Mons, Anzac and Kut

by Edward Melotte

  Last night Smyth VC68 dined with us, a cold man of theories. He got rather a feeble VC by shooting the last fanatical Dervish. There has been a great explosion at Achi Baba. Macaulay saw a transport of ours sunk this afternoon… George Lloyd came ashore with depressing accounts of Russia. He is probably going to come on this beach. Hope he does. Went off and bathed with Macaulay. Saw Colonel Bauchop, who promised me a present of some fresh drinking-water to-morrow. Christo’s nerves are becoming bad and he will not get water when the shrapnel is falling. I am quite King David and send him down inexorably.

  Monday, July 5th, 1915. Kaba Tepé. A breathless, panting morning, still and blue and fiery hot, with not a ripple on the sea. Colonel Bauchop, commanding the Otago Mounted Rifles, was shot in the shoulder last night. This morning we have had an exhibtion of ‘frightfulness’ in the shape of vast shells. They burst with a tremendous roar that echoes to the sky and across the sea for more than a minute; their case or bullets fall over a great area. They started by striking the sea and raising great columns of water; now they burst and fall on land and sea for a minute of the burst. It has, however, had the effect of getting rid of Mr. Fox, a Socialist Czech, from the doorway of my dugout. He was Labour candidate for Reading, and an undergraduate at Queen’s and he will talk to me like a brother. He is a rich Czech who has been naturalized in New Zealand and is now Colonel Pridham’s cook. Macaulay dined last night, came an hour late, he was looking at the sea and dreaming. The transport that went down was French; six lives lost, and the explosion was a French ammunition store. I am afraid this shelling is going to be demoralizing. It makes one’s head ache. It is certainly worse than any of the 26 guns we have had against us up to now. Nothing can resist this thing.

  Tuesday, July 6th, 1915. Kaba Tepé. Yesterday I went to Quinn’s Post with General Godley in the morning. There was a fair amount of shelling. They had just hit thirteen men in Courtney’s before we got there. We went into a mine that was being dug towards and under the Turkish trenches. At the end of the sap the Turks were only six to eight feet away. We could hear them picking. The time for blowing in had very nearly come. These underground people take it all as a matter of course. I should hate fighting on my stomach in a passage two feet high, yards under the ground. The Turks were throwing bombs from the trenches, and these hit the ground over us, three of them, making it shudder. Down below they talk in whispers. We went round the trenches. Saw none so fine as last time, when we came to the Millionaires’ Sap, so called because it was made by six Australians, each the son of a millionaire.

  In the afternoon I tried to sleep, but there was too much shelling. Kyumjiyan was hit, and has gone; Sam Butler was grazed. It was 11.2 shells filled with all kinds of stuff. We answered with a monitor whose terrific percussions shook my dugout, bringing down dust and stones. A submarine appeared, and all the destroyers were after her. Then two aeroplanes started a fight as the sun set down towards Helles, appearing and vanishing behind crimson clouds. Captain Buck, the Maori doctor and MP, dined with us, to wind up an exciting day.

  This morning is like yesterday. No breath of air, but the day is more clear, and Samothrace and Imbros look very peaceful. Early again the shelling began. As I was shaving outside three shells hit the beach just in front. I wasn’t watching the third, but suddenly heard a great burst of laughter. At the first shell a bather had rushed back to his dugout; the shell had come and knocked it in on the top of him, and he was dug out, naked and black, but smiling and none the worse. ‘Another blasted sniper,’ he said, which made the men laugh.

  Active preparations are being made to fight the gas, as Intelligence says it is going to be used. Am going out with the General at 9.30. Was sent to get Colonel Parker but found him sick, and under pretty heavy fire, having a new dugout built. Came back and stood with the General, Thoms and others outside HQ. A shell burst just by us, bruised the General in the ribs and filled his eyes with dirt. A couple of spent bullets hit me in the shoulder. We went to No. 2 with Smyth VC, a soldierly prig or perhaps only diffident, Colonel Anthill and Poles. Anthill and Poles wanted me to arrange a truce to bury the Turkish dead on our parapet. They said they must or otherwise our men must get cholera; the heat and sand and flies and smell is awful. It’s curious I smelt it when they spoke, though we were in a gully with nothing but thyme and lavender. It’s the force of suggestion and the loathing I have of it. I said I would willingly walk out and tell the Turks they could bury their dead at an appointed hour. Smith said they would want to turn them to Mecca etc. I said: ‘Nonsense; they hadn’t last time’, but the General said that GHQ wouldn’t allow it. He would do what he could. We met Bauchop with an arm in a sling, but the bullet out of his shoulder, and Colonel White with his head still bandaged. Many cheerful Australians. I have got fond of them. They suffer from the worst element, and from political officers.

