The Best Gallipoli Yarns and Forgotten Stories Read online

  Thousands of us blokes separated into different mobs was kept running about, on an’ off, on an’ off all day, drilling. When we wasn’t drilling we was shooting at targets or digging, or anything else that wasn’t of much use. An’ talk about Colonels an’ Lieutenant Colonels and Majors an’ Captains an’ Sergeants. That was the place to see those gentlemen. They was as plentiful as kangaroos was in the bush. Everywhere you turned you met two or three of ’em swinging canes, an’ to hear ’em giving orders was better than listening to an auctioneer selling poor horses.

  Cripes! I never knew what a small inconsequential bloke I was till I got into that camp. There was even a parson there that me an’ Sam run into once out at Blackall, stalking about in a uniform with leggings up to his knees.

  ‘Well, I’m blowed,’ says Sam the first time we saw him, ‘surely he ain’t goin’ to the blooming war, too?’ An’ both of us burst out laughing.

  ‘What’s up with you fellows?’ a Sergeant coming in for his dinner says.

  We told him what the joke was and expected he’d join in it with us, but he didn’t.

  ‘That’s Lieutenant Colonel Chaplain Brown-Smith,’ he says, ‘and he goes to the front with the next Division.’

  ‘But we met that bloke once,’ Sam told him, ‘about forty miles out of Blackall, crawling along on a blessed old moke that you wouldn’t give a feed to.’

  ‘I don’t care if you met him four mile outside of hell!’ the Sergeant barked, ‘you might meet him outside the trenches and be damn glad to, too! An’ don’t let me tell both of you again,’ he added in his own interests, ‘to salute your officers wherever you meet them.’ An’ suiting the word to the action he give us a demonstration.

  Me an’ Sam grinned an’ give him one back, but by mistake lifted the wrong hand. Then he lifted his voice an’ swore an’ reckoned it was only wasting breath talking to blokes like us.

  We shared a good tent along with some other recruits to camp in, but no bunks, so it was scratch the chips an’ pebbles away an’ sleep on the ground. But me an’ Sam was used to that. When ‘lights out’ was sounded by the bugler we turned in as regular as clockwork, but we was there a long time before we could get into the habit of falling off to sleep.

  Instead of the tinkle-tonkle of horse-bells an’ the screaming of the curlews an’ the howling of the dingoes, the voice of the officer drilling us kept ringing in our ears all night an’ keeping us awake.

  ***

  The route marches to the seaside agreed with us though. Sam an’ me was pretty good at marching, we got plenty of practice at it going to the Barcoo, when we lost our horses, which I didn’t tell you about.

  Some of the city blokes didn’t take too kindly to marching though an’ used to drop out along the road to have a spell. A great sight was the sea for the first time, Sam an’ me couldn’t take our eyes off it. Lord, it only wanted a bit of saltbush or a mulga tree sticking out of it here and there an’ we would have reckoned we was on the edge of the Western Plains again.

  ‘That’s where we’ll be going pretty soon I suppose,’ Sam says, ‘right across there to blazes . . . anywhere.’ An’ both of us folded our arms an’ looked out as far as we could see to what seemed to be the end of the world. An’ to many of those brave fellows shouting and romping there in the waves that day, it surely was.

  The day we got our uniform, an’ flung the dungarees an’ old rag hat into a corner, was the day of our lives.

  ‘Jeemimah!’ Sam says, standing up in the tent, ‘how the devil do I look in ’em, Frankie?’

  ‘Holy war!’ I says, ‘you’re all right. How do I look meself?’ An’ I marched around grinning at him.

  ‘Cripes,’ he says, ‘if I look half as good as you I’m satisfied!’

  I was six foot two, you know, an’ a bit heavier than Sam.

  ‘We must apply for home leave at once,’ he says, ‘an’ go straight home an’ show ourselves to everyone. Lord Nelson an’ the Duke of Wellington was never in it with us, Frankie!’

  I agreed with Sam on that count.

  About a week later we got our leave an’ off we goes without letting anyone know we was coming. But before we left we was told by the O.C. that we would be leaving for the front in eight days an’ that we had to make our wills an’ settle our private affairs.

  That was a shock that was.

  ‘Wills!’ I gasped at Sam. ‘Cripes!’

