Chapter XIII: Part 13

On arrival on the high ground on the left of “W” Beach looking inland, I turn into the same dugout which used to be our home in the early days of this “round in circles” campaign. Matthews is there to welcome me, and a new officer named Harris. As I turn in, I think of our old dugout at Suvla, now occupied in all probability by sleeping Turks. How strange! During the night I am awakened at intervals by loud explosions. Only Asia firing on “W” Beach at intervals. One bursts on the slopes of our cliff, and large lumps of earth fall on our tarpaulin roof.

_December 21st._

I am awakened by a few shells bursting on the beach. After breakfast I meet our new C.O., Colonel Huskisson. I dined with him in Ritchie’s dugout in May last, when he was O.C. Main Supply depot. I learn that the beaches get shelled now heavier than they were ever shelled before. During the morning I walk inland with Bell along the light railway system, which runs from the beaches and branches in several directions over the Helles Plateau, for a distance of about a mile. Mules pull small trucks up from the beach to the high ground behind the beach, where the mules are unhitched and the trucks, with their own momentum, run down the plateau, which is on a gentle slope. Bell’s idea is to have a Supply depot at the end of the railway on the plateau, and to issue from there to Horse Transport, which will come up one wagon at a time. Should transport collect in any spot on this plateau it immediately draws shell fire. I am struck by the way transport goes about in daylight and under observation from the enemy, certainly not in long convoys, but in single wagons or two or three together. Achi Baba looks more formidable than ever, and bleaker. In fact, the whole tip of the Peninsula looks far more cheerless than when I was here last.

A strong southerly wind is blowing this morning. This afternoon we have rain, and as night falls our “rest trenches” are sloughs of mud, for hardly any work appears to have been done on a system of drainage and the men have no roofing whatever. In fact, at Helles corrugated iron is practically nil, although at Suvla we did have a small supply. Do they honestly believe that they can hang on this tiny tip of land during the winter?

Just beyond the end of the railway, the ground is thickly lined with camps, consisting of rest trenches. These now lead right up to the system of deep trenches forming our front line. Behind where I am standing at the end of the railway, at a distance of three hundred yards, there stands a very large hospital of tents and huts. This could be destroyed utterly by Turkish shell fire in half an hour, yet it stands untouched. No large bodies of troops or transport are allowed to collect or pass near, of course, but small parties of two or three may pass by. D.H.Q. is about two hundred yards behind, dug in, in trenches. On their left is the West Coast road, overlooking the sea. The 87th are in the line, and a part of the 86th, the remainder being in rest camp trenches. The 88th have of course not yet arrived. Our artillery are practically in the same positions that they were six months ago.

_December 22nd._

It is quite calm now and a fine day; thus we are given an opportunity of digging the mud out of the trenches and to work on a system of drainage. But we want roofing badly. Unlike “V” Beach, now a perfect harbour, safe against almost any sea, “W” Beach at the first heavy swell becomes impossible for landing any supplies. Engineers are busy as usual on the piers, not on construction, but on the work of repairing the damage done by each spell of rough sea. The storm that we experienced at Suvla did not spend its fury on Helles, though they felt the outskirts of its force here—so much so that the flimsy piers off “W” Beach were almost washed away, and for the time we depended on the courtesy of our French Allies to land stores and supplies on “V” Beach. No. 1 Pier here, however, is fairly safe, for we have two small ships sunk at the end, set at an angle, forming a breakwater; but they are too small to make the harbour as secure as the one at “V” Beach. We should have sunk ships six times as large. All along the shore off “W” Beach lighters lie three deep, washed up by past spells of rough weather.

The scheme of having our divisional Supply dump inland has fallen through, as it is too near D.H.Q. and would be sure to draw shell fire, which is becoming more and more frequent and effective. We draw at dusk from Main Supply depot, and at night issue from our divisional dump in an unsafe spot on the far side of the back of “W” Beach, having to be careful not to show too many lights. Asia keeps us on the _qui vive_ all day, and too much activity on the beach will always draw a spell of shelling. A cloudy evening. At 11 p.m. the 88th Brigade arrive.

_December 23rd._

It is a fine, cold day. We now walk about on the beach with our ears always listening for the sound of a gun from Asia or Achi Baba, upon hearing which we get ready to fling ourselves to the ground or dive into a dugout. I go along to the H.Q. of the 86th and 88th Brigades, both built in the side of a cliff just this side of “X” Beach and almost opposite our D.H.Q. Their dugouts are delightfully cosy little houses; they are practically safe from shell fire and form a great contrast to Divisional H.Q., dug a little way to the right in trenches which are in full view of the enemy and in danger of a shell dropping plumb on to them at any moment.

