 17 September 18 to October 10, 1915 18 September 18. It has been very quiet this morning. The work of getting supplies on shore, carting them up to the main supply depot, and from there to the several divisional depots, goes on now, day and night, like a well-managed business. The main supply depot is rapidly accumulating a reserve of supplies for us to fall back on, should bad weather set in and prevent us landing on some days. I learned that we now have sufficient preserved food in the main depot to feed sixty thousand men and five thousand animals on shore for a month, and soon there will be stores for six weeks. At five o'clock the Turks sprang a surprise bombardment onto the left of our line, and simultaneously, just as I was walking the few yards from our supply depot to our men, four eighteen-pounder shrapnel burst overhead. All about the depot dive for cover, and many of them rush into our dugout, it being the most handy. A minute only, and four more come, burst overhead, the bullets rattling on the shrapnel-proof roof. Foley is with me. Wey and Carver are up on the cliff in a safe spot. Petro is up on the high ground behind our dugout, having gone there to watch a battleship firing onto Burnt Hill, while Philips is down on the beach, looking after a water cart. Never before have we had eighteen-pounder shrapnel burst as far up the promontory as this, and we are naturally surprised how the Turks could have pushed one of their batteries so close up to get the range. As fast as we put our heads out to see if Philips or Petro is about, a salvo of four shells arrives over, most of them bursting in the neighborhood of our depot, and a few on the beach further over to the left. No one is about. All have gone to ground like rabbits. They give it to us hot and strong for fifteen minutes and then stop. All the time the battleships have been firing, and I think must have got onto this particular battery. We cautiously come out of our dugout and look about. Gradually, men all over the beaches appear from all directions and go about their respective jobs. Petro turns up from a dugout close by, beaming all over his face, and says that he had done a hundred-yard sprint over boulders and rocks in record time, at the finish making a beautiful head-dive into the nearest dugout that he could see, onto a half-dozen Tommies crouching inside. We then see Philips limping up from the beach, being helped by two Tommies. I run down to him and we go to the eleventh division casualty clearing station. We unwind the putty of his left leg, which had been hit, when a shrapnel bullet rolls out and runs along the floor like a marble. I pick it up and put it in his pocket. It had drilled a hole clean through his leg, just above the ankle, through which blood is pouring freely. He is bound up, and, though in great pain, perspiration pouring off his face, keeps smiling and cheerful. One of the most painful parts of the body to be hit is just above the ankle. When the first four shells burst, he fell flat behind a big boulder, which protected all of him but his long legs. And after the third or fourth salvo, he felt the sledge hammer blow of a bullet, and knew he was hit. Lying there wounded while other shells burst overhead was a beastly experience for him, and he thanked his stars when it was all over. With one arm around my shoulder he leans on me and slowly limps back to our dugout, I hoping that they won't burst out again. I lay him on my bed, the swarms of flies that are with us always now buzz round the wound, which I cover up with Muslim. I go up to O'Hara to tell him and find there some of our divisional headquarters staff, just back from the line, having had to clear quickly when the attack opened. When O'Hara gets back with me, we find Philips has gone off, assuring the others that he will be back in a month. The Turkish gunners were too quick for old Philips this time, giving him no chance to read their minds. But thank the Lord he is wounded and not gone west. I miss him tonight, and feel depressed, and wonder how long I shall remain on this God-forsaken place, or how long it will be before my turn comes to get hit. It is now a beautiful moonlight night, quiet, calm, and still, and an enemy aeroplane sails over making a circle of the bay. I have got an idea that the old Turk is laughing at us now. September 19th. A fairly quiet day. Beautiful, calm, moonlight night. Have to get water up from a beach to Delisle's gully ready for the 86th, who arrive tomorrow. Thank heaven it is moonlight. Go up first to headquarters of Brigade by car. Country smells lovely. We have not been here long enough yet to spoil the land. Hardly a rifle shot in front. Go over to Delisle's gully and back to division headquarters, up to Brigade again and, once more, then to the gully, arriving home at midnight. Actually enjoyed the trip, but looking at the calm sea and moon, and the landscape of mountain and gorse, with a continual chirping of the crickets, how I longed, craved, and yearned for the day when peace will be declared. September 20th. Turks shell us unceasingly all morning, several shells coming near our depot, but they are only light shells and many of them do not explode. A Newfoundland regiment joins our brigade. They get shelled while on the beach, just an hour after landing, and suffer casualties. They appear to look upon it as a huge joke. Wei and Carver come back. 86th Brigade, due from Imbrose tomorrow. Here the Captain Kobel, who came over with me from Alexandria at the end of July, has died of wounds. We became great friends on board the Anglo-Egyptian in July. Go up to Brigade by night. Beautiful moonlight night again. Go up by car. Nothing doing. Latred joins us now, in place of Phillips. September 21st. Fairly quiet today, so far, though just as I go over to depot this morning several shells fly overhead, horrid feeling when you are in the open. Very fine day, but flies terrible, all quiet on front. Exactly a month now since last battle. September 22nd. All quiet up to 3.30 p.m., when we had a very bad shelling, and there were several casualties in the valley. Fortunately, it only lasted half an hour. Our men are busy making shrapnel-proof head cover. One gun somewhere by Sarri Bear is very fond of chucking over to our camps on this promontory. Five, nine shrapnel. One does not hear the boom of the gun, which I think must be a howitzer. The first warning one has of the thing coming is a sound like someone blowing with his lips very softly. This gets louder and louder until with a cat-like shriek and bang it explodes over one's head. Having to depend on being warned by such a common sound is of course the cause of many false alarms. In fact, a man blowing with his lips is sufficient to make another man cock his ears and listen. September 23rd. A quiet day, but for the usual cannonating on both sides, a few five-nine shrapnel shells coming our way at four in the afternoon, reinforcements arriving daily, a cold gale blowing all day. At six we have another bout of shelling, while we are loading up army transport carts, one shell pitching right in our depot and one of our poor chaps being badly hit, from which he is not expected to recover. He has since died, a nice boy, only nineteen. September 24th. A quiet morning. News reaches us that Bulgaria is in, but whether for us or against us is uncertain. Naturally, therefore, there is a feeling of great anxiety prevalent. We hope to have more definite news tonight. Heavy gale blowing this morning, calming down later. A very quiet day, no shells coming our way. At Anzac, at eight tonight, a bit of a severe battle took place, probably a Turkish attack. There was a continual roar of musketry and shells bursting on the side of Sarri Bayer. It was a surprise attack on the part of the New Zealanders, and so far has proved successful. Firing developed along our front from Chocolate Hill, and a feeble Turkish attack started in front of our brigade, the worsters taking the blow. It was with ease beaten off and died away after half an hour. We lost about twelve men. September 25th. A quiet day. Just the usual artillery duels, no shells coming our way. Walked up to brigade headquarters in the evening. Battalion of the London Regiment joins brigade. Lovely moonlight night. Rather a lot of firing on our front and bullets a bit free. Meet Stuart and Lachard at brigade. Stuart, having come to relieve Lachard, who is going back to Helis. Walked back together. A bright flash from the swifture in the bay denotes that she has fired one of her big guns, and a few seconds after a loud report is heard, and the rumble of a shell as it passed over Sarri Bear, on to somewhere goes on for a long time before one hears the distant report of its burst. I hear the sound of propellers overhead, and think I can see the airship from Imbrose sailing over towards Anifarta. The swifture fires once more, and then all is quiet for an hour. Then a Turkish battery puts a shell over to us, and follows this up with one every ten minutes, continuing for an hour. September 26th. Awakened in the morning by the five-nine shrapnel coming over and bursting overhead, and we are subjected to an hour of it. None of our men hit, but about four mules hit. A beautiful day in sea calm. Work of unloading stores proceeds apace. Artillery duels, but no shells come our way till four, when one shell bursts uncomfortably near. One feels a bit shaky for an hour after such an event, but we have got to stick it. September 27th. A very fine day, but a trifle hot. The flies seem to be swarming more than ever, and they are a great plague. Usual artillery duel from the batteries on shore and the fleet in the bay. Seeing a lot of Arthur McDougal now, an awfully nice boy in Middlesex Yeomanry. Here that O'Hara, our Deputy Assistant Quartermaster General, is leaving the division. All of us very sorry to lose him. Has got a Lieutenant Colonelcy at General Headquarters, and deserves the push up. At 7.30 p.m. a burst