Tuesday morning saw a move for us. We were transferred to the Whitby Abbey, a minesweeper, and left harbour about 8.00pm. Arriving off Cape Helles about midnight we were taken to the River Clyde by a trawler. My! Didn’t she roll. She was just like a tub and I was glad to get on to the firm decks of the River Clyde. This was the ship that had been run ashore on 25 April, full of Dublins and Munsters. As soon as she grounded they were to pass through doors in the ship’s side, down the gangways and onto the shore. It made shivers go down my spine as I thought of those poor devils cooped up on that ship with nothing but certain death before them. The venture would have been a complete success had it not been for the inevitable mistake. Just that little miscalculation, and instead of grounding on the beach ten yards from cover, she ran aground on a reef about fifty yards offshore in deep water that the Turks had wired. Some of the Irish wouldn’t wait for lighters to be moved into position but jumped from the doors into the water, pack, rifle and everything else on. Their fate was obvious. What few reached shallow water got caught on the wire and simply shot down. We passed a grave on the beach with 200 Irishmen in it. There were lots more graves, and scores of bodies had not been recovered from the sea. What few were left from the two battalions were joined together and called the Dubsters.
We slept in an open air camp till dawn under the shelter of the fortress castle of Sedd-el-Bahr. Breakfasted on Maconochie’s and biscuits, nothing to drink, and as soon as our respective guides came we moved away. Had a good view of the castle and village, all in ruins. We moved left along the beach, past the battery of 11-inch guns that our ships had smashed, then up to the first rise that had cost so many lives. There were piles of food, stores, ammunition and fodder for the horses, just stacked up anyhow. Hospitals and clearing stations were rigged up on the beach, too. On top of the rise was a new cemetery with hundreds of fresh graves neatly laid out, all British. Nearby was an old Turkish burial ground with a few stone crosses and pillars standing up. A splendid view of the country could be obtained from the top. About eight miles to the front could be seen the Achi Baba ridge running from coast to coast and looking more like the head and shoulders of a man. In between was a valley or a basin with olive groves, vineyards and old-fashioned wells dotted about all over the place. On the right by Morto Bay could be seen the remains of several big houses and an aqueduct, and to the left, about five miles away, was the village of Rhothia, looking from here fairly intact. The very conspicuous thing was a row of six windmills to the right of the village. The Dardanelles flowed on the right and on the left was the Aegean.
Over the straits one could see the coast of Asia and the plain of Troy where a battle was fought a few thousand years ago for the beautiful Helen. I didn’t see many beautiful Helens knocking around. It appeared far more civilised than the country round Gaba Tepe; the whole place looked peaceful, with no sounds or signs of fighting.
Walked about a mile and a half across country, over bits of trenches, funk holes and wide dugouts for stabling the horses. Passed hundreds of troops bivouacked in holes in the ground about three-feet deep and large enough to hold from two to six men. Found Portsmouth Battalion at last and reported at the orderly room, a dugout rather larger than the others and covered with a tarpaulin.
Told off to No. 8 Platoon (Sergeant Spicer) No. 2 Company with Captain Gowney in charge. The battalion was down to two weak companies, but had just been reinforced by a new company from England under Major Grover. Major Clark was in charge of the battalion with Captain Chandler, just out, as adjutant. Had invitations from several of the chaps to dig in with them, so Bob Hester and I dropped into the hole that required least digging. There was old soldier Robinson and two more fellows in it. Everybody was feeling downy. It appeared that a big gun from the Asiatic side kept sending big shells over, something like a 10-inch, and only the previous day had dropped one amongst seven of our fellows. Tom Watts (an old friend), filthy Joe Hartley, the cook, who had never washed since leaving the ship, an MG corporal and four more men were all talking about twenty yards from the galley. Tom had an arm blown clean off, one chap was killed by the concussion, hadn’t a scratch on him, the MG corporal and another were blown to bits, which were picked up from all over the camp and put in sandbags. Only Joe Hartley escaped unhurt. The fellows told me that old Tom Watts walked straight over to the doctors carrying his other arm. He just said something cheerful, ‘Could he stick the blurry thing on again’, and then went off into unconsciousness. He was hit about the head too. That little turn, along with a few more 10-inch shells, had shaken the chaps up a bit.
