The Best Gallipoli Yarns and Forgotten Stories

by Jim Haynes

  The attack was launched on 18 May, with von Sanders himself in charge of the operations. Shortly before midnight all the batteries concealed in the hills around set up a hideous din, swollen by the roar of the machine-guns, and the cracking of countless rifles. In the shelling, twelve-inch guns, nine-inch guns, and huge howitzers were employed, as well as artillery of smaller calibre.

  Naturally every Australian and New Zealander was on the lookout; and word was sent to every post to be prepared for the frontal attack it was assumed would follow. The assumption was a correct one; for soon countless Turks poured over the ridges and made for the centre of the Australasian line.

  This line is a rough semi-circle. The left, or northern wing, is on high ground where Walker’s Ridge, named after Brigadier General Walker, faces north-east. To the right is Pope’s Hill and then the great central gully or valley, first known as Shrapnel Valley by the Australian soldiers, but now called Monash Gully, after General Monash. Then the line continues south in an arc past Lone Pine and back down to the beach opposite Gaba Tepe.

  The Turkish trenches, which are some 250 yards distant at the extreme left and right of the line, continue to get closer to those of the Australasians in the middle of the semi-circle. At Quinn’s Post, named after a gallant Major from Queensland who died fighting there, the lines are less than twenty yards apart.

  The trenches at Quinn’s Post, right in the middle of the Australasian semi-circle and just to the right of Monash Gully, faced Dead Man’s Ridge and it was here that the Turks attacked in huge numbers.

  AN ENGAGEMENT IN MAY–PART 1

  E.F. HANMAN

  About two o’clock one afternoon the foe opened fire on us again. By now, we knew his music only too well, but, thanks to our trenches, which we were ever improving, none of us were hit. We simply crouched well down, awaiting a happier mood.

  Two or three times the enemy could be seen advancing in numbers. Our machine-gun, and several others along the line, was a continual source of nuisance to them. They evidently spotted where ours was concealed, for the gunner put his hand to his head and slid gently down to the bottom of the trench. We placed him up behind us and left him until a burial party should make his last bed.

  Shell after shell whizzed close to us. They were not shrapnel, but small high explosive missiles. One of them hit the machine-gun square, knocked the gun section off their feet, took the parapet clean away, and continued on its way. Strange to relate, it did not explode. The men who had been taken off their feet jumped up, laughing boisterously. They thoroughly enjoyed the fun, and as they were in no way injured, the affair was a huge joke. A new gun was quickly mounted, and as quickly in action.

  The afternoon dragged slowly away, the shells were still screaming and hissing overhead, but we had become callous. Let them shoot away at us as much as they desired!

  We were not very hungry, though we had not eaten a meal for two whole days, but our officer advised us to make the most of our time and take something to eat, as we might not now be feeling hungry, but we should become faint later on and unable to continue our duties, if we did not do as he asked us. So we opened beef tins and jam tins, and set to work on our ample supply of biscuits. More water was smuggled up to us, so we were perfectly content with our lot.

  The sun shone down, bright and hot. We were very sleepy, but it was impossible to think of that, as every man might be required at a moment’s notice. We did think that perhaps we might be able to snatch a wink at night, but we little knew what was before us Tuesday evening.

  ***

  Stationed at Quinn’s Post was the 4th Infantry Brigade, which comprised the bulk of the 2nd Australian Contingent. They had landed in early May and were commanded by General Monash. These men were put to the supreme test early on the morning of 19 May. (E.C. Buley)

  ***

  Darkness visited the earth, accompanied by rain. By this time we presented a sorry picture. Knees and elbows were worn through. We were covered with dust; it was down our necks, in our hair, in our ears. We were all unshaven and unwashed. The rain fell gently and lightly, turning the caked dust and dirt on us into slimy mud. It was all we could manage to keep our weapons in good working order. The mud clogged in the rifle bolts and prevented them from sliding freely.

