A Marine at Gallipoli on the Western Front

by Harry Askin

  I was guide for the ration party at night and we set off at ‘stand down’ and were back again by 11.00pm without getting lost. A party of Londons went out about 3.30am on the 15th and we ‘stood to arms’, but nothing happened. The sector was very quiet and I don’t think there was one shell over on our part. There was a certain liveliness up at Vimy on the right and at Loos on the left.

  I had to go down to the battalion HQ at 7.30am on the 16th to act as guide to C and D Companies who were to relieve us and got them up by 1.00pm without anything going wrong. When they were bedded down we made our way back to Hersin and the convent again. Everybody was in a shocking state of filth and our clothes and gear were thick with mud and chalk. The English leave party was curtailed to three per battalion, so my hopes of Blighty were very obscure, without I stop something, and there was always a risk about that.

  We spent three uneventful days at Hersin, our time being occupied chiefly in getting clean and doing various drills by numbers. The battalion dwindled down again to its usual Active List, all the square number men dropping in for further cushy jobs. Officers and NCOs were sent away on courses. Those who went were the ones who had never seen any fighting with the battalion, and were never likely to do.

  The War Office had officially taken us over and we were to be known as 63rd (Royal Navy) Division. General Sir A. Paris was still in charge and the division consisted of three 188, 189 and 190 brigades, the last-named, including 1st Battalion Honourable Artillery Company; 4th Bedfords; 7th Royal Fusiliers; 10th Dublins, under Brigadier General Trotman CB was not immediately but would probably join us when the divisional artillery came on the scene. We were still waiting for the Divisional Train and First-line Transport. All the transport we had in Gallipoli was three field kitchens per battalion. I believe most of those were left there.

  Our brigade (188) was under command of Brigadier General Prentice DSO and included 1st Battalion Royal Marines (Deal and Chatham); 2nd Battalion Royal Marines (Plymouth and Portsmouth); Anson Battalion, and Howe Battalion.

  Under Brigadier General Philips 189 Brigade was a Naval brigade and consisted of the Hood, Drake, Hawke and Nelson Battalions.

  Our conduct during the period of probation up the line must have pleased the brass because we received orders on the 19th to get ready for the line on the morrow. We were to take over a small sector just on the left of the Souchez river and a lot of us were in great hopes that things would be a bit livelier than before.

  Set off about 9.30am on the 20th and went up the Arras-Lens road as far as we dared, then dropped into a communication trench that ran along the roadside. When we first struck the road the trees which ran along either side were lovely, full of green thick foliage; as we neared the line the foliage got thinner and here and there the trunk of one would be splintered by a shell. By the time we took to the communication trench the trees were practically barren of leaves and even branches and on all was the green tinge of poison gas. It was easy to distinguish where the front-line trenches were because there were no trees at all. Alongside the road were the remains of some of the night ration strafes: dead horses and mules, broken limbers and GS wagons and lots of other implements of war.

  Our company was to be in reserve and our trench was really the bed of the Souchez river, very near to what had been the village of Souchez. Just to the right were the lower slopes of Vimy ridge, looking from here one mass of shell holes. Somebody from the orderly room was saying that Colonel Hutchinson had decided to liven things up a bit in this sector. He was a great believer in the slogan ‘Get on with the War’.

  General Paris is another such believer and there was betting in the ranks as to how long he would be before he offered to capture Vimy ridge or Lens. They say that the success of a general is measured by the amount of men he has killed and wounded. Surely General Paris should not be far off the top of the tree: the division had already been practically wiped out two or three times.

  We had some of the new Stokes trench mortars, both light and heavy. The lights fire a shell weighing about 10lb and an efficient operator could get as many as eight or ten shells in the air at once. The other kind fired a 60lb ‘toffee apple’, a great ball of iron about the size of a football, full of high explosive, stuck on the end of a steel rod. They meant trouble for someone.

  The first afternoon was very quiet and the night passed without incident. Next day Bob Bayliss and I were sent down to Aix Noulette with ten men to make and bring back forty gallons of anti-gas solution to fill up the sprayers. Bob and I had a good scrounge round the orchards in the village but found nothing except a few strawberries and gooseberries that tasted too much like explosives and dead men to eat.

  We were back again for dinner (bully beef and biscuits) and soon after 1.00pm our chaps opened up with the ‘toffee apples’. We could follow them as they went through the air, turning over and over until they got about fifty feet from the ground before plunging down, ball first, to the earth, exploding with a most terrible crash.

  The Bosch stuck it for an hour and then started slinging over his Minenwerfers and ‘Rum Jars’ by way of retaliation. Those things made our ‘toffee apples’ sound like Chinese crackers. They were simply stupendous and shook us up pretty well, even in reserve. The game was kept up until 4.00pm, our chaps sending over about two to his one. C and D Companies, who were holding the line, had seventeen casualties, three killed. The firing line was battered in in several parts and Captain Morford of C Company was blown from one end of a fire-bay to the other, but was alright.

  Our old Roman Catholic Padre, Father Davy, turned up trumps. Not supposed to be up the line at all, he pleaded so hard with the colonel who let him go up and during the strafing he was in the firing line helping to dig out the poor devils who had been buried.

