Chapter X: Part 10

At five o’clock the Turks sprang a surprise bombardment on to the left of our line, and simultaneously, just as I was walking the few yards from our Supply depot to our men, four 18-pounder shrapnel burst overhead. All about the depot dive for cover, and many of them rush into our dugout, it being the most handy. A minute only and four more come, burst overhead, the bullets rattling on the shrapnel-proof roof. Foley is with me; Way and Carver are up on the cliff in a safe spot. Petro is up on the high ground behind our dugout, having gone there to watch a battleship firing on to Burnt Hill, while Phillips is down on the beach, looking after a water-cart. Never before have we had 18-pounder shrapnel burst as far up the promontory as this, and we are naturally surprised how the Turks could have pushed one of their batteries so close up to get the range. As fast as we put our heads out to see if Phillips or Petro is about, a salvo of four shells arrives over, most of them bursting in the neighbourhood of our depot and a few on the beach further over to the left. No one is about; all have gone to ground like rabbits. They give it us hot and strong for fifteen minutes, and then stop. All the time the battleships have been firing, and I think must have got on to this particular battery. We cautiously come out of our dugout and look about. Gradually men all over the beaches appear from all directions and go about their respective jobs. Petro turns up from a dugout close by, beaming all over his face, and says that he had done a hundred yards’ sprint over boulders and rocks in record time, at the finish making a beautiful head-dive into the nearest dugout that he could see, on to a half-dozen Tommies crouching inside. We then see Phillips limping up from the beach, being helped by two Tommies. I run down to him, and we go to the 11th Division Casualty Clearing Station. We unwind the puttee of his left leg, which had been hit, when a shrapnel bullet rolls out and runs along the floor like a marble. I pick it up and put it in his pocket. It had drilled a hole clean through his leg, just above the ankle, through which blood is pouring freely. He is bound up and, though in great pain, perspiration pouring off his face, keeps smiling and cheerful. One of the most painful parts of the body to be hit is just above the ankle. When the first four shells burst he fell flat behind a big boulder, which protected all of him but his long legs, and after the third or fourth salvo he felt the sledge-hammer blow of a bullet and knew he was hit. Lying there wounded while other shells burst overhead was a beastly experience for him, and he thanked his stars when it was all over. With one arm around my shoulder he leans on me and slowly limps back to our dugout, I hoping that they won’t burst out again. I lay him on my bed; the swarms of flies that are with us always now buzz round the wound, which I cover up with muslin. I go up to O’Hara to tell him, and find there some of our D.H.Q. Staff, just back from the line, having had to clear quickly when the attack opened.

When O’Hara gets back with me we find Phillips has gone off, assuring the others that he will be back in a month.

The Turkish gunners were too quick for old Phillips this time, giving him no chance to read their minds. But thank the Lord he is wounded and not gone West! I miss him to-night, and feel depressed, and wonder how long I shall remain on this God-forsaken place or how long it will be before my turn comes to get hit.

It is now a beautiful moonlight night, quiet, calm, and still, and an enemy aeroplane sails over, making a circle of the bay.

I have got an idea that the old Turk is laughing at us now.

_September 19th._

A fairly quiet day. Beautiful calm moonlight night. Have to get water up from “A” Beach to De Lisle’s Gully ready for the 86th, who arrive to-morrow. Thank Heaven it is moonlight. Go up first to H.Q. of Brigade by car. Country smells lovely. We have not been here long enough yet to spoil the land. Hardly a rifle shot in front. Go over to De Lisle’s Gully and back to D.H.Q., up to Brigade again, and once more; then to the gully, arriving home at midnight. Actually enjoyed the trip, but looking at the calm sea and moon, and the landscape of mountain and gorse, with the continual chirping of the crickets, how I longed, craved, and yearned for the day when Peace will be declared.

_September 20th._

Turks shell us unceasingly all morning, several shells coming near our depot, but they are only light shells, and many of them do not explode. A Newfoundland regiment joins our Brigade. They get shelled while on the beach, just an hour after landing, and suffer casualties. They appear to look upon it as a huge joke.

Way and Carver come back. 86th Brigade due from Imbros to-morrow. Hear that Captain Koebel, who came over with me from Alexandria at the end of July, has died of wounds. We became great friends on board the _Anglo-Egyptian_ in July.

Go up to Brigade by night. Beautiful moonlight night again. Go up by car. Nothing doing. Lachard joins us now in place of Phillips.

_September 21st._

Fairly quiet to-day so far. Though just as I go over to depot this morning several shells fly overhead. Horrid feeling when you are in the open. Very fine day, but flies terrible. All quiet on front. Exactly a month now since last battle.

_September 22nd._

All quiet up to 3.30 p.m., when we had a very bad shelling, and there were several casualties in the valley. Fortunately it only lasted half an hour. Our men are busy making shrapnel-proof head cover. One gun somewhere by Sari Bair is very fond of chucking over, to our camps on this promontory, 5·9 shrapnel. One does not hear the boom of the gun, which I think must be a howitzer. The first warning one has of the thing coming is a sound like some one blowing with his lips very softly. This gets louder and louder, until with a cat-like shriek and bang it explodes over one’s head. Having to depend on being warned by such a common sound is of course the cause of many false alarms. In fact, a man blowing with his lips is sufficient to make another man cock his ears and listen.

