A Marine at Gallipoli on the Western Front

by Harry Askin

  The place all around was lovely and the ground was covered in a carpet of the most lovely flowers, violets being very common. There were snakes too, rock and grass varieties about three to four feet long, tortoises, little water turtles and endless other creeping things.

  On Sunday the 19th a Taube came over and after that we had them pretty often, some dropping bombs on the beach and shipping in the bay. There was a base for sea-planes on the right of the bay but they weren’t much use for chasing Taubes, taking too long to climb and being too slow when up.

  On the 22nd and 23rd we heard heavy gunfire from the direction of Salonika. The Bulgars were reported at least twenty miles away but one night we got a fright. Captain Edwards came round, white and excited. ‘Get numbers Three and Four Platoons in the trenches, Sergeant Major,’ he said, ‘and get One or Two standing to in support, and send a patrol on the Vrasta Road.’ He said the Bulgars were only five miles away and had broken through the Greek troops on the frontier. Of course, it was all a buzz and they were just as far away as ever by morning, and most of us had lost a night’s sleep.

  On 31 March names were taken for English leave, preference being given to men who had been out longest and who had been wounded. I was nearly at the top of the list of fifty. England appeared a long way off though, even after that. A strong rumour was flying round that all 1 Brigade were leaving this place and a special fatigue carrying out SAA down to Brigade HQ helped strengthen the rumour. The rest of the ammunition went the following day and we expected to move on the Sunday. We moved on Monday 3 April, but only to a spot on the plain where we made fresh bivouacs.

  The country all around was beautiful and we were within easy reach of the sea where we bathed every other day. I went out with Charlie one morning up a dry riverbed and the first thing alive I spotted was a huge snake, coiled up on a rock, sleeping in the sun. He wasn’t sleeping very deeply, however, for before we could get up, it had slid off the rock into a bush. We hunted about a bit and finally hit it on the head with a heavy stick. I spoilt a razor afterwards in cutting the skin off it. It was three feet long and, after I’d dried it, I put it on a stick. The next thing we saw were four tiny tortoises, not more than an inch big and their shells were quite soft. They couldn’t have been alive long. We kept two each and when we got back to camp cleaned all the inside out. I intended taking lots of souvenirs home on leave with me. The job with the big tortoises was how to kill them. Some of the chaps boiled one for about six hours, but it was long enough before it died. We tried letting them walk, then catching their head in a string noose and cutting it off. However, we managed to kill several and cleaned them out. In some we found strings of about six eggs.

  We started drill in the forenoons. Platoon and company drill and, heavens, wasn’t it sad! Nobody knew anything about it except Sergeant Jeffries, and he knew far too much for us. We had a decent chap for Platoon Sergeant, Jim Hearne he was called, more Jim than Hearne. He was a chap who had spent most of his fifteen years or so in the marines at sea and had finished up in the Heligoland battle. He was badly shaken up there and had been sent to us for a change and a rest.

  Orders came round early on Saturday the 8th for the leave party to stand by and we fell in at 5.00pm and, after a pathetic leave-taking with the boys and ‘birds’, marched off to the beach. Dick Rogers, our battalion sergeant major, was in charge of the party. We embarked on the Rowan about 7.30 and left Stavros shortly after.

  Arrived in Mudros again at dawn and marched to the RND detail camp where we were shoved in tents, one between fourteen. All our kitbags that had been left at Port Said before Gallipoli had been brought to Mudros and I found mine with most of my private belongings still in it. We were all fitted out with new clothes and uniforms next day. I had a good scrounge round and filled my bag with clothing and souvenirs, two live shells being amongst them. We hung on there without anything happening until the 14th when General Sir Archibald Paris, our GOC, inspected all details going to England. There were some, too. Besides leave parties from all the battalions, two whole battalions, Nelson and Howe, were going home to be disbanded.

  On the 15th the whole of 1 RM came back from Stavros and on Sunday we had the most delightful news that the RND had been taken over by the War Office and, in consequence, all English leave had been cancelled.