The day drags wearily away. There is nothing much to do but bookwork, making up accounts, and visits to the Main Supply depot. It is an extraordinary thing, but almost every time I stroll over to the Supply depot from our office on the cliff, over comes a shell either from a howitzer on Achi or “Quick Dick” from Asia. I prefer the howitzer. It gives you a chance to quickly look round for the nearest dugout and dive in. Whereas “Quick Dick,” with its boom-whizz-bang, is on you before you can count two, and leaves you almost gasping, wondering that you are still standing alive instead of flying through the air in little bits. Each day victims are claimed. I thought my Q.M.S. had “got it proper” to-day, but I saw him do a marvellous head-dive behind a mound, protecting dug-in stables, which saved him. It makes everybody living on the beach very bad-tempered. At night they drop them over at intervals. But we are one too many for Asia by night. One can distinctly see the flash of the gun and can count twenty-three slowly before the shell arrives. The French are very clever over dodging these night shells from Asia. A man perched up on a stack of hay watches Asia intently. He sees a flash, blows loudly on a trumpet, and everybody gets to cover like rabbits. Result: remarkably few casualties. Of course, the flash of the gun does not tell whether the shell is addressed to “V” Beach or “W” Beach, and one cannot fail to at times be amused, in spite of the grimness of it all, for the lookout man on “V” Beach might see the flash and give a mighty blast on his trumpet, whereupon all rush for cover, and twenty-three seconds later the shell swishes over, not to “V” Beach at all, but to “W” Beach. The Turkish gunners appear to have their tails very much up, no doubt through the evacuation of Suvla and Anzac. And enemy airmen are very daring, swooping right over our lines and at times dropping an odd bomb or two. Men and transport move about as freely as ever, though, which is such a contrast to Suvla; though, of course, our line being further inland than it was at Suvla, the enemy have difficulty in reaching the transport with shrapnel. If not, probably our transport would not be so reckless. The roads at the foot of the cliff can no longer be used, having been made impassable by being washed right away in parts.

_December 24th._

It is delightful weather and we continue our life, preparing the figures and accounts to draw the rations at night, and arranging for their issue. Usual shelling all day. In the afternoon, as I walk across the plateau to D.H.Q., an enemy aeroplane comes swooping over. I am near a party of men marching and hear the pop-pop of a machine gun. Almost immediately after, I hear the swish of bullets and see them kick up the dust round about. At first I can’t make it out. Then it dawns on me that the daring aviator is actually firing on the troops near me. I notice that instead of having a cross painted on his machine he has a square, which is the sign of the Bulgarian Flying Corps.

I go back to tea with Farquhar in his lines, dug in trenches on the cliff-side over Corps H.Q., situated further round the cliff from our dugouts. As we are at tea, four enemy machines sweep over to “W” Beach, and shortly after I hear the sound of dropping bombs as they circle round and round. Our anti-aircraft guns (not plentiful) endeavour to bring them down, but they circle round unconcerned, and having discharged about thirty bombs, swing round and make back for their lines, keeping out to sea off the coast.

I get back to the beach and find that their bombs have caused many casualties. To my great sorrow I learn that Cox, of the Essex, has been hit clean with one, and also a friend of the same regiment, both being killed instantly. They had come down from the rest camp to purchase some luxuries for the canteen for Christmas Day. After sticking it all this time to be killed like this, just two weeks before the time when the Division is to be relieved for good, is really far worse luck than met Algy Wood, of the same regiment. And now there are no more of the original Essex officers left.

It has been rough to-day, especially at Imbros, which has a very exposed harbour, and in consequence it has been possible to issue only a very small percentage of fresh meat. It is bad luck, for to-morrow is Christmas Day, and I should like to have given the Division a full issue of fresh meat. However, a consignment of Christmas puddings has arrived from Lady Hamilton’s Fund and will be issued. We were promised many other luxuries, such as oranges and other fruits, but these have not arrived, owing to the difficulty of transport by sea. And so, for the majority of the men of the Division and all troops inshore, bully beef will take the place of the customary roast beef and turkey.

_December 25th._

It is very beautiful weather. We do the best we can for the troops in the way of supplies, but it has to be bully beef and Christmas puddings for their dinners. The Turks are unusually quiet. I believe they know that it is our Christmas Day. We have a Christmas dinner in our dugout and a very cheery time. One of the cheeriest Christmas dinners I have ever had. Parcels from home pooled helped to make a good spread, and one can make excellent rissoles from bully beef.

_December 26th, 27th, 28th, and 29th._

Visits to Brigade and to D.H.Q. and journeys to and from our dugout office and Main Supply depot are the order of the day. Usual shelling, far more trying than any we have ever experienced before. Enemy aeroplanes now and again try to come over, but are driven back by our planes. Cold but fine.

We have to send in an estimate of transport required to cart baggage back from battalions to beaches. This no doubt means we are off shortly. I hope so, as I am getting fed-up with this Diary. But it seems strange to be making plans to get off again, when we have only just arrived back.

_December 30th._

To-day we hear the news secretly that we are evacuating Helles altogether. They are having a conference at Corps H.Q. this morning on the plans. I am sent for by the Engineer officer in charge of works on the beach, and he questions me closely on the plans that were followed at the last evacuation. But I can tell him little or nothing beyond what I personally observed. I am afraid that we shall not be able to get away supplies and stores so easily as we were able to at Suvla, and quantities will have to be left. For the beaches are under close observation from Yen-i-Shehr and Kum Kale, and now that we have already hoodwinked them once, the second evacuation will have to be done very carefully. Therefore our only chance of getting away stores is by night, and animals, guns, and personnel must come first. The first thing, therefore, is to get up forward supplies in sufficient quantities to last out the remaining days, and I receive orders to get these up for the 87th and 88th Brigades, for again we are to be last off.

