CHAPTER 13

Reflection

The attack at the Nek had been a disaster on two major counts. First, it had totally failed to achieve its military objective, and second, the commanders had not acted to minimise the casualties. In trying to apportion responsibility, both these aspects have to be considered.

The attack was just a part of the larger scheme, which had been devised to revitalise the campaign. The general concept of a breakout from Anzac, proposed by Birdwood and Skeen, had been sound enough. In broad terms, the plan seemed logical and reasonable. As planning progressed, however, and the details were considered, the immensity of the task must have become apparent. Even the over-confident Skeen must have had reservations when he began to consider the enemy’s strengths, the nature and extent of his defences, the terrible terrain over which the troops would have to operate and the poor physical condition of the men.

If there was to be a military victory on Gallipoli, bold and aggressive action was necessary, in which casualties would likely be heavy. Birdwood and Skeen understood this. After their experiences in India, they may have thought themselves well-qualified to consider operations in the wild hilly country facing Chunuk Bair and Hill 971. But here at Anzac things were a lot different. Skeen’s successor, Brudenell White, later said that he thought the overall plan was a ‘brilliant conception … but it totally disregarded the almost impossible nature of the country’.¹ They were not properly aware of the conditions and the problems they posed for men in declining health.

Their confidence was misplaced. At all the senior levels, the British leaders approached this campaign as some colonial military sideshow. There was an underlying presumption that British might must overcome the Turkish ragtag army. And even after they discovered the determination, skill and bravery of the enemy, they still failed to take these things into proper consideration. Often the Turkish successes were attributed to the leadership of German officers believed to be serving among them. However, this had far less to do with it than the British thought.

The August offensive at Anzac may have contained the germ of a good idea, but clearly the planning and conduct of the battles would have been handled differently if undertaken later in the war. For most of the participants – and this is true through all levels – these events took place early in their war.

The ‘experienced’ officers were usually those who had served in South Africa, or possibly India. The senior commanders, like Birdwood and some of his staff, could claim both. Many of these officers had assumed that they held a natural and military superiority over the Boers and now, 15 years later, they made a similar assumption about the Turks – to their great cost. In both cases, they faced a formidable enemy well-supplied with arms by the Germans. Few lessons from the recent fighting on the Belgian and French fronts had any impact at Anzac.

Gallipoli was a curious mixture of old and modern warfare. Many of the most modern weapons and tactics were being employed, yet other equipment and practices were remarkably crude. The aeroplane and quick-firing artillery appeared alongside jam-tin bombs and massed bayonet charges. The lack of understanding of modern warfare, to which most of the officers had not yet been fully exposed, a failure to appreciate the impact of technology – especially the Turks’ clever employment of machine-guns – and poor communications and staff work, all showed how little experience there was within the command structure. It was still believed that discipline and aggressive spirit were the essence of military success. There was no way to disguise the unpreparedness of these officers for the type of campaign they were now engaged upon. Many of them learnt quickly and went on to make important contributions but, among some others, deficiencies were soon exposed.

Addressing his whole corps before the great August battles, Birdwood wrote:

I want you to remember that the fighting we shall probably have in this advance will be very much the same nature as it was on the day we landed. Then … we ignored all trenches – rushing at all we saw, chasing the Turks out of them, and keeping them well on the run. This we have to do again.²

Anyone reading this could be forgiven for thinking that the British had won the earlier battles, and should be able to do so again. Birdwood completely ignores the fact that the Turks had successfully held the advance and had forced the British on to the defensive.

The plan for 7 August proved to be overly ambitious and far too complex. It presumed too much, and so as each part became unstuck, the next failed as a consequence. The most important work was given to the New Zealanders and Monash’s brigade. But their task would have been exhausting even under peacetime conditions.

Along the established front line, the debacle at German Officers’ Trench was the first indication that things were beginning to come undone. The officers at The Nek, Quinn’s Post and Pope’s Hill knew that the objectives they had been given were unthinkable, unless there was some drastic change in the situation which had existed over the past few months. Even Birdwood and Skeen accepted this. Heavy supporting fire would provide the necessary change. This did not happen, and predictably the attacks were torn apart.