  It took all the sport outa soldiering for me an’ somehow I couldn’t look forward to enjoying meself at home at all . . . not after that.

  ‘There’s nothing in making your will, Frankie,’ Sam said soothingly, ‘everybody makes ’em whether they goes to the war or whether they doesn’t.’

  ‘Oh, I know that,’ I answered, shrugging me shoulders an’ trying to grin. But I nearly strangled meself trying to swaller the same infernal lump that was forever coming into me throat. ‘I was just thinking it’s hardly worth a bloke’s while.’

  Anyhow we got home all right an’ didn’t we cause a sensation!

  Four days we had of home leave an’ a dance was held every night at some of the places in honour of Sam an’ me. Wristlet watches was presented to the two of us an’ three cheers was called for us, but I couldn’t get the will business an’ the thoughts of goin’ to the front out of me head for a minute, they stuck there like bullets. An’ when the morning came to leave I sat on the bed holding me uniform in me hands wondering for long enough if I ought to put it on again or not.

  Lots gathered to see us off, an’ they all shook hands with me, some of ’em more than once, an’ others kissed me for the first time in their lives, an’ Connie Crutch whispered into me ear, ‘Be sure an’ write often, Frankie, an’ come back safe.’

  An’ then I . . . I . . . well, it don’t matter what I did, now.

  ***

  I was seasick nearly all the way round the coast an’ took little interest in anything that went on, an’ cared less. Leaving West Australia I stood on the deck beside Sam, a bit away from the rest of the soldiers, watching an’ watching.

  It was a strange feeling I had just then, an’ it seemed to be shared by all the others. The cheering they gave us as we moved out died away, an’ the cheering we gave ’em back died away. Hats an’ handkerchiefs kept waving at intervals. The rays from the setting sun skimmed the top of the waves an’ volumes of black smoke rolled from the funnels of the line of transports following behind an’ melted into the sea.

  Every man there seemed silent as the grave an’ all kept watching for a last glimpse of their native land. Smaller an’ smaller, dimmer an’ dimmer the coast of Australia became; for a little while just a speck remained visible, an’ then . . .

  ‘That’s the last some of us will ever see of her,’ I heard one soldier say. An’ if he had run a knife into me heart he couldn’t have dispirited me more than he did.

  ‘It’s seasickness, that’s all it is, old chap,’ Sam said, helping me down below an’ seeing me into me bunk.

  I was in that bunk pretty well all the way to Egypt, feeling down if ever a bloke was in this world. ‘Damned if I can understand you at all,’ the doctor said to me several times.

  But I could understand meself well enough an’ day after day I kept repeating the same useless reproach, ‘Why did you enlist? Oh, why did you enlist?’

  When we reached Alexandria I took Sam’s advice an’ pulled meself together an’ did me best to forget what might or might not happen in the future. ‘Who the hell cares?’ I said to meself, fighting against it, an’ when the sand of the desert got into me socks, an’ me hair, an’ me ears an’ me eyes an’ me mouth, I just laughed when the others was all swearing, an’ went about whistling.

  All the same, when we got to Cairo an’ the pyramids an’ all them places, I hadn’t the desire for exploring an’ sight-seeing that the others had. It wasn’t that I hadn’t plenty of money, either, because I had. But, whenever I was off duty, I put in me time writing to the old people, an’ Connie Crutch,
an’ lying down just thinking an’ thinking.

  When we was finally leaving Egypt for Lemnos, an’ Sam an’ all the others was wildly excited about it, I sat down an’ wrote what I thought would be me last letter home, telling ’em that our Division was on the move an’ I didn’t expect they’d ever see me again.

  Mudros, when we arrived there, was alive with warships an’ boats. On Mudros there was a lot of old houses, an’ old gardens, an’ what looked like a church, an’ some wild flowers . . . an’ that’s all I remember of what it looked like. But the cheer after cheer we got from the French ships an’ the Tommies as we steamed into that harbour I will remember till the day I die.

  ‘By God, Frankie,’ said poor old Sam, ‘that was worth coming all the way from Australia for, if nothing else was!’

  ALL THE WAY FROM AUSTRALIA

  JIM HAYNES

  ‘Cheer, cheer, the red and the white . . .’

