sure he alone is responsible for any mistakes that may have been made.’23
Alexander Turnbull gasped his last breath in the dirt on the floor of the sap. The second lieutenant had held a commission for just a matter of days and was one of two Rhodes scholars at this battle. He was from a well-known landed family in the Esperance district, and had been practising law in Perth when he joined the light horse. Turnbull had gained some previous military experience while at Oxford, where he served for three years in King Edward’s Horse, in a squadron made up of expatriate Australians. When the cables were received telling of the deaths of Turnbull and the Harper brothers, the West Australian newspaper was moved to comment that ‘these three young men, each of them a native of the state, were so widely known and highly esteemed that the news of their tragic deaths at an age and time when life seemed so possessed of such great possibilities for them will be a sad reading for many.’24
If anyone could be braver than those who charged into the Turks’ fire, it has to be those who, on their own initiative, gave up their safety to go out and rescue the wounded. Trumpeter Les Lawry, who was just 19 and had to get his parents’ permission when he joined up, brought in several men, including the dying Anderson. His work was recognised by his being mentioned in despatches.25
Another was Trooper Martin O’Donoghue, who managed to bring in a comrade, and wrote about the man he rescued:
He was hit on the back with a bomb and died afterwards. He was a fine fellow. I seemed terribly lucky when I was carrying him in. They were all crying out, ‘Leave him there, you will get hit yourself’, but the bullets seemed just to miss me. It was not for bravery that I did it. I could not stand seeing him there, moaning in agony.26
The following month O’Donoghue was himself hit by a bomb; he died an agonising death three months later from blood poisoning.
Lance Corporal Billy Hampshire became a hero among the Western Australians that morning. Already, some weeks earlier, he had been commended for his ‘coolness and courage’ when his trench was blown in by Turkish shellfire. He went out with his squadron at The Nek and, after getting back to safety, returned to rescue his troop leader, Lieutenant Leslie Craig, whose foot had been shot away. He then went out again and brought in two more badly wounded men. Finally, Sergeant MacBean had to physically restrain him and order him to cease risking his own life.27
Lieutenant Craig survived and after a long hospitalisation was invalided home. Following the war he became a member of parliament and was well-known in returned soldier circles in the west. Hampshire was made a sergeant, but soon afterwards was seriously wounded; in January 1916 he was returned to Australia and discharged from the AIF six months later.
Major McLaurin, his face covered in blood, had stayed out in front after having helped recover Anderson. When the word to retire was received, he coolly gave orders to see that the remnants of his regiment got back safely. He was the last man to get in from the left section of the line.28
A witness to the whole sad affair was Sergeant Clifford Ashburner, a former professional boxer and South African War veteran who commanded a machine-gun at Turks’ Point. In the hours leading up to the attack he had poured thousands of rounds into the Turkish lines as part of the preparation. During the charge he could see the Turks standing breast-high above their trenches as they shot the light horsemen down:
The first and 2nd lines went out running – charging. The 3rd line bent, with rifles on guard, walking. When they got as far as the knoll they turned, and those who could get back to the trenches did so. Then a long time before the last lot.
Without orders, Ashburner brought his gun back into action, but was soon ordered to stop by Reynell, who believed that the Australians had got into the enemy lines. The sergeant received a message: ‘Aren’t you firing on our own men?’ When the firing subsided, he could see the dead and wounded lying out in no-man’s-land. ‘Scaling ladders had been dropped by the first party. Could see men trying to drink out of bottle[s], and raising arms, but within 3 or 4 hours they seemed to be dead.’29
The battle for The Nek was over. Brazier, and some others, stood looking in disbelief at the front trench where stunned, wounded and dying men were almost the only occupants. He took his periscope and watched no-man’s-land, now littered with the crumpled and bloodied khaki heaps of many of his men. For half an hour he looked over the sorry sight, fearing that at any moment the Turks would surge forward in a counter-attack. If they had come they could easily have overrun the Australians’ positions. Fortunately, with heavy fighting elsewhere, they had to let this opportunity pass.
Lieutenant Robinson of the 8th Light Horse later recalled: ‘I tried to discuss the affair with some survivors of my regiment. Some seemed half stunned and dazed. One was sobbing like a lost child three years of age and another laughed hysterically whenever I spoke to him.’30 Tom Austin made a similar observation: ‘Many of the men on the cliff face were so shaken that they were almost helpless and the evacuations during the ensuing days from shock were heart-breaking.’31
Trooper MacGregor remembered: ‘We were shattered, absolutely shattered. It was the hardest [time] of the whole war. Later looking out on the dead was horrible. We were in a sort of coma – dopey. We never discussed it later. We couldn’t.’32
Corporal McGrath found some of the survivors of his squadron. He saw ‘most of these were in such a state of shock that it was impossible to get coherency’.33 McConnan reported that he felt ‘fed up’.34 Sergeant Pinnock admitted that when the fighting was over he ‘cried like a child’.35 One confused and angry soldier threatened Major Love with a bayonet in the mistaken belief that the officer had not left the trenches.36 Even tough old Tom Todd, who had returned unwounded after leading the third line, later collapsed from the stress and was eventually evacuated to England to recover.37
About 200 men had gone over the top not to return. The parents of Lieutenant Higgins eventually heard that he was safe. He wrote to them describing the battle and the friends he had lost:
Most of them are still reported missing as it is impossible in cases to find someone who either saw them killed or lying dead afterwards. We were only able to get in a few bodies, and most of those who are still out will probably be unrecognisable by this time, as there has been a good deal of bombing going on.38
When the figures were finally assembled it was established that the 8th Light Horse had 234 casualties, killed and wounded, from 300 men, while the 10th had 138.39
Although he overestimated the number of Turkish machine-guns, Walter McConnan summed up the experience with his impressions:
Instead of a soft snap, as many of us thought, we had to climb out into the hottest fire you could imagine. There must have been 20 machine-guns and thousands of rifles on us. My regiment went to the peninsula full strength [over 500 men] and I suppose our reinforcements have numbered 250, yet our strength last Sunday [a fortnight after the attack] was about 60.40