Gallipoli Days and Nights

Excerpts:

IN connection with this great war the proudest thing any British soldier can say of himself is simply "I mobilized." The fiery cross of August 1914 amazed the pacifist and the unprepared. But in the ranks of the Regular, Reserve, and Territorial Forces of Great Britain it kindled an immeasurable enthusiasm, in which the fierce joy in action mingled with the realization that after all they had been right, and that the time spent in preparation had not been wasted. It mattered nothing that the rest of the country was aghast; there was a prophecy as well as a salvation in the intensity of their delight. It matters nothing that the tardy volunteer has seemed to receive more than his meed of praise. Impartial and accurate Time is steadily collecting laurels which Posterity shall cherish in memory of those who mobilized and quietly set about their business at once. Only one event in the course of the war produced an excitement so keen, so pregnant with dim hopes and fears. That was the arrival of orders for the regiment to proceed abroad.

Our first task on mobilizing was to secure mounts. This occupied the first week, and thereafter the regiment commenced in England the six months' training prescribed for it in the Territorial Force regulations. In August 1914 volunteers were asked for foreign service, and the response was not immediately gratifying. Even those who did signify their willingness at that time had but little hope of speedily seeing active service. They had not considered the probable duration of the war, and volunteered simply on principle. But as the war proceeded and the common eye at length conceived a little of its immensity more volunteers were forthcoming, and the hope of actual participation in the great struggle began to be strongly felt by all ranks. Recruits were enlisted to hike the place of those who would not volunteer, and their recruiters assured them that after a short training in England they would see active service abroad.

The active service regiment then commenced what proved to be a very long course of hard training. There were few in the regiment who did not believe that by the end of the first six months the regiment would be sent abroad. A Brigade inspection by H.M. the King intensified all hopes, but the weeks and the months succeeded each other, and rumours of orders for abroad grew monotonous. The chagrin of those who were really keen to go can be imagined when they heard of so many chums joining infantry regiments after mobilization and proceeding abroad after two or three months' training.

The actual thrill occasioned by the genuine orders for abroad was however anticipated during our early training. We were billeted comfortably in a charming little town in the Midlands when word to move came in the early hours of a Monday morning. At reveille we had orders to pack everything and to send all extra kit home. All day we packed, sorted out saddlery, fitted up remounts, and got ready generally, as many fondly imagined for "somewhere in France." At night we entrained. But our destination was only the Lincolnshire coast, and we spent the next few months trooping from one Godforsaken spot to another. We dug miles of trenches along that coast; we erected barbed-wire entanglements for the sea to play with ; we patrolled bleak stretches of coast day and night in all sorts of weather; we watched patiently for for spies and Zeppelins, and we were disappointed. Nothing happened; the Germans would not come.

The monotony of this home defence business began to damp the ardour of those who had mobilized and volunteered in the hope of "seeing life." We began to murmur, and wonder when those orders would . . .

 

 

 

 

WE were up and about early next morning making our final preparations for landing at Suvla. We left one kit bag at Lemnos and took the other with us, but we were warned that all Immediately necessary kit had to go into our packs. Emergency rations were served out, and picks and shovels. About 10 a.m. two long low tramps glided up to the Ariadne, one on each side. Our last meal aboard the liner was a good one, and with the early prospects of bully and biscuits we took full advantage of it. At one o'clock we were all loaded up, and our feelings varied between those of a pack pony and an elephant with a heavily freighted howdah.

The process of transference was necessarily slow, and some brand new " fantassins" sat down on deck with all their gear on. Their struggles to get up when their turn came to move would have convulsed a cinema audience. Our packs were crammed to bursting, we had blankets and a waterproof sheet outside, picks, shovels, entrenching tools, rifles, and 200 rounds of ammunition, besides a bundle of firewood and a haversack full of rations. If the triumphal march into Constantinople had come off I am afraid a good many Government articles would have been lost on the road.

The Gezrieh was a long low fast boat manned by Greeks. She bizzed along very cheerfully on the last stage of the voyage, and the only ugly thing we saw on the way was the swollen body of a dead mule. Just before dark came on we discovered a small private canteen amidships, and we were much chagrined to find that we had missed the last bottle of Bass on the Aegean by about five minutes. However, we consoled ourselves with Schweppes at is. per bottle, and wondered when we would be so near civilization again. Rumour, that unscrupulous jade, discoursed of the taverns of Stamboul.

The time passed slowly after dark as we lay below in an orgy of equipment. At length we imagined we heard artillery fire, and began to get saddled up. Then the Gezrieh stopped, and we knew we were there. But the worst part of the voyage was still before us. We lay in a pitch-dark night about two hundred yards from the beach. A huge ugly lighter was barged alongside, and we were crammed into its capacious maw like herrings in a barrel. With all that gear about us that little voyage in the lighter beat the Burntisland-Granton Sunday night pleasure trip all to sticks. Officers came bellowing into this inferno to close up and close up yet. What with packs, blankets, helmets, picks, shovels, and rifles, chaps had not room to swear. It was a marvel that no one suffocated.

Yet as in Shakespeare so in life: the tension of the tragic situation was relieved by timely wit. One trooper, hailing his mate, jocosely inquired what layer of sardines he was in. At length the unwieldy craft began to move. Then we crawled out, tottered gingerly down a slippery gangway on which two men were constantly flinging sand and landed ankle-deep in shingle. We had arrived at the Dardanelles!

We formed up on the beach, and then, being ordered to stand easy (but not to talk or smoke) we sat down and reviewed the situation. The ugly lighter was still disgorging its human beasts of burden. Behind lay the Gezrieh. Behind that again lay a brilliantly lighted hospital ship. Behind us we could distinguish little.

Strange to say, the first person to welcome us to Gallipoli was a Scot. But he had no sooner commenced to interview us than he was rebuked by one of our subalterns, whose mind still glowed with the glory of those wonderful night alarms in England when we disturbed the whole countryside to no end. As a matter of fact the Scot was in the right; but as he was also in the ranks we had to postpone acquaintance. He was employed in the A.S.C. on the beach, and the Turks being entrenched five miles away, and having but a small knowledge of the " braid Scots," were not likely to derive much benefit from our whispered remarks. It was a bitterly cold night, and we were not sorry when the Colonel was inspired to get a move on. We drew ourselves up and thanked God we were not officers' "backmen." Then we set out, blundering and stumbling, up a sandy apology of a road. We heard some rifle fire away up, and saw an occasional star shell. But our chief thoughts were of the pack which we now carried for the first time, and before we had gone a couple of miles, dreams of Christian at the Cross of Grace were substituted for dreams of the triumphal trek to the City of the Golden Horn. However we halted at last, and then extending across the plain took possession of an old line of trenches. We had about five hours' sleep that night.

In the morning we woke, blithe and brisk, for the ground was not so hard as a concrete floor. We lit little fires, and breakfasted on emergency and Oxo. Then the fatigues began. We got our hand in at necessary and unnecessary digging, and belonging, as we did, to a regiment which earned honourable distinction in England as billet-cleaners, thoroughly fumigated all the trenches in the neighbourhood.

Incidentally we had a smoke and a look at the lie of the land . . .