by Harry Askin
We moved up to the firing line at 6.00pm and relieved C Company. We gave them our deepest sympathy and fully thought they would need it on the morrow. C Company always were unlucky. The Turks were about 150 yards away and very lively. We had a new stunt on. From midnight to 3.00am everything in our line was silent. Not a shot or a light to be fired and if anybody wanted to sneeze or cough they must do it in a sandbag or go down to the CT.
The Turk was very lively at first, then he too grew quiet and we could see the dim shadowy forms of his patrols as they walked up and down. They kept very near to their own wire and no one ventured very near to our trench. Even had they done so we would not have fired. Only in case of an attack in force were we to fire. Three o’clock came and Gowney came with it: ‘Every man in A Company up on the fire-step and fire five rounds rapid.’ That woke Johnny up with a vengeance and he replied with rapid and bombs. When that had died away, he was on with something else. Gowney was certainly thorough in his efforts to annoy and harass the Turk.
He told me to fetch a pick and a shovel and had Billy and me tapping this shovel with the pick. The shovel had to be as far over the parapet as we could get it, so, of course, there were plenty of us to hit. Cutcher was there but he watched us from the bottom. Gowney said, ‘Perhaps they’ll think it’s a wiring party.’ Perhaps they did. Anyhow, they soon shifted us and our pick and shovel. Bullets were flying past, making that wicked zipp, that tells you they have missed, but not by much. Even Gowney thought it was policy to get down.
Saw a Taube brought down on Wednesday morning and, just before noon, both sides opened up on the back areas with artillery.
The Turk never sent a shell anywhere near C Company in support. Stood to arms at 12.45. Two mines were exploded on the left and the Scotties advanced again. We could see plenty of movement in the Turks’ trenches opposite to our own. We could see their bayonets flashing over the top and there appeared to be a general move to the left, or to his right.
We had a little spasm at night in our sector. Johnny slung quite a lot of bombs over and opened up with rapid fire several times. We were silent again from 1 to 3.30am. It was awfully weird to be stuck in that trench in such utter silence.
Captain Gowney came round again during my watch and told me to follow him round. He questioned all the sentries and everything was alright until he came to a lad called King. Poor kid, he’d been wounded twice and this was his first time up since coming back from hospital, and those two days in support had shaken him up badly. He was shivering like a leaf when we got up to him and his head was sunk onto his chest. He was making no attempt to keep watch and evidently hadn’t heard us as we came along. Gowney got on the step alongside him and watched him for about half a minute without speaking. Then all at once he hit him on the jaw and knocked him into the bottom of the trench. ‘I’ll give you go to sleep on watch,’ he yapped. Poor old King thought the Turks had come. He got it the better way though. It was either that or a court martial, and several chaps had been sentenced to be shot for being asleep whilst on watch.
Just before the silent hours ended, Gowney came along again. He had thought of two fresh numbers. One was to send a French demoiselle over and the other to imitate a machine gun with all the rifles of the company. All this on the stroke of 3.30. The demoiselle was almost disastrous to us. It only went ten yards over our parapet and exploded with a terrific roar. At the same time the man on the right of our company – poor old King again – had to fire one round. The man on his left had to fire almost immediately and so on to the left of the company. David was quite delighted with us all and with the effect it had on the Turk. He immediately sent up scores of lights, red, white and green, and opened up rapid.
We got official news on 30 December that IX Army Corps – that is, the people from Suvla and Anzac – would relieve VIII Corps – us – in a few days’ time. Bunkum!
IX Army Corps that relieves us will be comprised of Turks from around Achi Baba, and if we don’t clear soon he will push us off. Friday was a quiet day and we were relieved at 6.00pm by D Company, and went down in reserve. The CTs were in a shocking state, still up to the knees in mud and more stickier mud than we’ve had before.
