August 6, 2025 • 33 mins
14 - August 8-20, 1915.
Gallipoli Diary, by John Graham Gillam.
Even during the horrors of the brutalizing industrialised slaughter of the First World War the Gallipoli campaign stands as a benchmark for the awful conditions and savage fighting that occurred. The narrow strips of land that the British, Australian, New Zealand and other Dominion troops tried to wrest from the dogged Turkish defenders was under constant shellfire and every item had to be dragged to the frontline under this hellish barrage. Captain (as at the time) Gillam was part of the supply service who risked their lives to get, food, clothing and ammunition up to the troops in the front-line. Gillam gives a clear, concise account not only of the dangers that he faced, but also the men that he served so ably in the front-line.
Gallipoli Diary, by John Graham Gillam.
Even during the horrors of the brutalizing industrialised slaughter of the First World War the Gallipoli campaign stands as a benchmark for the awful conditions and savage fighting that occurred. The narrow strips of land that the British, Australian, New Zealand and other Dominion troops tried to wrest from the dogged Turkish defenders was under constant shellfire and every item had to be dragged to the frontline under this hellish barrage. Captain (as at the time) Gillam was part of the supply service who risked their lives to get, food, clothing and ammunition up to the troops in the front-line. Gillam gives a clear, concise account not only of the dangers that he faced, but also the men that he served so ably in the front-line.
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Section fourteen of Gallipoli Diary. This is a LibriVox recording.
All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more
information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. Recording
by Sue Anderson. Gallipoli Diary by John Graham Gillum, Section
(00:21):
fourteen August eighth to twentieth nineteen. Fifteen August eighth, rather
a stormy day, not much shelling on w Beach. One
can see plainly through glasses where the new landing has
taken place. Hospital ships, transports, destroyers and three battleships are
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off there. Rumor hath it that the landing was successful
and that they are advancing across the peninsula. Heavy firing
goes on all day from batteries on shore and warships
on sea, answered but feebly by Turkish batteries, which, however,
do not fail to pay their usual unwelcome attention to
(01:02):
W Beach. A Turkish battleship on the way down here
to support land forces was sunk to day by one
of our submarines, which is a great event. Heavy artillery
fire goes on to night on our left. August ninth,
usual shelling and some nasty ones amongst them. Ride up
the gully and have a good gallop on a new
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little horse with Williams. Afternoon, can see new landing through glasses.
Gorse there seems on fire. Transport's very busy going to
and fro on horizon. Ride up the gully along the
top road at night with Cook and have a chat
with a few Irish Royal Army medical corpals. Artillery duels
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on our front all day. Hear that, in addition to
Turkish battleship being sunk, also Turkish gunboat and empty transport
submarine also opened fire on Turkish battalions marching on shore.
Our submarine commanders are some lads. Heavy firing from battleships
goes on all night up north. Good rumors come in
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from time to time that the new landing forces have
captured the hills in front of them and Anapharta and
are overlooking the straits the other side. If this is so,
then this show will be over in a few weeks.
August tenth very quiet on this front, but a little
shelling as usual on to w Beach. When up the
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gully in the afternoon, brigades still in rest there shells
come over to gully beach cruiser firing up coast again.
Turks attack at eight p m and again at eleven
thirty p m. August eleventh slight intermittent shelling on beaches
and roads from Turks all day. Afternoon, French battleship Saint
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Luis takes a position off our part of the coast,
but before she fires, Turkish batteries open fire on her
and one shell hits her, and through glass I see
something catching fire and men running fire. Extinguished battleship maneuvers
for fresh position and having taken it up, fires with
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all her six inch guns on west of Achibaba. All
the while heavy fighting is going on on our right
by French new Landing has now linked hands with Anzac
and is three and a half miles inland. Our troops
at the new Landing are not moving as fast as
was at first expected, but reports are that Kitchener's army
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are fighting magnificently. The Indian brigade unfortunately had to give
ground last night, but not of much consequence. I semaphore
a message from the beach to MacArthur on a submarine,
and submarine smartly picks it up and acknowledges it is
from a lady friend, from whom I have just received
a letter to a friend of MacArthur's. On the way back,
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a shell comes near, goes right through the roof of
the Deputy Assistant Quartermaster General's office as I was passing,
and penetrates the earthwall on far side, while Deputy Assistant
Quartermaster General is riding at his desk. It did not explode,
and he was most fortunately unhurt. Afterwards he said that
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he dropped his pencil with surprise. August twelfth, A fairly
quiet day. Rode with his slop to the gully. Hardly
any shelling on w Beach, and what shells did come
over were only poop squeaks, the majority not bursting. I
suppose the Turks are taking the artillery away from here.
Two positions against our minute. SUVLA aeroplanes buzzing about as
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usual this end, and one of the E type submarines
comes down from the straits. But the Navy keeps things dark,
and since the last submarine stunt we have heard nothing.
Destroyers off W coast find a target on west ridge
of the hill. Findley Smith comes to dinner August eight teenth,
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very hot and a calm sea. Not much shelling, but
a few poop squeaks fall in supply depot. One man
wounded shelling seems to be dying away. Rode to the
gully to Krigan on duty at depot in the afternoon.
Fighting last night in center and again this morning. Noticed
very big explosions in Turkish trenches on their right, throwing
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earth and smoke quite three hundred feet. On inquiry, found
that they were our trench mortars at work, throwing one
hundred pound shells. That will shake things up a bit.
Very quiet night, August fourteenth, on duty at depot at
six a m. Very quiet, no shelling, wonderfully quiet altogether.
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Now hardly a rifle shot. Rode up to the gully
beach and then rode out with Matthias to Pink Farm
and walked up the trench to Brigade headquarters. Hardly a
shell and only a few bullets. What is happen anyway?
It is nice for us, and it is a relief
to be able to ride about in safety. Found way
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at headquarters and also saw Thompson once more, was very
glad to see him. Rode with Way back to the gully,
passing old Butler asleep under a tree told him that
a shell would soon pitch on his tummy, to which
he replied, it is all right. The Turks think I'm
a mule. Call on Munster Fusiliers beyond Gully Beach in
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dugouts on cliff half way to Shrapnel Point and have
tea with Getty's and Nightingale. We passed General Delile superintending
the building of a new pier off Gully Beach. Have
a nice canter home after dinner. A Turkish foregun battery
on Asiatic's side fires over a salvo of high explosives,
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followed by another and another in quick succession. It was
a surprise to us, but did not last long as
our friends the monitors got on to them, which I
suppose they limbered up and bolted. I hope they will
not do it. In the middle of the night, the
shells burst in the Arabs camp beyond the aerodrome, causing
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them to clear, making a row like a panic stricken
poultry yard. No news from the north. Ten thirty p m.