of rifle fire started at Chocolate Hill. All the batteries on shore took it up. The warships in the bay joined in. Battleships and monitors and the like. And such an infernal din is now heard that the whole peninsula seems to shake, and the evening sky is studded with innumerable flashes right away to Anzac and beyond. It is very impressive and lasts for an hour and a half. It turned out to be all panic. There has been good news of the French in Champagne, somebody in the trenches cheered, everybody else let his rifle off, and then the whole pandemonium started. The Turk never replied at all, and there was no attack. The moon shining peacefully above must have smiled at the folly of man this night. Go up to Brigade with Carver and Stewart. Moonlight night, the bay looking beautiful and quite enjoyable, except over the bullet-swept area, called it 86th headquarters on the way back, and picked up way, and had a chat with Thompson who has just come back from staying at Athens for a few days. September 28. Wood of the Essex Regiment comes in early, and I give him a bed and breakfast and have a long chat about life here. Has just come back from a month's leave. Now has his majority. Get up to see O'Hara off. Peaceful morning. Beaches represent hives of industry. Engineers busy making a pier out of a sunken ship, their hammers reminding one of the happy days of civilian life in the work towns of the north and center of England. An Indian shepherd is guarding his flock of sheep, destined to be slaughtered for the Indian troops, in front of our dugout on the slopes of the hill, while the distant roar of guns can be heard further south. Cook arrives from Hellas to join us. Hear that Collier is leaving us so that we are now without a major or a colonel. Go up to headquarters in car at nine, with a London Regiment officer and Arthur McDougal. Very bumpy ride. Find Stuart there. A bullet has knocked Stuart's hat off, but he does not seem to be upset much, and when he gets back just calmly sews up the two burnt holes. Getting water up to troops still entailing a lot of worry and work. The water is pumped from lighters through a pipe which dips into the sea. Yesterday water was very salt as sea water had got in. Was very ill in the night through this. Called up in night as water carts had gone to wrong place and a further supply had to be sent up. This water business is the worst of all. All the animals have to be taken down to water at the usual times. A transport officer from the depot here, who has been down to see me once or twice on business, has told me that in his opinion the most trying duty of all is seeing the animals watered. The troughs are in full sight of the Turkish gunners, and the long lines of dust emerging from the transport gully give the clue. He tells me that this is when he gets jumpy. Absolutely in the open, water trickling into the trough slowly, and he has to stand and see that every beast has enough. Then the shelling starts, mules fall, but still the others must have their fill and not be hurried, and it seems like hours and some of the beasts all unconscious appearing as if they will never finish. It must be a merry job, and it has to be done three times a day. An officer has to be present, or the overwhelming temptation to hurry up and get off becomes too much for the men, and no wonder. September 29. Camp Commandant comes to inform us that we have to clear out of our place, which is comparatively safe, and move to an exposed position further inland, in full view of the Turks. We shall be absolutely shelled out if we have a supply depot there, with army transport carts and motor lorries coming to and fro from main supply depot all day, and it will cripple our work. Hope to get this order cancelled. Have told Division Headquarters who have promised to see Camp Commandant. Usual artillery firing all day, and ships' guns joining in. Submarines have been busy. One French transport sunk, and two British, one empty, and one containing gherkas and Punjabis. Swifture had a narrow escape the other day, two torpedoes just missing her. September 30. A very fine day, not a cloud in the sky, very hot, and flies now in myriads perfectly appalling. Sea Camp Commandant has to move our supply depot to the exposed part of the peninsula. Finally he gives way, and finds another and safer place for us, at the foot of Ninth Corps Gully. Hardly any shelling from Turks, but our guns busy and battleships as well. Go up to Brigade in the evening, quiet night, and, so in September, a deadly month. No movement on our part all the month, no action, except little minor stunts such as straightening our line, digging saps, bombing expeditions, and artillery duels. All the time we steadily lose killed and wounded, and a seriously large percentage of sick, and we drift and drift on to where. October 1. A very misty morning, everything hidden in the valleys, also the ships in the harbor. At one o'clock we are shelled by high explosives and five-nine shrapnel, and it lasts an hour, very unpleasant. I hate the shelling more and more as time goes on. Some mysterious move is going on. The eighty-seventh now at Imbrose have wired for the machine guns, and rumors that troops have left here during the last two nights are about. Has Bulgaria come in against us? October 2. A beautiful cool summer day, but flies still swarming about. Artillery very busy on our side. In afternoon, walk up with Stuart to Brigade headquarters. Beautiful country walk through gorse, little hills and dales, trees and olive groves. On arrival at Brigade headquarters and looking back, the scene is beautiful, with the bay shimmering in the sun, and the fleet and transports lying at anchor. The formidable hills in front look beautiful also, and hardly a rifle shot comes from the Turkish lines, but all the time our shore batteries and the ships are booming away, but feebly replied to by the Turks. On the way up we just miss coming under the beastly five-nine shrapnel. We stay to tea with Hadao, the staff captain, now major, and have a nice walk back. Arriving on the promontory we see them shelling the road that we have passed along. We find on our return that the beaches have been strafed again by high explosives, killing and wounding a few. October 3. A quiet, beautiful Sunday morning, the sea-like glass. I have lunch with McDougal halfway up the high ground of the promontory outside his dugout, right behind large boulders of stone. He provides us an excellent lunch, and we might be on holiday together, no firing of any kind. After lunch, however, shore batteries and ships get active, while the distant rumble of guns is heard from Hellas. At four we have our daily ration of the five-nine shrapnel, or whistling rufus. We move our supply depot up to the foot of the gully, at the head of which is ninth-core headquarters. October 4. Heavy Turkish bombardment takes place at nine o'clock this morning over Anzac, developing towards Chocolate Hill. At ten, rifle fire starts denoting a Turkish attack, but in half an hour it dies away, the Turks having been beaten off. During this time we are shelled by high explosives, and, remaining in our dugouts as we hear each shell coming over our way, we cannot help gently ducking our heads. It is instinct, but yet very funny. We must look like nodding Chinese idols. In the afternoon we have nine inch shells thrown over to us, but it only lasts half an hour. Go up to brigade headquarters, not much firing in front. October 5. A beautiful summer day again. Turks shell us from eight a.m. till ten a.m., but all duds, no news, and no prospect of any progress in this campaign, are airplanes up. At nine thirty a.m. the Turks begin and are busy all day with their shells. Our batteries do not reply much, and the battleships are practically silent all day. We have no shrapnel, though, but at four o'clock about a dozen nine-inch high explosives come over, and rather too near us to be pleasant. One shell pitched right in one of my battalion dumps, the first London, just arrived from Malta, and attached to our brigade. We are therefore moving them to a safer place. In our camp now we have two supply sections of the eighty-sixth and eighty-eighth brigades, and representatives of each regiment in the brigades, consisting of a quartermaster or his sergeant, and a corporal and three privates. They look after the interests of their respective regiments on the beach, drawing supplies, ordnance, royal engineer's stores, letters, and baggage, which they escort up to the regiment each night by the mule carts. New officers arriving and officers returning from hospital use our camp as a half-way house to the trenches. All drafts arriving are met by these battalions, representatives, and looked after, generally by day, and guided to their units by night. Had a lovely base this morning, with McDougal, Tooth, Carver, and Way at the foot of the cliffs, very peaceful and beautiful, and it was hard to realize that there was a war on. In the far distance, across the Gulf of Soros, could just be discerned the coast of Bulgaria, the country on which the eyes of all the world are turned at the moment. In a day or two we shall know whether she has joined our enemies or not. October sixth. Woke up at seven by a shell whistling over our dugout, but no more follow. Curious how, when one is sleepy, shells do not strike fear in one. A perfect summer morning, artillery on our side very active. Go on board Swiftshire for lunch with Carver, guest of fleet surgeon Jeans, a charming little man, had a glass of beer, and the lunch, nice white tablecloth, attentive stewards, excellent food and cheery society, topping fellows. Half an hour after lunch had a puka-hot bath, the luxury thereof, and then take snapshots of the ship and of a group of officers. We get a good view of Suvla from the deck, the sandy beach and to the left the three landing places crowded with lighters, launches, etc., and with khaki figures. Further to the left, the