In their enthusiasm for a victory, Birdwood and Skeen had ignored their own better judgement, and so at The Nek they threw the light horsemen against the most solid ramparts on Anzac. They knew that they could not hope to concentrate enough force against such a narrow front with defences in such depth. Despite having previously written that ‘an unaided attack’ across The Nek and Baby 700 was ‘almost hopeless’, they sent the 3rd Light Horse Brigade in.³

The attack was ordered even after it was known that sufficient support was no longer available. The repulse of the infantry at German Officers’ Trench meant that the Turks’ machine-guns there could provide added deadly enfilading fire on Quinn’s Post and The Nek once those attacks began. The artillery preparation had been well-maintained on The Nek, although it was poorly coordinated with the assault. But it had not yet been learnt just how intense shelling had to be for it to be fully effective against well-developed trench defences. This level of firepower was not available on Anzac; howitzers in particular were few. Finally, the converging attack from Chunuk Bair did not eventuate.

It had been Birdwood’s decision to launch the assault. Knowing that the operations elsewhere were not proceeding well, he decided to accept losses at The Nek to assist the main attacks upon the heights, which he insisted must continue. At the same time, Skeen, who was at his side, showed that he did not fully understand the position: ‘It is not the light horse I am anxious about. I think they will be all right. What I hope is that they will help the New Zealanders.’⁴

For The Nek Birdwood had devised a plan which never had much chance of success, and had placed the conduct of the attack in the hands of an officer in whom he had little confidence. By failing to replace Hughes, and by allowing Antill to exercise so much influence, Birdwood created a dual command, which would cause confusion at the height of the battle. Godley’s lack of initiative just made matters worse. He took his orders from Birdwood without question and expected his own to be accepted in the same manner. He responded angrily if queried and refused to take advice which said the attack across The Nek must fail.

Godley certainly contributed heavily to the disaster. It was he who insisted that the attack had to be driven home at all costs. He may have been a good peacetime planner and organiser, but he failed to understand that determination and courage alone could not overcome intense machine-gun and rifle fire. Although he visited Russell’s Top often enough, he too did little to understand what he was requiring that day of the men there and elsewhere. He made no attempt to stop the light horsemen’s attacks although he was aware, at least to some extent, how badly they were progressing. In both his attitude and actions, there is nothing to suggest that, had Godley been in Antill’s place, he would have acted any differently. In his report on the fighting at Quinn’s Post, he only conceded that ‘the Officer Commanding exercised what was probably a wise discretion in discontinuing the assault’ (emphasis added).⁵ Even Antill later condemned Godley’s role, declaring with some bitterness: ‘The responsibility of the attack and its result must rest with divisional headquarters. It was never encouraged or endorsed by brigade, and beyond a congratulatory mention in Anzac orders the disastrous affair was dropped and nothing more was heard of it.’⁶

It has sometimes been imagined that the attack had been partly successful because it held the Turks’ attention and diverted them from reinforcing other parts of their line. This argument may have had some value if the British offensive had been successful, but it is negated by the fact that the losses had been so heavy as to expose Russell’s Top to a possible enemy counter-attack. While a diversion may have been necessary, it could have been done in a less costly way. It was only because there was heavy fighting elsewhere that the Turks were forced to let this opportunity pass.

One can only speculate about the reason for the lag of several minutes between the end of the artillery shelling and the start of the attack. Clearly it was vital in enabling the Turks to be ready to meet the assaulting waves. The inescapable conclusion seems to be that there was a failure to synchronise watches somewhere in the command chain. This failure is unlikely to lie within the brigade since an officer of the 8th Light Horse said that the watches were checked the previous afternoon. Also, Kent Hughes was able to tell Bean that his watch was ‘synchronised with all other brigade watches’. To this he added: ‘How brigade time was synchronised with other times is a matter for higher command.’⁷ Certainly the fault could have been at the divisional level, as he may have been implying.

Perhaps the real explanation is to be found in an innocent comment in the diary of Aubrey Herbert. This officer from Godley’s headquarters had played a crucial part in organising and coordinating the armistice to allow for the burial of the dead on 24 May. Obviously it was essential that both sides observe the same timings for the start and conclusion of the truce. It was while arranging this that Herbert noted: ‘I found the Turks’ time was eight minutes ahead of ours, and put on our watches.’⁸

For some reason there must have been two ‘local’ times on Gallipoli, eight minutes apart. There was Turkish time and British time. Somehow, and it would not be too remarkable, these sometimes got mixed. If, when he was describing his actions in May, Herbert meant that members of the division’s headquarters altered their watches by eight minutes, then he provided an example of how a mix-up may have happened. Without regular time checks, a fundamental action, mistakes could go unnoticed. The eight minutes he mentions is too close to the reported seven minutes pause at The Nek for this explanation to be ignored.