Up to about 9.00am I had heard no signs of fighting but I hadn’t much longer to wait. The chaps in our hole had told me that our place was the worst in the camp. A road ran through our camp and all the transport from the beach to battalion dumps and batteries passed along it. Our dugout was right alongside the road and just at the spot where the Turk dropped most of his stuff. I was crossing the road intending to find some old chums, when I heard the old familiar sound of shells rushing through the air. Action left me, I couldn’t move, and took no notice of the other chaps yelling to me to run and get down. The bursting of four shrapnels put action into me, though, and I could feel the bullets whizzing past me as I dived across the roadway. I have hazy recollections of turning about three somersaults, then finishing up in a small dugout on top of Harris, an old roommate at Forton. Talk about ‘atmosphere vertical’. I had it.
We had a hot five minutes, then quiet again and one began to observe signs of life appearing on the face of the earth. I had a chat to Harris, then returned home. The slightest sign of a shell and I became terrified and immediately went to earth or, in other words, burrowed my head as far into the front of my hole as I could get it.
Hadn’t I been a dammed fool, eager to get back to the lads? And what lads, why they were more like old men. Everybody had grown a beard. There was old Percival, one of the dandies, looking more like a cheap representation of John the Baptist than anything else; and Stuart, just like an old sea pirate. They are a scruffy lot, and they tell me that everybody is lousy and that I shan’t be long before I am.
I watched the de-lousing process after dinner. All the men took off their shirts and made an exhaustive search along the seams, paying particular attention to the ones under the arms. Some used a lighted match to burn out huge clusters of eggs.
I slept well that night lulled off to sleep by the distant clatter of rifle fire.
Fell in between the lines at 8.00 next morning for a rifle inspection. As soon as Johnny spotted us, and he could see our every move, he sent over a few shells. Nobody got hit, so we carried on with the inspection. I was beginning to feel at home and on quite familiar terms with the shrapnel, (when I was in, or very near, a hole) when ‘Asiatic Annie’ started. She slung about six great shells over which dropped right into our camp. They didn’t come all at once or even quickly. But one every few minutes, and we could hear the blighted things as they travelled across the water. It was as though an express train was rushing down on one at an angle of 60 degrees. The noise was tremendous and the explosion on contact frightful, but I’d far rather have the explosion than the rushing through the air. With that the danger is still to come; with the sound of the explosion comes the assurance that you are safe from immediate annihilation. With the rushing of the next shell comes the fear of death. Cries for stretcher-bearers came from No.1 Company’s lines. Someone had been hit with a lump of casing. Lumps could be heard whizzing down long after the explosion.
I went digging after dinner. Each man drew a pick and shovel and we walked to within 1,500 yards of the firing line. Our task was widening and deepening the Oxford Street CT; higher up it was called Regent Street and where the two met at Brown House, a ruined farm, was Piccadilly Circus.
Heard some heavy fighting at night and we heard that a small stretch of trench had been lost, but regained at dawn. Friday was the hundredth anniversary of Waterloo and things were expected from the fleet. However, they didn’t turn up. We had a lecture in the morning, followed by a demonstration on ‘Troops, moving into artillery formation’. Captain Gowney’s idea of it. Brilliant man!
The Turk spotted us and thought he would make the show realistic, so sent over a few salvoes of shrapnel. All formation ended with the sound of the first shell, men diving head-first into any hole they happened to be near. No casualties, although there ought to have been. Even that didn’t satisfy our gallant captain. He had us out soon afterwards with our towels, formed us up and set us off in artillery formation to the beach for a bathe. As we reached the top of the cliffs I could see the remains of the battleship Majestic lying about 600 yards from shore. She just looked like some huge stranded whale.
Another result of British superiority. At the time it happened, there were scores of ships lying offshore, feeling, I suppose, quite safe from the Turks’ ships. None of the lookouts noticed a destroyer come down the straits, make for the Majestic and let fly with a couple of torpedoes. They both got home, and in the confusion which followed, the Turkish destroyer got back home safely.
We bathed down by the ASC1 beach and it was a treat to get into the water. A dead mule or two floating about in the water didn’t take away much of the pleasure, although the stench from them was frightful. The ASC people bake bread down on the beach and about there it ran half a loaf a man. Up where we were it was a loaf between five or six and up the line a loaf between ten, when it landed. The loaves were about a pound in weight. They tell us the Turk gets no bread at all, so I suppose we are lucky really.
A lovely strafe at dusk, both sides going ‘Hell for leather’. We couldn’t see Achi Baba for dust and smoke. There was a battery of field guns, manned by Australians and the noise when they fired was deafening. The Aussies looked like blacks and I don’t think any of them had worn shirts for ages. Went over with Bob Hester to watch them firing, then went farther over and watched a battery of French 75s. One of their guns was doing as much work as the whole battery of Australian guns. And weren’t the Frenchies a lively lot too. One chap (I think he was directing the fire) was entertaining the gunners by reciting, dancing and singing. He had them nearly rolling off their guns with laughter, but there was no mistake about the firing.