  I’m belting out the Sydney Swans victory song as we travel along the highway from Bursa, ancient capital of the Ottoman Empire, to the ferry station on the shore of the Sea of Marmara.

  There are four of us driving back to Istanbul after a week on the road and the mood in the Mercedes minibus is one of comradeship and joviality. Two of us are Australian—my wife, Robyn, and me—and two are Turkish—Ali, our guide, and Mehemet, our driver.

  Mehemet is a small, wiry, bright-eyed man for whom nothing is ever a problem. He smiles and laughs a lot and smokes too much. We measure the time we spend exploring any one place by the number of cigarettes Mehemet smokes while he waits for us. At some places he jokes and says that we stopped so long to look and explore that we are seriously damaging his health!

  Although he has little English, Mehemet is easy to communicate with and understand; he is a man of gestures and single words. A family man, proud of his clever daughter who is top in her year at the all-girls school she attends in Istanbul, Mehemet is keen to tell us about her when he discovers Robyn is a teacher at an all-girls school in Sydney.

  Like me, Mehemet is also a racing enthusiast, and Ali has been kept busy translating between us as we attempt to explain the subtleties of Australian and Turkish horseracing to each other.

  Ali is a wonderful guide—companionable, well educated, efficient and hospitable. He is proud of his country and keen to help us experience all facets of its culture and history. At the same time, he has a good grasp of the realities of Turkey’s place in the world and the problems his nation still faces. With his encyclopaedic mind, he is the perfect guide for the curious, open-minded traveller.

  Ours is a private tour and Ali is always accommodating and flexible. If we wish to spend extra time anywhere, or revisit certain places, as we did on the Gallipoli Peninsula several days earlier, Ali simply makes it happen with a smile. If we miss the regular ferry in order to spend more time on research, Ali always knows the place where the smaller ferry leaves.

  As an added bonus, Ali also has a gourmet’s knowledge of every town and village, and seems to know the culinary specialities of every region and restaurant in Turkey. We have eaten very well in Turkey and it has been a satisfying and well-rounded trip, in more ways than one. We have been met everywhere with typical Turkish courtesy and hospitality, and extra friendliness every time we are introduced as Australians.

  ***

  When we are not discussing history or the Gallipoli campaign or food, we discuss other things of universal interest, like football.

  As Mehemet steers us along the crowded highway, Ali is busy telling me how most right-thinking Turkish football supporters detest the silvertails of Turkish football, Fenebache. Any sensible Turkish football fan, he assures me, supports his own team and the one that’s playing against Fenebache. I tell him that in Australian football we all support our own team and the one that is playing against Collingwood.

  Ali and Mehemet both live in Besiktas, the old naval port area of Istanbul, and consequently they support Besiktas Football Club. Over the past week they have sung quite a few Turkish folksongs during long hauls between cities and now they sing a few Besiktas Football Club supporters’ songs. Most Turkish men love to sing, and can sing quite well.

  I tell Ali that most Australian men don’t sing in the normal course of daily events and singing is pretty much confined to the supporters of the winning side at the very end of an AFL game. Nevertheless, I sing the Sydney Swans song for them.

  When I finish my raucous rendition, I point out that the Turkish national colours of red and white are also the Swans’ colours. Ali says that he will now become a Swans supporter whenever he meets other Australians.

  THE BATTLE OF CANAKKALE–18 MARCH 1915

  JIM HAYNES

  In 1908 a group of students and military officers known as the Young Turks led a revolt against Sultan Abdulhamit and then ruled the Ottoman Empire using his brother, Mehmet V, as a puppet sultan.

  Not long after World War I began, the Ottoman Empire was lured into an alliance with the Central Powers, partly through the ruling committee’s leader, Enver Pasha, having a German background and sympathies, and partly due to Russia being the Ottoman Empire’s old and obvious enemy.

  The Germans convinced the Ottomans to close the Dardanelles, the waterway between the Aegean Sea and the Black Sea, thereby blocking the sea route to southern Russia and preventing Allied arms and supplies being sent to the Eastern Front.

  An appeal by the Russian government to the British War Office and high command prompted the Allied decision to attack the Dardanelles.

  Russian troops were being hard-pressed in the Caucasus and the Allies hoped that a British attack might cause the Ottomans to withdraw. They also hoped to open a supply route to Russia by ‘forcing the Dardanelles’.