  Wednesday, July 7th, 1915. Kaba Tepé. A fierce, expectant dawn. We shelled furiously at 4.30 a.m. Now absolute peace on a glassy sea. Last night Bentinck, Jack Anderson and I bathed. I was at the end of the pier; as I was beginning to dress a shell burst very close, the smoke and powder in my face. I fled half dressed; Colonel P. rose like Venus from the sea and followed with nothing. A calm Marine gave me my cigarette-holder.

  Zachariades has returned from Imbros with stores. Butler very angry as he is overdue. Birdwood would not grant a white flag for burying the dead. This is because one of the prisoners on the occasion of the Armistice reported that the Turkish staff officers had put on Red Crescent clothes in order to have a look at our trenches. They apparently, if this is true, went one better than our Generals who disguised themselves by taking off their coats and looking at the Turkish trenches, but Skeen and the rest pull very long faces over it.

  The Turks put up five crosses yesterday, all of which we shot down. I first of all thought it was probably Greeks or Armenians who wanted to show that they were Christians, wishing to surrender, and telephoned up to Courtney’s post to see if I could go out and talk to them, but I now think the Turks were only anxious to make us shoot at the sign of our religion. In this they succeeded. Colonel Artillery Johnson has gone sick. I persuaded the General to be inoculated. He and the others will be done for cholera to-night. Saw George who said I could be liaison officer with GHQ if I wanted to, but I do not think I will. A pretty crossfire going on now between Kaba Tepé with Anafarta, hitting the beach between me and the sea.

  Last night I dined with Harold and Macaulay. They told long Eastern stories, and we had a very contented time, drinking light white wine and also mavrodaphne, smoking and looking at the sea. The Turks shelled a little after eight for the first time, answering our tiresome and ineffective but provocative monitor fire. This morning Tahu and East arrived with letters from home, and sherry. There is not a sound upon the beach and not a ripple in the sea. The Turks have settled down to business this morning and are bombarding something cruel from Kaba Tepé. Most of the shells are twenty yards beyond my dugout. Tahu has brought back a rumour that this Division is to go on to England and refit there. Such bad shelling and men are developing nerves. The sight is rather beautiful, a sea like lapis lazuli and a burning sun, with columns of water like geysers where the shells hit. I hear a good many men hit round here to-day, though I didn’t see anyone wounded.

  Saturday, July 10th, 1915. Kaba Tepé. I went down to get the General’s things on board the picket boat, but just as I got there a shell struck her and knocked a hole in her. There was another one and we sat and waited uncomfortably in this until he came. Then we pushed off, went on to the trawler Ghelmer and arrived for dinner on the Triad. I was still feeling pretty bad, but got better. The Admiral (de Robeck) talked after dinner. He said they had no knowledge of the intentions of our Government politically. The Greeks have been working hard against us. He had intercepted a telegram from the Queen of Greece, signed by Sophie to Kreizi the Greek Naval Attaché. Every kind of difficulty was thrown in his way when he wished to hold up boats carrying contraband.
He is a simple and delightful person.

  Afterwards I talked to Alec Ramsay69, Dalhousie’s brother. I slept in Commodore Roger Keyes70’ cabin very comfortably indeed. He talked of lack of co-operation. I told him I had great opportunities of hearing the complaints of Army against Navy and vice versa. He was tolerant but sad.

  Sunday, July 11th, 1915. Felt much better. Went ashore and saw Colonel Hawker and the Turkish prisoners…. Came back late at night, after some very jolly days. Best week-end I ever spent. The Turks have asked for another armistice in the south. This has been refused. If they attack, they will have to do it across their own dead, piled high, and this is not good for morale.