It was the unnecessary waste of life at The Nek that remains the most notorious feature of this battle. Others can be condemned for choosing to attack such an enemy stronghold, but for the devastating losses that ensued Hughes must be held responsible, for such is the burden of command. Where he failed was in the conduct of the action, of which he was in charge, for he was totally out of his depth. No man could comfortably handle the situation which had been presented to him, but in his case he simply had no mental or physical reserves to draw upon. Poor communications compounded his problems, for even after he had given the order to stop some men, obviously unaware of what was happening, still proceeded.

Hughes later said that the attack had not succeeded because he did not get any support. When he wrote to the mother of Captain Rowan, whom he had known when that officer lived in Victoria, to express his sympathy, he said: ‘He and his comrades so bravely attempted to take the Turkish trenches. It was one of those heroic acts that failed through want of proper support.’⁹ This must have been small consolation to her.

Hughes was right in saying that the level of support that had been expected was not there. However, he still had local command and has to bear responsibility for allowing the attack to continue after the first line had been so decisively defeated and any possibility of success destroyed. Yet Hughes refused to accept any blame. After the war Lieutenant General Sir Talbot Hobbs, a renowned Australian leader who had commanded the Australian division’s artillery on Gallipoli, told the official historian:

I remember that General Hughes and Colonel Antill endeavoured to saddle [Johnston’s] 2nd F[ield] A[rtillery] Brigade with the responsibility of the disaster, owing they said, to its failure to support or cover the Light Horse attack. I proved … that these charges were unfounded, and that Colonel [Johnston] was clearly and distinctly ordered to stop firing at 4.30 am.¹⁰

Hughes’s strongest defender was his nephew Wilfrid Kent Hughes. In a letter to the editor of the Melbourne Argus in 1924, in which he described himself as ‘a minor participant in that attack’, he declared that the official historian’s published criticisms were unfair and unwarranted. He claimed that the timings and faulty shooting of the artillery were the cause of the disaster, and implied strong criticism of Brazier’s actions. He also claimed that Antill was busy carrying out orders and ‘could not possibly have found out the true position’.¹¹

After the war Hughes responded to the British official historian’s account of the action by claiming that he had stopped the attack after the second line went out. He seems to have been unaware, or had forgotten, that there had been four lines, and blamed Brazier for the loss of the third line, ‘as the runner was unable to find anyone to deliver the orders to’.¹²

Hughes was neither a fool nor a coward. But he was not a battle-hardened commander and there was nothing in his training or background which could have prepared him for the situation he had to face. He did not even share the experience of previous campaigns with most other officers at his level. Most importantly, the burden of command and the physical exertions of simply holding on at Anzac were too much for a man of his age. When he was a younger and athletic soldier, he had commanded a regiment which, no matter how skilful and dedicated his men, was better prepared for the Crimea than for a modern war. As a peacetime brigade commander, he rarely saw a brigade on the ground, except occasionally at annual encampments, and then he was more concerned with the parade and ceremonial aspects of soldiering. Now, on the battlefield, he was unable to adapt to the circumstances.

It was a noble thing Hughes did when he volunteered to go off to war. But it was his misfortune to be thrown into a situation where quick decisive action was required in the dust and smoke and amid the noise, blood, death and madness of a short and furious battle. Sadly, he did not realise that these things needed to be left to younger men, and should have been content to retire and reflect on his more active days in a time when soldiering meant dashing about in fine uniforms and being presented to Queen Victoria.

When the volume of the Australian official history dealing with the August 1915 battles was published in 1924, the historian’s judgement came down heavily against Antill in the account of The Nek action. Charles Bean probably never met Noel Brazier; still he took his evidence at face value and, of course, this weighed heavily against the brigade major. Antill had been opposed to the attack from the start and had, quite correctly, made his opinion known. However, once he had been given his orders he believed that it was his responsibility to carry them out to the letter.

In ordering Brazier to maintain the attack, Antill felt he was properly interpreting Godley’s firm instructions, and if there was to be any local departure from these, the orders should come from Hughes. Later he insisted that he bore no responsibility. He said: ‘The brigadier was on the spot himself, and if an order were given [to stop], or to be given, it was he, and he alone competent to give it. But no such order was given.’¹³ He did not see that in personally dismissing Brazier’s appeals he may have been denying Hughes the opportunity, and responsibility, to make an informed decision. The duality in the command, which had been allowed to develop within the brigade, finally had fatal consequences at The Nek.