_September 23rd._

A quiet day, but for the usual cannonading on both sides, a few 5·9 shrapnel shells coming our way at four in the afternoon. Reinforcements arriving daily. A cold gale blowing all day. At six we have another bout of shelling, while we are loading up A.T. carts, one shell pitching right in our depot, and one of our poor chaps being badly hit, from which he is not expected to recover. (He has since died. A nice boy, only nineteen.)

_September 24th._

A quiet morning. News reaches us that Bulgaria is in, but whether for us or against us is uncertain. Naturally, therefore, there is a feeling of great anxiety prevalent. We hope to have more definite news to-night. Heavy gale blowing this morning, calming down later. A very quiet day, no shells coming our way. At Anzac, at eight to-night, a bit of a severe battle took place, probably a Turkish attack. There was a continual roar of musketry and shells bursting on the side of Sari Bair. It was a surprise attack on the part of the New Zealanders, and so far has proved successful. Firing developed along our front from Chocolate Hill, and a feeble Turkish attack started in front of our Brigade, the Worcesters taking the blow. It was with ease beaten off, and died away after half an hour. We lost about twelve men.

_September 25th._

A quiet day; just the usual artillery duels, no shells coming our way. Walked up to Brigade H.Q. in the evening. Battalion of the London Regiment joins Brigade. Lovely moonlight night. Rather a lot of firing on our front, and bullets a bit free. Meet Stewart and Lachard at Brigade, Stewart having come to relieve Lachard, who is going back to Helles. Walked back together. A bright flash from the _Swiftsure_ in the bay denotes that she has fired one of her big guns, and a few seconds after a loud report is heard, and the rumble of a shell as it passed over Sari Bair on to “somewhere” goes on for a long time before one hears the distant report of its burst. I hear the sound of propellers overhead, and think I can see the airship from Imbros sailing over towards Anafarta. The _Swiftsure_ fires once more, and then all is quiet for an hour. Then a Turkish battery puts a shell over to us, and follows this up with one every ten minutes, continuing for an hour!

_September 26th._

Awakened in the morning by the 5·9 shrapnel coming over and bursting overhead, and we are subjected to an hour of it. None of our men hit, but about four mules hit. A beautiful day and sea calm; work of unloading stores proceeds apace. Artillery duels, but no shells come our way till four, when one shell bursts uncomfortably near. One feels a bit shaky for an hour after such an event, but we have got to stick it.

_September 27th._

A very fine day, but a trifle hot; the flies seem to be swarming more than ever, and they are a great plague. Usual artillery duel from the batteries on shore and the Fleet in the bay. Seeing a lot of Arthur McDougall now, an awfully nice boy in Middlesex Yeomanry. Hear that O’Hara, our D.A.Q.M.G., is leaving the Division. All of us very sorry to lose him. Has got a lieutenant-colonelcy at G.H.Q., and deserves the push up. At 7.30 p.m. a burst of rifle fire started at Chocolate Hill. All the batteries on shore took it up; the warships in the bay joined in—battleships and Monitors and the like—and such an infernal din is now heard that the whole Peninsula seems to shake, and the evening sky is studded with innumerable flashes, right away to Anzac and beyond. It is very impressive, and lasts for an hour and a half. It turned out to be all panic. There has been good news of the French in Champagne; somebody in the trenches cheered—everybody else let his rifle off—and then the whole pandemonium started! The Turk never replied at all, and there was no attack; the moon shining peacefully above must have smiled at the folly of man this night!

Go up to Brigade with Carver and Stewart. Moonlight night, the bay looking beautiful and quite enjoyable, except over the bullet-swept area. Called at 86th H.Q. on the way back, and picked up Way, and had a chat with Thomson, who had just come back from staying at Athens for a few days.

_September 28th._

Wood, of the Essex Regiment, comes in early, and I give him a bed and breakfast and have a long chat about life here. Has just come back from a month’s leave. Now has his majority. Get up to see O’Hara off. Peaceful morning; beaches represent hives of industry. Engineers busy making a pier out of a sunken ship, their hammers reminding one of the happy days of civilian life in the work towns of the North and Centre of England. An Indian shepherd is guarding his flock of sheep (destined to be slaughtered for the Indian troops) in front of our dugout on the slopes of the hill, while the distant roar of guns can be heard further south. Cooke arrives from Helles to join us. Hear that Collier is leaving us, so that we are now without a major or a colonel. Go up to H.Q. in car at nine, with a London Regiment officer and Arthur McDougall. Very bumpy ride. Find Stewart there. A bullet has knocked Stewart’s hat off, but he does not seem to be upset much, and when he gets back just calmly sews up the two burnt holes. Getting water up to troops still entailing a lot of worry and work. The water is pumped from lighters through a pipe which dips into the sea. Yesterday water was very salt, as sea-water had got in. Was very ill in the night through this. Called up in night as water-carts had gone to wrong place and a further supply had to be sent up. This water business is the worst of all. All the animals have to be taken down to water at the usual times. A Transport Officer from the depot here, who has been down to see me once or twice on business, has told me that in his opinion the most trying duty of all is seeing the animals watered. The troughs are in full sight of the Turkish gunners, and the long lines of dust emerging from the transport gully give the clue. He tells me that this is when he gets jumpy. Absolutely in the open—water trickling into the troughs slowly—and he has to stand and see that every beast has enough. Then the shelling starts—mules fall, but still the others must have their fill and not be _hurried_, and it seems like hours, and some of the beasts all unconscious—appearing as if they will never finish. It must be a merry job—and it has to be done three times a day. An officer has to be present, or the overwhelming temptation to hurry up and get off becomes too much for the men, and no wonder!