  We were dog-tired. How sleepy we were, no one would ever realise! Our heads ached and swam—our senses were dulled. It was a horrible nightmare. Nothing seemed real. As we gazed with heavy stupid eyes in front of us, the earth seemed to swim around us. We found our heads nodding, and as we were just on the point of falling to the ground, our senses would reassert themselves with a sickening, sudden jar.

  This was awful; it could not last, if something did not happen to excite us and keep us at fever heat. We longed for the Turks to attack. Let us charge! Let them charge! Anything would be preferable to this state of affairs!

  Of course, sentries were posted, and they stood the picture of forlorn desolation, the folds of their overcoats wrapped round their rifles to protect them from the cold, drizzling rain. Their uniforms were stained a red patchy colour where they had been in contact with the slimy sodden soil. Boots were wet, feet became numb and frozen, ears tingled, teeth chattered, and we stood and shivered, thinking of soft pillows and warm dry beds.

  And all the while, the rain trickled down, augmenting our abject misery. Oh! For something to happen!

  What was that?

  To our right front, a bright light bursts into view. What is it?

  Dim figures, jet black and weird, could be seen flitting about and around the lurid red flame. Evidently, it was some sort of a signalling apparatus the enemy was employing. It looked a very clumsy affair. The machine-gunners chuckled and turned their gun in that direction. It was laughable to see that light disappear so quickly, and cries of ‘Allah! Allah!’ reached our ears.

  ***

  Heavy bombardment from Hill 700, and from the top of the ridge where enemy artillery and machine-guns were concentrated, kept Australian heads down. Then the Turks dashed bravely through the scrub, heedless of the field guns and howitzers of the Australians, which were concentrated on them with deadly effect. (E.C. Buley)

  ***

  We were wide awake now. Surely an attack was meditated. Yes! The enemy was advancing in mass formation. Our fellows had received orders to allow the Turks to come within ten paces, and then to pour the lead into them. Our rifles hold eleven cartridges, and are, in every way, very formidable little weapons.

  ‘Allah! Allah! Allah!’

  They are coming with leaps and bounds, their dismal, howling cry rending the night. Closer and closer, they are almost upon us! ‘Fire!’ yells an officer.

  We comply willingly; rifles crack and rattle all down our line, the high-pitched music of machine-guns being audible above the din.

  What a withering hail of lead met those dusky warriors. They hesitate, rally, and then, throwing courage to the winds, they turned and fled, trampling under foot their dead and dying. The air is filled with moans and cries. ‘Allah! Allah! Allah!’

  A bugle sounds a long-drawn, dreary note. They are coming again. ‘Allah! Allah! Allah!’ We can easily distinguish their officers’ voices, haranguing them, encouraging.

  With a very determined rush, they come again. The darkness is illuminated by thousands of tiny spitting flashes—the rattle and roar is terrific. Our dark-hued foe melts before our well-directed fire. They stagger, stumble and fall like so many skittles. Then, again, they eventually turn and flee, as if possessed.

  Again, and again, they came at us, determined to dishearten and dislodge us. We had come to stay. Undaunted, the wounded were removed, all the while under a veritable rain of shot. We turned to face them once more.

  VON SANDERS’ MISTAKE

  E.C. BULEY

  Many Turks got right up to the edge of the trenches, and were shot down at point-blank range, yet still they came out of their cover, massing in every thicket and advancing under pressure of those behind.
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  The first light of early morning revealed to the waiting Australians a dense mass of the enemy, exposed and within easy range. Then the Australian rifles rang out, and as fast as each man could pull the trigger, a Turk fell under that deadly fusillade. Yet, still they poured over the ridges, their officers driving them on from behind with loaded revolvers, as the slaughter went on.

  It was discriminate slaughter, for each Australian, before he fired, marked his man and made sure of him. It was no time for sentimental considerations of mercy. Besides, the Australians were fierce with the anger of men who had been sniped at for three weeks and had seen their mates fall as they drove on in the face of shrapnel and machine-gun fire.