Turkish battery at Yennis cheer again, starts firing salvos very
rapidly and shells for at a time come over in
succession shells almost reach w Beach, and anticipating their arrival
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near us, Phillips and I curse and have to get
up and leave our tent and go to dugout. Suddenly
a great flash over the sky behind Rabbit Island is noticed,
and shortly afterwards a great bursting flame behind Yannis Cheer,
a very awe inspiring sight. After quite a pause, there
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follows a great peal of thunder rumbling on, which ends
with a great crash. This happened once or twice. When
the Turkish battery shuts up, it is the monitor behind
Rabbit Island firing its great gun. The whole incident was
like a few naughty boys throwing stones at a house,
the owner of which telephones to the police, the monitor
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behind Rabbit Island, who without delay take effective measures to
stop the nuisance. It was really nothing more than a
nuisance and gained no military advantage for the Turk. August fifteenth,
a very windy day, almost the Gallipoli Gale blowing down land,
and in consequence dust storms start. As usual, two guns
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on Achi start firing towards our tents. Why Lord knows,
for there is nothing here to fire at but our tents,
and those can't be seen by them. They do no harm,
but are a beastly nuisance as we keep on having
to duck. The wind is so strong that we do
not hear them coming till they are right on to us.
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After lunch, I ride along the top road with Carver
and dipping down onto gully Beach. Ride up the gully
a little way and turn off to the left into
a ravine, where we leave our horses. Climbing up the cliffs.
We call at the mess of Major Gibbons's battery, where
Tea is awaiting in a delightful summer house surrounded with
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rocks and shrubbery. Duff is there, and Monroe too. The
battery is in position a few yards away in an
artfully hidden spot, never as yet having been discovered by
the enemy. Out to sea, a small cruiser is in
action firing on a target on the left of Atchibaba.
A Turkish battery on the extreme right is in action
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against her, recording a few hits without causing much damage,
but making it necessary for the cruiser to maneuver constantly
for a fresh position. Heavy firing occurs in the night,
and the enemy strongly attack the ANZACs with no success.
August sixteenth, Having been invited to breakfast with the Hampshires
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who are up the line, I ride up to the
nullah in front of Pink Farm and leave my horse there,
for he has given his breakfast. On arrival at the
brigade headquarters at the end of the long trench or
the mule track as we now call it, I am
given a guide to the Royal Scots, who, however, has
difficulty in finding the battalion headquarters. We wander about a
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while before we reach our destination. Reminded me of an
endeavor to thread away through Hampton Court maze up one
long winding trench. My guide puzzles me somewhat by the
remark b trench, Sir, but not a bee line. At
first I am puzzled as to what he is driving at,
but gradually it dawns on me that he is cracking
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with difficulty, an obtuse Scottish joke occasioned by the long
winding walk up the trench, which I notice is called
the communication trench. Battalion headquarters found at last, I have
an excellent breakfast of hot cocoa, sardines, bread and jam,
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and at the end of the meal. I am taken
up to do a tour of the line. First we
make a visit to the battalion headquarters of the Essex,
where I see Algae Wood and Colonel Rice. Then I
am shown the cook house of the Hampshires, Owing to
a curiously small and deep ravine. It has not been
found necessary to dig trenches here. Instead, communication trenches lead
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off from the small nullah, only a hundred and fifty
yards away from our front line, in five different directions,
like streets leading off from a circus. We pass up
that part of the communication trench leading to the line
which the Hampshires are holding. On arrival here I am
greeted with a wave of sickening odor, a blend of
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decaying bodies and and chloride of lime. The scene in
the first line trench is alive with interest. There, officers
and men are on the alert. Every four yards. Men
are standing on the fire steps looking out through periscopes
held in their hands or fixed to rifles. Others are
cleaning up the floors or sides of the trench as
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the parlor maid would do the room of a house.
Others are improving parapets, leveling the sides and floors of
the trench. A few are still at breakfast. One I
notice consisting of two fried eggs, a piece of steak,
bread and honey and hot tea. I am taken up
a sap by one of the officers on duty in
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the front line, a cheery young man named Moore, who
has recently won the Victoria Cross. At the sap head.
Looking through a periscope, I see not fifty yards away
in front a sap head jutting out from a Turkish trench.
Turning the periscope round from left to right, I see
a sight which fills me with sorrow. I see lying
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in all postures, some alone, some in groups of three
to six, the dead bodies of brave British Tommies who
a fortnight ago were alive and well, merry and bright,
enjoying the bathing off Gully Beach. They had lost their
lives in the Battle of August sixth, and had never
even had the satisfaction of reaching Turkish territory. After the battle.
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Our positions in the h trenches, as this part of
the Lion is termed, remained unchanged from what they were before,
but hundreds of brave men had gone forth from there,
never to return, and I am afraid few became prisoners.
The end of the sap in which I am standing
is protected from enemy bombs by a roof of wire netting.
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A drained pipe penetrates the earth at the end of
the sap, with its mouth filled by a rolled up
empty sand bag. For my benefit, this is taken out,
and looking through I see quite close to me the
corpse of one of our brave fellows, blackened by exposure.
Efforts will be made to recover some of these bodies
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as soon as opportunity allows. Looking further ahead through the pipe,
I have a good view of the Turkish front line.
A sentry is sitting beside the pipe, and at intervals
he removes the sand bag from the mouth, carefully looking
out for any activity on the part of the Turk.
I prefer to look through a periscope and take it
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up once more. Not being used to them, I raise
it too high, my arms appearing above the parapet. A
thoughtful Tommy alongside of me gently pulls my arms down
behind the cover of the sand bags. The Turkish sniper
is always on the lookout for the careless who expose
themselves even a few inches, and is often clever in
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getting a bull's eye at the first shot. However, one
through the arm would be luck. What could be better
than the pleasure of lunching at cyals with an arm
in a sling from a wound. I take a careful
survey of the Turkish line running along a gentle rise
in front of me, and after a while I noticed
a shovel lifted over the parapet and a spray of
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earth thrown over. And this happened several times, a Turk
at work, probably improving his fire step. As I go
back into the front line, I notice that at intervals
we have fixed into the sand bagged parapet iron plates
with little holes punctured in them, protected by a small
shield hanging on a hinge like a shield to a keyhole.
