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.