We were certainly at the most pleasant end of the gun. I suppose poor old Johnny Turk was crouched down in his trenches, praying to Allah if he was a good man, cursing everybody if he was only a soldier. Poor devils! I reckoned they had a worse time than us. I wondered if they laughed as we did when a shell nearly hit them? And the nearer the shell the louder we laughed.
Up by 4.30 next morning and digging up Oxford Street till dinner time. The food was rotten. The stew, whew! – corned beef and dried vegetables with far too much water. Here and there, floating about in the scum on top, were dead flies. Sometimes an issue of fresh meat would come along. First the IM gets his share, then all his satellites would dig in, then the various officers and sergeants’ messes, cooks, servants etc., then what’s left goes to the men. And there one can see, floating about on top of the dixies, huge greenish looking pieces of fat, with all the sand and dirt and flies that have accumulated on its journey from the beach. It was impossible to eat jam until the sun had gone to rest and with it the millions of flies. Biscuits and a bit of cheese were the only possible things.
Had a pretty rough time after tea. The Turk started shelling our road at one of its busiest times. It was full of horses and transport. One limber was blown to bits just outside our dugout, both horses killed but the men unhurt. About half a dozen horses were killed near us and once or twice we heard thuds and knew that something had gone in our parapet. We dug three empty shell-cases out of the front of our dugout in the morning.
The road on the left was getting shelled too, just on the rise up to the beach. There was a clear stretch of about 500 yards in full view of the Turk and it was a mad dash to get over it. I saw two direct hits there. The first was a GS wagon. The Turk sent over one shell just too late, the next just in front and the third between the two horses. He knocked off shelling then until the road was cleared, then started again. His first shot blew a limber with its horses and driver to bits. He was unlucky after that. Our guns started and they simply overwhelmed the Turk. Of course he had to start with Asiatic Annie and her friends. Their chief objective appeared to be the guns on our right.
Sunday was a repetition of the other days. We had Divine Service in two of the biggest holes. The Reverend Moore took the service. He seems a sticker.
Went digging, of course. Asiatic Annie confined her attentions to the beach and aerodrome. News came up towards dusk that there had been over a hundred casualties on the beach and that one of our aeroplanes had been hit. We only had a few shells over, but one of them reckoned: it went in the officers’ mess dugout. Captain Gowney was sitting there between the doctor and a sub when the shell burst. It badly wounded the two but never touched Gowney.
Our guns were at it all night, especially on the right. Heard on Monday that the French had made an attack and taken the trenches on a front of about 800 yards. Saw scores of Turks pass down our road. They did look a filthy lot. The Turks counter-attacked after tea and we stood by to reinforce, but were not called. Saw a scrap in the air Tuesday. A German aeroplane came over and one of our planes chased it away. Some of our chaps said it was Commander Sampson, but I’m hanged if I could see who it was from where I stood. I suppose they liked to think it was. The Taube came back in about half an hour and dropped three bombs very near our camp. Put the wind up us nicely but did no damage.
Got ready after for a trip up the line. Stowed our packs in a big dugout and took what we wanted with us in our haversacks. By the time we were ready for starting we looked more like Christmas trees than soldiers. All manner of strange things were hanging from us. Sandbags full of rations, greatcoats, firewood (if we were lucky), parcels (with the same remark applying), 200 rounds of ammunition and various other little items including our best friend, the blurry rifle. Then came the walk, developing at times into a run and all the way like an obstacle race. Actually, there were about two miles of CT to traverse, but with the way it twisted and turned it was more like five. Telephone wires kept falling from the side and got entangled in our rifles and legs.
Arrived at Trotman Road at last. This was a new firing line, dug the last time up by our battalion, under the supervision of the engineers and without any casualties, and named after our brigadier, General Trotman. It was quite a decent affair, with fire-bays, traverses and fire-steps. Relieved the Hawke Battalion, RND, and got nicely settled down about 7.00pm. Nothing happened during the night beyond a bit of rifle firing. Worked watches of one hour up and one down till dawn when everybody ‘stood to’. A chap called Charlie Hamilton asked me to take an orderly to Lieutenant Harden our platoon officer, so I did. He said it was a good number.
Had some good sport on Wednesday, sniping and being sniped. The Turks were about 200 yards away and he fired from loopholes in the bottom of his parapet. We fired from over the top of ours. Both our trench and his were supposed to be wired in front, but I’m sorry for the wire. It wouldn’t stop much of a rush. Two French 75s started skimming shells just over our trench and right into the Turk’s front line. He replied with one gun but couldn’t get us.