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Through these holes, when necessary, our men placed their rifles,
firing with good protection to themselves. I am shown our
catapults for throwing bombs, almost the same as the ancient
weapons of Rome, also trench mortars, funny squat cannons with short,
wide gaping mouths. Occasionally during the tour bullets come over.
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They zip over up here and ping with a long
ring further back over the roads behind our line. Now
and again they strike our parapet, sounding like the blow
of a great brick thrown with a great force. The
trenches are full of flies, hot and stuffy, with that
ever sickly smell of the dead and chloride of lime,
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but fortunately quite dry and very clean, and the men
are merry and keen and delighted to show round one
who seldom enters a trench and is ignorant of the
life spent there. Evening it has been very quiet during
the day, but a few shells came over to w Beach,
most of them did not explode. August seventeenth. It is
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a wonderfully clear day and we can see the Asiatic
side and the plains of Troy in vivid detail. Some
six inch shells come over from Asia to W Beach
this morning, and after lunch we receive a few more,
one very close to our bivouac, falling into the sea
and throwing up a large water spout. August eighteenth. So
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far it has been a very quiet morning, not a
single shell on the beach. The other day one of
our machines drop bombs on a Turkish transport in the
Sea of Marmora sinking her. One of our transports on
the way to Suvla has been sunk and nearly a
thousand lives lost. Rumor now whispers that the Souvla Bay
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landing has not been as successful as was at first thought,
But we learn that many more troops are being landed.
We are still hoping for victory, which so far we
have not tasted. Dismal news reaches us from Souvla. A
naval officer just returning from there informs us that we
are digging in hard a line at the foot of
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the hills, and that the Turks are also doing likewise.
Also we must now face a winter campaign. No comment
is necessary as to our feelings. We are shelled a
little at night, but are too tired and bored to bother,
and so go to sleep. I am still sleeping in
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a tent with Philips, and if a shell does hit
us clean while we are asleep, it is of no consequence,
for then we shan't wake up the next morning with
another awful day before us to live. August nineteenth, Before
breakfast this morning, I ride up the West coast road,
my mount being fresh and lively enjoying to the full
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the canter I give him up to Artillery Road the right.
Along that road beats so far any ride I have
ever had for enjoyment. The soft going, though it may
be rather dusty. The view the sea on the left,
Embrose shrouded at her feet by blue gray mist. The
sound of the waves gently lapping the shore on the
road below, the view in front of stately and formidable Atchibaba,
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and of the mountains of Asia, with now and again
a glimpse of the blue waters of the Dardanelles on
the right, All is quiet. I might be miles from war,
and yet I am in the center of war on
a large scale, concentrated in an area that would be
lost on Salisbury Plain. To obtain an idea of on
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how large a scale the war on this little tip
of land is. As far as fighting is concerned, one
has only to compare our casualties here up to now
with those of the South African War. And now we
have suve La Bay, where six divisions are on shore.
Passing the road leading down the gully beach, my horse
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shies badly as two sixty pounders in action on the
cliff overlooking the beach fire over our heads. The sixty
pounders have moved forward from their original position on the
cliff by the beach, much to our satisfaction, for they
were too near ar bivouac, and a sixty pounder is
a noisy toy. I ride down from Artillery Road and
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turning to the right, right up the foot of the
beautiful gully, now more honeycomb than ever, with dugouts and
terraces and flights of steps, leaving my horse at a
small camp near Bruce's Ravine, named after the gallant colonel
of the Gurkhas who sailed on the same hospital ship
in which I went to Alexandria in July. Because of
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the gallant and victorious fight the Gurkhas made for the
capture of Gurkha Bluff in the early days. I walk
up this ravine used as a mule track, to the
trenches up on the high ground on the left of
the gully forming the extreme left of our line, And
after a short walk through a series of trenches forming
our support line, I turned down a communication trench which
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after a while brings me out onto a long and
wide terrace overlooking White Beach. Why beach was the scene
of a terrible fight between the king's own Scottish borderers
and the enemy on April twenty fifth, in which the
king's own Scottish borderers were successful in effecting the landing,
only to evacuate a day later. But how they landed
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there at all is a feet to be marveled at,
for the beach can hardly be called a beach. It
is a narrow ravine, widening slightly at the water's edge
to a width of not more than a hundred yards,
and flanked by steep, almost precipitous, gorse covered slopes to
a height of one hundred and fifty feet. Troops attempting
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to land on such a beach from small open boats
could not be expected to even reach the shore. Yet
by the night these Scotsmen had conquered the heights and
penetrated in shore, but their position was too precarious, and
it was a one eyes moved to order them to evacuate.
At the end of the terrace, on the north side
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of the top of the ravine, My brigade headquarters is
comfortably dug in, and it is a pleasure sitting there
talking with such a picturesque view to enjoy from the position.
It is far the prettiest sight Arborgate has had up
to now for their headquarters, and also convenient for they
are situated but a few hundred yards behind the front line.
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As I am about to take my leave, four shrapnel
shells come over from a Turkish battery on our extreme left,
which bursts low on the opposite slopes of the ravine,
with the trenches of two regiments in reserve for a target.
They are followed steadily by several salvos, one or two
of the shells bursting in the air near our headquarters,
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and one in particular throwing a few bullets onto the
ground at my feet. As I stand at the door
of the General's mess the General invites me to step inside,
saying unless you want to get shot, and gives me
a topping breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast. After breakfast,
I go back with Matthias and Arnold to Gully Beach
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and see eighty sixth Brigade headquarters an Sinclair Thompson, and
then ride with Arnold to w Beach. Matthias and Arnold
come to lunch as a parcel had arrived, and we
enjoy the luxuries thereof. After lunch, I receive orders to
go with eighty eighth Brigade and eighty sixth Brigade to
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the new landing Way also under orders to go. So,
after nearly four months of hanging onto this tip of
the peninsula, the poor old twenty ninth Division is to
leave and try its luck at the new landing and
Atchi Baba still remains impregnable. I look forward to the
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move with mixed feelings, relief at getting away from this
end and new feelings at the prospect of being more
heavily shelled than we ever were here. However, perhaps the
move may be a successful one, and the end of
the campaign in this area nearer than we think. At
nine p m. I go down to W Beach and
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make inquiries. As usual, nobody knows anything, and all is confusion.