  I didn’t say a word!!!?

  Our party was busy all day Monday putting up a camp for the battalion ready for its return from Stavros. They came back on the 19th and I went down to the beach to greet them and give them all the latest news from England. The whole division was standing by to move at short notice. We passed the next few days drilling, road-making and trench digging.

  Easter Sunday we went into Portiano and watched the fun between the Greeks who were all dressed up in their best – if they had a best – and playing various games. ‘Ring a ring of roses’ went best. One chap was fiddling away like mad, only stopping to drink wine. Perspiration was pouring from him. Some of the girls looked nice, but they don’t keep nice very long out here.

  Heard news on the 29th of General Townsend’s capture in Mesopotamia and of the Irish rebellion. A 3rd Battalion of Marines had been sent over there. News also came in that HMS Russell and a hospital ship had been torpedoed in the Mediterranean near Malta. Things were getting pretty warm out here. Had a whizz-bang on Sunday 7 May.

  Order came round at 2.00pm, ‘Pack everything and stand by to fall in at 2.45pm.’ Not much time, but no one was late. Everybody was ready with full kit, packs full and kitbags full, mostly with souvenirs. I hoped no one messed about with those two shells or they might go off. We were all aboard the Briton by 5.00pm and making guesses as to our destination. England was favourite, but not with me.

  Underway at 4.00 next morning and we left Mudros for the last time, with the airship Silver Queen as escort for some distance. We had a lovely ship with plenty of room to knock about and quite enjoyed the trip. We had fine weather for two days and saw several French troopships going towards Salonika, all escorted by destroyers. The sea got up on the 10th but the ship was very steady. Still rough on the 11th and, about noon passed two rocky islands, probably Corsica and Sardinia.

  At 7.00am on 12 May we steamed into the harbour of Marseilles and took up our berth alongside the quay. At least 1,500 miles nearer dear old England. The place fit for heroes to live in? Orders round at 9.00am to get all gear and kitbags off the ship. We disembarked at 1.00pm.

  It was certain that we had done with the MEF.

  Summary Statement of Royal Naval Division Casualties

  Mediterranean Expeditionary Force

  Chapter Twelve

  Gleanings from Gallipoli

  The British force employed a total of 468,987 men with never more than 100,000 available at one time. Our losses were: killed 33,522; wounded 78,420; missing 7,636 and over 100,000 invalided.

  The French force was about 80,000 with proportionate casualties Turkish losses, according to General Liman Von Sanders, were 66,000 killed and 152,000 wounded.

  Up to 5 May the British loss at Cape Helles was 13,979 and the ANZAC casualties in the first two days amounted to 5,000.

  In the hot months, dysentery and jaundice claimed 1,000 victims a day and was only ended by the blizzard of November which claimed as victims 200 dead, 10,000 unfit for further service and 30,000 other sick.

  The 29th Division, while holding the Suvla position, lost two thirds of its strength.

  Chapter Thirteen

  What the Turks Can Say of Us

  They did not win, but they came across three thousand miles of sea, a little army without reserves and short of munitions, a band of brothers, not half of them half trained and nearly all of them new to war.

  They came to what we said was an impregnable fort, on which our veterans of war and massacre had laboured for two months, and by sheer naked manhood they beat us, and drove us out of it.

  Then rallying, but without reserves, they beat us again and drove us farther.

/>   Then rallying once more, but still without reserves, they beat us again, this time to our knees.

  Then, had they had reserves, they would have conquered, but by the pity of Allah they had none.

  Then after a lapse of time when we were men again, they had reserves, and they hit us a staggering blow, which needed but a push to send us, but Allah again had pity.

  After that Allah was indeed gracious, for England made no further thrust, and they went away.

  These words, I believe, are by John Masefield, the poet.