I expected this second evacuation. Nearly everybody expected it. We have been told that IX Corps would relieve VIII Corps, but to those of us who experienced the Suvla storm, the idea of hanging on here after Suvla and Anzac had been evacuated was impossible to consider. But this evacuation we think will be a very different matter, with the Turks expecting us to endeavour to make it. Transport will be the difficulty during these last few days, but fortunately the tramway comes in handy to-night in getting up rations to the 86th and 88th Brigades, and we manage successfully. We draw the rations from the Main Supply depot in bulk, apportion them out to units, and load them on the trucks on the line in the centre of the depot itself. Mules then pull them to the slope, down which they run of their own accord to the plateau with men acting as brakesmen. Those trucks which have to be pulled further inland are pulled by mules up a line which runs still nearer to the trenches. The rations are off-loaded on arrival at their destination, and man-handled over their remaining journey. By this means much more horse transport is cut out, which can in a few days be evacuated. But before then this transport must be used solely in getting back surplus kit. We put up the first batch of the reserve supplies.

An arduous night, and we get to bed in the small hours of the morning. All day we had intervals of howitzers from Achi and Asia’s shells. Not much longer now, thank God!

_December 31st._

The last day of a damnable year. Honours in favour of the enemy. Luck all against us. But our turn will come before another year is out. In the morning the Turks heavily shell our front line reserve areas; and D.H.Q., of course, being only just in rear, get it badly. All day the beaches suffer. Life on the beaches is like a game of musical chairs. Instead of sitting down on a chair when the music stops, you promptly fling yourself behind cover when a shell arrives. I am a perfect tumbler now, and after the war will give exhibitions of the many different antics that one performs when dodging shells. A New Year’s dinner, as cheery as the Christmas dinner, but broken by visits to the Main Supply depot to send off the rations by tram, and then to bed.

JANUARY 1916

_January 1st._

To-day is New Year’s Day. At this time last year this Peninsula was as peaceful a part of the world as one could find in any neutral country, though its rulers were allies of our chief enemies. To-day, a year after, we are nearing the fall of the curtain on the final act of one of the greatest tragedies of history. The curtain of the first act was rung up on a scene beautiful and romantic in its setting eight months ago, which changed, as the play developed, to scenes of gallant endeavour and Death in all his nakedness. The final act, the tragic last scene of defeat without disgrace, is full of sadness, and the great audience, although held spellbound watching and waiting, will be full of relief when the curtain drops for good.

It is strange to think, as I walk about once more on “W” Beach, that Suvla and Anzac no longer harbour British ships or house British troops, and that Turks now walk about unmolested in our late trenches and shelter themselves at night in our late dugouts. In a few days now Turks will be sitting in the place in which I am writing these notes. They are welcome, for our attempts to open their gates have failed. We have lost the game, but we have not been beaten by the Turks. They are no match for our troops. We have been beaten by Nature, or the geographical fastnesses of this impregnable Peninsula and the storms of winter. The new year is heralded in on “W” Beach by the shells of a big howitzer on the left shoulder of Achi Baba bursting with a deafening crash on the high ground of the beach, throwing large jagged splinters within a radius of two hundred yards. When such a shell bursts, all within that radius drop flat to earth or dive into a dugout. I am sure that people living further inland or in the trenches, if they have not lived on the beach, do not realize the great strain on the nerves that work under steady, effective shell fire is on this beach, cooped up as we are in such a small space, which is all a target, not to say the chief target, of the Turkish gunners.

The 29th A.S.C. men are sticking it well. I think they guess that we are evacuating, and are therefore cheery. Issuing by day, as in the early days, is now out of the question. We issue at dusk, and even then in danger of a shell in our depot. But the A.S.C., or the “Army Safety Corps” as it is termed by many in France, must never cease doing its job, for a man in the front line is hungry three times a day. As S.S.O., my job now is to see that the four Supply Officers’ indents are satisfied in full, namely the Supply Officers of the 86th, 87th, 88th Brigades and the Divisional Artillery. I must get the food ready at our depot for the night’s issue for each group, out of which the four S.O.’s must see that their troops and animals get their full ration. Their respective jobs are far more trying than is mine now, for the difficulties of getting the supplies from the beach to the troops have increased a hundredfold.

The Main Supply depot is still in the same spot as in the days of May, and there they must see that my indents are satisfied. Now they are drawing on their reserve, and, as in the case of the evacuation of Suvla, they are issuing from the inside of the large stacks of supplies, for to the Turk these stacks must not appear to grow smaller. The outside walls must be kept standing, and when the time comes the depot officers will set them ablaze with hay and petrol, and long before the Turk can reach the beaches they should be raging furnaces. The Main Supply depot office is still in the same place as of old, built out of supply boxes. Several times it has been blown down by a Turkish shell, and why it has not been shifted I cannot think. More shells are bursting daily round this depot during these days than burst in a week of June on the whole of “W” Beach. If the Turks then had had half the artillery that they have now, I do not think that we would be here to-day. Smart, the depot Supply Officer, who was wounded in August and who is now back sitting in the same old place, holds up his ruler to me this morning, the same ruler which was the stakes of the bet I had with him in the early days, that Achi Baba would be taken by June 30th, and says with a smile, “This ruler is still mine, and Achi Baba still belongs to Turkey.” Outside, Achi Baba looks more forbidding than ever, like the head of a huge vulture waiting to spring.

Howitzer shells are dropping along the road, and as I want to go up to 86th and 88th Brigade H.Q. with Horne, we go along the cliff’s edge by the Greek camp, still in the same place. The two Brigade H.Q. are in a delightful spot, dug in on the side of the cliff just this side of “X” Beach. I have a chat with General Williams and Sinclair Thompson. I enjoy going there. It is absolutely off the target, though, as things are now, one would think that there could be no spot on this tiny tip of land where one could live at all for long. Back for lunch. At three o’clock we are shelled badly in our quarter by howitzers from the hill and by Asia’s “Quick Dick,” which is on you before one can duck almost.

