Part 15

I take the officers up to our “bivvy” and surprise the others, who did not expect me, and I feel quite pleased to get back—the same feeling one has when one gets home to the family after a few weeks’ holiday. We have breakfast, and I hear that the 13th Division are on the shore, and that several of the officers of the 13th Divisional Train are just along the cliff, and so go along to see them. I found Frank Edey there, a friend of many years’ standing, and this was the third time during the war that we had run across each other unexpectedly. I was three months with the 13th Division at Bulford, so it was nice seeing them again. They are leaving soon for some unknown destination, further up the coast.

I find that “W” Beach has been heavily shelled on the 5th July, seven hundred coming over in four hours. They are mostly high explosive shells, and make a nasty mess of any victim which they find. To people working in the various administrative departments, where they are continually walking about in the open, the continual exposure to high explosive shell fire is wearing on the nerves, and cases of nervous breakdown here are becoming more and more frequent. In spite of the most heavy shelling, the administrative work has to go on, and at high speed too.

I hear bad news about my old mare. She was killed by a shell while I was away, on July 5th. She had been an awfully good pal to me, and we had some good times together, and I think that her name should be put in the Roll of Honour.

Warham, the servant of Storey, of the 13th Division Train, was blown up by a shell yesterday in his dugout along the cliff. He was a good chap, and for a short time had been my servant at Bulford.

There has been but little shelling our way to-day—in fact, everything seems extraordinarily quiet.

At 6 p.m. we go down to the breakwater to bathe, and I find Frank Edey there, and other Bulford pals. And then, wonder of wonders, whom should I run into but my friend of many years, the versatile Gordon Findlay-Smith. The last time that I saw him was in Piccadilly Circus on December 22nd, while motoring. We looked at each other in amazement, and then burst out laughing. He has been here ten days, and is in a beastly place which is shelled every day, namely the Ordnance depot.

_8 p.m._

The night falls quicker now, but with the same lovely colouring, and a full moon is shining.

_July 28th._

See my friends of the 13th Division this morning. At twelve noon high explosive shells come over our camp and kill six fine horses.

_4 p.m._

On duty at Main Supply depot, and ugh! beastly high explosive shells come over. One bursts in Ordnance depot and blows two men to bits. Very glad when I am off duty, but I would rather be here than in Alexandria.

My Brigade has been away at Lemnos resting, but comes back to-night. Nothing much has been done since the battle of June 29th, which I saw, except the French have straightened their line in accordance with our move.

Everything is very quiet; even the French “75’s” hardly fire a shot; but something big is afoot. Three of our companies have their horse lines dug in at the foot of the cliff in the lower road, half-way between “W” Beach and the bakery, past the Greek camp; and the cliff, which is higher than in most places, affords almost perfect protection for the animals. Officers and men live there, but it is not a very sanitary spot to live in, what with the manure and the flies and the heat. Occasionally, to make the atmosphere more savoury, a dead horse or mule is washed ashore, after having floated about for several days.

Most of the animals which die or are killed are towed out to sea and there sunk, either by the firing of bullets into the carcass or by stones fastened to their legs. Many carcasses are, however, in spite of all precautions, washed ashore, causing great unpleasantness to all near who are living dug into the cliff-side. One such decaying carcass this morning, lying on the water’s edge half submerged, aroused the ire of a Staff Officer, who immediately strafed the officer living in the cliff-side nearest to the place where it lay. He was politely told that “The Navy are responsible for everything up to high-water mark,” and of course could strafe no more. But the poor old Navy have their hands pretty full, keeping the seas open for we on shore, and it is rather hard lines on them to add to their heavy responsibilities the keeping of the shores and beaches clear of washed-up carcasses of poor old mules and horses who have died for their country.

Now and again a dead mule or horse is buried on land, but we still, after over three months’ effort, are holding such a small bit of land that room is very scarce and a burial-ground for animals is out of the question.

_July 29th._

A hot day, rather gusty and dusty, and of course not a cloud in the sky.