rocky part with its fringe of surf, and the frowning crags above towering away in masses into the blue distance. Behind the landing places the ground slopes abruptly up to the gorges, crowded with dugouts and transport lines. To the right, lullababa with its sandy cliffs, and the low plateau beyond with the salt lakes stand out clearly. Further to the right, one catches a glimpse of sea-beach with its white hospital tents along the sea's rim, and in the offing, silent and slim, loom the three hospital ships taking in their freight of broken humanity. There are never less than three such ships of mercy here, which gives one some idea of the daily human wastage when one remembers that they are big P&O and British India liners. We are told by one of the gunnery lieutenants that, at 4 p.m., ship is going to fire on a block house just by the pimple on the left of our line. While on board the ship's guns loose off, it is a curious sensation. We watch their shells bursting inland and realize for the first time the difference between shelling and being shelled. Get back on smart penis at 2.30. Get shelled a bit at 3.30. Go up to British headquarters to watch the pimple bombardment. At 4, precisely, Swiftshire pops off with 12-inch and 6-inch guns. Also, Prince George and a monitor and the shore batteries. Up the gulf of Soros, a torpedo boat, destroyer and monitor are firing in flank. Poor old pimple. Can't see it for dust and smoke. Prince George has a premature burst, splinters doing ducks and drakes across the bay. Here machine guns at 5, ceasefire at 6, and we go back home. The little coves at end of point are now absolutely altered from their original geographical formation by the engineers during the past months. Breakwaters, piers, dug out offices, stores depots, landing stages, etc., have come into being, and they are now hives of industry, never slacking night and day. As at Hellas, starshells sail up and down gently all night along our line. In the darkness of the sky over Sarri Bear, the reflection of the rays of Chanak's searchlight plays, but not so brightly as seen from Hellas. October 7th. Ships firing very early this morning. Swiftshire left last night. Soon after 10 this morning, Turkish 8-2 gun opens fire on the Prince George, and, at the third shot, hit her. Prince George and the other ship open fire. Later the Prince George is hit again, this time just beneath the funnels, causing wreckage among boats. She alters her position, the duel still continuing. She is hit twice again, and then moves further out. Turkish gun then shuts up. Soon after 11 a.m., the 5-9 shrapnel comes whistling over to us, and nine of them, one after the other, at short intervals of two or three minutes, burst over our camp and the beaches, causing casualties. A beautiful summer day again, but flies as bad as ever. I walk with way to Brigade, his Brigade headquarters having moved just in front of ours. As we go up we hear a whopping big shell go over to the beach, and, looking back, we see it burst, kicking up a great deal of dust. Have tea with Thompson and General Percival. Afterwards call in at 88th and walk back at dark. A bullet hits a bush at Wei's feet, just as we are walking over the little bit of Hillock after leaving 88th headquarters. A few others drop nearby. Wei tells me that, when bullets are about, his head always feels ten times as big as it really is. Yet he never worries at all when shells are about. It is curious, but shells make me feel very uneasy and limp, while bullets don't bother me at all now. The ways of nerves are difficult to understand. When we arrive back we find that the beaches have been strafed a lot in our absence. 9 p.m. A bit of a strafe is taking place at Anzac, heavy rifle fire and shells bursting. Very fine sight, seeing the white flashes of flame bursting out of the Black Knight. 8 October. All to-day there have been ceaseless artillery duels, warships, and shore batteries taking part. Never before have we had such shelling from the Turks at Suvla. It has been one continual roar of guns from early morning till dusk. At last dusk arrives, which is welcomed with general thanksgiving by the majority on the beach. News has just come in that Bulgaria and Russia are practically at war, and this means that in a few days Bulgaria will be an active enemy of ourselves as well. The Bulgars no doubt will join the Turks at once, and life on the beaches will become a hell in the true sense of the word. I hope that we shall keep our end up and not be anonymously defeated on this peninsula. There have been about sixty casualties to-day, killed and wounded, yet the work on the beach has to go steadily on all the time. It has been much colder to-day, and some rain has fallen. At night we have very heavy rain. 9 October. A cool summer day, shelled at 9.30 p.m. Troops arrive in large numbers. They should have arrived last night at dark, but it was too rough to land. Lord Howard de Walden comes down with news that drafts have arrived unexpectedly for us as well, and we have to prepare for them. Cannot reconcile the arrival of all these troops with the opinion that we are here for the winter. Looks as if we are going to have another battle. Turks very quiet this morning, yet they must see all these troops arriving. We wonder that they do not shell them. Go up to 86th and 88th brigades with way in the afternoon, and it makes a very pleasant walk. Delightful country, and up at the brigades it seems quite restful after the shelled beaches. Pass General Delisle on the way up. Have tea at 86th and call at 88th on the way back. General Cayley had a narrow squeak, a splinter of the case of shrapnel coming right through the roof of his dugout just missing his head by inches. He won't have his roof sandbagged. Water question for our division now settled as we have found wells all over the place. Just as it is getting dusk, 82 Turkish gun opens fire on the HMS Glory, but does not hit her, and Prince George replies, Walker arrives from Hellas. I am now officer commanding the 29th division, Army Service Corps at Suvla, as Carver has gone back to Hellas. Large covies of birds, I think they are duck and crane, keep on swooping about over the peninsula, and our tommies potted them now and again. October 10th. Colder this morning, but flies still damnable. Usual artillery duels, but not so heavy as usual. Several officers leaving to join allied troops at Salonika, but later we hear that they have not been allowed to land, as it is uncertain whether Greece is coming in against us. Not much shelling all day. Colonel Elkin, First London, arrives at night, and we put him up, giving him dinner and a bed in our dugout. Very decent old boy. He comes along with the most wonderful rumours which we drink in. 18. October 11th to 31st, 1915. October 11th. Very cloudy. Mule core at end of promontory gets shelled at 10 o'clock for half an hour. Starts to rain at 11.30, and looks as if it is going to set in in earnest. Salt Lake already underwater in some parts, and if we have a season of rain, it will be a lake in the full sense of the word, and it will be difficult getting supplies, etc., to the lines immediately in front of Chocolate Hill. Walked up with way again to brigade headquarters. Beautiful, cool, sunny afternoon after the rain. Had tea with the general at 88th, meeting there our friend of last night, Colonel Elkin. Morris, machine-gun officer, also there in great form, telling us all about his indirect gunfire stunts. Hides these little batteries in a very clever way with Gorse, the men wearing green masks. Colonel Fuller, going round the trenches the other day, could not make out where the sound of a machine-gun popping off quite close to him was coming from. He was ten yards away only. It was one of Morris's efforts. After the bit of a bombardment the other day on the pimple, during which the Turks were driven out of a redoubt, Morris's men bagged fifty Turks by indirect fire. He makes your flesh creep by the cold-blooded way in which he describes his stunts, but, if one thinks of Turks as partridges, it is not so bad. However, we can do with dozens more Morris's. After go to see 86th, and have a rag with a little reed, signal officer to 86th, aged nineteen, but looks only sixteen, trenches dug through most beautiful country, olive groves, fig trees, and vineyards. Grape season over now, but often Tommy climbed out of his trench and helped himself, risking Turkish bullets fired at only a hundred yards away. The Blackberry season is now on, and they are so tempting that ventures some spirits, little reed himself proving guilty, climb out after these also. Looking back from the 86th Brigade headquarters, one can see the Gorse-covered hills, the beautiful, thickly wooded valleys, while through the trees are peeps of Suvla Bay, with the gray warships at anchor there. Further out, beautiful imbrose stands out sharp against the setting sun, backed by a sky of golden bronze, with feathery purple clouds trailing across the firmament. The new moon, a delicate crystal crescent, swings above, dimly reflected in the dimpling waters. A battleship flashes out, followed by a loud report, and, looking towards Atnafarta just over the hills, one sees a monster flash of fire followed by a muffled report. October 12, very busy with shelling this morning, quite a lot of five-nine shrapnel coming over to our valley, and almost every shell accounts for a casualty. About twenty casualties in half an hour, Sir Randolph Baker being amongst the number, but he was only wounded slightly, and a rather nice naval landing officer had a piece taken out of his arm. Also we had a few four-seven shells over, and at noon they started with their eight-two, a terrifying shell. Everyone this morning very depressed at the news of the advance of Germans on Serbia and Bulgaria's attitude. Greece and Romania are disappointing factors. I hope for the sake of this Gallipoli campaign that they come in on our side. After lunch I