_September 29th._

Camp Commandant comes to inform us that we have to clear out of our place, which is comparatively safe, and move to an exposed position further inland, in full view of the Turks. We shall be absolutely shelled out if we have a Supply depot there, with A.T. carts and motor-lorries coming to and fro from Main Supply depot all day, and it will cripple our work. Hope to get this order cancelled.

Have told D.H.Q., who have promised to see Camp Commandant. Usual artillery firing all day, and ship’s guns joining in. Submarines have been busy. One French transport sunk and two British—one empty and one containing Gurkhas and Punjabis. _Swiftsure_ had a narrow escape the other day, two torpedoes just missing her.

_September 30th._

A very fine day, not a cloud in the sky; very hot, and flies, now in myriads, perfectly appalling. See Camp Commandant as to moving our Supply depot to the exposed part of the Peninsula. Finally he gives way, and finds another and safer place for us at the foot of IX Corps Gully. Hardly any shelling from Turks, but our guns busy and battleships as well. Go up to Brigade in evening. Quiet night, and so ends September, a deadly month. No movement on our part all the month: no action, except little mirror stunts such as straightening our line, digging saps, bombing expeditions, and artillery duels. All the time we steadily lose killed and wounded and a seriously large percentage of sick, and we drift and drift on.

_To where?_

OCTOBER

_October 1st._

A very misty morning, everything hidden in the valleys, also the ships in the harbour. At one o’clock we are shelled by high explosives and 5·9 shrapnel, and it lasts an hour; very unpleasant. I hate the shelling more and more as time goes on.

Some mysterious move is going on. The 87th, now at Imbros, have wired for their machine guns, and rumours that troops have left here during the last two nights are about. Has Bulgaria come in against us?

_October 2nd._

A beautiful cool summer day, but flies still swarming about. Artillery very busy on our side. In afternoon walk up with Stewart to Brigade H.Q. Beautiful country walk through gorse, little hills and dales, trees and olive groves. On arrival at Brigade H.Q. and looking back, the scene is beautiful, with the bay shimmering in the sun and the Fleet and transports lying at anchor. The formidable hills in front look beautiful also, and hardly a rifle shot comes from the Turkish lines. But all the time our shore batteries and the ships are booming away, but feebly replied to by the Turks. On the way up we just miss coming under the beastly 5·9 shrapnel. We stay to tea with Hadow, the Staff Captain, now Major, and after have a nice walk back. Arriving on the promontory, we see them shelling the road that we have passed along. We find on our return that the beaches had been “strafed” again by high explosives, killing and wounding a few.

_October 3rd._

A quiet, beautiful Sunday morning, the sea like glass. I have lunch with McDougall half-way up the high ground of the promontory, outside his dugout, right behind large boulders of stone. He provides us an excellent lunch, and we might be on holiday together. No firing of any kind. After lunch, however, shore batteries and ships get active, while the distant rumble of guns is heard from Helles. At four we have our daily ration of the 5·9 shrapnel or “Whistling Rufus.”

We move our Supply depot up to the foot of the gully at the head of which is IX Corps H.Q.

_October 4th._

Heavy Turkish bombardment takes place at nine o’clock this morning over Anzac, developing towards Chocolate Hill. At ten, rifle fire starts, denoting a Turkish attack, but in half an hour it dies away, the Turks having been beaten off. During this time we are shelled by high explosives, and remaining in our dugouts, as we hear each shell coming over our way we cannot help gently ducking our heads. It is instinct, but yet very funny. We must look like nodding Chinese idols.

In the afternoon we have 9-inch shells thrown over to us, but it only lasts half an hour. Go up to Brigade H.Q.; not much firing in front.

_October 5th._

A beautiful summer day again. Turks shell us from 8 a.m. till 10 a.m., but all duds. No news, and no prospect of any progress in this campaign. Our aeroplanes up.

At 9.30 a.m. the Turks begin and are very busy all day with their shells. Our batteries do not reply much, and the battleships are practically silent all day. We have no shrapnel, though, but at four o’clock about a dozen 9-inch high explosives come over, and rather too near us to be pleasant. One shell pitched right in one of my battalion dumps, the 1st London, just arrived from Malta, and attached to our Brigade. We are therefore moving them to a safer place.

In our camp now we have the two Supply Sections of the 86th and 88th Brigades and representatives of each regiment in the Brigades, consisting of a Quartermaster or his sergeant, and a corporal and three privates. They look after the interests of their respective regiments on the beach, drawing supplies, ordnance, R.E. stores, letters, and baggage, which they escort up to the regiment each night by the mule-carts. New officers arriving and officers returning from hospital use our camp as a half-way house to the trenches. All drafts arriving are met by these battalions’ representatives and “looked after” generally by day and guided to their units by night.