  Chapter Fourteen

  More Hopes of Blighty

  12 May 1916 SS Briton Marseilles

  Disembarked at 1.00pm and, after stowing all our kitbags safely in some sheds, marched out of the dockyard, full marching order, two blankets and 220 rounds of ammunition each. The colonel set off with the adjutant, Captain Farquason, in a motor-car and left us to the tender mercies of Captain Tetley, a great big chap with long legs and carrying about as much kit as I had in my tunic pockets.

  The first part of the march was a treat. As we went through the main streets of the city, all the people stopped work and came out of the shops to cheer us and some threw fruit and flowers. Some of the flowers hit me but none of the fruit. The streets were set with pavé stones and, as we hadn’t marched on roads for months, we soon felt the effects on our feet. They were slippery too, and Bob Bayliss was soon on his back in the gutter. Mr Surman dashed up and wanted to know ‘What the deuce’ he meant by slipping about like that, playing the fool? He’d no sooner got the words out than down he went with a clatter. We laughed at Bayliss, but there was an absolute roar when our worthy lieutenant went down.

  Everybody stuck the march fine until we had done about four miles and the excitement and novelty began to wear a bit thin. Then the men began to drop out, first by ones, then by threes and fours, and after about six miles whole bunches dropped by the roadside. It was a let-down for the battalion, but it was painful marching. A lot of the blame fell on Captain Tetley who was setting the pace like a racehorse. By the time we had done eight miles there were only three left in our platoon and then I dropped out. My feet felt like pieces of raw meat, my shoulders were about raw, and I was wet through with perspiration. It was the first time I had ever given up and I could have kicked myself after; the camp wasn’t another 100 yards up the road.

  La Valentina was the camp and we were pushed in tents for the night. I bathed my feet in a stream running through it and, after a scratch feed of bully and biscuits, turned in for the night and went to sleep with the pleasing thoughts that I was at least 1,500 miles nearer home. Thank God for that!

  The first rumour around in the morning was that we were going straight overland to England. The Navy had no further use for the division, the War Office wouldn’t have it as a gift, so the naval battalions would be disbanded and the marines absorbed by their respective depots and sent on ships etc. Very nice, but I had lost all faith in rumours since the Stavros leave affair when I swore never to believe another buzz. We heaved out of bed about 8.00am and I shaved in the remains of a mug of tea, had a wash, cleaned buttons and badges and spruced up generally.

  Order round at 9.30am: ‘Anybody wanting leave to put in a chit, but only ten per cent allowed out.’ Of course, I wasn’t one of the lucky ones. However, Billy Hurrell and I soon found a way out of the back of the camp and strolled down towards the city after tea. As we found nothing of very great interest and had no money to spend, we soon got fed up and made our way back. We knew it was no use trying to get in through the front gates of the camp as all passes had to be given up to the sergeant of the guard and then there was the medical tent to be gone through and questions asked by Jimmy Ross, the Medical Officer. If one needed preventative treatment at his hands one received it.

  Neither Billy nor I had any use for either the sergeant of the guard or the well-meant attentions of Jimmy Ross, so we made our way round to the back of the camp. On reaching the gate at the top of the lane, we found to our discomfort and consternation that a big Indian lancer was on guard with drawn sword. As we both made a move to get over the gate he made a threatening move at us with his sword, so we got off again. It was policy. ‘It’s all right chum, we are Royal Marines and want to get into camp,’ we told him. ‘You go in front way then,’ he said. We stuck to him though and, after explaining how things were, he let us go past. He was laughing all over his face and had only been pulling our legs a bit.

  Heard when we got in that the adjutant and Transport Officer had gone to le Havre fixing billets and making arrangements for us to cross to England. Of course, spirits went up with a jump. I picked out a leave ticket on the Sunday morning and half an hour later the order came along ‘All leave cancelled; stand by to move.’ Just my luck!