go up to the barrier on the rise of ground on the west road leading to Lone Tree Gully, just two hundred yards this side, to see about some bombs which have to be removed. On the way back the eighteen-pounder battery which is in position on the right of the road looking seaward is in action, and the report of the guns being so near is ear-splitting. I turn round to watch the shrapnel, beautifully placed on and about the Turkish Second Line. Evidently the officer in the observation post has spotted some movement of the troops up communication trench, probably a relief party. I turn to my left and trip down the rocky hillock leading to the Commander-Royal Engineers camp in the place where Division Headquarters was to be after the Chocolate Hill battle and where the bombs from the barrier have to go. I come back along the lower road which leads to our Division Headquarters and which is now called the Gibraltar Road as it leads to the small hill we have called Gibraltar which lies between our first line and eighty-sixth headquarters. On the way back I meet the eighty-eighth chaplain and we walk back together. Behind us we hear three tremendous explosions over to the left of Chocolate Hill and, looking back, see columns of smoke and dust. They are caused by Turkish aerial torpedoes bursting in our front line equivalent to a hundred-pound shell and terribly effective. Fortunately they appear to have very few of them, but we have none at all. There have been sixty-three casualties on the beach today through Turkish gunfire and shrapnel. At night a great gale springs up and we have heavy rain, many men being washed out of their dugouts having to spend the night in their wet clothes on the hills. A Navy's battalion has arrived. October eighteenth, a fine day but a very strong cold wind blowing down the peninsula. Arthur McDougal has now rejoined his regiment in the trenches. We have now a black cat in our establishment. It walked in and we do not know where it came from, probably off one of the boats. We were shelled with five nine at eight this morning and had six casualties in this valley. They were, however, very quiet for the rest of the morning. Just as Wei, Cox, Baxter and I were leaving for Brigade, they started to shell and we were glad to get off the open space of the beaches. Now they have three guns firing five nine shrapnel at us and they come over in threes, usually bagging somebody. The Turks seem to be getting very cocky lately. They actually cleared away all the barbed wire that one of our battalions in the eighty-eight had put in front of our trenches, only fifteen yards in front. Also their bombing parties are getting very daring, creeping up each night to within throwing distance of our trenches. Barbed wire lines and trenches are now being constructed further back towards the coast, in case. As we were up at Brigade headquarters we noticed one of our aeroplanes swoop down onto the Salt Lake, obviously having to make a forced landing. A short pause, during which we noticed the pilot and observer climb out, when suddenly shrapnel bursts over the machine and very near. It is quickly followed by another and another, and later high explosive shells, when the pilot and the observer scurry away pretty quickly. They are wise, for the Turkish artillery are now well onto the machine, which is rapidly becoming a helpless wreck. I should think they put a hundred shells on that machine before they stopped. October fourteenth. Last night they tried to disturb our rest by putting one shell over to us every hour. One seemed to come very near our dugout, but we were too sleepy to bother. What's the good? At eight this morning they get very busy again with their shelling, and at nine three of the big deadly shrapnel come over at once, followed a few minutes after by three more, and then later still another three. It is evident that they cannot spare very many of these every day, but after each bout the cry of stretcher-bearers is shouted down the valley. Shortly after the wounded are carried away to the hospital, and this scene has now become a painfully familiar one. It is very cold today, and the gale still continues, hampering the navy's work of landing stores. The afternoon was quiet, a great gale sprang up at dark and blew hard all night. It is now very cold. One consolation, flies are dying off. October fifteenth. Today has been cold and cloudy with a strong wind. Artillery duels all day, with ships joining in. We were shelled this afternoon, but fortunately today had no five-nine shrapnel. Cox and Genison came to tea, and Walker and myself walked back with them, called in at Brigade Headquarters, here that now we are at war with Bulgaria. October sixteenth. At five this morning, dawn, the Turks began a general bombardment, chiefly on our right, Chocolate Hill, and at Anzac. But the subsequent attack on their part seemed to die away quickly, no news as to results. At eleven a.m. an enemy airplane sails over. Our two anti-aircraft guns on shore start firing, and make such good practice that the machine quickly gets out of range and sails over towards Anzac, disappearing suddenly into the clouds. Many thought she had been brought down, and a great cheer goes up and clapping of hands. Shortly after, however, she is seen coming back over the bay once more, flying low. HMS Glory and Canopus fire with their anti-aircraft guns, but wide of the mark. She turns and sails up inland once more, perilously close to our shore anti-aircraft guns, which make excellent practice. One shell bursts dangerously near the machine, whereupon she dives, swings to the right, and, climbing again, sails over Chocolate Hill. One over our trenches, heavy rifle and machine-gun fire break out at her, but she sails calmly on over Sarri Bear to her base beyond in safety. Result? Honors with the enemy pilot. A damned cool customer, but a very nasty trip for him. It lasts under ten minutes, so that he has not much time for observing, but no doubt enough for his purpose. The rest of the day we have the usual artillery duels, rather heavier than usual, and at three twenty p.m., and again at five, we have our usual shelling by our old friend Whistling Rufus. October seventeenth. At nine this morning the Turks very heavily bombarded our reserve lines and our batteries on our left. They were very prodigal of ammunition, showing that their supply had been replenished, probably from Bulgaria. They put in some very large stuff nine inch at least, and at very long range. Our batteries and ships were active in reply. It is cold and windy and raining. Went up to Brigade with Way, and later to eighty-sixth, where the Padre was holding Sunday service. Beach shelled a little while we were away. Tomorrow is the great Mohammedan feast day, and we expect a general attack on the part of the Turks. October eighteenth. Rainy morning, bit of shelling in morning and early afternoon, but not very damaging shells. At four they started dropping large shells, about eleven inch, which whistled over with a tremendous shriek, and burst with a thunderous crack. They must have come a long way as we could not hear the report of the gun. They were bursting too near for our liking, and we were glad when they stopped. Some say they came from the Goban. They finished up their bout with five-nine shrapnel. So far no attack by the Turks. News that Sir Ian Hamilton is going, and that General Monroe is taking his place, reaches us. October nineteenth. A quiet morning, but at four we were shelled as usual. Not much damage. October twentieth, two p.m. Quiet so far to-day, except for a bit of shelling this morning. News reaches us that the tenth division, who were here in August, are at Salonika, whether interned or not we do not know. Turkish festivals still on, and I believe it ends tomorrow. They make a row in their trenches at odd times of the day by the shouting of Allah and the ringing of bells. Sometimes our men, for a joke, throw jam tins full of jam into the Turkish trenches. This happening today, the Turks thought that we were throwing bombs instead of four harmless tins of jam, and they promptly threw back two bombs, whereupon we have to throw six bombs back. This quieted them. Later, however, they threw the four jam tins back, empty, having eaten their contents. October twenty-first. A very heavy gale blowing all day from the northwest. Sky heavy with rain, but wind too high to allow rain to fall. Heavy shelling all morning for three hours without stopping, and again in afternoon. None near our patch. We get the shrapnel, however, from whistling Rufus, which is more comprehensive. Enemy airplane, in spite of gale, is over this morning. Anti-aircraft guns fire, and miss. October twenty-second. A great gale blew all night and is still blowing. Cold and cloudy. Artillery duels going on as usual. Not much shelling on this beach. At four we have three of the five-nine shrapnel over our little corner. One could not hear them coming because of the gale. October twenty-third. Beaches shelled a bit this morning. Gale continues all day, and it is very cold. Soon after four we are shrapneled once more, having about ten large ones over in a period of half an hour, causing casualties. The gale prevents anybody hearing them coming. Go up to brigade headquarters, and it is hard work walking against the wind. Country looking bleak and miserable. Come back on motor ambulance. At night I am up to the commander-royal engineer's nulla, forming a forward dump of reservations. We have to work in a cold, driving rain. October twenty-fourth. Gale still continues. Flights of birds, which had collected in great numbers some few days ago, now seem all to have left. Has been raining all morning. Very little shelling from Turks. Go up to brigade headquarters and have tea. Gale dies down towards evening. Beautiful coloring of sky over the sea. A background of gray rain clouds, golden buff-colored strips of sky, gray sea, against which are silhouetted sepia-colored