  By this time the persecutions of the interpreters had greatly diminished. They were still badly treated by Ot, but to a large extent they had won the respect of the troops by their behaviour. The chief interpreter was an old Greek of some sixty-two or sixty-three years, Mr. Kyriakidis, who was given a medal for conspicuous gallantry at the bombardment of Alexandria and had served with General Stuart’s unfortunate expedition. He was a gentleman, and one of the straightest men I have met. His simplicity, courtesy, and unfailing courage had gained him many friends. He was also endowed with considerable humour.

  He apparently went down and played poker and put on the respirator as a sort of mask with a lot of swagger; this has put the fear of death into the other interpreters who have had a deputation to Harold insisting that they too should be provided with masks.

  Monday, July 12th, 1915. Kaba Tepé. One poor shadow was shot yesterday – an interpreter of whom we none of us knew anything, and who was on no list. Things aren’t very comfortable. The General and the Staff hit it off about as badly as is possible. There are faults on both sides. A tremendous fire is going on, artillery and rifle. As I walked round here a lot of rife bullets or possibly machine-gun bullets whizzed round. All the air is full of thudding and broken echoes. Here no one minds anything much but high explosive. It’s the look of the beastly thing and the wounds it makes that give one the loathing. The hospitals have been moved. They had too many casualties where they were before. An extraordinary American filibuster came and bothered me yesterday for hours, Captain Littler. A beard and a brain and an accent.

  Tuesday, July 13th, 1915. Kaba Tepé. Tremendous fire around Achi Baba yesterday. French advanced 150 and we 200 yards. Don’t know what the losses were. In the evening Macaulay and I took Harold Woods to No. 3. He had promised his wife not to go walking with me. Macaulay stopped to do a sketch and we walked on. Later I rested and smoked in an open place. I said to Harold this is all right. We hold all these ridges. Macaulay came along and said ‘Good heavens, don’t sit there, the Turks are only 300 yards away and you have no cover.’ H. leapt as if he had been stung and we only got him on with great difficulty. We went to Bauchop’s Fountain. Close by, two yards off there is an olive tree; a man resting under it three days ago was killed by a sniper, and his mate wounded but crawled back into the sandy way. On both sides there is tall wild lavender and what Macaulay calls pig’s parsley. We crawled down the sandy track to the sea. He is rather sick. I met the General who asked Macaulay and me not to bathe going home. In the evening Tahu got out his gramophone and we had some songs which rested us all a great deal. The noise of the shooting drowned the singing sometimes. Today Ramadan begins. George Lloyd arrived this afternoon. He told me that they were going to apply for me to go to Tenedos. I told him I didn’t want to go. He said they wanted me. I said I had been sick when I had trouble with Cunningham and was then ready to go, until I saw my General wanted me, but I was now again very happy here. He said it was a question of work. Perhaps I may get off. Anyway, I will wait and see what happens.

  Yesterday evening General Godley went to Courtney’s Post. As he got there the Turks shelled with heavy stuff, killing and wounding about twenty men. The General saw some bad sights and he hates those I think as much as I do. Reynell came to see me. I like him very much indeed.

  Diary. Sunday, July 18th, 1915. Kaba Tepé. They are now shelling the pier, and killed a doctor, cutting off both his legs, and several other people, when I was bathing from the pier. Everybody is again going sick. The situation is changing. Every night we are landing guns. The moon is young now and growing. It seems, therefore, reasonable to expect that we cannot land forces of men that take time before the nights are moonless; that is, in about a month’s time the preparations ought to be ready.

  A few days ago we had an attack on Achi Baba, won about 400 yards and lost about 5,000 men. Two battalions got out of touch and were lost for a considerable time. The ‘Imbros Journal,’ ‘Dardanelles Driveller,’ or whatever it’s called, said ‘their return was as surprising as that of Jonah from the belly of the whale.’ Good, happy author!

  A German Taube over us throwing bombs and also heavy stuff, but not much damage lately. George Lloyd was here this afternoon, and while we talked a shell burst and hit four men.