My Brigade is back from Lemnos, and is along the cliffs of the West Coast with H.Q. at the mouth of the gully or the now famous nullah. West Coast cliffs now absolutely honeycombed with dugouts, arranged in terraces as far as possible. The whole tip of the Peninsula is alive and teeming with troops and followers of all nationalities—British, French, Senegalese, Greeks, Arabs, Sudanese, Hindus, Gurkhas, Punjabis, and Sikhs.

13th Division now moving off the Peninsula.

Poor old Findlay up to his eyes in ordnance; fortunately he was away when shell burst in his compound yesterday. He says, “Gott strafe the Kaiser!” from morning to night.

Only half a dozen high explosive shells come over our way to-day, but inland Turkish artillery has been fairly active, but nothing much doing on the front. Aeroplanes busily humming overhead. Beaches very busy, with all kinds and manner of work day and night.

Meet Fulford, pal of Birmingham hockey days, a few years ago, and again of Salisbury Plain days of 1914, now a chaplain in the 40th Brigade, 13th Division. Having tea with him to-morrow. He tapped me on the shoulder on “W” Beach, saying, “Thanks very much for the gloves, Gillam.” I borrowed a pair of gloves from him on November 14th, had lost them, had sent him another pair, and he had forgotten to write and thank me. I had not seen or heard from him until to-day.

Observation balloon up, captive to a steamer off the Gully Beach, but little or no artillery firing on our part.

13th Division of Kitchener’s Army have had their baptism, but in defence, not attack; Turks had a taste of what Kitchener’s Army is like.

I believe in after-years the name of Kitchener will be wreathed in a blaze of glory that will dim the lustre of all other famous names in our history. Not only will we beat the enemy with the splendid troops his genius has created, but if his spirit still endures in the nation after the war, we shall defy the world for all time, and in that way form an impregnable barrier to the mad ambitions of other States.

_July 30th._

Ride my new horse to-day along to the gully (nullah) and see Brigadier-General Cayley. Awfully pretty at the gully, with cliffs honeycombed with H.Q. and terraces leading to them. Brigade now almost up to full strength again, and Tommies enjoying bathing and domestic duties. Tommy is a most lovable animal sometimes. Met Panton, who is now D.A.D.M.S. to Division. He was wounded in the leg in May, but is now quite fit. Talked of those early days. Also see Fulford again. Come along top road on cliff with Major O’Hara and Major Collier as far as “X” Beach, when we ride down and finish the ride back to “W” Beach walking along the lower road, for much traffic was passing and going. Heavy shelling on “W” Beach from high explosive gun on Achi, but most burst into the sea. Plenty of fire to-day.

I think the 13th Division are going to attempt a landing up the coast soon, but news is very scarce. Whatever is on is being kept very secret. Hear that about five enemy submarines have been caught out here in nets stretched between two drifters, and blown up on contact. Only a rumour though. The Navy keep very “mum” about these things. I think one submarine has actually been brought into Malta.

Aeroplane falls into the sea; pilot and observer safe, and both picked up. It glided down beautifully.

I learn that a French ship was torpedoed while I was away, but none of the crew was drowned, and ship was empty of supplies.

Findlay-Smith came to dinner. Awfully amusing hearing him grousing about the shelling, just as he used to grouse in the old days about such a thing as a train being held up between Clapham Junction and Waterloo. It is topping dining in our “bivvy” listening to the gentle wash of the waves, and after dinner enjoying the view of the sun setting behind Imbros, while we smoke and have coffee. Guns from Asia seem to have been silenced. Cannot see any signs of life on the plain of Troy, which looks pretty peaceful meadow land! Can see it in detail from here. They must have observing stations there, and see all that we are doing, and hence the shelling of “W” Beach.

Farmer, Neave, and Balfour, of the 88th Brigade Staff, have been sent home invalided. Hear that there is to be a new landing further up, but when, I don’t quite know, and that this time we shall land quite six Divisions. I predicted in the early days that 250,000 men would be found necessary to make this job a success; and troops which have come and gone, and are coming, nearly reach this figure. It is surprising what a little bit of land we are on, just as if it was a small corner of the Isle of Wight.