General Birdwood has been here and had a look round. As before mentioned, the 29th are to be last. It is rather a lot to ask of the 86th and 88th after that storm and the strain of one evacuation, but it shows G.H.Q. put a great value on us. Up to midnight I am at the Main Supply depot drawing the remainder of reserve supplies for six days for the Division, which are being put up in Leith Walk and Clapham Junction respectively for the 87th and 88th Brigades. As in the case of the evacuation at Suvla, the 86th Brigade leave shortly. Officers and men on “W” Beach are falling sick fast, with the continual strain of shelling, and in view of the evacuation are being sent off at once. There are one or two cases of men losing their reason.

_January 2nd._

The sea was very rough last night, and in consequence the evacuation was very much delayed. We are now being subjected to very severe shelling. From three o’clock yesterday to nine o’clock this morning three howitzers, two from behind Krithia and one on the right shoulder of Achi, have been throwing big high explosive shells over to us on the beaches steadily. This is the severest spell on record, and it is evident that they are expecting us to go soon and are making it as hard as possible. Afterwards we were shelled in jerks to midday. At seven o’clock to-night Horne and I go up to Krithia Nullah or Clapham Junction. It is very dark, and the road is pockmarked with shell-holes. I miss the familiar landmark of the white pillars. I remember now that they told me while I was at Suvla that they had been demolished by our Engineers. We have a forward reserve dump at Clapham Junction, which we start eating into to-morrow. 88th Brigade H.Q. is just near by, dug-in in trenches, and on calling there we are invited to dinner. We have a Christmas pudding, which is brought in alight with brandy. It seems strange following this old custom in a dugout, with bullets zipping over outside and within eight hundred yards of the Turks.

Coming out of the dugout on to the road, I notice bullets flying about much freer than usual, the Turks being more energetic over their practice of firing their rifles at night than they ever were before. All the time, as we walk back, we hear the Turkish howitzers sending over their consignment of high explosives to “W” Beach. After ten minutes’ walk we hear a shell coming bang at us, firing at a battery close by; but it is a small dud, and it goes “fut” into the ground. As we approach nearer and nearer to “W” Beach we hear their “hows” whining away overhead. They sound so harmless, and seem to take quite a time sailing through the air, but the sound of them crashing on the beach rather inclines us to slacken our pace. On approaching the Main Supply depot, however, we quicken our pace, and passing through it, arrive at the wood-stacks, when we hear one of their whiners sailing over. Quickly we duck behind the wood as it bursts short of the Supply depot. We get up and walk briskly to our dugout, and just as we descend the steps on the cliff-side we hear another. We dive into Hyslop’s dugout precipitously as it bursts with a crash forty yards behind us. Afterwards a pinnace alongside No. 1 Pier is afire, set ablaze by a direct hit from a shell. Bed, and we go to sleep hearing the shells explode in various parts of the beach at short intervals. Fortunately these shells do not reach the water’s edge and cannot impede the final stage of the evacuation. It is only Asia that upsets this.

_January 3rd._

Some of the staff of the Main Supply depot have now left. Last night some animals, including the A.T. cart-mules, were evacuated. They are led, coaxed, and whipped on to the lighters from the piers. The lighters are then towed out to the waiting ships, which have come in under the cover of darkness, and the animals are slung on board. It is strenuous work for those detailed for the job, especially with a heavy swell. The personnel are sent off from “V” Beach, and they do not waste time hanging about the open spaces of the beach, but make for the cover of the _River Clyde_ and the fort as soon as possible. The man with the trumpet is kept busy giving warning against Asia’s shells. Weakly men are being hurried off. Surplus kit, office records, also. Forward reserves of ammunition are being placed in the Eski Lines, which run across the Peninsula, and each man and machine gun has a reserve of small ammunition. Also a reserve is kept on the beaches. On the last day our Division will have about three thousand men left. We start eating into our seven days’ forward reserves to-day. The Egyptian shepherds, who provided meat for the Drabis of the Mule Corps, with their sheep, have left to-day. The casualties from shell fire are becoming more and more frequent on the beaches now. The 86th Brigade leave to-night, and the balance of those men who were prevented from getting off by the rough sea of last night. In fact, many men had to leave by daylight this morning, risking the Turks’ observation. The French try a very clever ruse by lighting a stack of hay, which, smouldering only, causes heavy columns of smoke to drift over Sed-el-Bahr and away out over the Straits, which enables them to ship quite a lot of animals under its screen in broad daylight. Enemy aeroplanes are busy trying to get over to the beaches all day, but are successfully kept at bay by our anti-aircraft guns and aeroplane patrols. A strong wind is blowing from the north-east, and it looks like a change in the weather, causing anxiety to us all. As usual, all to-day and continuing to-night, the beaches and their approaches have been heavily shelled. Our Monitors have been energetically replying.

