Gallipoli (54 page)

‘Men passing the fork in Monash Valley,' Charles Bean would quote a soldier saying of Quinn's Post, ‘used to glance at the place … as a man looks at a haunted house.'
³⁹

The problem is not only that the Turkish trenches are so close but also that they are higher. It means that lobbing bombs on the Australians is de rigueur, and Australian heads that appear for even a moment above the parapet are fair game, good sport.

As General Hamilton would write, after an inspection, ‘all the time from that fiery crestline which is Quinn's, there comes a slow constant trickle of wounded – some dragging themselves painfully along; others being carried along on stretchers. Bomb wounds all; a ceaseless, silent stream of bandages and blood. Yet three out of four of “the boys” have grit left for a gay smile or a cheery little nod to their comrades waiting for their turn as they pass, pass, pass, down on their way to the sea … Men live through more in five minutes on that crest than they do in five years of Bendigo or Ballarat.'
⁴⁰

Despite repeated Turkish attacks against this vital position, the Australians cannot be moved, sticking to their guns even if for great sacrifice. How, then, to achieve the breakthrough?

One Turkish officer has an idea, and on this evening his men start to dig. Quickly. Quietly.

EVENING, 9 MAY 1915, THE NEWS BREAKS IN MAADI CAMP

At Maadi Camp in Egypt, where the Australian Light Horse have been training since 8 February 1915, they call it The Stadium – a very glorified name for what is little more than a rough ring of sand, surrounded by some ropes, where boxing matches are put on to entertain the men.

On this evening, they have got through the preliminary bouts and now move to the main event, where, sadly, an ex-middleweight champion of Ireland by the name of Bonsoll just manages to – with extraordinary
luck
! – get the best of Private William Cameron from Queensland, winning on points over the regulation ten rounds.

Still, you know it is fair because the decision is given by the referee, who is none other than the 2nd Light Horse's Colonel Granville Ryrie. And now, through all the cheering, the Brigadier wishes to be heard. He is going to speak! Is he going to say what they all hope he is going to say? Confirm the rumours that have been swirling for the last few days? The Stadium instantly falls silent, waiting to hear their beloved Commanding Officer.

The ‘Old Brig' – an enormous man of no less than 15 stone 10 pounds, who sleeps beneath a dingo skin and keeps a boomerang under his bunk – pauses before he speaks. ‘Lads,' he starts out, in his stentorian tones, ‘this is the first chance I've had of addressing you since our mates fixed bayonets in earnest over yonder, and I want you to join me in three cheers for our gallant comrades in the Infantry, the men who made the world ring with their deeds on the 25th of April, and who are now hanging on and in dire need of help.'

Hip-hip!
HOORAY!
Hip-hip!
HOORAY!
Hip-hip!
HOORAY!

‘Now then,' he resumes, when at last the tumult dies down. ‘I know that you're all anxious to give them all the help you can, and I can tell you tonight on the best authority that it won't be many days before we are alongside of them.'
⁴¹

This time, the noise near raises the canvas roof as the pent-up emotion of months of waiting pours out. The men throw their hats in the air, pound each other's backs, pump each other's hands and roar themselves hoarse.

You heard him. The Old Brig said it. We are going to Gallipoli! The cheering is so long and so strong that, as Trooper Bluegum would record it, ‘the residents of Maadi, when they heard it, thought peace had been declared!'.
⁴²

Nothing could be further from the truth, and things move quickly from here. Just 36 hours later, the Light Horse receive their formal orders, and on the morning of 12 May, Brigadier-General Frederic Hughes of the 3rd Brigade posts a Special Brigade Order, detailing who will be going to Gallipoli and who will remain behind to look after the horses – some ten per cent of the Brigade.

And there really is a sting in the horse's tail.

For the effete Brigadier Frederic Hughes and eternally rambunctious Brigade-Major Jack Antill, the opportunity is too good to miss. You see, who better to leave behind in charge of those who remain than the ever troublesome Colonel Noel Brazier, who has been in all but open warfare with the Bullant since the day they had left Fremantle.