  Now it was their turn, and they fired until the barrels of their rifles were too hot to be touched. ‘It was like killing rabbits with a stick,’ said one soldier, who was in the hottest part of the fray.

  All along the line from Quinn’s Post to Courtney’s Post the dead were piled in heaps; and still they came on. Some died grasping the barbed wire protections in front of the trenches, others fell dead into the trenches, stopped only by a bullet they met on the parapet.

  From daylight till ten o’clock that morning the bombardment and frontal attack continued; then, just after ten, the Turks fell back, and as they did so a heavy shrapnel bombardment began.

  The Turks sheltered for hours in their trenches while the heavy cannonade continued. In the middle of the afternoon their officers made another attempt to drive them forward, but it was a half-hearted response that was elicited. Once more they faced that deadly accurate rifle fire of the men from the south, and before it their resolve crumpled and they fled again for shelter.

  All night there was incessant fire from the enemy trenches, but in the morning it died away into nothingness. General Liman von Sanders had made the most expensive mistake yet made on the peninsula of Gallipoli.

  AN ENGAGEMENT IN MAY–PART 2

  E.F. HANMAN

  The Turk wearied first. He gave up the attempt as hopeless that night. He had learnt a lesson. The scrubby hills were littered with dark huddled forms. The cries and groans of the terrified wounded wretches were appalling. We, too, had not escaped unscathed. There were many sad vacancies. We had witnessed our comrades’ heads severed from their bodies, huge gaping wounds had appeared about our pals’ limbs. They had been dragged away, cursing and crying to be allowed to remain to deal sudden death to the oncoming wave of Turks.

  Others, too badly hurt for speech, were limp and inert, lying white and blood-stained, clawing at the ground. Others writhed in their death agony, calling upon us in piteous tones to shoot them and put an end to their sufferings. The din of battle never diminished. Oaths and curses could be heard on all sides. Faces and figures stood out distinct and red, red, like labouring demons, habitants of the lower regions. They disappeared and reappeared as the rifles flashed and flickered.

  The enemy thought to trick us. They tried to blow our charge, thinking thus to draw us from our lair. We knew, though, that we had no bugles with us. All our orders were given by whistle. They played every call they knew—some of them we could not distinguish at all, but when the strains of ‘Cook-house door’ went echoing through the hills, we all roared with laughter. It was too ludicrous! ‘Cook-house door’! In the midst of all this butchering and slaughter! It is not necessary to relate that this ruse was not successful.

  At last we could breathe, at last we could with safety throw ourselves down and rest, even though sleep was not allowed us. In fact, we no longer wished to sleep; we were too busy discussing the result of the attacks. Dawn found us still watching and waiting. How bitterly cold it was! A fierce, piercing wind was blowing, the icy-cold rain had penetrated our clothing, and we were wet through.

  It was rumoured that we were to be relieved shortly. We became, all at once, jubilant and delighted. We had glorious visions of hot coffee and steaming stew. What a blessing would be a warm, dry shirt, and a good wash!

  The relieving party crawled up without being perceived by the enemy. The morning was dull, and the light bad, so this was no wonderful feat. Out we scrambled, stiff and stumbling from being so many hours in awkward positions.

  We made our way as quickly as circumstances permitted, past our reserve trenches. Here we saw lines of grinning, joking men, asking us what we thought of the night’s attack. Snipers were exceptionally busy. Little spurts of mud close at our feet warned us that we had better hurry. Down the ranges we went, taking flying leaps, being torn by brambles, tripping and falling over stumps and holes in the half-light.

  ‘Crack, crack, crack!’

  ‘Run for it, boys! Come on!’

  Round bends, over ridges, through slimy puddles, we kept to our mad pace. The beach presented a very inviting appearance. There were hundreds of men, all war-worn and battered, muffled up to their eyes in coats and scarves, sitting round little smokeless fires, cooking hot sizzling rashers of bacon. Its smell was to us famished chaps, simply heavenly. Then we felt safe, we had a respite. It did not take us long to make up more fires and do likewise.