_January 4th._

This morning we have intermittent shelling, in twos and threes and in fits and starts. Just before lunch, while standing at the door of our dugout on the top of the cliff, I see a destroyer come right in shore, and swinging round quickly, she anchors. I see a group of Naval and Military officers on deck, who climb down the companion into a pinnace, which takes them to No. 1 Pier. I turn my glasses on to them and see that the party consists of General Birdwood, the Army Commander, an Admiral, two Naval and two Army officers. They slowly walk along the pier, and I cannot help feeling anxious for them, for Asia has put one of her beauties close to No. 1 Pier a short while before. They turn to the left and walk along the road at the foot of the cliffs. Just as they are passing immediately beneath our “bivvy,” two howitzer shells burst with a deafening report on the beach. General Birdwood never turns his head, but I notice that the two other officers following behind look anxiously over their shoulders. They go up to VIII Corps H.Q., and after lunch a conference is held. Afterwards General Birdwood sends over to the Mule-cart Corps on the high ground between “W” and “V” Beach for an old Native officer whom he has known for many years in India. He is a fine old man, and a splendid type of the loyal Native soldier. Of course, he was overcome with delight at meeting the General once more, who told him to assure all the Native drivers and their N.C.O.’s with the Mule Corps that our evacuation was a strategical move, made for the best, and not in any way to be interpreted as a disaster. The Native mind is so different from our own, and though they are as loyal as any of our troops, one feels anxious to prevent them from losing their confidence.

As a result of the conference, the progress of the stages of the evacuation must be speeded up. Personnel and animals must at all costs be dealt with first, and as the sands are running low, it will now be necessary to begin evacuating animals by day and risk the shelling. This morning the sea has been dead calm and perfect for our purpose, but the Navy say that they expect a southerly gale. We, of course, dread a southerly gale. It is a very trying and anxious time, and the shelling is now almost continuous. Certainly only a few guns are turned on to the beaches, but sufficient to upset and impede our work. Six shells may come over from the howitzers on Achi at ten, three from Asia at eleven, four from Achi at 11.30, then from twelve to one probably twenty from Achi and Asia, all on to the camps and depots in the confined space of “W” Beach. All the while casualties occur. As a contrast, the evacuations of Suvla and Anzac were child’s play to that of Helles. The Monitors are busily replying, and I think cause their guns to stop now and again. All the afternoon the beach gets shelled. Asia now and again puts some very nasty ones near our bivouac, and once we all had to take cover in two tunnels in the side of the cliff to our left, where they have been quarrying for stone. At 8 p.m. a gale springs up and the embarkation is greatly hampered. They found it impossible to embark the mules on the transport when the lighters arrived alongside. One lighter, loaded with mules, carts, and drivers, breaks away and quickly goes drifting out to sea towards Asia, becoming lost in the darkness of the night. All night we get shelled every quarter of an hour.

_January 5th._

It is very windy and the sea rough, yet the evacuation of animals proceeds by day as well as by night, regardless of whether we are seen or not. But a large number of animals will, I am afraid, have to be left, and in consequence be killed on the last day. I do not know which day “Z” day is, but I hear that it has been postponed in consequence of the rough sea. The shelling is as bad as ever on the beaches. Now, in addition to guns on Achi and on the Asiatic side opposite Morto Bay, a four-gun Turkish battery comes into position by Kum Kale and manages to reach the water’s edge of “W” Beach and “V” Beach with shrapnel, but a Monitor, quickly getting on to it, very soon silences it. No enemy gun can ever be in position on this point for long.

Asia gives us a bad time in the afternoon and puts some nasty ones near our bivouac, and again we have to take refuge in the tunnel. Monitors are busy bombarding Achi, and a cruiser with an aeroplane up spotting for her is hard at work trying to find the Asiatic gun. Enemy aeroplanes as usual make persevering endeavours to come over “W” Beach, but each time are driven off by our airmen. Our anti-aircraft guns never hit anything. The enemy aircraft now try to fly over “W” Beach by approaching it from the sea, and many an exciting chase and duel is daily witnessed between our planes and theirs, ours always holding mastery of the air.

The sea is getting calmer, and at night an odd shell comes over at intervals of half an hour or so. The lighter loaded with the mules and their drivers which broke adrift yesterday owing to the rough sea drifted fortunately on to Rabbit Islands, and her freight was picked up by a Monitor.

_January 6th._

A lovely calm morning. The shelling has quietened down considerably. I think the Monitors have been frightening the Turkish gunners somewhat. Also Asia is not worrying us, thank God! and yesterday’s bombardment from the cruiser has probably done a lot of good. The sea is like glass, and the conditions are perfect for evacuation. The same policy is being followed in getting the last troops off on “Z” night as was followed at Suvla, but quantities of material, ordnance, and R.E. stores will have to be left. The reserve ammunition in the keeps on the beaches on the last night will be blown up just before we leave.

Enemy aeroplanes are over in the morning, showing great daring and keeping our airmen very busy. The beaches are crowded with mules, wagons, and fatigue parties hard at work at loading the lighters. There is no attempt at concealing what we are doing. But the Turk does not know which night is our last, and if we can manage to keep him in ignorance, then we can get off the last night without a rearguard action being fought, for John Turk does not like leaping over the top. Our Monitors, destroyers, and two cruisers keep the Turkish artillery much quieter than they were a few days ago, though at intervals they give us a very bad time on the beaches. A large number of personnel go off, including the 29th Division Train with all their animals. Only myself, the Adjutant, and one or two other officers and a handful of men are left to stand by in case the last day is delayed and troops require food.

At present, all on shore are rationed up to next Tuesday night. All the Greeks have left.