  It is generally acknowledged that the fall of Constantinople would have been a foregone conclusion had the Allied fleet passed through the Narrows.

  French and British warships attacked Turkish forts at Cape Helles and along the Straits in February and March 1915. They encountered underwater mines, torpedoes, and spirited defence and artillery bombardment from the Turkish forts along the shores of the Dardanelles at the Narrows, near the Turkish town of Canakkale.

  On 18 March 1915 the British and French fleets attempting to force the Straits suffered a humiliating defeat, losing six battleships. British losses were the Irresistible and the Ocean sunk in the Narrows, and the Inflexible was crippled and run ashore at Tenedos. The French lost the Bouvet, sunk in the Narrows, and the Gaulois, beached on a tiny island back towards Lemnos, while the Suffren was badly damaged and retired.

  March 18 is a national day in Turkey. Although it was technically the Ottoman Empire, as Germany’s ally, which was at war with France and Britain, the defeat of the British and French fleets at the Battle of Canakkale was a very ‘Turkish’ victory and is considered to be the first step in the establishment of the Turkish nation.

  The Australian and New Zealand Army Corps was a combined force of Australian and New Zealand volunteer soldiers. The corps was formed in Egypt during 1914 and was led by the British general William Birdwood.

  After the naval attack on the Dardanelles failed, the British military leader at Gallipoli, General Sir Ian Hamilton, conferred with the Sea Lords and Field Marshal Horatio Kitchener and it was decided that a naval action would not succeed without an invasion in force by infantry. Plans were immediately made for a massive invasion to try to seize the Gallipoli Peninsula.

  At the time, the arrival at Gallipoli was the largest military landing in history. It involved about 75,000 men from the United Kingdom, France, Australia, New Zealand, Nepal and India. After several postponements due both to poor weather and to a mix-up loading some of the supply ships, the huge flotilla sailed from the Allied base on the island of Lemnos on 24 April 1915. The landings began before dawn the following day.

  The main Allied force, consisting of British and French troops, landed at five different locations at Cape Helles, on the tip of the peninsula.
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br />   The ANZAC force of about 30,000 men was to be landed at Gaba Tepe, more than 16 kilometres north of Helles, but actually landed even further north in an area later called Anzac Cove. On the first day, 16,000 Anzac troops went ashore, the majority of them going into battle for the first time.

  RED GALLIPOLI

  H.W. CAVILL

  We were roused before 6 a.m. by the rattle of the anchor cable, and, by the time we had scrambled on deck, we were gliding down the placid waters of Mudros Bay. We could hardly believe our luck. After eight strenuous months’ training, we were at last on the move and, before many hours, should realise to the full what war meant.

  Winding our way through the throng of ships, we quickly approached the mouth of the Bay—passing, as we steamed out, the monster battleships Queen Elizabeth, London, Prince of Wales and Queen, while sleek, business-like destroyers darted hither and thither.

  Passing the heads and the peaceful-looking little lighthouse, we steamed slowly round the island and dropped anchor again in a small cove on the opposite side. Here business began in earnest; iron rations were distributed; arms and equipment inspected; in fact, everything possible to secure success was attended to.

  My! Didn’t I grin when I saw the ship’s grindstone. The boys were afraid their bayonets would not be sharp enough, so there they were, gathered around waiting eagerly their turn to get at the stone. By the time we left the ship it was gouged and worn to such an extent that it was fit for nothing but a kellick stone.

  As I sit up here on the boat-deck writing these lines, it is hard to believe that within a few hours we shall be in the midst of slaughter and suffering. As I sit and look around, all is peace and beauty. The setting sun floods the dancing water and casts its rays over the beautiful green hills of Lemnos, the quaint little windmills completing a sweet picture. But it is work that has to be accomplished, so we look to Him who has been our help in ages past.

  The boys were entirely unconcerned; they lay about the decks absorbed in cards, reading, and so forth. Evening found them in the same good spirits, and a happy, rollicking time was spent. One thing, only, pointed to the fact that something unusual was happening. Before retiring, every man packed his valise with extra care; poised his rifle to an electric light and had a final squint through; then finally lay down, still in jocular mood.