trees and gorse bushes. Imbrose, now gray as the sea, is always in the picture. The eternal picture in which is painted our monotonous life on Gallipoli. We are waiting, waiting with no news, and some of us are saying with no hope. These latter, however, suffer from tummy troubles. October twenty-fifth. Six months ago today I landed at Hellas. It seems like six years. Today we are still an hour's walk from the sea to the front trenches at all three landings. This morning is a cool, beautiful summer morning. Flies seem to come again from somewhere, but not so bad as before, yet sufficient to be called a pest in England. Usual artillery duels all day, and we are shrapneled again in the afternoon. At six p.m. go up to Commander Royal Engineer's Dump about the reservations we are putting there. Cloudy evening. October twenty-sixth. A cool, fine morning, rather cloudy, birds again flying in large coveys overhead, wild geese and crane, etc. Men fire at them, though it is strictly against orders. Hardly any artillery duels in mourning. Go up to Commander Royal Engineer's Dump with Major Fraser, and later, leaving him, go on to Brigade and have tea. Adjutant of Worcesters, who was wounded in the landing in April, and who has been back in England, was there. We, who have been out here all the time, look upon those who have been back in England with great interest. After tea, Morris, the machine-gun officer, takes me out to see his machine-gun in placements on Gun Hill, which is a little hill lying some two hundred yards behind our front-line trenches. The ground, on its left, rising steeply to the high ridge overlooking the sea, and, on its right, sloping gently down to the low land. We pass the Worcester Regiment in the reserve trenches dug in an open space on the left of Brigade headquarters, looking in shore. Then we pass down a communication trench, coming out into an open space behind a small mound called Gibraltar, round which we pass down a slope leading to a rocky ravine, filled with large boulders, a few trees, and patches of thick gorse bush. There the Hampshire Regiment are dug in. To the left of the ravine are a few graves, and, now and again, a bullet kicks up the dust close by them. Smith, the Hampshire quartermaster, jokingly informs me of a certain way of getting a cushy, blighty wound. If I want one, all I have to do is stand by these graves after dark and wait. In under two hours, most probably in five minutes of waiting, I shall get one in the leg. The bullets come from a Turkish trench high up on the cliffside on our left front. To the right of the ravine one is safe, protected by a rise in the ground. On the left of the ravine one is in constant danger of a smack from a bullet, and more so at night. We continue our way, passing down another trench, and shortly after come out into the open in a lovely glade of grass and trees, situated in dead ground, protected by a little hill in front called Gun Hill. On its slopes we once more enter a trench, which encircles the hill, very similar to the ramparts of an ancient castle. It is a little fortress on its own, standing aloof from the system of trenches situated behind our front line, but in front of our support line, yet blending in with the uneven lie of the land, thereby not making a conspicuous target. At intervals are machine-gun emplacements, with machine-guns in position, pointing through apertures in the sand-bagged breastwork. At the first that we come to we find the sentry not looking out. I shall never forget the frightened look on his face as it meets Morris's, suddenly appearing around the corner of the sand-bagged wall a few inches from him. He gets a stiff strafing. We continue our way, and at the next emplacement come upon a sentry who presents a unique object. For his head is covered by a sand-bag, through which are holes made for his eyes and mouth. To this headgear are fixed sprigs of gorse-bush, and as he stands stock still, with his head and shoulders filling the gap in the breastwork, it must be impossible for an enemy observer to detect his presence from the background of gorse and trees. Yet, if he is detected, a sniper has him for a dead certainty. It is so far safe for such sentries, however, for up to now no casualties have occurred amongst them from a sniper's rifle. Morris asks, is everything okay? And the sentry, without looking round, replies, all's well, sir. I stand beside the sentry and look at the view in front of me, a beautiful view of sloping hills up to the heights of the cliffs which overlook the sea, and on their slopes I see distinctly the irregular, light-brown lines of thrown-up earth, denoting the Turk's front-line trenches, and ours running opposite each other to the summit of the cliffs, about three hundred yards apart. We are six hundred yards from the enemy line, and can be certain victims for a Turkish sniper, should he be aware of our presence. From this position at night, sometimes the Turk receives the contents of, belt after belt, of machine-gun ammunition, poured on to his second and third line, and communication trenches, by indirect fire ranged by day, causing him great inconvenience, and, to wonder from where the bullets come. Our front-line is always warned when any such stunt is on, so that they may not arrange for their working parties or patrols to be out in front. Looking at the country in front of me, I can see that here on these rugged slopes the Turk would have but short shrift if he attacked us, as, of course, would we if we attacked. Result? Deadlock. Like two cats spitting and sparring at each other. Morris says he is always pleased to show people round his pet hobby. I was immensely interested, and Morris might have been showing me round a farm. We come back in the gloaming, Morris now and again stopping to order paper and litter to be picked up, for General Delisle is around here frequently and has the eye of a hawk. October twenty-seventh. A fine morning, with a very warm and strong wind, almost a gale blowing from the sea. Smith of Hampshire's pays us a visit, and as we sit in our dugout we hear whistling rufus coming over from Sarri Bear. One corner of the roof over our dugout is only of tarpolin, for corrugated iron is scarce. Rumors says that a ship which set out from England, loaded with corrugated iron, has been torpedoed and sunk. An officer newly arrived, who is sitting with us, appears to rather scorn my advice to move from where he is sitting under the tarpolin, which is of no protection to him from shrapnel bullets, when, crash from whistling rufus is heard overhead, and the sound of bullets spattering on our roof follows immediately after, just as if an unseen hand with a bowl of pebbles had taken a handful and thrown them with violence down on our abode. A shirt hanging outside on a line to dry receives two bullets through its tail, causing large rents. The new officer immediately gets up from where he is sitting and comes round to our side of the table, where we sit under a roof of corrugated iron with a layer of sandbags on top, safe from everything but a direct hit. This five-nine shrapnel is followed by others, and in the distance we hear the roar of Turkish artillery and bursting shrapnel. Whistling rufus ceases worrying us after a while, and we go up to behind our dugout to look inland at the Turkish shelling. All along our line and behind, Turkish shrapnel is bursting thickly, being more concentrated over Chocolate Hill and on Hill Ten, which is situated on the left of the Salt Lake and half a mile from Bee Beach. About half an hour after, we hear rifle fire, which dies down quickly and all is quiet. What it was all about I do not know. Probably the end of the Turkish festival. Or, probably, Enver Pasha has paid a visit, and sitting on top of Seri Bear has asked for a show to be demonstrated to him. I must say, such a show viewed from the top of Seri Bear must appear a wonderful sight. October 28. A hot, sultry day and the flies a pest. A very quiet morning. No news. Hardly any shelling on the part of the Turk, but our artillery and ship's guns fairly active. I go up to Brigade Headquarters to T., and after, on the way back, call in at the 88th Field Ambulance, situated in a tent encampment on a plateau lying between Karakol Doe and the Turkish positions. Here the situation is most interesting. The white tents and marquise are in full view of the Turks, and not a shot comes near, for John Turk plays the game. It is almost like living in a garden city, with the open country all round, and the feeling one gets is very odd. So near to war, and yet so far. Patience rest quite at their ease in their walls of canvas, while over their heads, singing their dread song, the Turkish shells pass on their way to the beaches. October 29. A hot day and flies very trying. Turks busy with artillery at Chocolate Hill and Anzac. Our artillery busily replying. Nothing our way. Heard firing off-coast of Bulgaria last night. Our artillery have been very active all day, and are still firing, although it is dark. We have now several new batteries ashore, and for the past few days the Turk has been very quiet. We had only two shells over our way to day. Our artillery seems to be getting well on top. Monroe has arrived, all good luck to him. Now perhaps we shall get a move on. We feel now either move on or off. But heaven defend us from the inaction and waste of time of the last six months. Stuart has gone off, suffering very badly with dysentery. He was stubborn about it, and would not see the doctor until at last he had to be carried off on a stretcher. I shall miss him very much as he was good company. October 30. A hot summer day and flies a plague. The division has sustained a sad loss today. Algi Wood of the Essex has gone west. He had been through everything since the landing, and at noon today was shot in the throat while in the support trench near his orderly room. He became a friend of mine as he became a friend of all he met, and I have often referred to him in my diary. He just had time to say to his Sergeant Major, who went to him, I'm finished Sergeant Major, and then died, a name that will never be forgotten by the survivors of the 29th Division. Nearly all the best have gone now. Lord Howard de Walden comes into our dugout in the evening and has a chat. He is our Deputy Assistant Adjutant and Quartermaster General, and very popular. Monroe is a shorter day with staff for a pow-wow at Ninth Corps headquarters. No news from Salonica. October 31. Another summer day, hardly any shelling on our part, and absolutely none on the part of the Turk. And so ends October, a monotonous dreary month. Phew, how many more such months. End of Section 18. Section 19 of Gallipoli Diary. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Sue Anderson. Gallipoli Diary by John Graham Gillum. Section 19. November 1 to 25, 1915. November 1. Last night was very rough, and several lighters were wrecked on the beach. We also lost a destroyer which ran on the rocks just off West Beach. No loss of life. A cool summer day again, and no shelling from the Turks this morning. Flies not quite so bad, but still a plague. They have become persistent, fat, sleepy ones now. No shelling from the Turks at all, and our artillery hardly fire a shot. November 2. A few shells only this morning. A beautiful summer day, but flies badly worrying. A battery has been put on the road just by the rise before 80th Brigade headquarters. Destroyer which ran on the rocks yesterday, still in the same position. November 3. After breakfast, having arranged for a visit round the trenches with Panton, the deputy assistant director of medical services, I go up to division headquarters at the top of our gully. We start off, accompanied by Lord Howard de Walden. Pass through the 88th field ambulance camp, dip down onto the beach road, and after a short way along, bear to the right onto Gibraltar Road. Instead of walking up along the Gibraltar Road, as has been the practice of most of us up to now, we bear to the right through the low wooded country between Gibraltar Road and Hill 10. We cross the newly made line of trenches, with barbed wire thickly laid in front, passing a bombing school on our left. Turkish bullets fired at a high elevation just reached this point, dropping with spent velocity. As we walk through the Allman trees just beyond, the guns of the two battleships bang out suddenly. We hear the great shells shrieking over our heads, and see them burst with violence over Burnt Hill on our right front. Passing the Allman trees, we make a detour to the left, arriving in the open space which leads to 86th Brigade headquarters. Panton stops here at an advanced dressing station, and while we wait for him a few bullets sing overhead. But there is never much rifle fire in the daytime. We then dip down into CC communication trench and follow its windings to the line. We pass over one or two bridges, crossing large drains that have been dug to drain the trenches when the wet weather comes. We are warned by the formation of the irregular hills, nullas, and ravines, and the great boulders of stone standing out of the ground, that at some time during the year rain falls in great quantities. What will our trenches be like on the low ground when that time does come? Salt Lake, on our left, gradually sinking underwater, answers that question. We see shrapnel bursting low over that part of the line we are making for, and I have a desire to turn my coat collar up. I always do when I am near shells, why I don't know. We arrive at the support trench in which are the monsters and Dublin fusiliers. I see a few men clustered together in the trench at a small entrance leading to a dugout. One comes out from the dugout and says, by jasses the poor lads gone. A man had been hit by shrapnel and had just died after about twenty minutes. We continue on, and on arrival at the Essex Regiment I inquire where Algy Wood had been hit. I am taken up a short trench which turns sharply to the left, coming to an abrupt end at a dugout—his dugout. I inquire how it happened, and am told that he was leaning up against the back of the trench immediately outside his dugout with his pipe in his mouth, looking at an airplane which was hovering over our line. Suddenly a bullet strikes him in the throat. He takes his pipe out of his mouth, makes a gesture of extreme annoyance with his arm, and mutters the words, damn it. Then he sinks back in the arms of his Sergeant Major, who is standing near him, and saying, I am finished, Sergeant Major. Quietly goes west. Struck by a chance bullet in a comparatively safe place. Cruel, cruel luck. At least Algy Wood, one of the most gallant officers of that pick of divisions the twenty-ninth, should have been spared. However, he had the satisfaction of putting up his hard-earned Distinguished Service Order ribbon a week or so ago. We continue our way along trenches which, instead of running more or less in regular lines, zigzag in and out in sharp turns and corners, which face the high hills on our left, each corner protected by strong sandbag breastworks. The reason for this is that these breastworks, placed at short intervals in that part of the line where we are, screen us from view of the enemy in his trenches high up on the ridge of hills which overlook the sea on our left. Of course, we in our trenches up there also can overlook the Turks in the trenches running through the low country in their territory, which trenches also are punctuated at frequent short intervals by breastworks. In consequence of the danger of being seen by Turks on the hill, our trenches on the low land are very narrow, and Lord Howard De Walden causes great amusement to some Tommys sitting on the fire-step by the remark, these trenches were not built for a man with an extra-large tummy. We follow Panton, who is on his round of inspection of sumps, cesspits, cookhouses, and the general sanitation of the trenches, myriads of flies which precede us on our way. When we halt they all promptly settle in black patches on the sandbags and sides of trenches. When we continue our tour, they, rising immediately with a loud buzzing, lead the way for us. An inspection of the cookhouse of the Newfoundland Regiment is made. It is built in a small, sunken ravine at the back of the support line. Panton and Frew, their medical officer, go to the end of the ravine. I wait at the end near entrance to the trench. A Newfoundler says to me, excuse me, sir, but in the place in which you are standing our cook was killed yesterday by a sniper from the hill. I am rude enough to forget to thank the man. I simply turned round on my heel, practically diving into the trench. But I shouted thanks to him as we left five minutes after. After a short walk along the front line, the usual front line, with men at short intervals on the keen lookout through periscopes, we return by de-communication trench, half an hour's walk. We pass Gibraltar hill, and so over the gorse to Gibraltar road, arriving at division headquarters on the hill, where I am given a topping lunch. It is a beautiful summer day, and the Turks are sending over-sporting shots at the shipping. The battleships answer, so the enemy turn their guns onto them instead, and actually record two hits on the Prince George, which then maneuvers for a fresh position. Then they get onto the supply ships again, which have to clear outside the boom further away from the end of the promontory. Suddenly a good shot at long range gets a supply ship, which is loaded with hay, and quickly sets it on fire. Our battleships get very angry at this, but it is some time before they can silence the Turkish batteries. At sunset the hay supply ship is still smoking, but the fire is well under control. A new officer arrives named Hunt, a good fellow from Tipperary. Good omen, for though we are a long, long way from Tipperary, one from that immortal place has come to join us. November 4. The ship that was set on fire yesterday lost practically all the hay in the forward hold. Consequently, for some time our poor little Indian mules will be on half-rations. Destoyer has now broken her back and is a total wreck, waves breaking over her. Rain is beginning now. We had a few showers this morning, a little shelling in the morning, but the afternoon was quiet. Go up to brigade headquarters with the new transport officer Hunt. Find conference on, so McLaughlin and Morris entertain us to tea. Have to make a detour through flat, wooded country, getting to and from headquarters on account of this beastly new battery. Very quiet this afternoon, no shelling and hardly any rifle fire. Hunt remarked, coming back, that it was a nice country walk and reminded him of his homestead in Tipperary. He has been at Blackheath for the last six months at headquarters at the rangers' lodge, and left there only three weeks ago. So I like getting him to talk about Blackheath, which I knew so well. I have been on this place so long now that a newcomer has only to mention about riding on a tram-car or going into a cake-shop when I am held thrilled with interest and pleasure. November 5. A beautiful, cool summer day. Shelled at ten this morning for quite an hour. The destroyer has now completely broken her back, and her stern has disappeared. The Turks discovered the mishap, but they could not see that she is a wreck, as she is bows on to the Turkish position, thinking therefore that the destroyer was still intact though stuck on the ground. They attempted to finish her off, and for three hours shelled her. They only recorded two hits, however, and it was satisfactory to see Old Turk wasting his ammunition. Today another old friend has gone. He is Wei, the 86th supply officer, who has been here since April 25th without ever going sick. He felt rather dicky two days ago, and was told to stay in his dugout, and today I find he has developed diphtheria badly. He tries not to go, but a doctor soon settles