_January 7th._

It is another beautiful morning, and the wind is in the north-east. We had some rain in the night, and in consequence the ground is rather muddy. All transport is now under the control of the VIII Corps Transport Depot. The shooting of those animals which it will not be possible to get off to-night will be begun and finished off to-morrow, and all vehicles left will be destroyed. This morning I walk up with Hyslop to D.H.Q. As we pass the Stationary Hospital we see a cluster of mules wandering about, grazing on the scanty grass that is still growing in odd patches on the plateau. We hear the whistle of a shell, which proves a very small one and a dud, and which falls in the middle of them with a “fut.” They jump about a bit, and then calmly go on smelling for grass. Soon after another follows, also a dud. Evidently the Turkish gunner who has fired is a sportsman, and has made a bet with another that he will get a bull’s-eye first shot. Soon after we hear the whine overhead of the howitzer shells, travelling seemingly to “W” Beach, fired in grim earnest and not as a sporting shot, like the two duds at the mules.

Looking at the gunnery from the Turkish gunners’ point of view, it must have been all through this campaign a sort of series of field days for them, with their guns in position on commanding heights, and with the targets nearly always open sights and on the low lands. It is fortunate for us that only lately they have been receiving regular supplies of good ammunition. If they had had the artillery that the Germans had before Ypres, twenty-four hours on any single day throughout the eight months that we have been here would have turned the campaign in favour of Turkey, and meant utter defeat and unconditional surrender for us. As we are therefore at the end of it all, and shall soon once more hand back to Turkey the remaining insignificant few acres of ground that we had captured and held after so much gallantry, endurance, and bloodshed, we must be thankful and congratulate ourselves that we are disentangled from the quagmire with our Army intact. I may have spoken too soon, but if we are as fortunate as we were at Suvla, we can disappear in a night, although the enemy knows we are going. We expect him to attack shortly to test our strength. If we hold him and inflict losses on him, that will keep him quiet for a day or so; during these days we have our great chance to evacuate without loss, and with our Army intact.

We get very heavily shelled in the afternoon, several from Asia bursting within a few yards of our office and one actually at the mouth of the tunnel, which was crowded with men taking cover. While this is going on the enemy make a concentrated bombardment on a part of our front line held by the 13th Division and a part of the 87th Brigade. It lasted continuously from 3.30 p.m. to 5.30 p.m., and caused about a hundred and fifty casualties. At the end they made half-hearted attempts to leave their trenches to attack ours, but the few small parties that had the bravery to get out into No-man’s-land were stopped dead by our machine-gun fire, and the show petered out. Now, therefore, is our chance, either to-night or to-morrow. This afternoon’s attack was probably made to test our strength, and as they suffered as much as we did, if not more, they will pause awhile before attacking again.

After this attack finished, the shelling on the beaches almost entirely ceased, and when night fell I was able in peace to start a job which proved very tedious, namely of putting up rations, ammunition, and water in petrol-cans into a dugout on “W” Beach, where it would be useful in case of a rearguard action. The filling of the petrol-cans is the tedious part of the job, the cans having to be let down by a rope into the reservoir, which lies twenty yards from our dugout on the top of the cliff. While I am in the middle of this job, an order from VIII Corps H.Q. comes that I am to leave with all the A.S.C. details to-night. As I have already received an order from D.H.Q. to go off to-morrow night, I reply that I am sending the men with the remaining officers and am going with D.H.Q. to-morrow. I get two gallons of water, some bully, biscuits, and cheese put in my dugout. I send all my kit off with my servant, who places some hay on the floor for my bed for this, my last night, and go back to finish the job I am on. To-morrow will be monotonous, waiting for the evening with nothing to do; but I have a good book to read and plenty of tobacco, and the day will soon pass. I am to go off at 6 p.m.

At 10 p.m. a written order comes down from VIII Corps that I am to go off to-night with the others, for to-morrow is “Z” night, and the beaches must be cleared as far as possible of non-combatant details. I go to VIII Corps Signals and telephone D.H.Q., who say I can go. I finish the job of putting the water in cans in the keep at twelve midnight and go back to my dugout. All have left except five men. Two of them landed with me on “W” Beach on the first day.

_January 8th._

It is now the beginning of “Z” day, and we three stand on “W” Beach waiting orders to go on No. 1 Pier. As we stand in the heavy sand, my thoughts immediately go back to the night of April 25th, where in the same place as I am now standing we were labouring carrying boxes of supplies up the beach. I feel as if I have gone round in a complete circle. That is what has happened with the Gallipoli Campaign: it has indeed gone round in a complete circle.

The beach is alive with troops, and animals are being feverishly embarked. About two hundred have been shot to-night, though, and some men actually cried as they performed that horrid task. Fortunately there is little shelling. One now and again bursts on the high ground of the beach.

An M.L.O. comes along the pier and instructs us to file along on board. We pass up the pier, up a gangway, over one of the sunken ships, and on to a small ship moored on the further side. The five N.C.O.’s go to their quarters and I go to the wardroom, where my name and particulars of my command (strength numbering five) are taken. And then I have a whisky and soda and a cigar.

Phew! the relief. “W” Beach the last few weeks!... Let’s forget about it!

_2.30 a.m._

The ship is now nearly full up with troops, and an officer comes in to say we are off. I go up on deck and find that they are just weighing anchor. It is tricky work getting a ship away from improvised piers. The captain is the same Naval officer who used to command the _Whitby Abbey_, which took me to Lemnos and back in July last. To-morrow night will be his last trip to Gallipoli.