Had a pretty rough time at night. No. 3 Company, the reinforcements, made an attack on a Turk bombing sap in front. They took it easily; in fact, they only found about six Turks in it who were killed without putting up a fight. One of our chaps, only young and very new, got his bayonet into one of the Turks, but couldn’t pull it out and his nerve gave way completely. He started crying and screaming. Someone brought him back to our trench. We used to be told, by those who knew or thought they did, that once you draw the bayonet out of a man and feel the suck of blood and flesh on it, you see red and can go on killing indefinitely. Evidently this chap must have stuck his Turk in the wind; consequently there was no suck to feel. They got in this sap, very narrow and about six- to eight-feet deep, and found it full of dead, Turks and RND fellows who had taken the trench before. Everything was quiet for half an hour and our chaps managed to clear the trench a bit. Then Johnny started lobbing bombs into it as hard as he could go. Of course a panic started straightaway. Major Grover tried to organise a rush to the next Turkish trench but was killed by a bomb. Then one of the subs got killed and the other led a small party of men to get the Turks out. None came back. The company had fifty-five casualties, mostly killed and missing. We could hear one poor devil crying out all night ‘stretcher-bearer’ and ‘Oh my God, fetch me in’. They found him about dawn, only slightly hit but as daft as anyone could be. The last striking impression I had of that fight was Captain Gowney standing up in front of our parapet, oblivious to danger and swinging a huge stick hand grenade. He intended it for the Turks, but it landed about ten yards from himself and burst on contact; he wasn’t even scratched. He must have had the luck of the devil. He came in at that and gave the order for five rounds rapid. It was funny to see some of the chaps firing. They were simply terrified of being hit and made no attempt to put their heads over the top. They were crouched down on the fire-step with their rifles pointing up into the air at an angle of 75 degrees, blazing away as fast as they could work the bolt. They would very likely hit the top of Achi Baba. One chap next to me had two fingers shot away by a return bullet.
I turned in soon after and managed a sleep till ‘stand to’. Had a stroll round the firing line after breakfast and as far up Sap 9 as they had dug. Saw Major Grover laid out on one of the fire-steps and two or three more of the chaps who had been brought in. Did a bit of sniping from Sap 9, but it was pretty dangerous as the Turks were only fifty yards away in most places. Had a fairly quiet day but another little spasm at night. A party went out digging in front to connect Sap 9 with Sap 8 on the right. Everything went well until one of the scouts in front got the wind up and blazed off a couple of rounds. Of course everybody did what they shouldn’t have done; dropped their tools and bolted back to our trench. Johnny Turk woke up with the row and blazed away. Another twenty or thirty casualties, mostly wounds, several caused by jumping on to bayonets in the trench. I missed that little lot as Captain Gowney had put me on guard over his dugout, which was full of bombs and detonators.
Had a scare on Friday. Two or three of our shells burst over our line but luckily did no damage.
The Turk shelled our trench on Saturday but no one was hit. Two of our 6-inch howitzers replied and the shells as they burst fairly shook the earth. They put the wind up Johnny and we could see several of them nipping away from this trench. Nobody fired at them; why I don’t know, except that it might not have crossed anybody’s mind.
Sunday was a quiet day except for some shrapnel towards sunset. Saw about eight of our aeroplanes go over Achi Baba and could hear them until after midnight. The French got busy on our right at dawn.
Expected relief at noon on Monday by the Hawkes but the order was washed out. A terrific bombardment started on the left about 2.00pm. The fleet turned up and every available gun on land blazed away. It seemed impossible that anyone could live in those Turkish trenches. The artillery lifted their range about 4.00pm and we could see the troops advancing from our lines. Then Johnny opened up with shrapnel, bursting right amongst those groups of advancing men. They just disappeared. More followed through and we could see them advancing beyond the belt of Turkish fire. Then we could see the Turks leaving their trenches and nipping back into the cover of their positions in rear. We heard later that the 29th Division and 29 Indian Brigade had advanced about 1,000 yards, taken four lines of trenches, one battalion of field guns, five machine guns and 250 prisoners. Relieved about 8.30pm by the Hawkes.
I thought we should never get down to that rest camp. It was bad enough walking up in the light but it proved a thousand times worse going back in the dark. Going up we were fresh, but on the down journey everybody was exhausted and worn out through having no sleep, very little to eat and two pretty rough nights. Went off to sleep immediately on arrival and in the morning had a refreshing bathe in the sea. I went in with my shirt on, got it wet and then slashed it well on a rock. It dried in the sun in less than half an hour and all the lice that I thought would be dead came to life again. A Taube came over later and dropped a bomb near us, but did no damage.