Had a lovely bathe this morning with McDougall, Tooth, Carver, and Way at the foot of the cliffs. Very peaceful and beautiful, and it was hard to realize that there was a war on. In the far distance, across the Gulf of Saros could just be discerned the coast of Bulgaria, the country on which the eyes of all the world are turned at the moment. In a day or two we shall know whether she has joined our enemies or not.

_October 6th._

Woke up at seven by a shell whistling over our dugout, but no more follow. Curious how, when one is sleepy, shells do not strike fear in one. A perfect summer morning. Artillery on our side very active. Go on board _Swiftsure_ for lunch with Carver. Guest of Fleet-Surgeon Jeans, a charming little man. Had a glass of beer! And the lunch! Nice white tablecloth, attentive stewards, excellent food, and cheery society. Topping fellows. Half an hour after lunch have a “pukka” hot bath. The luxury thereof! And then take snapshots of the ship and of a group of officers. We get a good view of Suvla from the deck: the sandy beach, and to the left the three landing-places, crowded with lighters, launches, etc., and with khaki figures. Further to the left, the rocky part with its fringe of surf, and the frowning crags above towering away in masses into the blue distance. Behind the landing-places the ground slopes abruptly up to the gorges, crowded with dugouts and transport lines. To the right, Lala Baba with its sandy cliffs and the low plateau beyond, with the Salt Lake, stand out clearly. Further to the right one catches a glimpse of “C” Beach, with its white hospital tents along the sea’s rim, and in the offing, silent and slim, loom the three hospital ships taking in their freight of broken humanity. There are never less than three such ships of mercy here, which gives one some idea of the daily human wastage, when one remembers that they are big P. & O. and B. I. liners. We are told by one of the Gunnery Lieutenants that at 4 p.m. ship is going to fire on a blockhouse just by the Pimple, on the left of our line. While on board, the ship’s guns “loose” off. It is a curious sensation. We watch their shells bursting inland, and realize for the first time the difference between shelling and being shelled. Get back on smart pinnace at 2.30. Get shelled a bit at 3.30. Go up to British H.Q. to watch the Pimple bombardment. At four precisely _Swiftsure_ poops off with 12-inch and 6-inch guns. Also _Prince George_ and a Monitor, and the shore batteries. Up the Gulf of Saros a torpedo-boat destroyer and Monitor are firing in flank. Poor old Pimple! Can’t see it for dust and smoke. _Prince George_ has a premature burst, splinters doing ducks and drakes across the bay. Hear machine guns at five. Cease fire at six, and we go back home. The little coves at end of point are now absolutely altered from their original geographical formation by the Engineers during the past months. Breakwaters, piers, dugout offices, stores depots, landing-stages, etc., have come into being, and they are now hives of industry, never slacking night and day. As at Helles, star shells sail up and down gently all night along our line. In the darkness of the sky over Sari Bair, the reflection of the rays of Chanak searchlight plays, but not so brightly as seen from Helles.

_October 7th._

Ships firing very early this morning. _Swiftsure_ left last night. Soon after ten this morning Turkish 8·2 gun opens fire on the _Prince George_, and at the third shot hit her. _Prince George_ and the other ship open fire. Later the _Prince George_ is hit again, this time just beneath the funnels, causing wreckage among boats. She alters her position, the duel still continuing. She is hit twice again, and then moves further out. Turkish gun then shuts up. Soon after 11 a.m. the 5·9 shrapnel comes whistling over to us, and nine of them, one after the other, at short intervals of two or three minutes, burst over our camp and the beaches, causing casualties. A beautiful summer day again, but flies as bad as ever.

I walk with Way to Brigade, his Brigade H.Q. having moved just in front of ours. As we go up we hear a whopping big shell go over to the beach, and looking back, we see it burst, kicking up a great deal of dust. Have tea with Thomson and General Percival. Afterwards call in at 88th, and walk back at dark. A bullet hits a bush at Way’s feet just as we are walking over the little bit of hillock after leaving 88th H.Q. A few others drop near by. Way tells me that when bullets are about his head always feels ten times as big as it really is. Yet he never worries at all when shells are about. It is curious, but shells make me feel very uneasy and limp, while bullets don’t bother me at all now. The ways of nerves are difficult to understand. When we arrive back we find that the beaches have been strafed a lot in our absence.

_9 p.m._

A bit of a strafe is taking place at Anzac, heavy rifle fire and shells bursting. Very fine sight, seeing the white flashes of flame bursting out of the black night.

_October 8th._

All to-day there have been ceaseless artillery duels, warships and shore batteries taking part. Never before have we had such shelling from the Turks at Suvla. It has been one continual roar of guns from early morning till dusk. At last, dusk arrives, which is welcomed with general thanksgiving by the majority on the beach. News has just come in that Bulgaria and Russia are practically at war, and this means that in a few days Bulgaria will be an active enemy of ourselves as well. The Bulgars no doubt will join the Turks at once, and life on the beaches will become a hell in the true sense of the word. I hope that we shall keep our end up and not be ignominiously defeated on this Peninsula. There have been about sixty casualties to-day, killed and wounded. Yet the work on the beach has to go steadily on all the time. It has been much colder to-day, and some rain has fallen. At night we have very heavy rain.