The piers are very congested, with the baggage being shipped
on to lighters which are then towed out to trawlers.
All such work, of course, has to be done after dark.
At twelve, after making exhaustive inquiries and with no result,
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way and I walk over to V Beach at the
fort on the left of V Beach, looking shorewards. We
find that a lot of Lancashire and Munster fusiliers are
taking shelter as the Turks have been shelling the beach.
We lie down just outside the fort on the stone
floor and try to get some sleep. A perfect night,
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and as I look up at the stars, I wonder
what it was like here a year ago, when war
had not devastated this land. August twentieth, at one thirty
a m We get up and go down to the
River Clyde. The River Clyde is now supporting a very
fine pier that the French have constructed. The French are
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excellent people at organization. After waiting some time, a military
landing officer tells me that the eighty eighth are not
going till the following night. And so I say good
night to Waye who is going off with the eighty sixth,
and proceed to walk back the mile and a half
to w beach. I take the wrong turning inquire the
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way of a French soldier who puts me wrong again,
and I find myself in a perfect maze of French dugouts.
Once in the maze, I have an awful job to
get out, and after stumbling and falling about for some time,
managed to find the road. Feeling very tired, I stumble
along in and out of the shell holes, it being
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very dark, and at last I arrive at w Beach.
I find Major Blackburn, camp commandant still at work in
his office in a dugout on the side of the cliff,
and he very kindly revives me with a whiskey. It
is now three thirty a m. And after chatting with him,
he giving a most dismal and chilling outlook of sousve
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La Bay, twenty thousand casualties and only just hanging on
to the lowland. I go back to the tent, have
no bed, my kit having gone on. I lie down
like a dog and sleep soundly till five o'clock, when
I am awakened by the cold. I go out to
try to get warm and see the sunrise. The breadth
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of the coming winter seems to be in the air. Phew.
In winter we shall be washed off by rain, not
driven off by the Turks. I sleep again and then
have breakfast with Phillips. Heavy artillery duels all day, and
the Gully people get it badly, twelve men wounded. I
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rest during the day, as I shall be up all
night again to night. I wonder how many other people
are keeping diaries on Gallipoli besides me. It would be
interesting for me to read them, for they must all
be told from far different points of view. The impression
the Gallipoli Campaign has on the minds of the men
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in the trenches, by far the most important men in
the machine of the Dardanelle's Army, must be widely foreign
to the impression made on the mind, for instance, of
a lighterman. The man in the trenches, probably if he
has been to France, and many here have, sees no
great difference from life in the trenches in the eper salient.
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An Army Service Corps baker views life here through quite
differently colored spectacles from the Army Service Corp driver, the
Army Service Corps driver, from the signal operator, the officer
in the observation balloon, from the military officer of a regiment,
the platoon commander, from the military landing officer, the aviator,
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from the gunner officer, the commander of a submarine, from
the veterinary officer. And yet each respective outlook on life
to each officer or man is one of far more
vital and of greater importance than all the views, opinions, thoughts,
and actions of any of his comrades or neighbors, or
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any newspaper or public opinion. It is for him his destiny.
The carrying out of orders given to his particular self,
though of seemingly little importance in comparison to the working
of the large army machine, is to him perhaps a
matter of life or death. Death or grievous wounds may
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prevent him caring out an order. In that event he
will be excused, But while alive and effective, he must
carry out that order to the letter. The position that
destiny has placed him in as part of the huge
machine controls his thoughts, actions, character, and outlook on life.
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His daily work may bring him in a constant danger
of sudden death, and he naturally views his life from
the point of view of the probability of leaving it suddenly,
and possibly in an awful manner. That constant thought usually
makes a man braver than we would expect, for his
will forces him to carry out to the letter his
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orders and rules his mind, which is fully aware of
the danger he incurs in doing so, as well as
making him braver the thought decides his will to make
the most of the pleasures of life that may pass
his way, and as a result, he is usually to
be found of a cheery, optimistic nature, easily pleased and
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hard to depress. For optimists go to the front line
trenches or the navy, and for pessimists go to overworked
administrative officers. If it were possible for all ranks, from
officer commanding to private in an army fighting in any
certain campaign to keep an accurate diary of all they
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do and see, then there could be published a perfectly
true record of the development and history of that campaign.
So it is not possible, and never will be, for
the truth of all happenings in that campaign to be known,
and it never will be. In any campaign, hundreds of deeds, gallant, tragic, cowardly,
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and foolish occur which are never and can never be recorded.
When the daily press, armchair critics in clubs et ce
criticize any statesman or army's staff, they are simply talking
hot air. For how is it possible for them to
judge when their source of information is as unreliable as
(31:12):
a w beach rumor so why waste words? Much better
go and do something useful, or shut up and go
and hide. War is like a big game. This war.
We must win or we shall lose. If we lose,
it is on too huge a scale to be through
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any man's fault, it will be destiny. At nine thirty
p m. I walk over to v Beach again and
find much more order than last night. Our brigade is
moving off systematically from the pier alongside the River Clyde.
I embark with the Essex onto a small trawler. Algae
Wood is with me. We are a merry party. We
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cast off and steam out to a paddle boat which
we come alongside and make fast to tranceship. We are
packed very closely together. The skipper makes all the Tommies
laugh by shouting through a megaphone in a deep naval
drawl to a small tug in the offing Finished with you, Jesse,
(32:18):
and off we steam north for our unknown fate. At
sousve La Bay, a Tommy expresses his feelings by the
remark I don't know where I am going to, but
I shall be glad when I get there, so shall I.
I take a farewell glance at the River Clyde, and
said el barr and express the prayer that I shall
(32:41):
not see either again during this war, and lie down
on deck to sleep. End of Section fourteen y
Section fourteen of Gallipoli Diary. This is a LibriVox recording.