At last, after a lot of manœuvring, he shouts from the bridge “All clear aft?” and a voice answers, “Aye, aye, sir,” then “Full steam ahead,” and we swing round and head out to sea. I watch the lights on shore gradually disappear. One I notice by VIII Corps H.Q., being at the top of a post, flickers out and on as regularly as the ticking of a clock. What it meant I don’t know. I have noticed it before during the past few days. Asia fires to “V” Beach, and Achi sends a couple which burst on the high ground at the back of “W” Beach. The lights and the outskirts of the shore disappear. I still see the starlights sailing in the darkness of the night. These soon disappear. For me the adventures of Gallipoli are no longer realities, but bad memories, and I turn into the wardroom to sleep.

_8 a.m._

We enter Mudros Harbour, chockfull of warships and transports, those on board leaning over the side and watching us with interest.

Eight and a half months have passed since those days in April before the landing, and the scenes are almost the same to-day. It seems eight and a half years ago.

I go ashore and meet a friend at one of the Supply depots, who makes me a guest of the mess. We have a cheery evening.

_January 9th._

We hear the good news that the evacuation went off splendidly. It was a perfect day. The beaches were shelled as usual at intervals by day, but our Monitors, destroyers and two cruisers kept their fire under. The Turks apparently appeared to have expended their energies on the 7th, and kept quiet. The programme followed at Suvla was followed at Helles. At 6 p.m. the final stage of getting the men off was started, and they were rapidly shipped immediately as they arrived at the forming-up posts. The beaches were shelled fitfully, and casualties in consequence occurred, but they can only be put down as normal casualties which have been daily occurring through the enemy artillery activity.

The last parties in the line were got away by the same procedure as was followed at Suvla, passing down the roads, their passage being telephoned to the beaches by the officers on duty at the gates. So well managed was it that it was found possible to get many troops off in advance of the scheduled time of departure.

D.H.Q. embarked by motor-launch on to H.M.S. _Prince George_. An enemy submarine was about and discharged a torpedo at the _Prince George_, but by wonderful luck it failed to explode, but shook the ship from bow to stern.

At 2.30 a.m. all men had gone; only animals were left and vehicles, and I think some animals were left to fall into the Turks’ hands alive.

_January 10th._

Go on board the _Scotian_ with D.H.Q. 29th Division and part of the 29th Division.

_January 11th._

Leave Mudros Harbour at eight. Day fine, and comfortable boat. Troops in good spirits. Boat drill at 10.30 a.m. Submarine lookout all round ship. Boat drill at 4 p.m. Three spy prisoners on board—two Greeks and one other. One Greek sitting in corner of deck telling his beads all the time. The others walk up and down looking very serious. Serious cases, and things look very black for them.

_January 12th._

Beautiful day. Zigzagging a lot to avoid submarines. Doing fifteen knots. Steer east in morning towards Palestine. Afternoon, head for Alexandria with a zigzagging course.

_January 13th._

Arrive Alexandria Harbour at six o’clock in the morning. Arabs come on board and sell papers. Have a curiously delightful feeling of homecoming. Alexandria seems just like home now, after all those months in Gallipoli. Harbour full of troopships. Go into the town in the afternoon. Delightful walking about the shops and civilization again. Send cable home. Back on ship again for dinner.

_8.30 p.m._

Embark on troop train. Cattle trucks mostly. I sleep with Grant and Firth, Divisional Signal Officer, in luggage van. Damned uncomfortable journey.

_January 14th._

We arrive at a junction at 9 a.m., and hear that an engine is off the line at the next station. Broken-down, dirty Arab village just opposite, and an oasis. Nothing else but sandy desert. Wait all day and have to wire for rations. New Zealand A.S.C. comes to our rescue with supplies. Issue same to troops on our train and also to another troop train behind us, with troops on board from Ypres. Troops amuse themselves with football in the afternoon, much to the natives’ interest. Arab boys now and again join in, causing amusement. Eight o’clock in the evening we get up a smoking concert on the side of the line. I have been to some curious smoking concerts during the war, but this one (now on) will live in my memory. Desert, moonlight, troop trains lit up, a bit of a fire, and around, Tommies fresh from Gallipoli enjoying the fun to the full. What a nation! We never had a chance at Gallipoli. Let’s forget about it.

_10 p.m._

“God save the King” sung, and then off to bed!

_January 15th._

Woke up at twelve midnight; ration train arrives with rations for to-morrow, in case we cannot get on.

_2 a.m._

Train ordered to move. Get up and load rations on to the train. Arrive Suez 10 a.m., and go on to New Camp. For last hour I did a bit of stoking on engine. Rather unique, stoking an engine in an Egyptian desert. Arrive at a large camp, the largest that I have ever been into. Tents everywhere, laid out in perfect order. Coolies, Arabs, and Hindus unloading stores from trains, which arrive at frequent intervals on the single line running through the camp.

EPILOGUE

_January 20th._

Finds me in camp with a tent to myself and things working smoothly; everything, as far as humanly possible, is ready for any eventuality, and the Turk, if he tries any tricks, will get his knuckles badly rapped. The K.O.S.B.’s go by to the wild, inspiring strains of the pipes. Everything is bustle—trains shunting, stores coming up, horsemen and guns moving into position, and there is an air of expectancy over everything. And so these random notes come to an end. I am back in camp with the horrors of the Peninsula left behind me for ever. Of those who sailed from England so lightheartedly in March, few are left, but those that remain are attached to each other by invisible fetters. Those strange months—dull and exciting, tragic and humorous, spent under the eye of the enemy on an alien shore—form a common bond between us. All of us now know the full meaning of Life, and all of us have walked, not once, but many times, with Death on the grim Peninsula. We have been beaten—not so much by the enemy as by climatic and geographical conditions; but beaten we are, and nothing remains but to accept defeat like sportsmen.