Fancy being able to take in at a glance our front lines and the Turkish lines, Krithia, the West Coast, the Dardanelles, and Asia’s mountains, and the formidable position of Achi Baba, with its supporting ridges on either side. That is what we can do with the naked eye from the edge of the cliffs on either side of “W” Beach. And over three months have now passed since we landed.

_July 31st._

While issuing this morning at depot, high explosive shells come over from Achi. They burst in different places, searching the beach. One bursts near Way’s depot, and one man and two mules are hit, the man badly. Next one on aerodrome. An interval of two or three minutes passes between the arrival of each shell.

Shortly after the one had burst near Way’s depot, I, standing with issuers, drivers, G.S. wagons, A.T. carts, N.C.O.’s and ration parties all around me, hear the shriek of one coming straight at me, for it shrieks too long. Those who say that, if killed by a shell, one never hears the shriek of the shell that hits one, are quite mistaken—that is to say, when being shelled by one, two, or three guns at a time. In a bombardment, of course, the din is so deafening that you can’t tell which shell is addressed to you and which is not—and after a bit you don’t much care. A deafening explosion and dense smoke, dust, and stones, and I find myself locked in the arms of a transport driver with my face buried in the stomach of a fat sergeant, and mules kicking all round. Not a man hit, and the shell five yards away. The nearest I have ever had. It had burst in a mound of soft earth and right deep in the ground, and that saved us. I look up, and all the others get sheepishly to their feet, and I get out another cigarette and smoke. I smoked six of them hard, and tried to be facetious and to pretend that I did not care, but not one man there could have been in a more miserable cowardly funk than I was, while waiting for the next, which, however, gave us a long miss.

Later in the morning we got a few high explosive shells from Achi. One pitched clean on the roof of our signal offices, which is a timbered erection, sand-bagged, and proof against splinter only. There the clerks work, tap-tap-tap and buz-buz-buz to and from all over the Peninsula, messages being sent and received every minute, almost all the day and night, like a central telegraph office in London. Down came the shrieking thing: a deafening report; splinters of timber, torn sand-bags, dust, stones, and smoke fly into the air, and then silence. A pause, and men rush, not away, but to the ruined office. Nine men and one Signal Officer have been killed outright. Several wounded are carried up the cliff to the hospital. Operators immediately get to work connecting up the severed wires to new instruments. Improvised tables are put in position. In half an hour a wire is sent off to G.H.Q. that all is “O.K.,” and tap-tap, buz-buz is heard once more, tapping and buzzing busily away, not for a weekly wage, but—for the King. It was a near thing for old Findlay in his office, twenty yards away.

I rowed to a submarine this afternoon and went aboard. Delightful sitting on deck and chatting to the Captain. He has just heard good news from Persia, and we are all cheery. Go up to Brigade H.Q., Gully Beach, and have tea, and chat to battalions in rest on cliff-sides. While away, hear shells from Achi screeching overhead for “W” Beach, and feel therefore quite safe. The Ordnance had it this afternoon.

AUGUST

_August 1st._

Artillery duels go on again to-day, and several high explosive shells come over while I am on duty at the Main Supply depot. This afternoon I am drawing forage for to-morrow’s issue to the Division. We draw men’s rations for the same day’s issue at six o’clock in the morning, and forage at four in the afternoon before.

Greek labour loads the wagons with the oats, maize, and hay, which carry the forage three hundred yards away to our depot of four dumps. When shelling is on the gang of thirty to forty Greeks melts away, and often, when at work checking each wagon, one finds when one looks round but ten Greeks left. Then it is necessary to hunt round behind and in amongst the large high and wide stacks of grain and hay, where the missing Greeks are to be found quietly hiding here and there in twos and threes. Some are very good at sticking to the work, more so the boys (as young as fifteen) and the elderly men, some of whom are quite benevolent-looking.

This afternoon, one or two shells coming close to us, it was necessary for me to stop work for fifteen minutes to make sure that no more were coming, and to place the mules with their wagons behind the stacks of hay, which afford perfect protection. I have never yet seen a shell penetrate a wide stack of trusses of compressed hay. A pause—no shells—and out we pop from our hiding-places like rabbits, and load busily away once more. It is really funny. Like a game of hide and seek.