Antill may not have felt that he was issuing orders, simply restating those which still stood. Brazier provided for the official historian a very descriptive written account of his confrontation with Antill at the headquarters. At the time the hostility which existed between these two men had prevented any logical discussion. Both times he went to the brigade major he says he was told to ‘push on’. This choice of words is significant, as ‘push on’ was almost the catchcry for the offensive. Godley had insisted that success lay in having his brigades make strong and concentrated efforts. He used these very words in discussing his plans and in giving the orders, and we find them surviving, as one example, in the orders given to Brigadier General Francis Johnston of the New Zealanders. He was told that ‘each part of the force must push on, whether others were held up or not’ (emphasis added).

Antill was also aware that Godley looked poorly on officers who failed to carry out his orders and knew that his future could be at stake. The young dashing mounted officer who had won fame, honours and promotion under fire in South Africa had become, by 1915, rigid and lacking in imagination, and preoccupied with his own career.

It is true that Antill had been in an invidious position, made worse by Hughes’ absence. At no time during the action could he see what was happening, and he had to rely upon a few observers’conflicting reports. The first two lines had left so close together that there was no real opportunity of holding the second one back. His fatal decision came when it was the 10th Light Horse’s turn to charge. Then he appears to have accepted the demands that the attack proceed without reference to his brigadier.

Clearly Antill had been influenced by the reports of the flag on the parapet. In correspondence with the British war historian, he would later deny any knowledge of the flag, and even seemed to suggest that he regarded this as a story invented by the Australian historian. Bean responded sharply to the comment, saying that he had first been told of the flag by Antill while on Gallipoli.

The courage and sacrifice of the soldiers who went out into the machine-gun fire could not compensate for the inadequacies of command. It is hard to condemn Hughes and Antill for decisions made in such unreasonable circumstances and with the stakes so high. It had been a dangerous, stressful and confusing situation. Still, their decisions were the wrong ones, and while they cannot be blamed for the failure of the attack, they became responsible for the scale of the tragedy.

Following the failed offensive, in October, after further bouts of poor health, Brigadier General Hughes was once again evacuated to hospital with a severe attack of enteric fever.¹⁴ Kent Hughes later noted that this was ‘not a light affair for one of his age’.¹⁵ This time he did not return and Antill was appointed to temporarily command the brigade. Birdwood had decided that Hughes was too old to continue and arranged that he be returned to Australia. Antill was duly confirmed in his position and in early 1916 he was promoted to brigadier general. He had managed to serve right through the Gallipoli campaign. ‘Anzac was a terrible experience,’ he told his brother, ‘and I managed – in fact I had to hang on. Fortunately I do not suffer from nerves at all, and it was this nervous strain which blew so many of them out.’¹⁶

Antill did not remain long with the brigade. The following year his performance in the Sinai, particularly at the battle of Romani, was unremarkable and when a need arose for brigade commanders in France, he was sent there. In the desert he had shown he lacked the ability for quick decisive action, which was often the essence of good mounted work, and it was thought that he might do better with the infantry. Finally, in the mud and cold of the Somme winter, his health gave way. Invalided to England, he was eventually given a training role and did not return to the fighting front again. The luck that had delivered opportunities for him to establish a good reputation in the South African War had deserted him, and he retired from active service a disappointed man.

The command problems at The Nek had been compounded by the deaths of Lieutenant Colonels White and Miell, the regimental commanding officers, and possibly by the absence of the experienced Captain MacFarlane, who had gone away wounded some weeks earlier. Had they been there to call upon Hughes or Antill to stop the attack, things may have been different. As it was, there was only Brazier, who had to go to Antill, and there could not have been a worse combination. In the eyes of Hughes and Antill, Brazier had lost all credibility. To them it was hardly remarkable that he should query the orders, as he had often done so in the past. Brazier was contemptuous of both the senior officers, as they were of him. He was correct on this occasion, but his opinion carried no weight.

Lieutenant Colonel White’s decision to lead his men was typical of the man. Judged against the simple rule that you should not ask your men to do anything that you would not do, it was a noble gesture. But it was a fatal mistake. White’s death in the first few moments left his regiment without its commanding officer. One can only wonder what might have happened if, after seeing his first line shot down, he had been there to order the remaining men to stand fast.

Brazier’s actions were correct ones for a commanding officer. Having seen two lines destroyed, and with no chance of success left, there could be no reason for the remaining lines to go out. However, his own earlier actions had contributed to the lack of confidence in which he was held. Error turned to confusion when it became necessary for him to run around looking for Hughes. It meant that he also could not be found when his own officers sought him out for further orders. This confusion probably contributed to the loss of part of the fourth line.