We had a frightful time in Trotman Road, shelled the whole day and covered in dirt several times. Relieved at 6.00pm and set off for rest camp at Cypress Grove. I think that trip down was the most awful I’ve ever experienced. Soon after starting, the mud dragged one of my sandbag leggings down over my boot, and I could neither pull it off nor cut it. It soon got like a ton weight dragging behind in the mud, and every now and again the man behind me kept treading on it. Just before I got to the bottom of the CT, I trod on the chap’s sandbags in front of me. He was in a like plight to myself. Down I went, flop into about eighteen inches of mud, and about three of the chaps trod on me before I could get up. What a relief when we reached Sandbag Corner and got our feet on to a fairly clean track.
We passed a battalion of the HLI going up the line. ‘Lucky devils’, some of them shouted, ‘you’re going straight off the peninsula.’ I believe they really thought we were. Farther down we passed some more chaps who looked fairly new. ‘Who are you?’ someone shouted. ‘Nine Army Corps’ came back, but with it came a laugh that put ‘blotto’ to the truth. What a New Year’s Day! Found out when we reached camp that all our field kitchens were embarked and all our transport gone. We seemed all alone on the peninsula. Practically all the French troops had gone and about 10,000 of our own troops had already left, including most of the artillery.
Had a fairly quiet day on the Sunday, getting or trying to get clean.
Had to go to ration party at night up to the front line. Picked up the rations in bags at Eski Line and had to take them to the 1st Battalion. The route was quite new to all of us and when we struck the CT it took us right along the cliffs overlooking the narrows. Right ahead we could see a powerful searchlight playing from Chanak which at times flashed right on to us, almost blinding us with its powerful glare. It seemed awfully weird to me as we neared the firing line; everything was still, except for an occasional rifle shot from the Turk. It was our silent hours, and the darkness and silence was so intense it could almost be felt. That, and the knowledge of how few troops were on there and how little support we had, fairly gave me the impression that we were ‘up in the air’. Just below us on the right were the waters of the Dardanelles, behind us was the Aegean and barely three miles away on our left was the Gulf of Saros. Water all round, except in front where only a matter of 300 yards or so away were thousands of Turks eager to smash us before we could slink away. All we had to prevent them smashing us and chasing us into the sea were a few battalions of weary, fed-up troops where the other day we had divisions. In support were a few worn-out guns. How many of us would get off?
We reached the support trench which ran along the top of a steep hill, and down below in the valley was the firing line. Just across on another hill was the Turks’ firing line, easily discernible when he sent up a light. There wasn’t a soul in our support line and when we got down into the firing line found about one man on watch every twenty yards or so. In places, the trench consisted of a barricade of stones in which were hundreds of places where a bullet could come through. The officer of the watch passed us. ‘Drop your rations in the next bay,’ he said, ‘and clear out of this without making a row.’ One of the chaps told us that their company had only been there for two days and had already had over twenty casualties. The French had been there for four months before them and had only had about four men wounded.
In the daytime each side could see the other moving about and before the 1st Battalion took over there was a sort of mutual arrangement between the French and the Turks: ‘Don’t shoot at us and we won’t shoot at you.’ Our chaps soon upset that arrangement and although our chaps were dressed as Frenchmen I don’t suppose it took the Turks in. We got out over the back of the support trench and went back to camp, again without touching the coast. Just on top above th
e support trench we passed a party of engineers laying landmines. They were busy too in the FL and supports, setting traps in the shape of huge trench mortar bombs placed gingerly on top of shelter doors. Orders to move up to Eski Lines on the Monday afternoon in case of anything happening in front and to be handy for rations.
Our platoon was housed comfortably in a big shelter and for two days we had the time of our lives. Rations were in abundance. There was a big dump just below the trench with no one in charge except the RSM of 1 RM and he didn’t care what we took, so long as we didn’t interfere with his battalion rations. We had three braziers in that shelter with coal fires burning day and night. Tea was mashed every half hour. We had a chest of tea, a few sides of bacon, bags of sugar, cheese and milk and several cases of the best jam, hot plum and apples, and not ticklers but the best makes of strawberry, damson and blackcurrant, a sure sign that the ASC and most of the staff had left.