All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more
information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. Recording
by Sue Anderson. Gallipoli Diary by John Graham Gillum, Section
(00:21):
fourteen August eighth to twentieth nineteen. Fifteen August eighth, rather
a stormy day, not much shelling on w Beach. One
can see plainly through glasses where the new landing has
taken place. Hospital ships, transports, destroyers and three battleships are
(00:41):
off there. Rumor hath it that the landing was successful
and that they are advancing across the peninsula. Heavy firing
goes on all day from batteries on shore and warships
on sea, answered but feebly by Turkish batteries, which, however,
do not fail to pay their usual unwelcome attention to
(01:02):
W Beach. A Turkish battleship on the way down here
to support land forces was sunk to day by one
of our submarines, which is a great event. Heavy artillery
fire goes on to night on our left. August ninth,
usual shelling and some nasty ones amongst them. Ride up
the gully and have a good gallop on a new
(01:22):
little horse with Williams. Afternoon, can see new landing through glasses.
Gorse there seems on fire. Transport's very busy going to
and fro on horizon. Ride up the gully along the
top road at night with Cook and have a chat
with a few Irish Royal Army medical corpals. Artillery duels
(01:43):
on our front all day. Hear that, in addition to
Turkish battleship being sunk, also Turkish gunboat and empty transport
submarine also opened fire on Turkish battalions marching on shore.
Our submarine commanders are some lads. Heavy firing from battleships
goes on all night up north. Good rumors come in
(02:06):
from time to time that the new landing forces have
captured the hills in front of them and Anapharta and
are overlooking the straits the other side. If this is so,
then this show will be over in a few weeks.
August tenth very quiet on this front, but a little
shelling as usual on to w Beach. When up the
(02:28):
gully in the afternoon, brigades still in rest there shells
come over to gully beach cruiser firing up coast again.
Turks attack at eight p m and again at eleven
thirty p m. August eleventh slight intermittent shelling on beaches
and roads from Turks all day. Afternoon, French battleship Saint
(02:50):
Luis takes a position off our part of the coast,
but before she fires, Turkish batteries open fire on her
and one shell hits her, and through glass I see
something catching fire and men running fire. Extinguished battleship maneuvers
for fresh position and having taken it up, fires with
(03:10):
all her six inch guns on west of Achibaba. All
the while heavy fighting is going on on our right
by French new Landing has now linked hands with Anzac
and is three and a half miles inland. Our troops
at the new Landing are not moving as fast as
was at first expected, but reports are that Kitchener's army
(03:32):
are fighting magnificently. The Indian brigade unfortunately had to give
ground last night, but not of much consequence. I semaphore
a message from the beach to MacArthur on a submarine,
and submarine smartly picks it up and acknowledges it is
from a lady friend, from whom I have just received
a letter to a friend of MacArthur's. On the way back,
(03:55):
a shell comes near, goes right through the roof of
the Deputy Assistant Quartermaster General's office as I was passing,
and penetrates the earthwall on far side, while Deputy Assistant
Quartermaster General is riding at his desk. It did not explode,
and he was most fortunately unhurt. Afterwards he said that
(04:16):
he dropped his pencil with surprise. August twelfth, A fairly
quiet day. Rode with his slop to the gully. Hardly
any shelling on w Beach, and what shells did come
over were only poop squeaks, the majority not bursting. I
suppose the Turks are taking the artillery away from here.
Two positions against our minute. SUVLA aeroplanes buzzing about as
(04:40):
usual this end, and one of the E type submarines
comes down from the straits. But the Navy keeps things dark,
and since the last submarine stunt we have heard nothing.
Destroyers off W coast find a target on west ridge
of the hill. Findley Smith comes to dinner August eight teenth,
(05:01):
very hot and a calm sea. Not much shelling, but
a few poop squeaks fall in supply depot. One man
wounded shelling seems to be dying away. Rode to the
gully to Krigan on duty at depot in the afternoon.
Fighting last night in center and again this morning. Noticed
very big explosions in Turkish trenches on their right, throwing
(05:24):
earth and smoke quite three hundred feet. On inquiry, found
that they were our trench mortars at work, throwing one
hundred pound shells. That will shake things up a bit.
Very quiet night, August fourteenth, on duty at depot at
six a m. Very quiet, no shelling, wonderfully quiet altogether.
(05:47):
Now hardly a rifle shot. Rode up to the gully
beach and then rode out with Matthias to Pink Farm
and walked up the trench to Brigade headquarters. Hardly a
shell and only a few bullets. What is happen anyway?
It is nice for us, and it is a relief
to be able to ride about in safety. Found way
(06:07):
at headquarters and also saw Thompson once more, was very
glad to see him. Rode with Way back to the gully,
passing old Butler asleep under a tree told him that
a shell would soon pitch on his tummy, to which
he replied, it is all right. The Turks think I'm
a mule. Call on Munster Fusiliers beyond Gully Beach in
(06:29):
dugouts on cliff half way to Shrapnel Point and have
tea with Getty's and Nightingale. We passed General Delile superintending
the building of a new pier off Gully Beach. Have
a nice canter home after dinner. A Turkish foregun battery
on Asiatic's side fires over a salvo of high explosives,
(06:50):
followed by another and another in quick succession. It was
a surprise to us, but did not last long as
our friends the monitors got on to them, which I
suppose they limbered up and bolted. I hope they will
not do it. In the middle of the night, the
shells burst in the Arabs camp beyond the aerodrome, causing
(07:10):
them to clear, making a row like a panic stricken
poultry yard. No news from the north. Ten thirty p m.
Turkish battery at Yennis cheer again, starts firing salvos very
rapidly and shells for at a time come over in
succession shells almost reach w Beach, and anticipating their arrival
(07:33):
near us, Phillips and I curse and have to get
up and leave our tent and go to dugout. Suddenly
a great flash over the sky behind Rabbit Island is noticed,
and shortly afterwards a great bursting flame behind Yannis Cheer,
a very awe inspiring sight. After quite a pause, there
(07:53):
follows a great peal of thunder rumbling on, which ends
with a great crash. This happened once or twice. When
the Turkish battery shuts up, it is the monitor behind
Rabbit Island firing its great gun. The whole incident was
like a few naughty boys throwing stones at a house,
the owner of which telephones to the police, the monitor
(08:16):
behind Rabbit Island, who without delay take effective measures to
stop the nuisance. It was really nothing more than a
nuisance and gained no military advantage for the Turk. August fifteenth,
a very windy day, almost the Gallipoli Gale blowing down land,
and in consequence dust storms start. As usual, two guns
(08:39):
on Achi start firing towards our tents. Why Lord knows,
for there is nothing here to fire at but our tents,
and those can't be seen by them. They do no harm,
but are a beastly nuisance as we keep on having
to duck. The wind is so strong that we do
not hear them coming till they are right on to us.