_October 9th._

A cool summer day. Shelled at 9.30 p.m. Troops arrive in large numbers. They should have arrived last night at dark, but it was too rough to land. Lord Howard de Walden comes down with news that drafts have arrived unexpectedly for us as well, and we have to prepare for them. Cannot reconcile the arrival of all these troops with the opinion that we are here for the winter. Looks as if we are going to have another battle. Turks very quiet this morning, yet they must see all these troops arriving. We wonder that they do not shell them.

Go up to 86th and 88th Brigades with Way in the afternoon, and it makes a very pleasant walk. Delightful country, and up at the Brigades it seems quite restful after the shelled beaches. Pass General de Lisle on the way up. Have tea at 86th, and call at 88th on the way back. General Cayley had a narrow squeak, a splinter of the case of shrapnel coming right through the roof of his dugout, just missing his head by inches. He won’t have his roof sand-bagged. Water question for our Division now settled, as we have found wells all over the place.

Just as it is getting dusk 8·2 Turkish gun opens fire on H.M.S. _Glory_, but does not hit her, and _Prince George_ replies. Walker arrives from Helles. I am now O.C. the 29th Division A.S.C. at Suvla, as Carver has gone back to Helles. Large coveys of birds—I think they are duck and crane—keep on swooping about over the Peninsula, and our Tommies pot at them now and again.

_October 10th._

Colder this morning—but flies still damnable. Usual artillery duels, but not so heavy as usual. Several officers leaving to join Allied troops at Salonica. But later we hear that they have not been allowed to land, as it is uncertain whether Greece is coming in against us. Not much shelling all day. Colonel Ekin, 1st London, arrives at night and we put him up, giving him dinner and a bed in our dugout. Very decent old boy. He comes along with the most wonderful rumours, which we drink in.

_October 11th._

Very cloudy. Mule Corps at end of promontory get shelled at ten o’clock for half an hour. Starts to rain at 11.30, and looks as if it is going to set in in earnest. Salt Lake already under water in some parts, and if we have a season of rain, it will be a lake in the full sense of the word, and it will be difficult getting supplies, etc., to the lines immediately in front of Chocolate Hill. Walked up with Way again to Brigade H.Q. Beautiful cool, sunny afternoon after the rain. Had tea with the General at 88th, meeting there our friend of last night, Colonel Ekin. Morris, Machine Gun Officer, also there in great form, telling us all about his indirect gun-fire stunts. Hides his little batteries in a very clever way with gorse, the men wearing green masks. Colonel Fuller, going round the trenches the other day, could not make out where the sound of a machine gun popping off quite close to him was coming from. He was ten yards away only; it was one of Morris’s efforts. After the bit of a bombardment the other day on the Pimple, during which the Turks were driven out of a redoubt, Morris’s men bagged fifty Turks by indirect fire. He makes your flesh creep by the cold-blooded way in which he describes his stunts, but if one thinks of Turks as partridges it is not so bad. However, we can do with dozens more Morrises.

After, go on to see 86th and have a rag with little Reid, Signal Officer to 86th, aged nineteen, but looks only sixteen.

Trenches dug through most beautiful country—olive groves, fig-trees, and vineyards. Grape season over now, but often Tommy climbed out of his trench and helped himself, risking Turkish bullets fired at only a hundred yards away. The blackberry season is now on, and they are so tempting that venturesome spirits—little Reid himself proving guilty—climb out after these also.

Looking back from the 86th Brigade H.Q., one can see the gorse-covered hills, the beautiful, thickly wooded valleys, while through the trees are peeps of Suvla Bay with the grey warships at anchor there. Further out, beautiful Imbros stands out sharp against the setting sun, backed by a sky of golden-bronze, with feathery purple clouds trailing across the firmament; the new moon—a delicate crystal crescent—swings above, dimly reflected in the dimpling waters.

A battleship flashes out, followed by a loud report, and looking towards Anafarta, just over the hills, one sees a monster flash of fire followed by a muffled report.

_October 12th._

Very busy with shelling this morning. Quite a lot of 5·9 shrapnel coming over to our valley, and almost every shell accounts for a casualty. About twenty casualties in half an hour, Sir Randolph Baker being amongst the number, but he was only wounded slightly; and a rather nice Naval Landing Officer had a piece taken out of his arm. Also we had a few 4·7 shells over, and at noon they started with their 8·2—a terrifying shell.

Every one this morning very depressed at the news of the advance of Germans on Serbia and Bulgaria’s attitude. Greece and Roumania are disappointing factors. I hope for the sake of this Gallipoli campaign that they come in on our side.

After lunch I go up to the Barrier on the rise of ground on the west road leading to Lone Tree Gully, just two hundred yards this side, to see about some bombs which have to be removed. On the way back, the 18-pounder battery which is in position on the right of the road looking seaward is in action, and the report of the guns, being so near, is ear-splitting. I turn round to watch the shrapnel, beautifully placed on and about the Turkish second line. Evidently the officer in the O.P. has spotted some movement of the troops up communication trench. Probably a relief party.

I turn to my left and trip down the rocky hillock leading to the C.R.E. camp, in the place where D.H.Q. was to be after the Chocolate Hill battle, and where the bombs from the Barrier have to go.