  The next day was very quiet in the forenoon. Billy and I took a party digging a new communication trench across the Souchez valley on ground literally covered with dead French soldiers; as we dug we kept coming across more. One body lay right across where we were digging, about two feet from the surface. ‘What shall we do with this mouldy old b----?’ Jack Spencer shouted to me. There was only one thing to do – carry on digging, so we got him out in pieces and threw him over the top. It was a sickening job and the stench from all those dead bodies was frightful. The fighting around there must have been awful. I remember reading about the French retaking this part of the front and how heavily they lost. No wonder. All the bodies had bright red breeches on; the German machine gunners could hit them a mile off.

  The strafing started again at 2.00pm, both sides going at it for all they were worth. Word was soon passed down for stretcher-bearers and the old Padre was up again right in the thick of things. One stretcher-bearer did some brave and fearless work too, and was afterwards awarded the Military Medal (MM). The Bosch smashed our line in again in several places and C Company had four more casualties, Lieutenant Steel killed and three men badly wounded, none expected to live. Our artillery opened up about 3.30pm and Jerry packed up. Just after four o’clock about twenty German aeroplanes came over our lines but were soon driven back again by our men who were up in force.

  Some German planes dropped some wicked-looking darts, things weighing about a pound and a half. I shouldn’t like to be hit with one of them! Bob Hacking picked one up. I’d like to gamble that he had more souvenirs than anyone in the battalion. I only knew one chap to equal him: Houlet who hadn’t been seen or heard of since he developed fits on Mudros.

  We had a little spasm at night. The Bosch sent up a small mine on our right and both sides opened up with the guns. It didn’t last long, but we had to stand to until the spasm had died down. German aeroplanes over again all the next morning; ours, of course, being absent. Expect our chaps were having a cosing or a lecture. Things were pretty quiet again until 2.30pm when the trench mortar stunt started again. After about ten minutes word came down that Sergeant Owen of C Company was dead. He saw a big ‘Rum Jar’ coming over and got all his men i
nto the dugout. He had just got inside the entrance when the thing burst just outside and blew the entrance in. The Padre and Captain Morford helped to dig him out, but he was blown to bits. Two more chaps were buried with him and weren’t much use when they got out. Poor old Sal Owen, one of the best, who looked after us on Gallipoli like a father, got jaundice and dysentery there and was sent to C Company on rejoining.

  C Company always was unlucky and Captain Morford wasn’t a chap to avoid things for the sake of a peaceful life. He was an officer on the Majestic when she was sunk off Gallipoli and he swam ashore with the ship’s books and attached himself to the marines on shore. He showed himself a daredevil while out there.

  The strafing came to rather a sudden end about 3.00pm. A severe thunderstorm came on suddenly and with it a cloudburst, which in less than half an hour absolutely flooded the trenches. Trench-boards were floating about on top of two and in some places three feet of water. We got to work right away letting out the water where it was possible and I spotted what appeared to be a disused dugout with the floor about three feet below the level of the trench. Joe Woods and I immediately set to work to knock a hole in the front of it and a lot of the water from the trench ran into the dugout. With the first rush, an officer, dripping water, dashed out of the dugout. ‘What the hell are you doing to my dug-out?’ he yelled. ‘Sorry Sir,’ I said, ‘we didn’t know it was a dugout, we thought it was an old latrine.’ He was battalion Trench Mortar Officer and had turned in for a sleep. It was hard lines but we didn’t feel very upset about it because he was the chap who threw the bottles of wine overboard at Lyons. And the wine belonged to Joe Woods so that straightened that out. We helped to salve some of his gear but none of it was much use.

  I was warned off as guide for the relief which was supposed to arrive by about 10.00pm. I had to go down the CT to where it joined the Arras road and get particulars from the Battalion Sergeant Major as to which company of the Howes I was to meet. What a journey! In the lower levels of the trench the water was practically up to my neck and in no part was there less than a foot of water. When I’d got the particulars I had to make the journey back and wait until 9.00pm before I went down again for the relief party.

  I was at the rendezvous by 10.00pm again and the Howes arrived at 1.30 the next morning, which happened to be mid-summer’s day. There was a bitter, cold wind blowing and a steady downpour of rain, but I didn’t mind the rain so much; it would have been impossible for me to get any wetter. A young idiot of an officer of the Howes was leading the men and had lost them about three times before he had reached the trenches. ‘I’ve been trying to keep the men dry,’ he said. ‘Then you’ve been wasting your time,’ I replied. I could have said a lot more but thought I’d better not. I warned him to leave trench-boards alone if he saw any as they had a nasty habit of moving when you got one foot on them and that meant a dive, besides delaying the company behind. It was after 3.00am before our company was relieved and Captain Edwards told each platoon officer to get his platoon down to the crossroads in Aix Noulette when they were relieved. Dear old Surman turned up from somewhere, the first time we’d seen him since we came up the line, and led us down the trench.