that. I shall now feel more lonely than ever, for we were great pals, and our walks to our respective headquarters were among the few pleasures that I could look forward to. When casualties occurred at his dump, he was always there to attend to the wounded, and as supply officer the 86th brigade will miss him. I wonder how many of the old 29th are left. Well, Wei is for blighty, and good luck to him, but diphtheria is a nasty illness, and I hope he pulls through. November 6th. Walker has gone off permanently to hospital with Jaundice, and Hunt and myself are left on our own. Beautiful summer day to day, Turk very quiet and hardly any shelling. Swifture back, and the Canopus and Prince George, busy shelling Turkish positions this afternoon. November 7th. Another beautiful summer day, Turk shelled our valley at 10, and again at 3. No damage, though some were uncomfortably close to us. Our ships and shore batteries fairly busy, monitors busy at night. November 8th. A cool, lovely day. Flies are dying rapidly, the best news to record for a long time. Two new Army Service Corps officers arrived to join us, named Matthews and Elphinstone. Very few shells this morning, but they come very near our dugout this time. Cox of the Essex comes in for a chat. The only original officer now left of that regiment. I walk back with him to brigade headquarters, and Matthews comes with me. Walking across the flat space, just leading to the 86th brigade headquarters, I point out to Matthews the lines of light brown earth running up the slopes of the hill on our left front. And he hardly believes me when I tell him one line is Turkish. Like all who newly arrive, he is surprised at the short walk from the beach to the line. Our batteries are dusting the Turkish line with shrapnel, and their batteries are retaliating. They make very good shooting on both sides, as, of course, they have all the ranges registered to a nicety. We call at both brigades and have tea at each. Coming away, Matthews tells me that he is of a retiring disposition, and that he does not like being thrown suddenly into new society, and that two tea parties is more than his nerves can stand, more especially when a general is present at each. November 9. Usual visit to brigade headquarters with Hunt, and, after inspect the forward reservations at Commander Royal Engineer's Dump, men busy digging trenches back near beaches now, on another beautiful cool summer day, cold at night, Turks busy shelling batteries and shrapneling trenches. There is only one possible game for the Turk to play, and he is playing it well. That is to say, he must keep us at bay at all costs. Therein lies his only chance. For once we can get across the peninsula to Meadows, his game is up, for we cut his main line of communications. So he shells us continually to keep us occupied. The shelling is so effective that elaborate dugouts have to be built. These are made as strong as possible, the inner walls being strengthened with sandbags, the roof formed with strong crossbeams, on which rest, first, iron sheets or wire netting, then two layers of sandbags, then soil. These dugouts are perfectly secure against shrapnel or high explosive splinters, but of course could not stand against a direct hit. But that would not worry the occupants much, as it would be all over in a few minutes. Inside such houses we have lounges cut out of the earth and covered with sacks. Our furniture is rough and ready, and made on the spot. It is marvellous what can be done with any ordinary wooden box, if you know how to deal with it. Out of our wooden boxes, chairs and tables appear like magic, chairs with arms and adjustable backs, strong tables and various other bits of furniture. Some of them are really quite good, and show clearly the ingenuity of their makers. We also have candlesticks, recesses for books and toilet articles, all made from the same source. Fireplaces are made out of homemade bricks, for there is a good deal of clay on the peninsula. They are good fireplaces, too, complete with mantelpiece, bars and hob. So we sit round of an evening, reading periodicals a month old, with the same zest and interest as we read the latest editions at home. By the papers England sounds depressing. So we would rather be here. We do know the truth of Gallipoli here. Man likes to know what he is up against. Seven divisions at the start would have fixed this job, no ships would have been lost, and our little friend Bulgaria would have thought twice of coming in against us. All night outside we hear the crack-crack-crack of the rifles and the trenches. Worcesters did a good bit of work the other night, capturing a sniper's post three hundred yards in front. Only two casualties over that little job, they expected more. Turks in front of the twenty-ninth have fairly got the wind up, we bomb and shell their nerves away. General Cayley says he is quite happy and does not want to go to Solonica as he is looking forward to sitting round his fire of a winter's night. General Percival says, bother General Cayley's fireplace, he wants to go to Solonica and get a move on. And so they live their lives these men, lives full of danger, yet joking about their fireplaces. November 10th. Another fairly quiet day, ships firing a bit against Turkish batteries which are sending back shrapnel. Take up Elphinstone to Brigade and have tea at the 86th. Have some excellent rock cakes made by their cook. General Cayley calls in. We walk round with him to the 88th. I get awfully fed up at times, but every time I see General Cayley he gives me a spurt for a few days. I had jaundiced badly about two weeks ago, and they were going to send me off, and that meant England. I got a spurt and soon felt fit again, and have never felt so well in all my life. Morris, machine-gun officer of the 88th, seriously ill with rheumatism, but he is trying to hang on. Destroyers and monitors make a practice of shelling the pimple from the Gulf of Soros now. Amusing marching destroyers. They fire, then emit a cloud of smoke, sail round behind it, then fire again, and so on. Old Turk can't hit back. Shelling pimple much in fashion just now. Poor old Turk. Fancy trying to get to sleep on the pimple with big guns throwing great shrieking shells at him all night. November 11. Lovely summer day. Our moving camp to 9th Corps Gully. Busy arranging the necessary digging. Turk's very busy with shrapnel this morning around Chocolate Hill and to the left. Battleships very angry and fire back, making a fearful noise. Old Turk sticks at it, though. General Delisle, riding with Assistant Deputy Commander and orderly, nearly gets hit. He takes too much risk and seems to have no nerves. November 12. Getting rather cold now. Fleet firing heavily today and Turk's as usual, busy with shrapnel. Sea Beach badly shelled. And Thirteenth Division supply depot gets it badly, several casualties. A year ago today I received my commission and joined the Thirteenth Division. If I had not joined the Twenty-ninth Division, I might have been on the sea beach today with the Thirteenth Division. Go up to Brigade with Elphinstone and see new Staff Captain Armstrong. Hadao is now with the Eleventh Division. And I am sorry he is gone. Stay till dusk. Turkish snipers always creep out at dusk. Bullets freely coming when we take our leave. Over the course outside the Brigade headquarters, I say to Elphinstone, at this point at night I always walk fast. And he, this being his first experience, says, I am with you. Out of range we light our pipes, then a comfortable walk back in the moonlight, finish up work at the depot, dinner and a smoke, and to hell with a Kaiser. November 13. It is getting very windy and cold, but day quite fine. Flies still worrying, but not nearly so bad as a few weeks back. No shelling from Turk. Ships firing on Turkish batteries which are badly shrapneling Chocolate Hill. Kitchener in neighborhood. Matthews leaves to be adjutant of train at Hellas, and Hunt and I go out in his penis to see him off. See a bit choppy, and I, sitting on top of the engine room, nearly fall through the skylight into the engines. Horn arrives to take his place. Has seen Kitchener at Moudros with a numerous staff. Staff Captain, 86th Brigade, comes to tea. Show him over our new camp for winter, which is in course of preparation. It is going to be some camp. It breaks the monotony making this camp. Guests for dinner, beautiful moonlight night, and very quiet. November 14. A bit of a gale blowing. Another quiet day. Absolutely no shelling. Kitchener arrives here at three o'clock with staff. Was up Brigade with Horn at the time, and so missed the show, but my sergeant told me about it. He landed at Little West Beach, walked through the main supply depot, and then passed our depot, up Ninth Corps gully to the top of the hill, and had a good look round the positions. He was only here about two hours. Tommy's came running up and stood in groups at attention, while their commissioned officers and officers saluted, and he passed along saluting gravely, right and left, now and again stopping to look at some dugouts. There is now general satisfaction that Kitchener has been, and seen for himself, what things are really like here. No shelling of the beaches while he was on shore, but the lowlands were being shrapneled. November 15. Quiet morning. In the afternoon the Turks put a dozen of the best over the beach, but did no harm. A bit of a battle on Chocolate Hill this afternoon at five, and rifle fire, and a great deal of shrapnel for half an hour. Our battleships firing heavily and making a deafening din. Heavy thunderstorms at eight, with vivid forked lightning and rain. I suppose this is a foretaste of what is to come. The safety of the beaches has now greatly improved. West Beach and the beach adjacent are now joined by a deep cutting. A deep trench, starting at the main supply depot, runs down to West Beach, in which is laid a tramway used for carrying supplies from the piers