I come back along the lower road which leads to our D.H.Q., and which is now called the Gibraltar road, as it leads to the small hill we have called Gibraltar, which lies between our first line and 86th H.Q. On the way I meet the 88th Chaplain, and we walk back together. Behind us we hear three tremendous explosions over to the left of Chocolate Hill, and looking back, see columns of smoke and dust. They are caused by Turkish aerial torpedoes bursting in our front line, equivalent to a hundred-pound shell, and terribly effective. Fortunately, they appear to have very few of them, but we have none at all. There have been sixty-three casualties on the beach to-day through Turkish gun fire and shrapnel. At night a great gale springs up, and we have heavy rain, many men being washed out of their dugouts, having to spend the night in their wet clothes on the hills.

A navvy’s battalion has arrived.

_October 13th._

A fine day, but a very strong, cold wind blowing down the Peninsula. Arthur McDougall has now rejoined his regiment in the trenches. We have now a black cat in our establishment. It walked in, and we do not know where it came from. Probably off one of the boats.

We were shelled with the 5·9 at eight this morning, and had about six casualties in this valley. They were, however, very quiet for the rest of the morning. Just as Way, Cox, Baxter, and I were leaving for Brigade, they started to shell, and we were glad to get off the open space of the beaches. Now they have three guns firing 5·9 shrapnel at us, and they come over in threes, usually bagging somebody. The Turks seem to be getting very cocky lately. They actually cleared away all the barbed wire that one of our battalions in the 88th had put in front of our trenches, only fifteen yards in front. Also their bombing parties are getting very daring, creeping up each night to within throwing distance of our trenches.

Barbed-wire lines and trenches are now being constructed further back towards the coast—in case!

As we are up at Brigade H.Q., we notice one of our aeroplanes swoop down on to the Salt Lake, obviously having to make a forced landing. A short pause, during which we notice the pilot and observer climb out, when suddenly shrapnel bursts over the machine and very near. It is quickly followed by another and another, and later high explosive shells, when the pilot and the observer scurry away pretty quickly. They are wise, for the Turkish artillery are now well on to the machine, which is rapidly becoming a helpless wreck. I should think they put a hundred shells on that machine before they stopped.

_October 14th._

Last night they tried to disturb our rest by putting one shell over to us every hour. One seemed to come very near our dugout, but we were too sleepy to bother. What’s the good?

At eight this morning they get very busy again with their shelling, and at nine three of the big deadly shrapnel come over at once, followed a few minutes after by three more, and then later still another three. It is evident that they cannot spare very many of these every day, but after each bout the cry of “Stretcher-bearers!” is shouted down the valley. Shortly after, the wounded are carried away to the hospital, and this scene has now become a painfully familiar one.

It is very cold to-day, and the gale still continues, hampering the Navy’s work of landing stores.

The afternoon was quiet. A great gale sprang up at dark and blew hard all night. It is now very cold. One consolation, flies are dying off.

_October 15th._

To-day has been cold and cloudy, with a strong wind. Artillery duels all day, with ships joining in. We were shelled this afternoon, but fortunately to-day had no 5·9 shrapnel. Cox and Gennison came to tea, and Walker and myself walked back with them. Called in at Brigade H.Q. Hear that now we are at war with Bulgaria.

_October 16th._

At five this morning (dawn) the Turks began a general bombardment, chiefly on our right (Chocolate Hill) and at Anzac, but the subsequent attack on their part seemed to die away quickly. No news as to results.

At 11 a.m. an enemy aeroplane sails over. Our two anti-aircraft guns on shore start firing, and make such good practice that the machine quickly gets out of range and sails over towards Anzac, disappearing suddenly into the clouds. Many thought that she had been brought down, and a great cheer goes up and clapping of hands. Shortly after, however, she is seen coming back over the bay once more, flying low. H.M.S. _Glory_ and _Canopus_ fire with their anti-aircraft guns, but wide of the mark. She turns and sails up inland once more, perilously close to our shore anti-aircraft guns, which make excellent practice. One shell bursts dangerously near the machine, whereupon she dives, swings to the right, and climbing again, sails over Chocolate Hill. When over our trenches heavy rifle and machine gun fire break out at her, but she sails calmly on over Sari Bair to her base behind in safety. Result, honours with the enemy pilot, a damned cool customer, but a very nasty trip for him. It lasts under ten minutes, so that he has not much time for observing, but no doubt time enough for his purpose. The rest of the day we have the usual artillery duels, rather heavier than usual, and at 3.20 p.m., and again at five, we have our usual shelling by our old friend “Whistling Rufus.”

_October 17th._

At nine this morning the Turks very heavily bombarded our reserve lines and our batteries on our left. They were very prodigal of ammunition, showing that their supply had been replenished, probably from Bulgaria. They put in some very large stuff, 9-inch at least, and at very long range. Our batteries and ships were active in reply. It is cold and windy and raining.

Went up to Brigade with Way, and later to 86th, where the Padre was holding Sunday service. Beach shelled a little while we were away.

To-morrow is the great Mohammedan feast-day, and we expect a general attack on the part of the Turks.

_October 18th._

Rainy morning. Bit of shelling in morning and early afternoon, but not very damaging shells.

At four they started dropping large shells, about 11-inch, which whistled over with a tremendous shriek and burst with a thunderous crack. They must have come a long way, as we could not hear the report of the gun. They were bursting too near for our liking, and we were glad when they stopped. Some say they came from the _Goeben_. They finished up their bout with 5·9 shrapnel. So far no attack by the Turks.