INDEX

“A” Battery, 256

“A” Beach, 205

A.S.C., difficulties of, 107, 130, 200, 311

_Abercrombie_, H.M.S., 146, 186

Achi Baba, 45, 58, 68, 72, 73, 77;
aeroplanes over, 79, 81, 83, 97;
shells on, 120, 158;
bombardment from, 179

Addison, killed, 48

Aeroplane, French, falls in sea, 130;
English, falls in sea, 177;
down on Salt Lake, 246

_Agamemnon_, H.M.S., attacked, 101

_Alaunia_, S.S., 169

_Albion_, H.M.S., 119

Alexandria, arrival at, 24;
German liners at, 25;
description of, 25;
in hospital at, 165;
return to, 323

Anafarta, 189, 204

_Anglo-Egyptian_, S.S., 168

Anzac, 187, 202;
strafe at, 241

_Aragon_, S.S., 26, 27, 161, 171, 298

_Arcadian_, S.S., 23, 27, 50, 60, 73

Armstrong, Captain, 264

Ashmead-Bartlett, 87

Asia, coast of, 70;
shelled from, 129;
heavy shelling from, 135

“Asiatic Annie,” 130, 131, 139

_Askold_, 28, 29, 31, 81, 126

_Aucania_, S.S., 29

Australians, 78, 79, 96, 156, 162, 204;
Engineers, 213

B9, H.M.S., visited, 116

B10, H.M.S., visited, 127

“B” Beach, 204

Bailey, Major, 273, 294

Baker, Sir Randolph, wounded, 244

Bakery, 102

Balfour, invalided, 177

Barlow, Major, 69;
wounded, 77

Baxter, Quartermaster, 224

Bayfield, Captain, 27

Beadon, Colonel, 55, 56, 59

Beckwith, Major, 132

Beetleheimer, 119

Birch, Lieutenant, 139

Birdwood, General, 315

Blackburn, Major, 199

Blizzard, the great, 272

Boomerang Fort, 146;
captured, 148

Bray, 209

Brock, 157

Bruce, Colonel, 165

Bruce’s Ravine, 197

Burnt Hill, 204;
taken and retaken, 211

Bush, Captain, 92;
killed, 122

Butler, Lieutenant, 220

Byng, General, 282

“C” Beach, 203;
badly shelled, 268

_Canopus_, H.M.S., 247, 261

Carrington-Smith, Colonel, 47, 48

Carver, 43, 54, 73, 75, 136, 212, 225

Castra, 220

Casualties, 156;
on beach, 242, 245

Cayley, Colonel, 129, 134;
Brigadier-General, 176;
narrow escape of, 242, 263, 274, 282

Chanak searchlight, 64

Chocolate Hill, 202, 204, 206, 211

Christmas Day, 307

Church Farm, 89, 91

“Clapham Junction,” 90, 145, 312

Collier, Major, 177;
leaves, 235

Cooke, joins, 235

Cooper, 38

Costaker, Major, killed, 47

Cox, 53, 165, 205

D’Amade, General, 26, 27, 50, 61, 80;
goes home, 95

Dardanelles, climate of, 17

Davidson, Lieutenant, 47

Davy, 55, 136

de Lisle, General, 191;
nearly hit, 264, 298

Dent, 125

Destroyers, Turkish, sunk, 96

De Tott’s Battery, 139

_Dongola_, S.S., 28, 35

Doran, General, 114, 117, 119;
returns to England, 129

Drabis, 288

Dublin Fusiliers, 29, 45, 97, 257

Duff, 79, 192

Dugout, on fire, 269

Edey, 173

Eighth Corps Gully, new camp at, 266

Eighty-eighth Brigade, 27, 74, 77, 206

Eighty-seventh Brigade, 67, 206

Eighty-sixth Brigade, 29, 77

Ekin, Colonel, 243

Elphinstone, Louis, 261

Enver Pasha, 253

Essex Regiment, 28, 30

Evans, Sergeant, 73, 75

Farmer, Captain, 149;
invalided, 177

Festin, Captain, 75

Findlay, 176

Flies, 102

Foley, Lieutenant, 38, 39, 43, 67, 136

Ford, Quartermaster, 55

Fraser, Major, 250

French battleship attacked, 106

Frew, R.A.M.C., 258

Fulford, 176

Fuller, Colonel, 243, 274

Furniture, 262

Gaba Tepe, Australians attacked at, 96, 202

Gale, heavy, 150, 249

Geddes, 191

Gee, Captain, 280

Geoffrey-Faussett, Colonel, killed, 68

Gibbon, Major, 43, 60, 192

Gibraltar Hill, 259

_Glory_, H.M.S., 242, 247

Gloucester Yeomanry, 203

_Goeben_, 123

Golden Horn, the, frozen, 20

_Goliath_, H.M.S., 81;
torpedoed, 84

Gostling, 47

Grant, 286

Gregory, 83, 95

Grogan, 55

Gully Beach, 98

Gun Hill, visited, 250

Gurkha Beach, 98

Gurkha Bluff, 95