(09:00):
After lunch, I ride along the top road with Carver
and dipping down onto gully Beach. Ride up the gully
a little way and turn off to the left into
a ravine, where we leave our horses. Climbing up the cliffs.
We call at the mess of Major Gibbons's battery, where
Tea is awaiting in a delightful summer house surrounded with
(09:20):
rocks and shrubbery. Duff is there, and Monroe too. The
battery is in position a few yards away in an
artfully hidden spot, never as yet having been discovered by
the enemy. Out to sea, a small cruiser is in
action firing on a target on the left of Atchibaba.
A Turkish battery on the extreme right is in action
(09:42):
against her, recording a few hits without causing much damage,
but making it necessary for the cruiser to maneuver constantly
for a fresh position. Heavy firing occurs in the night,
and the enemy strongly attack the ANZACs with no success.
August sixteenth, Having been invited to breakfast with the Hampshires
(10:05):
who are up the line, I ride up to the
nullah in front of Pink Farm and leave my horse there,
for he has given his breakfast. On arrival at the
brigade headquarters at the end of the long trench or
the mule track as we now call it, I am
given a guide to the Royal Scots, who, however, has
difficulty in finding the battalion headquarters. We wander about a
(10:28):
while before we reach our destination. Reminded me of an
endeavor to thread away through Hampton Court maze up one
long winding trench. My guide puzzles me somewhat by the
remark b trench, Sir, but not a bee line. At
first I am puzzled as to what he is driving at,
but gradually it dawns on me that he is cracking
(10:51):
with difficulty, an obtuse Scottish joke occasioned by the long
winding walk up the trench, which I notice is called
the communication trench. Battalion headquarters found at last, I have
an excellent breakfast of hot cocoa, sardines, bread and jam,
(11:12):
and at the end of the meal. I am taken
up to do a tour of the line. First we
make a visit to the battalion headquarters of the Essex,
where I see Algae Wood and Colonel Rice. Then I
am shown the cook house of the Hampshires, Owing to
a curiously small and deep ravine. It has not been
found necessary to dig trenches here. Instead, communication trenches lead
(11:36):
off from the small nullah, only a hundred and fifty
yards away from our front line, in five different directions,
like streets leading off from a circus. We pass up
that part of the communication trench leading to the line
which the Hampshires are holding. On arrival here I am
greeted with a wave of sickening odor, a blend of
(11:58):
decaying bodies and and chloride of lime. The scene in
the first line trench is alive with interest. There, officers
and men are on the alert. Every four yards. Men
are standing on the fire steps looking out through periscopes
held in their hands or fixed to rifles. Others are
cleaning up the floors or sides of the trench as
(12:21):
the parlor maid would do the room of a house.
Others are improving parapets, leveling the sides and floors of
the trench. A few are still at breakfast. One I
notice consisting of two fried eggs, a piece of steak,
bread and honey and hot tea. I am taken up
a sap by one of the officers on duty in
(12:42):
the front line, a cheery young man named Moore, who
has recently won the Victoria Cross. At the sap head.
Looking through a periscope, I see not fifty yards away
in front a sap head jutting out from a Turkish trench.
Turning the periscope round from left to right, I see
a sight which fills me with sorrow. I see lying
(13:05):
in all postures, some alone, some in groups of three
to six, the dead bodies of brave British Tommies who
a fortnight ago were alive and well, merry and bright,
enjoying the bathing off Gully Beach. They had lost their
lives in the Battle of August sixth, and had never
even had the satisfaction of reaching Turkish territory. After the battle.
(13:30):
Our positions in the h trenches, as this part of
the Lion is termed, remained unchanged from what they were before,
but hundreds of brave men had gone forth from there,
never to return, and I am afraid few became prisoners.
The end of the sap in which I am standing
is protected from enemy bombs by a roof of wire netting.
(13:53):
A drained pipe penetrates the earth at the end of
the sap, with its mouth filled by a rolled up
empty sand bag. For my benefit, this is taken out,
and looking through I see quite close to me the
corpse of one of our brave fellows, blackened by exposure.
Efforts will be made to recover some of these bodies
(14:15):
as soon as opportunity allows. Looking further ahead through the pipe,
I have a good view of the Turkish front line.
A sentry is sitting beside the pipe, and at intervals
he removes the sand bag from the mouth, carefully looking
out for any activity on the part of the Turk.
I prefer to look through a periscope and take it
(14:35):
up once more. Not being used to them, I raise
it too high, my arms appearing above the parapet. A
thoughtful Tommy alongside of me gently pulls my arms down
behind the cover of the sand bags. The Turkish sniper
is always on the lookout for the careless who expose
themselves even a few inches, and is often clever in
(14:57):
getting a bull's eye at the first shot. However, one
through the arm would be luck. What could be better
than the pleasure of lunching at cyals with an arm
in a sling from a wound. I take a careful
survey of the Turkish line running along a gentle rise
in front of me, and after a while I noticed
a shovel lifted over the parapet and a spray of
(15:20):
earth thrown over. And this happened several times, a Turk
at work, probably improving his fire step. As I go
back into the front line, I notice that at intervals
we have fixed into the sand bagged parapet iron plates
with little holes punctured in them, protected by a small
shield hanging on a hinge like a shield to a keyhole.
(15:44):
Through these holes, when necessary, our men placed their rifles,
firing with good protection to themselves. I am shown our
catapults for throwing bombs, almost the same as the ancient
weapons of Rome, also trench mortars, funny squat cannons with short,
wide gaping mouths. Occasionally during the tour bullets come over.