  Marched from camp at 5.00pm and went right through the centre of the city passing, through the Place Bernex, past the beautiful entrance to the Palais Longchamps with four great lions guarding the miniature lake. The Rue de la Republique and several other main thoroughfares were crowded with people all in their Sunday best, flirting away as though the war was a million miles away. We went through with a swing, singing, cheering and shouting the whole way. Not a man dropped out, owing chiefly to the fact that we were supposed to be going to England and because the excitement came at the end instead of the beginning of the march.

  We reached the station at 9.30pm and entrained, eight in a carriage. Billy and I got in a second-class which was very comfy, but others, and in fact most of the battalion, only got the toast-rack affairs. In our carriage was Sid Ward, a deep-sea marine with about ten years’ service, a man of varying moods and very uncertain temper, but one of the best when he was all right. Young Turner was with us too, deaf as a post but as game as anyone in the company. Our noble company officers occupied the next carriage to us.

  We left Marseilles about 11.30pm and soon after tried to get some sleep, but rest even in a second-class carriage was almost an impossibility when eight men were all intent on the same game. I kept waking up as stiff and grumpy as it was possible to be.

  Our first halt was at 6.00am for breakfast when fires were made on the track and tea made. We certainly felt better for the refreshment. Some of us managed a wash and, after getting under way again, I shaved, then settled down to enjoy the scenery which was lovely. We passed right up the beautiful valley of the Rhône, past Valence, Vienne and on to the great city of Lyon, where we were served out with hot coffee and tea by charming ladies (of varying ages) of the French Red Cross.

  Before entering the station the train was pulled up on a big bridge or embankment overlooking a busy part of the city and we were able to buy wine, bread and fruit etc. from the crowd below. The method was for the French to throw up a cord with a basket attached to the end. Money had to go down with the demand though. An officer who had only lately joined us soon put a stop to matters by throwing back two bottles of wine into the street below, thereby nearly causing a mutiny among the troops and bringing upon himself the curses and jeers of the French crowd below.

  One astounding thing about the French railway stations was the great number of Frenchmen, all with yards of gold and silver braid and stars stuck on their uniforms, who were apparently necessary in the process of letting our train go by. They appeared to be mostly older men though, and most were very fat and, I should think, quite unfit for more strenuous work in action. One could hardly imagine them leading a charge of infantry at Vimy or Souchez.

  The pace of the train wasn’t exactly swift and we had no fear of jumping the metals, the average speed being about 12mph. Sometimes it would reach 20mph, then the whole battalion would send out a rousing cheer, which usually had the effect of reducing it to about 5mph. The country through which we passed was really lovely though, and our reception while going through the towns and villages was tremendous.

  The demand for souvenirs being more than we could supply, most men were soon without buttons or badges. French girls seemed to be both lov
ely and lively and quite came up to our preconceived ideas of them. Whole crowds of them would stand and wave the train out of sight, blowing kisses in a most sweet manner which, however, left me very dissatisfied.

  The nights were the worst to get over when, after vainly trying to drop off to sleep, we should have to get up for a rest and a stretch. Even that was difficult as two of the men were laid out on the deck.

  We had dinner on the 16th at Juvisy, then made a detour of Paris, passing through the lovely suburb of Versailles. We stopped for a considerable time in the great gloomy station of Amiens then went on to Criel, where the order was passed along to ‘Stand by to detrain at 1.00am on the 17th’. However, it was 1.00pm instead when we detrained at Pont-Remy. Our welcome had worn very thin and it was very evident that a British Tommy was no novelty but something to be endured and used whenever possible as a means to cheap living. Buttons and badges were not so much in demand as bully beef or Maconochie’s.

  After getting sorted out we set off for the village of Longpré les Corps-Saints, about six miles away. It was a rotten march; most of the men being asleep the whole way, it was more of a drunken stagger. On arrival at the village, which appeared of decent size, we were put into barns and sheds according to company and platoon. Both our platoon (No. 1 A Company) and No. 2 were put into a huge barn very near the centre of the village. These, I presumed, would be our billets at le Havre and the boat would turn out to be a trench-board forging its way up some water-logged trench near here.