Panton dines with us to-night, but I have to leave immediately after dinner, for I am again on duty at the depot drawing extra supplies. These are now being drawn nightly, to form a reserve depot in the gully, but a little way up from Gully Beach, to be ready for us in case we advance.

As I walk across the high ground on the left of “W” Beach looking towards Achi, I hear the booming of a Turkish gun, and instinctively I know that the shell is addressed either to me or in my direction, and accordingly fling myself to the ground in a manner to rival the best stage fall. The usual sound of the sky being rent in two is followed by a deafening explosion, and dust and stones fall on top of me. The smoke blown my way makes me cough.

I arrive at my depot; a man runs up and reports that the shell has hit a dugout in which three of our supply loaders live. I send a man back for Panton, and start to run across to the dugout. I hear the heavens torn asunder again. I fall flat behind boxes. The beastly thing bursts in the hay. I wonder if the farmers at home ever realized how we would bless their compressed trusses of hay, as protection from shell fire. I run to the dugout. Two men are lying dead. One man, wounded, is being carried away by his comrades. Panton, who has arrived, takes their identity discs. One cannot be recognized but for his identity disc. I go over to depot and continue my job of seeing the wagons loaded. I go to mount my horse. As I am about to put my foot in the stirrup I hear again the boom of a gun. I feel jumpy and duck. I hear a laugh. It is from a driver. It is dark and he can’t see who I am—or my blushes—for the boom I heard was from a friendly heavy French gun over by Morto Bay. I ride round the top road with Cooke, who is waiting for me behind the dugout a little way up the West Coast.

We speculate upon the reason why the advanced depot is being formed in the gully. If the landing further up is successful, then the Turks are bound to retire from before Achi, and the hill will at last be ours. At last! We must therefore be prepared for an immediate advance. Hence the advanced depot.

We arrive at the gully, riding on to the beach down the winding road. It is a beautiful starlight night. The gully and its slopes are illuminated by a host of little lights from the dugouts of various H.Q. signal stations, dressing stations, etc., all unseen by the enemy; but from the sea they look like the lights of a small fishing town nestling in the shelter of gorse-covered irregular cliffs. I call at Brigade H.Q. and then at a dressing station, where some cheery R.A.M.C. fellows give me a whisky and soda. Afterwards I accompany Cooke, who is in charge of a convoy to fetch ammunition, up to Pink Farm. We ride up the high road on to the high land, and after being stopped now and again by the “’Alt, ’oo are you?” of a sentry, arrive at the ammunition depot near Pink Farm, in Trafalgar Square. There we load up with ammunition, which we cart along Artillery Road, meeting the gully half-way, dip down, and, our loads disposed of, we ride back home, arriving there at 2 a.m. Cooke persuades me to stop at his dugout and have a “nightcap,” which I do.

He has built for himself a nice cosy room, dug in on the cliff-side. Sitting there in the early hours of the morning, I am reminded of that whisky and soda most men enjoy at 2 o’clock in the morning when arriving home from a dance. He has made a dug-out stable for his horse, and invites me to leave mine there for the night, to save me the fag of taking him back to his lines, and to enable me to take the shortcut back to the dugout, which is but a little way along the cliff towards “W” Beach. I therefore tie up my horse, water him, and give him a little hay, and go back along the cliff to bed.

_August 2nd._

I am up at 6 a.m. on duty at the depot, drawing men’s rations from the main supply for to-day’s issue. I pass our lines and find my horse, which I had left at Cooke’s stable last night, standing in his proper place again. He had disagreed with my leaving him in a strange stable and had found his way back to his own lines and into his proper place by some means only known to horses. A horse is not such a fool as some people imagine.