(16:07):
They zip over up here and ping with a long
ring further back over the roads behind our line. Now
and again they strike our parapet, sounding like the blow
of a great brick thrown with a great force. The
trenches are full of flies, hot and stuffy, with that
ever sickly smell of the dead and chloride of lime,
(16:30):
but fortunately quite dry and very clean, and the men
are merry and keen and delighted to show round one
who seldom enters a trench and is ignorant of the
life spent there. Evening it has been very quiet during
the day, but a few shells came over to w Beach,
most of them did not explode. August seventeenth. It is
(16:54):
a wonderfully clear day and we can see the Asiatic
side and the plains of Troy in vivid detail. Some
six inch shells come over from Asia to W Beach
this morning, and after lunch we receive a few more,
one very close to our bivouac, falling into the sea
and throwing up a large water spout. August eighteenth. So
(17:17):
far it has been a very quiet morning, not a
single shell on the beach. The other day one of
our machines drop bombs on a Turkish transport in the
Sea of Marmora sinking her. One of our transports on
the way to Suvla has been sunk and nearly a
thousand lives lost. Rumor now whispers that the Souvla Bay
(17:38):
landing has not been as successful as was at first thought,
But we learn that many more troops are being landed.
We are still hoping for victory, which so far we
have not tasted. Dismal news reaches us from Souvla. A
naval officer just returning from there informs us that we
are digging in hard a line at the foot of
(18:00):
the hills, and that the Turks are also doing likewise.
Also we must now face a winter campaign. No comment
is necessary as to our feelings. We are shelled a
little at night, but are too tired and bored to bother,
and so go to sleep. I am still sleeping in
(18:21):
a tent with Philips, and if a shell does hit
us clean while we are asleep, it is of no consequence,
for then we shan't wake up the next morning with
another awful day before us to live. August nineteenth, Before
breakfast this morning, I ride up the West coast road,
my mount being fresh and lively enjoying to the full
(18:43):
the canter I give him up to Artillery Road the right.
Along that road beats so far any ride I have
ever had for enjoyment. The soft going, though it may
be rather dusty. The view the sea on the left,
Embrose shrouded at her feet by blue gray mist. The
sound of the waves gently lapping the shore on the
road below, the view in front of stately and formidable Atchibaba,
(19:08):
and of the mountains of Asia, with now and again
a glimpse of the blue waters of the Dardanelles on
the right, All is quiet. I might be miles from war,
and yet I am in the center of war on
a large scale, concentrated in an area that would be
lost on Salisbury Plain. To obtain an idea of on
(19:30):
how large a scale the war on this little tip
of land is. As far as fighting is concerned, one
has only to compare our casualties here up to now
with those of the South African War. And now we
have suve La Bay, where six divisions are on shore.
Passing the road leading down the gully beach, my horse
(19:52):
shies badly as two sixty pounders in action on the
cliff overlooking the beach fire over our heads. The sixty
pounders have moved forward from their original position on the
cliff by the beach, much to our satisfaction, for they
were too near ar bivouac, and a sixty pounder is
a noisy toy. I ride down from Artillery Road and
(20:15):
turning to the right, right up the foot of the
beautiful gully, now more honeycomb than ever, with dugouts and
terraces and flights of steps, leaving my horse at a
small camp near Bruce's Ravine, named after the gallant colonel
of the Gurkhas who sailed on the same hospital ship
in which I went to Alexandria in July. Because of
(20:36):
the gallant and victorious fight the Gurkhas made for the
capture of Gurkha Bluff in the early days. I walk
up this ravine used as a mule track, to the
trenches up on the high ground on the left of
the gully forming the extreme left of our line, And
after a short walk through a series of trenches forming
our support line, I turned down a communication trench which
(21:01):
after a while brings me out onto a long and
wide terrace overlooking White Beach. Why beach was the scene
of a terrible fight between the king's own Scottish borderers
and the enemy on April twenty fifth, in which the
king's own Scottish borderers were successful in effecting the landing,
only to evacuate a day later. But how they landed
(21:22):
there at all is a feet to be marveled at,
for the beach can hardly be called a beach. It
is a narrow ravine, widening slightly at the water's edge
to a width of not more than a hundred yards,
and flanked by steep, almost precipitous, gorse covered slopes to
a height of one hundred and fifty feet. Troops attempting
(21:44):
to land on such a beach from small open boats
could not be expected to even reach the shore. Yet
by the night these Scotsmen had conquered the heights and
penetrated in shore, but their position was too precarious, and
it was a one eyes moved to order them to evacuate.
At the end of the terrace, on the north side
(22:05):
of the top of the ravine, My brigade headquarters is
comfortably dug in, and it is a pleasure sitting there
talking with such a picturesque view to enjoy from the position.
It is far the prettiest sight Arborgate has had up
to now for their headquarters, and also convenient for they
are situated but a few hundred yards behind the front line.
(22:27):
As I am about to take my leave, four shrapnel
shells come over from a Turkish battery on our extreme left,
which bursts low on the opposite slopes of the ravine,
with the trenches of two regiments in reserve for a target.
They are followed steadily by several salvos, one or two
of the shells bursting in the air near our headquarters,
(22:49):
and one in particular throwing a few bullets onto the
ground at my feet. As I stand at the door
of the General's mess the General invites me to step inside,
saying unless you want to get shot, and gives me
a topping breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast. After breakfast,
I go back with Matthias and Arnold to Gully Beach
(23:11):
and see eighty sixth Brigade headquarters an Sinclair Thompson, and
then ride with Arnold to w Beach. Matthias and Arnold
come to lunch as a parcel had arrived, and we
enjoy the luxuries thereof. After lunch, I receive orders to
go with eighty eighth Brigade and eighty sixth Brigade to
(23:31):
the new landing Way also under orders to go. So,
after nearly four months of hanging onto this tip of
the peninsula, the poor old twenty ninth Division is to
leave and try its luck at the new landing and
Atchi Baba still remains impregnable. I look forward to the
(23:53):
move with mixed feelings, relief at getting away from this
end and new feelings at the prospect of being more
heavily shelled than we ever were here. However, perhaps the
move may be a successful one, and the end of
the campaign in this area nearer than we think. At
nine p m. I go down to W Beach and
(24:15):
make inquiries. As usual, nobody knows anything, and all is confusion.
The piers are very congested, with the baggage being shipped
on to lighters which are then towed out to trawlers.
All such work, of course, has to be done after dark.
At twelve, after making exhaustive inquiries and with no result,
(24:37):
way and I walk over to V Beach at the
fort on the left of V Beach, looking shorewards. We
find that a lot of Lancashire and Munster fusiliers are
taking shelter as the Turks have been shelling the beach.