Our guns put up a heavy bombardment at night but not the slightest sound of it could we hear. The night was awfully dark with a strong wind blowing towards Achi Baba, which no doubt carried the sound away from us. The sight was wonderful. The whole three miles of front at times was one huge burst of red flame. The strafe carried on all Wednesday and the French made an attack on the right which met with a certain amount of success.
We set off to dig some new trenches but only got as far as Sandbag Corner (the entrance to the CT) when the order was washed out. We waited there about half an hour and the whole time bullets were whistling and whining amongst us. They had a quiet, tired sort of sound as though they were fed up and wanted to get to rest. It must have been two miles from the Turks’ firing line so I expect Johnny rapid fired in the same way that some of our chaps did. Two or three of our chaps got hit while we were waiting but only slightly. The bullets had no penetrating power. Sergeant Milne was one who got hit and it got him in the back of the neck, but only went in about half an inch. He carried on, worse luck. Word passed round like wild fire: ‘Old Milne is wounded.’ Everybody was delighted till they knew it was only slight and that there was no chance of him dying or being sent away. I think he was the most hated man in the whole battalion and, long before we left England or during the voyage out, chaps were threatening to shoot him when we got into action. However, he carried on and lots of the chaps who made the threats would never be able to carry them out.
Had a few quiet days after that. Thursday and Friday, I don’t think our guns opened up at all. Went digging Friday afternoon and, just as we were passing Port Arthur, a big shell dropped amongst us, killing three and wounding six. Had a lot of rain in the night, cooling but very uncomfortable. The roof of our dugout leaked and we were wet though in a few minutes.
Had a pretty bad doing with heavy shells in the morning and to make things more cheerful I started with sickness and diarrhoea. This carried on Saturday and Sunday and I thought I should start with dysentery. There was a fearful lot of it knocking about then. Went down to the beach for a bathe on Sunday and saw a big French troopship lying off V beach. By the time we reached camp again she was under the sea, torpedoed. Saw a big French SAA2 dump blown up on the right. It was just like a huge firework display and lasted about two hours. Heavy fighting all Monday morning. The Turks appeared to have a lot more guns now. Had a Taube over three times dropping bombs.
Towards tea-time twelve of our planes went over Achi Baba in one bunch. It was fun watching the Turks’ frantic efforts to stop them getting over his lines. Hundreds of shells were pumped at them but not one turned back.
We were supposed to be standing by for the line, but only in case of a stunt. The Anson Battalion on our right got shelled heavily just before dusk. I could see groups of them standing about their dugouts, and a big shell came over from Asia and pitched amongst the dugouts. Then followed nine more in quick succession, one alone accounting for twenty casualties. Lots of men were wounded by stones and splinters of rock which were scattered about at a terrific speed.
Orders for the line were cancelled on Tuesday as the 52nd Lowland Division was taking over our lines and headquarters. They hadn’t been on the peninsula long and hadn’t had a trip up the line. They seemed fairly eager to get up and referred to Achi Baba as ‘as wee bit muck’. They had an idea that they were going to walk right over it that trip up the line. Let ‘em try, we’d had some.
Lieutenant Harden’s servant was away sick so Charlie Hamilton asked me to look after him for a time. There didn’t appear to be much to do for him, except share his parcels, borrow his books and field-glasses and make his bed down at night. The advantages attached to the job were numerous, some of them being no digging, no fatigues, no rotten stew, and a good meal with Hamilton, usually steak and chips, and that when the sun and flies had gone to rest.
The colonel joined us up again from Egypt, looking spruce and fit, and with the rank of full colonel. Mr Dougherty came back too, also with another pip up and a brand new rig-out. Went for a bathe in the sea on Wednesday but got shelled out of it. Got back to camp safely and found two lovely parcels from home. Had a good feed and felt quite ill after it.
Things were very quiet up to Saturday, hardly anything doing at all. The Scotties don’t appear to be shifting that ‘wee bit muck’. Water was awfully scarce and the quality of it poor. Nearly all the wells were dried up and it was no use digging for water. It meant a trip to the beach for a drop of decent drinking water.
Some days we washed, some days we didn’t, and the flies! Scores to the square inch, and the vermin! One can strip and have a rub-down, search minutely amongst one’s clothes and, five minutes after dressing again, there they are again. Hundreds of troops were being taken from the peninsula every day with dysentery and jaundice.