The role of the staff officers who were to indicate the time for each line to leave the trenches is not clear. It appears that they never received the orders to stop the attack, at least until after the third line had gone out. Lieutenant Kent Hughes was one of them. Evidently The Nek was one of the low points in his otherwise distinguished military service during two world wars. When Bean was trying to piece together the events of that day after the war, he found Hughes uncooperative. Many years later, in conversation with Ian Fitchett, a political journalist and former war correspondent, Kent Hughes denied having been at The Nek. Perhaps, being an astute politician, he simply wanted to be rid of a journalist and distance himself from being identified with a disaster. But even as an old man he would not provide any assistance to historian Bill Gammage, who was seeking information about the attack.

An interesting sidelight to Kent Hughes’ contact with Charles Bean is worth relating. He was clearly not happy with Bean’s account of the battle in the official history. Naturally, it reflected poorly on his uncle, of whom he was very fond. In the course of his defence of his uncle, Kent Hughes asked Bean to give the sources for some of his statements. Bean wrote back sharply: ‘You cannot be serious in expecting me to disclose to you the names of those living persons on whose statements this story is based.’¹⁷ Kent Hughes could hardly have been pleased with this reply. As events unfolded, it was Kent Hughes who eventually became the minister responsible for the Australian War Memorial and the writing of the official history of the Second World War. In this more recent conflict Kent Hughes had been an officer in the 8th Australian division and was a supporter of Lieutenant General Gordon Bennett, who had commanded the division before he escaped to Australia after the surrender of Singapore. Kent Hughes, suspicious as he now was of official war historians, gave Gavin Long – Bean’s Second World War counterpart – a harrowing time during the preparation of the account of that controversial episode.

The other staff officer, Kenneth McKenzie, kept a diary on Gallipoli, but his brief entries reveal very few of his personal thoughts of this time. He says nothing of his and Kent Hughes’s role on 7 August, and only ponders why the artillery did not fire throughout the attack. Major Reynell’s part during the action is hard to assess. He seems to have been the wild card, urging Antill to press the attack at the same time that Brazier was trying to stop it.

It was inevitable that the consequences of the lack of battle experience would emerge in the brigade’s first large offensive effort. They knew little of what to expect once they were out of the trenches. The officers and NCOs were equally raw, most of them holding their positions because of their peacetime ranks and social positions. Reynell, White, Anderson, Dale, Piesse and Turnbull, together with several others, might have gone on to become outstanding leaders had they not perished in the August fighting. Lieutenant Colonel White had made a good early impression, but his resolve to lead from the front was possibly the worst decision in the whole misadventure.

The campaign at Anzac ended in December with the British and empire troops evacuating quietly, undetected by the Turks. The allies had to console themselves that at least the evacuation was well-planned and well-executed. The light horsemen went back to Egypt and to their horses. Some officers and men transferred to other units, and a few fought on the Western Front.

For the rest of the war the 3rd Light Horse Brigade served as a mounted formation in the campaigns in the Sinai and Palestine, and these operations took a further toll on the small band of Nek survivors. Bad luck continued to dog the 8th Regiment; it would lose another famous commanding officer, Leslie Maygar, a holder of the Victoria Cross, in action in 1917. With a record of misfortune, it seems hardly surprising that the first light horseman killed in the new theatre of war, Corporal Stephen Monaghan, who died on 13 April 1916, was one of that regiment’s Nek veterans. It seemed so unfair that a man could survive the hail of bullets at The Nek only to die in an isolated skirmish. The Nek survivors held a special place in the unit and Monaghan’s death was bitterly felt, as a comment by one of the officers shows: ‘Monaghan … took part in the famous charge of the 8th LH and was one of ten who escaped uninjured; then to come out here in order to be picked off in a rotten little scrap.’¹⁸

Throughout the war the losses had been high among the officers. In the end, Andy Crawford was the only one of the original group who had left in early 1915 to return home in his regiment. At The Nek the 9th Light Horse had been spared the many casualties of its sister regiments, although the deaths of Miell, and then Reynell a few weeks later, were a shock for the South Australians – made all the worse because Frank Rowell, who commanded the state’s other regiment, died in the same month. To lose three light horse commanding officers, all leading citizens, was a sharp reminder that in this war death was no respecter of rank.

Joe Scott took over the 10th Light Horse after Brazier’s departure but was blown to pieces by a shell several weeks later. Tom Todd returned to Anzac to be appointed to the command and led the regiment for the rest of the war. He became one of the most respected officers of the Australian Light Horse and continued to serve, despite being severely wounded during 1917 in the second battle of Gaza. Two survivors of The Nek battle rose to command their regiments: McLaurin of the 8th Regiment and Todd of the 10th. By a sad coincidence both got through the war only to die from illnesses before they could return to Australia.