to the depot. This is under cover entirely hidden from the enemy by day. The earth taken from this cutting or deep trench has been thrown up in great mounds at the back of the two beaches, rendering them safe from high explosive shells, though of course not from shrapnel. But Whistling Rufus has not worried us since the late days of October, devoting his attention to the unfortunately situated sea-beach on the other side of Lala Baba. The road leading up on the higher ground to our division headquarters is now sunk, and the dugout earth, thrown up on the side facing the enemy, hides all transport by day entirely from his view. Since this has been done, this road has been almost entirely free from shrapnel. November 16th. Men are hard at work digging our new camp in Ninth Corps Gully. We move there when Ninth Corps headquarters move to the end of the promontory. Ninth Corps new headquarters should be entirely winter-proof, even during the severest weather. They are also practically invulnerable. By reason of their position and the vast amount of labour that has been expended upon them, I myself saw sheds in sections being put bodily into rock excavated to receive them. There were communication trenches cut in the living rock, connecting dugout with dugout. Also, elaborate excavations in the rock form shell-proof living quarters, and, when necessary, unlimited wood, iron, and sandbags have been lavishly used. The whole place is a perfect engineering achievement, the most wonderful nest of safety that the mind of man could conceive. How different are the conditions at Lalababa but three miles away, where the wretched hovels of the troops cluster as thickly as the cells in a honeycomb. No coping of iron or beams there. A man is lucky if he has as much as a blanket or a waterproof sheet to stretch over his miserable hole in the ground. Not enough shelter to keep out the raindrops, let alone shrapnel. The system on which our camp is being modelled is the same as for all the other beach camps here. An effort is being made to house them in through the rigours of the winter storms, which no doubt will soon be upon us. Taking advantage of the sloping ground in the fold of the gully on the promontory, which increases in height as it extends inland towards the high land, deep trenches are dug parallel to the lines of our trenches in shore. They are seven feet wide, with parapets and paradoxes eight feet and six and a half feet high respectively. They should be roofed in by corrugated iron, some only of them are, however. Corrugated iron is still a luxury here. Filled sandbags are then laid on the top, which should render them shrapnel-proof. As they generally run at right angles to the line of turkey-chartillery fire, a high explosive shell would explode on the mound of earth, thrown up in front of the parapet, and not in the roof. Each trench is dug on lower ground than the one in front. The whole system is being organised by an able technical engineer officer, who is hard at work from morning to night. His camp is taken as a model. Although in view of the enemy its safety against casual shelling, such as we are daily subjected to, has been demonstrated several times. Against a heavy bombardment, of course, no trenches are proof. Shrapnel bullets have spattered harmlessly on his sandbag-roofs. High explosive shells bursting full in the middle of his camp have been caught by the mound of earth in front of the trench. Should the shell miss one line of trenches, it is caught by the mound of earth in front of the other line behind. A direct hit on the roof, except from a howitzer, is almost impossible. Drains are cut about and around the trenches to catch the water from the forthcoming heavy rains, and advantage is taken of the formation of the gullies to make one main drain into which smaller drains can run. One has only to look at the great boulders of stone, standing half in and half out of the earth, all over the high ground of the peninsula, and at the large, medium and small gullies, which are of all kinds of intricate geographical formations, to realize that, at some time of the year, not only a series of ordinary rainfalls, but raging deluges of water fall in all powerful torrents, mercilessly driving all before them, even great boulders of stone. No trenches, no matter how well constructed, can withstand heavy driving floods. But engineers first study the formation of the land, pause and reason a little, and they will see that all this labor will be lost and their trenches full to the brim at the first heavy downfall. In dry weather, though, the system is excellent, and the men inside are very comfortable. The trenches are entered by steps from the road or path at either end, or from the terrace behind between each trench. At night the men sleep in one row, side by side, their kits hung on the earth wall behind them. Quarters for non-commissioned officers are partitioned off by timber and sacking. By day their blankets are rolled up neatly, and the hole makes a roomy apartment. A cookhouse constructed on the same principle is built at the end of a series of trenches. Officers dugouts are built nearby, dug in the slope or behind protecting boulders. The hole, neat, orderly, and compact, affords remarkably good cover from shrapnel and high explosives. But, for protection against weather, never. For protection against weather, I prefer the delyle system of terraces, built on a steep slope in tiers. The hole practically a flight of very large steps. But, of course, a steep slope is necessary. The men's quarters are simply built on each terrace. The back wall is cut out of earth, the roof of corrugated iron supported by timbers and made shrapnel-proof, and the sides are built up of loose stones, tarpaulins, and timber. The hill on which such a system is built affords the necessary protection against shell-fire. It is, of course, weather-proof as it is simple to drain. Sea-peach and lullababa across the bay get very badly shelled this afternoon, and in consequence the battleships are hard at work, endeavouring to silence the Turkish batteries. Sounds of very heavy firing are heard from Hellas, probably monitors in action. November 17. Very little shelling, hardly any our way. Today is very stormy, and as the time goes on the wind develops into a great gale. All landing of stores has to cease. Great white waves dash up against our piers, and after it is over there will be much work for the Australian bridging section. In the evening our flimsy summer quarters are cold and drafty. The oil-drum fire won't burn. So, we turn in early. Elphinstone and Horn going to their dug out up the rise to our left. Suddenly, just as we are getting into bed, the tarpland half of our roof blows adrift. Hunt and I have a job to fasten it back in position once more. The wind is shrieking outside. A short while after, Horn and Elphinstone come back asking for shelter, for their bivouac has blown down all together, and so we crowd them into our shelter for the rest of the night. November 18, 19, and 20. The usual daily visits to brigade headquarters, forward reserve dumps, and division headquarters. I get exercise this way. Also, to and fro on the beach, paying calls on friends among the many dugouts there. Some are excellent, especially those of the naval landing officers and camp commandant built in the side of the high rocks. The field cashier has to be stung by me now and again on behalf of my staff captain to pay the men of brigade headquarters. His dugout is not in a very safe place. Once outside the dugout, leaning against the wall of sandbags talking to an Australian officer, I heard a shell coming clean for us. I had no time to get to cover. I saw men several yards away dive for cover. I watched the Australian. He did not duck, but I noticed that he gripped his pipe tightly with his teeth. I leaned back hard against the wall behind me, and the beastly thing passed low over our heads and burst in the sea. I said to him, I wanted to duck, but as you didn't, I didn't. And he replied, Same here, son. Gale has been blowing hard the last three days, the navy having great difficulty in landing stores, etc. But tonight, the night of the 20th, the wind is dying down. Hardly any shelling at all now, except inland. Our flimsy bivouac very drafty and cold. It is hard work keeping our accounts and doing our office work. November 22. Gale blowing hard now and wind much colder, hard at work building our new camp. Hunt falls ill and has to go to bed, but trying to stick it out. Turks very quiet. We are woke up at twelve midnight by a dugout on fire, and all turn out to get the fire under and prevent it spreading in the strong wind to neighboring dugouts. We curse heartily, but manage to put the fire out in half an hour. No one is hurt. November 23. Wind quieting down, thank goodness. We pulled down our summer residence in which we had lived for close on three months. In a short while, not a sign of it is left, and we are hard at work shifting the whole camp into our new quarters in the late Ninth Corps gully. Each regiment's quartermaster's staff and a few regimental transport details and our Army Service Corps supply details move with us. Also the two brigade post offices. Our camp is not properly finished, but we are all glad to be in it, for it is much warmer at night in our dugouts. November 24. The weather is now much more settled. It was making us all very anxious as landing stores was very difficult for the Navy. Brigade headquarters country walk again, but life very monotonous. Battleships now and again pop off. A little shelling from the Turk, but not half a dozen all day. Hard at work on new camp. November 25. Hunt very seedy, so I send him to field ambulance. At night hear a rumor that the evacuation of Suvla Bay has been decided on. Go down on beach in the evening to see about arrangements for getting off, but am led to believe it is only baggage for a division which is leaving. End of section 19