  After two or three wrong turns, and after we had nearly arrived in the front line, Jim Hearne, our sergeant, suggested that I should be guide. ‘Why should Askin know his way better than I do?’ said Surman. ‘Because he’s been there and back six times since stand-down last night,’ said Jim. Surman said I’d better get on with it then. Just beyond Company HQ I got out of the trench and set off down the Arras road. Surman didn’t like the idea. ‘Hadn’t we better keep to the trench a bit, the Bosch might shell the road or open up with a machine gun?’ he said. Nobody took the trouble to answer him.

  We were down at Aix Noulette in less than an hour of being relieved and most of the men were comparatively dry.

  We all turned into some battered houses to wait for the rest of the battalion. In our particular house a few of the ‘birds’ had gathered. Besides myself, Billy and Bob Bayliss, there were Spencer, Joe Woods, Sid Ward and Bob Hacking. ‘Kelly’ Clayton tried hard to get in but was too lousy and festered for even our company so we kicked him out. We had a huge fire in about five minutes, then some hot tea and a sleep. The smoke from the fire just about gassed us. After about an hour Surman came dashing in. ‘Get a move on you lazy swine and put that fire out,’ he yelled. There was a chorus of ‘Go to Hell’ and ‘Get to Hell out of it’ with a few more choice expressions and someone let fly with a loose brick just as Surman beat a hasty retreat. Unfortunately, it missed its mark.

  Chapman, our company sergeant major, (sober for once) came along soon after and told us to fall in outside. He told us Surman had said there was a mutiny in his platoon with the men refusing to obey him.

  We found the whole battalion ready to move off when we fell in.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Midsummer 1916 – A Cruel Experience

  The battalion moved off and it was soon apparent that we weren’t going back to Hersin. We turned left through Aix Noulette and climbed up through Bouvigny where we had our first, welcome, halt. We were all more or less asleep, chilled through and through with the rain and biting wind, and sore with four days’ filth of the trenches. Apart from that none of us had had a decent meal since we left Hersin. We were half an hour in Bouvigny, during which time most of the men went to sleep by the roadside and the battalion took some getting on the move again.

  We had a great ridge to climb and cross and before long the battalion looked for all the world like Napoleon’s retreat from Moscow. Several men collapsed in the road; others managed to get to the banks on either side and lay there absolutely beaten. The officers couldn’t do anything and they realised that it wasn’t a time for the application of discipline: the men just couldn’t go on. The CO kept taking turns with packs and now and then would relieve a man of his rifle. I saw Captain Tetley at one time carrying two packs and four rifles. Very few finished the march to Fresnicourt, which was about ten miles from Aix Noulette. Some men were crying out of sheer misery and helplessness. Not even the hardiest spirit in the battalion could raise a song or a whistle. It was a terrible march and one of the roughest times I had experienced up to then. However, I stuck it and arrived at our destination with the few. We were put in some Army huts belonging to the French troops on arrival, and the cooks were all ready for us with hot tea and rum and a good hot stew after that.

  Hot shower baths had been rigged up for us and I took advantage of them, then turned in and after two hours’ sleep felt like a new man. The rest of the battalion were all day getting up here and as soon as they arrived they went to sleep, in all their filth.

  ‘Forget Me Not’: a souvenir photograph of Harry Askin in the full-dress uniform of the Corps of Royal Marines.

  Harry, front left, with three friends in 1916. Seated beside Harry is Bill Hurrell; standing are Jack Senior and Charlie Hamilton. All except Charlie Hamilton are lance corporals. The two inverted chevrons on Marine Hamilton’s left forearm are good conduct badges indicating eight years’ service.

  Harry pictured in Malta in 1916.

  Second Lieutenant Harry Askin shortly after being commissioned in 1918. The three vertical strips above his left cuff are wound badges.

  A French battleship bombards Turkish positions along the Gallipoli peninsula.

  A view of the scene at V Beach at Helles, with landing barges in the foreground and the build-up of supplies evident on and beyond the beach.

  In a trench on the peninsula with Royal Marines and Australian ‘diggers’. Both Australians are observing the Turkish lines through trench periscopes.

  Another trench periscope in use. Watching the enemy through these instruments reduced the risk to front-line soldiers of being shot by snipers. These soldiers are wearing tropical pith helmets, or sola topees. Steel helmets had not yet been issued.

  Two Royal Marine officers enjoy a cup of tea in the beachhead while a third,
standing, has lit up a cigarette.

  Harry Askin was a talented artist as shown by these sketches of the ‘Brown House’ at Gallipoli, above, and Mudros Bay, below.

  Royal Naval Division troops go over the top in a training exercise on the Gallipoli peninsula.

  Harry Askin’s Officer Cadet Training Unit in 1918.

  Harry Askin after receiving his commission.

  Too old for active service in the Second World War, Harry volunteered to serve in the Local Defence Volunteers (LDV), later renamed the Home Guard by Winston Churchill.

  Mary and Harry Askin with their daughter Nancy Richmond and granddaughter Jean Mary.

  Harry and Mary with their friends Reginald and Dorothy Stenton and, in front, Nancy and William Askin.

  His soldierly bearing still evident, Harry Askin takes a stroll by the sea.