Just below us in a deep gully was a pond and we went down in the afternoon for a wash and a swim. The Turk was continually dropping big shells in the gully though and it wasn’t the safest of places.
On Tuesday night all our company under Captain Gowney went on the headland above Morts Bay and did about four hours wiring in front of De Tott’s battery. We put out scores of barbed-wire coils and about sixty coils of French concertina wire. I couldn’t imagine the intention; perhaps it was to delay the Turk in pursuit or to divert him into a mined road, or perhaps it was to use up some of the surplus gear and break up our idea of a picnic.
Went down to Cypress Grove again on the 5th about 6.00pm. We fell in outside Eski Lines about 5.00pm and called the roll. Houlet was missing and no one knew where he was, nor had anybody seen him for hours. Gowney fumed. Said he’d see him when he turned up. We set off without him at the finish and he landed down at camp about midnight loaded with souvenirs of all descriptions. He had been with a few French artillerymen who had been left with an 8-inch howitzer and had managed to touch them for these things.
Direction boards were up all over the place bearing an arrow and the words ‘This way down’. At certain places in the CTs chevaux-de-frise were placed in readiness, so that when the last man was down they could be pulled into position to delay the Turks and to make him take to the open. The work of destruction had begun and fatigue parties were put to destroying small dumps of stores. One party I saw were ripping up leather jackets, waterproof capes and clothing of all kinds. Our quartermaster did what to some of the fellows was an unforgivable act, in fact a deadly sin. He had all the rum emptied into a ditch. Not a drop was served out, not a drop saved, and a crowd of old marines gathered round, cursing as they watched the precious fluid soaking into the ground.
We had a good loot on the Thursday morning in the ASC dump. Great stacks of stuff were still there. Hundreds of boxes of bacon and hams, milk, jam, bully and butter etc. The milk interested us most. One tin of Ideal mixed with half a tin of Nestlé’s made a lively drink. Most of the chaps were sick afterwards. Hundreds of horses and mules had been shot and left lying where they had dropped. Limbers and GS wagons were smashed to bits, and the whole area looked in a state of utter chaos.
At dusk the whole battalion went up to the hill above V, X and W beaches and commenced digging a new trench. We dug our way on this place and were having to dig it off again. We were up there from 6.30 to midnight and got down about three feet. No wiring was attempted, except on the road from Sedd-el-Bahr to Krithia. We put a couple of chevaux-de-frise in readiness for when the last troops were down. Had another good loot on the Friday, but picked up nothing of value.
All the big dumps were mined ready to go up. Orders came round in the afternoon to stand by in camp and destroy everything that had to be left. The Turk was bombarding our line all morning with heavy black stuff and, just after dinner, he let off two mines, shook his bayonets over the trench but only attacked the Staffords on the extreme left. I don’t think half a dozen Turks reached our front line, most of them never even passing their own wire. The Turks’ courage is certainly not in proportion to his military strength.
Two monitors and a few destroyers were lying off in the Gulf of Saros and played the deuce with Johnny until dusk.
We went up to the new trench again after tea and stayed till midnight, finishing all we had to do at it. It was only a rough trench, no fire-step or sandbag parapet, but we only had to hold it until the troops from the line had passed through. On Saturday 8 January we received orders to destroy the camp. We obeyed that order thoroughly. Tins of jam and milk were opened and spread all over the floors of our dugouts. Every tin of eatables was punctured and all the roofs of the dugouts were knocked in. In fact everything was messed up a treat. During the last week we buried hundreds of boxes of SAA. After dinner, several sergeants and corporals went down to Sedd-el-Bahr to see where we were to embark and where we were to rendezvous in the village. Everything on V beach was a wreck. Hundreds of wagons and ammunition limbers had been smashed to bits, and several motor ambulances were lying about shattered.
Orders at 6.00pm to get rigged ready for moving and we were all in position at 7.00pm in the new trench. Patrols were sent out to the front and a piquet was posted on the road about ten yards to the right of where I was. All troops embarking from V beach would pass down that road.