News that Sir Ian Hamilton is going and that General Munro is taking his place reaches us.

_October 19th._

A quiet morning, but at four we were shelled as usual. Not much damage.

_October 20th, 2 p.m._

Quiet so far to-day, except for a bit of shelling this morning. News reaches us that the 10th Division, who were here in August, are at Salonika, whether interned or not we do not know. Turkish festival still on, and I believe it ends to-morrow. They make a row in their trenches at odd times of the day by the shouting of “Allah” and the ringing of bells. Sometimes our men, for a joke, throw jam-tins full of jam into the Turkish trenches. This happening to-day, the Turks thought that we were throwing bombs, instead of four harmless tins of jam, and they promptly threw back two bombs. Whereupon we have to throw six bombs back. This quietened them. Later, however, they threw the four jam-tins back—empty—having eaten their contents.

_October 21st._

A very heavy gale blowing all day from the north-west. Sky heavy with rain, but wind too high to allow rain to fall. Heavy shelling all morning for three hours without stopping, and again in afternoon. None near our patch. We get the shrapnel, however, from “Whistling Rufus,” which is more comprehensive.

Enemy aeroplane, in spite of gale, is over this morning. Anti-aircraft guns fire—and miss!

_October 22nd._

A great gale blew all night, and is still blowing. Cold and cloudy. Artillery duels going on as usual. Not much shelling on this beach. At four, we have three of the 5·9 shrapnel over our little corner. One could not hear them coming, because of the gale.

_October 23rd._

Beaches shelled a bit this morning. Gale continues all day, and it is very cold. Soon after four we are shrapnelled once more, having about ten large ones over in a period of half an hour, causing casualties. The gale prevents anybody hearing them coming. Go up to Brigade H.Q., and it is hard work walking against the wind. Country looking bleak and miserable. Come back on motor-ambulance. At night I am up at the C.R.E. nullah forming a forward dump of reserve rations. We have to work in a cold, driving rain.

_October 24th._

Gale still continues. Flights of birds, which had collected in great numbers some few days ago, now seem all to have left. Has been raining all morning. Very little shelling from Turks.

Go up to Brigade H.Q. and have tea. Gale dies down towards evening. Beautiful colouring of sky over the sea. A background of grey rain clouds, golden-buff coloured strips of sky, grey sea, against which are silhouetted sepia-coloured trees and gorse-bushes. Imbros, now grey as the sea, is always in the picture—the eternal picture in which is painted our monotonous life on Gallipoli. We are waiting, waiting, with no news, and some of us are saying with no hope. These latter, however, suffer from “tummy” troubles.

_October 25th._

Six months ago to-day I landed at Helles—it seems like six years. To-day we are still an hour’s walk from the sea to the front trenches, at all three landings. This morning is a cool, beautiful summer morning. Flies seem to come again from somewhere, but not so bad as before, yet sufficient to be called a pest in England. Usual artillery duels all day, and we are shrapnelled again in the afternoon. At 6 p.m. go up to C.R.E. dump about the reserve rations we are putting there. Cloudy evening.

_October 26th._

A cool, fine morning, rather cloudy. Birds again flying in large coveys overhead—wild geese and crane, etc.; men fire at them, though it is strictly against orders. Hardly any artillery duels in morning. Go up to C.R.E. dump with Major Fraser, and later, leaving him, go on to Brigade and have tea. Adjutant of Worcesters, who was wounded in the landing in April, and who has been back in England, was there. We who have been out here all the time look upon those who have been back in England with great interest.

After tea, Morris, the Machine Gun Officer, takes me out to see his machine gun emplacements on Gun Hill, which is a little hill lying some two hundred yards behind our front-line trenches, the ground on its left rising steeply to the high ridge overlooking the sea, and on its right sloping gently down to the low land.

We pass the Worcester Regiment in the reserve trenches dug in an open space on the left of Brigade H.Q. looking inshore; then we pass down a communication trench, coming out into an open space behind a small mound called Gibraltar, round which we pass down a slope leading to a rocky ravine filled with large boulders, a few trees, and patches of thick gorse-bush. There the Hampshire Regiment are dug in.

To the left of the ravine are a few graves, and now and again a bullet kicks up the dust close by them. Smith, the Hampshire Quartermaster, jokingly informs me of a certain way of getting a cushy Blighty wound. If I want one, all I have to do is to stand by these graves after dark, and wait. In under two hours, most probably in five minutes of waiting, I shall get one in the leg. The bullets come from a Turkish trench high up on the cliff-side on our left front. To the right of the ravine one is safe, protected by a rise in the ground. On the left of the ravine one is in constant danger of a smack from a bullet, and more so at night.