  How we did enjoy that early morning meal! When we had satisfied our appetites, we lay down in little groups and awaited the rising of the sun. Up he rose, bright and golden, despite the cold, damp night, it gave every promise of being a hot day.

  Our hopes were fulfilled, it became very warm. The next best thing to do would be to have a wash. Here was the gently rolling ocean, water to spare, why not have a bathe? Bullets kept falling, making plopping sounds as they sent up little spouts of water. No one seemed to take any notice of these. It was well worth the risk to have a clean skin.

  One of our section, who like ourselves, had come through the awful night safely, was stripped, and just in the act of diving into foam. A dull, resounding thud made us turn in his direction. We were just in time to see him reel and pitch face forward, blood issuing from his mouth. In less than a minute, we were forced to cover his face, and there he lay, a grim warning to others. There were nearly as many casualties down on the beach as in the first line of trenches.

  The roll was called. We noticed the many silences as name after name remained unanswered. Every battalion was collected and drawn up in the usual manner. There were many who would never again call ‘Here!’ as his name was read from the roll. We said nothing, but we felt the loss of every man. Every silence was like a knife. Not till now had we realised how much our comrades were to us! We had lived with them, eaten with them, slept with them, fought with them! Now we knew their worth, now we were cognisant of the fact that they were gone. It could not be realised. Why, only yesterday, even this morning, early, we had spoken with them!

  As our Company Commander listened, tears filled his eyes. He was, for several moments, unable to speak. We could see him swallowing hard, and we turned away so as not to embarrass him.

  SARI BAHR

  FREDERICK LOCH

  If you should step it out afar

  To the pebbly beach of Sari Bahr

  Full many rude graves you’ll find there are,

  By the road the sappers drove there.

  Crooked the cross, and brief the prayer,

  Close they lie by the hillside bare,

  Captain and private, pair by pair,

  Looking back on the days they strove there.

  There still they lie, their work all done,

  Resting at ease in the soil well won

  And listening hard for Gabriel’s gun,

  To spring up and salute, as behove there.

  EIGHT ACRES OF DEAD BODIES

  E.C. BULEY

  The enemy had attacked in massive numbers, with the support of all the guns von Sanders had been able to muster. His huge store of ammunition was expended in trying to drive the Australians into the sea. But not a man budged from his post, no Turks had entered an Australian trench except dead Turks and not a yard of ground had been gained in any direction.

  From Quinn’s Post to Courtney’s, the ground
was piled with the dead and dying. ‘Eight acres of dead bodies,’ estimated one bushman, after close scrutiny of the field of battle through a periscope. Another tried to count the bodies in sight from his trench and stopped at an estimate of 4000.

  ‘The Colonials were ready to meet the strain when it came,’ writes one who took part in the slaughter. ‘The sight of seemingly endless masses of the enemy advancing upon them might well have shaken the nerve of the already severely-tried troops. Our machine-guns and artillery mowed down the attackers in hundreds, but still the advancing wall swept on. Not till the wave was at point-blank range from the nimble trigger-fingers did it break and spend itself amongst our barbed-wire entanglements.

  ‘Turks were shot in the act of jumping into our trenches. Corpses lay with their heads and arms hanging over our parapets. It was sickening to behold the slaughter our fire made amongst the massed battalions as they issued from concealment into the open spaces. The unfortunate Turks scrambled along towards us over piles of dead bodies.’

  The Australians coolly and methodically took the chance sent them by von Sanders and every bullet was sent home in memory of comrades they had lost. They had previously displayed bravery, hardihood, and resource beyond imagination; the qualities shown at the battle of Quinn’s Post were steadiness, accurate shooting, and reasoned discipline.

  After being sent forward over open country against fields of barbed wire and machine-gun fire, it was a sheer luxury to lie in the trenches and let the other fellow do a bit of self-immolation.

  The Australians also knew that they had struck a deadly blow at German prestige with the Turks. General Birdwood told them so when he inspected their defences after the fight was over.