On account of shelling, I have lately managed to get my issuing of rations to units all finished by 9.30 a.m., and to-day, no sooner had I finished than over the brutes came. There is a lot of artillery work about to-day, and we have pushed a little in a very small part of our centre, just to straighten a bulge in our line. Three cruisers have been in action up off the coast above “Y” Beach, bombarding the Turkish right part of line, and right over the Peninsula on to Asia. It is nice to hear the sound of the guns of battleships again, but I do not think that their guns do the damage against positions on land that I imagined they would do before this campaign. The trajectory of their shells is too low, especially considering the geographical formations on this Peninsula, which provides good cover everywhere for the enemy. There is great anticipation in the air about this coming landing, but nobody knows when and where it is to take place.

_August 3rd._

Aviatik aeroplane comes over this morning and drops a few bombs. Later in the day high explosive howitzer shells come over from Asia. Heavy artillery duels now going on. Everything the same, but shelling a bit heavier on “W” Beach.

We hope each day that the great fight will come soon and end this show, but each day seems the same as yesterday, and we can only anticipate that to-morrow will be the same as to-day.

Two officers buried in dugout at Supply depot by shell this morning. Both rescued and carried off to hospital. Shells over all the time we are issuing, and it is terribly trying, as there is absolutely no cover for us, and we, of course, have to stick it.

Our S.S.O., Major Shorto, just managed to get behind stack of hay in time, out of the way of an “Asiatic Annie.” Two cruisers come up in the afternoon and heavily shell left of Achi Baba with broadside after broadside, and it is encouraging to hear their welcome boom.

After dinner I ride over to Gully Beach with Cooke and Petro, via top road. Not much fun riding by day now.

Very quiet in front, but at 10 p.m. firing begins, and we can distinctly hear the explosions of those terrible weapons—bombs. It dies down after a while.

_August 4th._

Perfect, calm sea; hot day. The big gun at Achi Baba left us alone while issuing this morning, but in its place a howitzer on Asiatic side kept us alive and steadily dropped shells around us. Phew! I am glad when that morning issuing is over, for every morning regularly now we are shelled.

Later in morning, she tried dropping them on edge of cliff, and reached once or twice. Not much damage, and a howitzer gives plenty of warning. But one cannot so easily gauge where their shells are going to drop as with the other guns.

_2 o’clock._

Shelling by big guns from Achi has now started, and they are dropping on the beach, and everybody is taking cover for dear life. Now howitzer from Asia is joining in. Nothing much happened to-day, except heavy artillery duels, and with the anniversary of the war we find ourselves not much further forward than we were two months ago.

_August 5th._

Another hot, depressing, monotonous and nervy day. Was officer of the day at the Supply depot, and, as usual, shells came over. A fuse whizzed near our heads with a most weird singing noise. French battleship at entrance bombarded Asia, and two British cruisers on West Coast bombarded Achi.

Something big is going to happen soon. I may add that this sentence has been passed from mouth to mouth for the last week, and if that something does not happen soon we shall all be in a devil of a fix on this tiny little tip of the Peninsula.

So dangerous has it now become to walk about in the open that a communication trench has been dug from “X” Beach right to the firing-line, and so troops landing on “W” Beach can walk round the road at the foot of cliffs and straight up this trench to fire-trenches. Most of the transport by day goes by this road, only venturing in the open on high land by night.

Our depot, however, still remains in the same place, exposed to and ranged on by enemy’s guns, with the result that we get shelled regularly every day, and the sigh of relief that will go up to heaven when we have orders to move will echo from Asia to the Ægean.

Ride up to Gully Beach with Cooke and Farquhar and see Brigade, and after, ride up the gully and across to Pink Farm. Nothing doing on front. We enjoy the ride and exercise. Devilish difficult getting a decent ride nowadays. At Pink Farm, bullets as usual chanting their pinging song.

On the way back a Monitor up the coast starts firing heavily, making a huge flash, lighting up for a big distance the sky and land, a roar like a crash of thunder immediately following.

_August 6th._

On duty at 6 a.m. at Supply depot. Several shells come over at the shipping, but none into our depot, shrieking overhead like lost spirits.

Distant sounds of heavy bombardment going on up north, and one man said that he saw through glasses shrapnel bursting up the coast ten miles away. If so, a landing probably is being attempted at Suvla Bay.