We continue our way, passing down another trench, and shortly after come out into the open in a lovely glade of grass and trees situated in dead ground, protected by a little hill in front called Gun Hill. On its slopes we once more enter a trench, which encircles the hill, very similar to the ramparts of an ancient castle. It is a little fortress on its own, standing aloof from the system of trenches situated behind our front line, but in front of our support line, yet blending in with the uneven lie of the land, thereby not making a conspicuous target. At intervals are machine gun emplacements, with machine guns in position, pointing through apertures in the sand-bagged breastwork. At the first that we come to we find the sentry not looking out. I shall never forget the frightened look on his face as it meets Morris’s suddenly appearing around the corner of the sand-bagged wall a few inches from him. He gets a stiff “strafing.” We continue our way, and at the next emplacement come upon a sentry who presents a unique object. For his head is covered by a sand-bag, through which are holes made for his eyes and mouth. To this headgear are fixed sprigs of gorse-bush, and as he stands stock-still, with his head and shoulders filling the gap in the breastwork, it must be impossible for an enemy observer to detect his presence from the background of gorse and trees. Yet if he is detected a sniper has him for a dead certainty. It is so far safe for such sentries, however, for up to now no casualties have occurred amongst them from a sniper’s rifle.

Morris asks, “Is everything O.K.?” and the sentry, without looking round, replies, “All’s well, sir.”

I stand beside the sentry and look at the view in front of me—a beautiful view of sloping hills up to the heights of the cliffs which overlook the sea; and on their slopes I see distinctly the irregular light-brown lines of thrown-up earth, denoting the Turks’ front-line trenches and ours, running opposite each other to the summit of the cliffs, about three hundred yards apart.

We are six hundred yards from the enemy line, and can be certain victims for a Turkish sniper should he be aware of our presence.

From this position at night sometimes the Turk receives the contents of belt after belt of machine gun ammunition poured on to his second and third line and communication trenches by indirect fire, ranged by day, causing him great inconvenience and to wonder from where the bullets come.

Our front line is always warned when any such stunt is on, so that they may not arrange for their working parties or patrols to be out in front. Looking at the country in front of me, I can see that here on these rugged slopes the Turk would have but short shrift if he attacked us—as of course would we if we attacked. Result, deadlock, like two cats spitting and sparring at each other. Morris says he is always pleased to show people round his pet hobby. I was immensely interested, and Morris might have been showing me round a farm.

We come back in the gloaming, Morris now and again stopping to order paper and litter to be picked up, for General de Lisle is around here frequently, and has the eye of a hawk.

_October 27th._

A fine morning, with a very warm and strong wind, almost a gale, blowing from the sea. Smith, of Hampshires, pays us a visit, and as we sit in our dugout we hear “Whistling Rufus” coming over from Sari Bair. One corner of the roof over our dugout is only of tarpaulin, for corrugated iron is scarce. Rumour says that a ship which set out from England loaded with corrugated iron has been torpedoed and sunk. An officer, newly arrived, who is sitting with us, appears to rather scorn my advice to move from where he is sitting under the tarpaulin, which is of no protection to him from shrapnel bullets, when, “Crash” from “Whistling Rufus” is heard overhead, and the sound of bullets spattering on our roof follows immediately after, just as if an unseen hand with a bowl of pebbles had taken a handful and thrown them with violence down on to our abode. A shirt hanging outside on a line to dry receives two bullets through its tail, causing large rents. The new officer immediately gets up from where he is sitting and comes round to our side of the table, where we sit under a roof of corrugated iron with a layer of sand-bags on top, safe from everything but a direct hit.

This 5·9 shrapnel is followed by others, and in the distance we hear the roar of Turkish artillery and bursting shrapnel. “Whistling Rufus” ceases worrying us after a while, and we go up to behind our dugout and look inland at the Turkish shelling. All along our line and behind, Turkish shrapnel is bursting thickly, being more concentrated over Chocolate Hill and on Hill 10, which is situated on the left of the Salt Lake and half a mile from “B” Beach.

About half an hour after, we hear rifle fire, which dies down quickly, and all is quiet. What it was all about I do not know. Probably the end of the Turkish festival, or probably Enver Pasha has paid a visit, and, sitting on top of Sari Bair, has asked for a show to be demonstrated to him. I must say such a show, viewed from the top of Sari Bair, must appear a wonderful sight.

_October 28th._

A hot, sultry day, and the flies a pest. A very quiet morning. No news. Hardly any shelling on the part of the Turk, but our artillery and ships’ guns fairly active. I go up to Brigade H.Q. to tea, and after, on the way back, call in at the 88th Field Ambulance, situated in a tent encampment on a plateau lying between Karakol Dagh and the Turkish positions. Here the situation is most interesting. The white tents and marquees are in full view of the Turks, and not a shot comes near, for John Turk plays the game. It is almost like living in a garden city, with the open country all round, and the feeling one gets is very odd—so near to war and yet so far! Patients rest quite at their ease in their walls of canvas, while over their heads, singing their dread song, the Turkish shells pass on their way to the beaches.

_October 29th._

A hot day, and flies very trying. Turks busy with artillery at Chocolate Hill and Anzac. Our artillery busily replying. Nothing our way. Heard firing off coast of Bulgaria last night. Our artillery have been very active all day, and are still firing, although it is dark. We have now several new batteries ashore, and for the past few days the Turk has been very quiet. We had only two shells over our way to-day. Our artillery seems to be getting well on top. Munro has arrived, all good luck to him. Now perhaps we shall get a move on. We feel now, either move on or off. But Heaven defend us from the inaction and waste of time of the last six months! Stewart has gone off, suffering very badly with dysentery. He was stubborn about it, and would not see the doctor, until at last he had to be carried off on a stretcher. I shall miss him very much, as he was good company.

_October 30th._