We lie down just outside the fort on the stone
floor and try to get some sleep. A perfect night,
(24:58):
and as I look up at the stars, I wonder
what it was like here a year ago, when war
had not devastated this land. August twentieth, at one thirty
a m We get up and go down to the
River Clyde. The River Clyde is now supporting a very
fine pier that the French have constructed. The French are
(25:19):
excellent people at organization. After waiting some time, a military
landing officer tells me that the eighty eighth are not
going till the following night. And so I say good
night to Waye who is going off with the eighty sixth,
and proceed to walk back the mile and a half
to w beach. I take the wrong turning inquire the
(25:40):
way of a French soldier who puts me wrong again,
and I find myself in a perfect maze of French dugouts.
Once in the maze, I have an awful job to
get out, and after stumbling and falling about for some time,
managed to find the road. Feeling very tired, I stumble
along in and out of the shell holes, it being
(26:04):
very dark, and at last I arrive at w Beach.
I find Major Blackburn, camp commandant still at work in
his office in a dugout on the side of the cliff,
and he very kindly revives me with a whiskey. It
is now three thirty a m. And after chatting with him,
he giving a most dismal and chilling outlook of sousve
(26:27):
La Bay, twenty thousand casualties and only just hanging on
to the lowland. I go back to the tent, have
no bed, my kit having gone on. I lie down
like a dog and sleep soundly till five o'clock, when
I am awakened by the cold. I go out to
try to get warm and see the sunrise. The breadth
(26:49):
of the coming winter seems to be in the air. Phew.
In winter we shall be washed off by rain, not
driven off by the Turks. I sleep again and then
have breakfast with Phillips. Heavy artillery duels all day, and
the Gully people get it badly, twelve men wounded. I
(27:10):
rest during the day, as I shall be up all
night again to night. I wonder how many other people
are keeping diaries on Gallipoli besides me. It would be
interesting for me to read them, for they must all
be told from far different points of view. The impression
the Gallipoli Campaign has on the minds of the men
(27:31):
in the trenches, by far the most important men in
the machine of the Dardanelle's Army, must be widely foreign
to the impression made on the mind, for instance, of
a lighterman. The man in the trenches, probably if he
has been to France, and many here have, sees no
great difference from life in the trenches in the eper salient.
(27:53):
An Army Service Corps baker views life here through quite
differently colored spectacles from the Army Service Corp driver, the
Army Service Corps driver, from the signal operator, the officer
in the observation balloon, from the military officer of a regiment,
the platoon commander, from the military landing officer, the aviator,
(28:14):
from the gunner officer, the commander of a submarine, from
the veterinary officer. And yet each respective outlook on life
to each officer or man is one of far more
vital and of greater importance than all the views, opinions, thoughts,
and actions of any of his comrades or neighbors, or
(28:37):
any newspaper or public opinion. It is for him his destiny.
The carrying out of orders given to his particular self,
though of seemingly little importance in comparison to the working
of the large army machine, is to him perhaps a
matter of life or death. Death or grievous wounds may
(28:59):
prevent him caring out an order. In that event he
will be excused, But while alive and effective, he must
carry out that order to the letter. The position that
destiny has placed him in as part of the huge
machine controls his thoughts, actions, character, and outlook on life.
(29:20):
His daily work may bring him in a constant danger
of sudden death, and he naturally views his life from
the point of view of the probability of leaving it suddenly,
and possibly in an awful manner. That constant thought usually
makes a man braver than we would expect, for his
will forces him to carry out to the letter his
(29:41):
orders and rules his mind, which is fully aware of
the danger he incurs in doing so, as well as
making him braver the thought decides his will to make
the most of the pleasures of life that may pass
his way, and as a result, he is usually to
be found of a cheery, optimistic nature, easily pleased and
(30:03):
hard to depress. For optimists go to the front line
trenches or the navy, and for pessimists go to overworked
administrative officers. If it were possible for all ranks, from
officer commanding to private in an army fighting in any
certain campaign to keep an accurate diary of all they
(30:26):
do and see, then there could be published a perfectly
true record of the development and history of that campaign.
So it is not possible, and never will be, for
the truth of all happenings in that campaign to be known,
and it never will be. In any campaign, hundreds of deeds, gallant, tragic, cowardly,
(30:49):
and foolish occur which are never and can never be recorded.
When the daily press, armchair critics in clubs et ce
criticize any statesman or army's staff, they are simply talking
hot air. For how is it possible for them to
judge when their source of information is as unreliable as
(31:12):
a w beach rumor so why waste words? Much better
go and do something useful, or shut up and go
and hide. War is like a big game. This war.
We must win or we shall lose. If we lose,
it is on too huge a scale to be through
(31:33):
any man's fault, it will be destiny. At nine thirty
p m. I walk over to v Beach again and
find much more order than last night. Our brigade is
moving off systematically from the pier alongside the River Clyde.
I embark with the Essex onto a small trawler. Algae
Wood is with me. We are a merry party. We
(31:57):
cast off and steam out to a paddle boat which
we come alongside and make fast to tranceship. We are
packed very closely together. The skipper makes all the Tommies
laugh by shouting through a megaphone in a deep naval
drawl to a small tug in the offing Finished with you, Jesse,
(32:18):
and off we steam north for our unknown fate. At
sousve La Bay, a Tommy expresses his feelings by the
remark I don't know where I am going to, but
I shall be glad when I get there, so shall I.
I take a farewell glance at the River Clyde, and
said el barr and express the prayer that I shall
(32:41):
not see either again during this war, and lie down
on deck to sleep. End of Section fourteen y
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My Favorite Murder with Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark
My Favorite Murder is a true crime comedy podcast hosted by Karen Kilgariff and Georgia Hardstark. Each week, Karen and Georgia share compelling true crimes and hometown stories from friends and listeners. Since MFM launched in January of 2016, Karen and Georgia have shared their lifelong interest in true crime and have covered stories of infamous serial killers like the Night Stalker, mysterious cold cases, captivating cults, incredible survivor stories and important events from history like the Tulsa race massacre of 1921. My Favorite Murder is part of the Exactly Right podcast network that provides a platform for bold, creative voices to bring to life provocative, entertaining and relatable stories for audiences everywhere. The Exactly Right roster of podcasts covers a variety of topics including historic true crime, comedic interviews and news, science, pop culture and more. Podcasts on the network include Buried Bones with Kate Winkler Dawson and Paul Holes, That's Messed Up: An SVU Podcast, This Podcast Will Kill You, Bananas and more.
The Joe Rogan Experience
The official podcast of comedian Joe Rogan.