The last of the guns went down about 8.00pm. Mr Adamson was in charge of the piquet, ably assisted by Sergeant Douglas. Old Douglas couldn’t speak French though, and when he got a mouthful of French in reply to his challenge he had to call on Mr Adamson. ‘Qui est la?’ he roared. ‘Les artilleurs français, monsieur,” came back. Then came the checking of horses and men and on they rumbled, giving us as they passed several loaves of French bread. We hadn’t seen bread for a fortnight.
The Asiatic guns were busy the whole time, one big gun playing just in front of our trench and another battery shelling the River Clyde and V beach. Two heavy guns from behind Krithia were shelling W beach. We could see the flash of the Asiatic guns as they fired and a bugler was placed on the top of the fort at Cape Helles to give warning at every flash. The shell could be heard in its thirty-second flight over the water, growing from a faint whine into a deafening crescendo. Then came the explosion of the shell; it would burst harmlessly in the sea and sometimes fall with a shattering crash in the heaps of wreckage that littered the beach.
We had reports up from the beach that the sea was awfully rough and that embarkation was slow and difficult. All embarkation had been stopped from Y beach as the piers had been washed away and, later, the same thing happened at W beach. About 11.30 all the troops were diverted to V beach. Parties from the front trenches kept passing down the road and we could hear the sharp challenge of the sentry as they approached. We kept wondering, ‘Who is it this time, our chaps or the Turks?’ and ‘How long will the Turk be before he’s down here?’
All attachments were in parties of a hundred, and they had all to be numbered and checked before passing the piquet. We got word along about one o’clock that the last party had passed through and we knew then that the next man who came along would be a Turk. Long after our line was deserted, Very lights kept going up, rifle shots went off and occasionally we should hear a sharp burst of rapid. All these from our now deserted trench.
Of course, everybody was on the lookout and I think everybody’s nerves were all on edge. It was a weird anxious time. No end of chaps could see Turks advancing, there were plenty of posts and small trees that could be mistaken for men if stared at long enough in the dark. Houlet was very persistent. He knew he could see a man. ‘Alright,’ we said, ‘fetch him in.’ Griggs said he’d go with him and they got over the top. They had got about ten yards when one of the big shells dropped about 200 yards in front. Griggs jumped in the trench, Houlet fell in and lay where he fell until it was time to move. We got orders about 2.30am to call in the patrol and piquet and to file out of the trench and make our way down to the rendezvous in the village. No one spoke a word as we walke
d down, no one felt like speaking or listening to speech. We kept turning round to the line, watching for some signal from the Turk that he had missed us. Everything was as usual though. Just a few lights going up from either side. We uncharged our magazines in the village and formed up as a battalion en masse. Colonel Hutchinson gave an order. It must have been to retire because D Company led off and were all embarked before we had reached the beach.
For reasons of safety the River Clyde was not being used as a pier. Most of the shells that had come over had been directed at her, so they were using an old French battleship as the embarkation pier. The Asiatic guns had slowed down a little as we reached the beach, the reason being fairly obvious. Two of our monitors were blazing away with 14-inch guns and I expect Johnny had taken cover.
It was 3.30am on 9 January 1916 when our platoon left the peninsula, the last platoon of the last battalion to leave Gallipoli. All we left behind was the demolition party. I can vouch for that, for as we went up the gangway of the old French ship the officer in charge of affairs yelled to someone on shore, ‘How many more on shore now?’ The answer came back, ‘Only the demolition party, Sir.’ Just on our left we could see the dark hulk of the River Clyde and could almost see in one’s imagination the ghosts of those dead Dublins and Munsters watching us with derisive grins on their faces as we slunk away.
We were a miserable lot, cold, hungry and tired, to say nothing of being utterly fed up. No one was pleased at the thought of going away as we were going. We fought our way on, we ought to have fought it off. I think if volunteers had been asked for, for some final stunt, not one of our chaps would have refused. As I went up the gangway of the battleship I noticed somebody in front struggling with a motorbike. All at once a nasty seafaring voice broke out, ‘Throw that dammed thing overboard’ and ‘get through this ship.’ And over it went.