  Monday, July 19th, 1915. Kaba Tepé. My dugout has now become a centre for Australian and New Zealand officers, all good fellows. I had it made small on purpose, so that no one would offer to share it with me, and that makes it less convenient for the crowd that now sit in it. Two old friends come when the day’s work is over, and grow sentimental by moonlight; both ill and, I am afraid, getting worse. All the talk is now about gassing. It is thought that they will do it to us here. As usual, new troops are reported to be coming against us.

  Tuesday, July 20th, 1915. Kaba Tepé. There is always something fresh here. Now a lot of sharks are supposed to have come in. During the last two days there has been absolute silence, no shelling at all, nothing but the sound of crickets and at night a singsong chorus as the men drag up the great tanks prepared for water. Butler yesterday worked out a theory to prove that the Turks were to attack us last night. (1) No gunfire yesterday; the reason being they (the Turks) were moving troops. They didn’t want us to fire at their troops, therefore didn’t draw fire by shooting at us.

  (2) Ulemas have come down. There must be a special reason for this. (3) 10,000 coming up. Gas being prepared. All this means an attack on Anzac. To wipe us out would be a great feather in their cap. I am inclined to doubt another great attack. … Tempers all a bit ruffled. General Birdwood is sick. The heat is fierce and the stillness absolute. This afternoon I heard from Deedes, who asked me to go to Tenedos for a time …

  Wednesday, July 21st, 1915. Imbros. On Wednesday I went over to GHQ and met old friends among the war correspondents. Met some of the New Zealanders who had come over for a rest, but were coming back for the expected attack. Meanwhile, they had been kept on fatigues most of the time, and were unutterably weary. At Imbros I was ordered to go to Tenedos and Mytilene.

  Thursday, July 22nd, 1915. Came back to Anzac in the same boat with Ashmead Bartlett71 and Nevinson,72 and got leave to take them round in the afternoon. Later on, during one of the worst days of the Suvla fighting, I met my friend Nevinson picking his way amongst the wounded on their stretchers under fire. ‘After this,’ he said, decisively, ‘I shall confine myself strictly to revolutions.’

  Diary. July 23rd. Started for Imbros and went in the Bacchante pinnace, which was leaking badly from a shell hole. There were six of us on deck, and one man was hit when we were about a hundred yards out. We put back and left him on shore.

  Saturday, July 24th. Imbros. Went for a ride on a mule, and had a bathe.

  At this point in the campaign, though the morale was excellent, depression began to grow. There was a great deal of sickness, from which practically no one escaped, though it was less virulent in its form than later in the summer. I had been ill for some time, and was very anxious to avoid being invalided to Egypt, and was grateful for the chance of going to the islands for a change of climate and light work, for the few days that were sufficient to give another lease of health.

  The feeling that invades almost every side-show, sooner or later, that the home authorities cared nothing and knew nothing about the Dard
anelles, was abroad. The policy and the strategy of the expedition were bitterly criticized. I remember a friend of mine saying to me: ‘All this expedition is like one of Walter Scott’s novels, upside down.’ Walter Scott generally put his hero at the top of a winding stair, where he comfortably disposed, one by one, of a hundred of his enemies. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘what we have done was, first of all to warn the Turks that we were going to attack by having a naval bombardment. That made them fortify the Dardanelles, but still they were not completely ready. We then send a small force to attack, to tell them that we really are in earnest, and to ask them if they are quite ready. In fact, we have put the man who ought to be, not the hero, but the villain of the piece, at the top of the corkscrew stair, and we have given him so much notice that when the hero attacks the villain has more men at the top of the circular stair than the hero has at the bottom. It’s like throwing pebbles at a stone wall,’ he said, mixing his metaphors.

  Diary. Sunday, July 25th, 1915. On the Sea. I left for Tenedos; a most beautiful day. We have just been to Anzac, very burnt and wounded amongst the surrounding greenery. Pretty peaceful there, only a few bullets coming over.

  Perhaps the record of a sojourn in the Greek Islands on what was really sick-leave, as the work was of the lightest, should not be included in a war diary, but the writer looks back with amusement and pleasure to days that were not uneventful. They were passed with friends who were playing a difficult and most arduous part, and whose services, in many cases, have not received the recognition that was their due.