It is with barely restrained glee, then, that the Bullant posts a Special Brigade Order:

Ah, the Bullant. A military man to the core of his being – obsessed with military hierarchy and his own rather high position in it – he has a chin like a clenched fist, and a voice that would put a cracking whip to shame. He is born to be superior to underlings, and regards Colonel Noel Brazier as one of the more uppity of that breed, who must be put down for his own good. Had the two found themselves in any other situation than the military, they would likely have asked each other to step outside to settle this, but in the military there is no
outside
outside to go to. For the moment, at least, Brazier – notwithstanding that his eyes flash lightning – must bite his tongue.

For the moment …

Among those assisting Colonel Brazier will be Lieutenant Hugo Throssell, ‘left in charge of 150 men and 550 horses', as the younger man would note in his diary,
⁴⁴
as he grinds his jaw – which has a slight under-bite – back and forth and side to side out of frustration and sheer disgust.

Throssell does what he can to alter this bitter fate, up to and including badgering senior officers to change the orders and offering money to colleagues to swap with him, but nothing works. No amount of money would convince these men to forgo the privilege of going to Gallipoli, and he finally realises that, for the moment, he just must cop it. Hugo is, by the recollection of a comrade, ‘the most disgusted man in Egypt'.
⁴⁵

The one man who might argue the toss with him is Colonel Brazier, who also pours his angst into his diary, after everyone else is tired of hearing it: ‘Oh Lord. How rotten are things in general. Nothing looks right.'
⁴⁶

Just 72 hours after receiving their orders, the 3rd Light Horse Regiment would head off without them, with the farewell words of Mr Hopkins, President of the Citizens' Committee of Cairo, still ringing in the regiment's ears. ‘God bless you,' he had said. ‘God help the Turks if you get at them with the bayonet.'
⁴⁷

They just can't wait to get to Gallipoli. Think of the glory!

DAWN, 11 MAY 1915, ANZAC COVE, AT THE GOING DOWN OF THE SUN, AND IN THE MORNING …

Oh, the sheer bloody agony of it. The death, the destruction, the devastation of a once-fine regiment. For, as the exhausted and bloodied sun struggles to get over the Sari Bair Range of the Gallipoli Peninsula this morning, it is witness to a typically catastrophic scene.

There in a godforsaken trench – oh, yes, it is – is a small gathering of shattered soldiers, staring into the middle-distance as they gather around a sergeant reading out a list of names in the roll call.

Private Brockman?

…

Private Byrne?

…

Private Holdsworth?
⁴⁸

…

And again and again, as Ellis Silas would note, the reply is ‘a deep silence which can be felt, despite the noise of the incessant crackling of rifles and screaming of shrapnel …'

Pausing, the sergeant draws a line through each of those names with a quiet, sad sigh and moves on to the next. All that is left is ‘a thin line of weary, ashen-faced men; behind us a mass of silent forms, once our comrades – there they have been for some days, we have not had the time to bury them'.
⁴⁹

Meanwhile, on this day, the Turks are welcoming a most distinguished guest at Kemalyeri. It is no less than General Enver, the Ottoman Minister of War, who has come to pay Lieutenant-Colonel Mustafa Kemal a visit.

For, just over a week earlier, in the midst of battle, Colonel Mustafa had gone over the heads of General Esat, and most certainly General von Sanders, and penned a few – not only controversial but scathing – thoughts to his Minister and ultimate Commander about the situation at Anzac:

And now General Enver is here, though only for a temporary visit.

The two greet each other with the customary kisses, as if nothing is amiss between them, as if Kemal has not laid a most serious charge against his Commander, Liman von Sanders (a plea that, ultimately, General Enver chooses to ignore). They soon retire and discuss other matters – such as how to push these enemy infidels back into the sea – over coffee and numerous cigarettes.

12 MAY 1915, FURPHIES IN FLEET STREET

The news is good!

Printed in London newspapers, and indeed around the world, the cabled report of the fantastic success of the assaults on Krithia are devoured by millions in the Allied countries.

 

TURKS LOSE 45,000

DEFENDING STRAITS

 

Meanwhile, at Anzac, the 1000-odd men of the greenhorn 1st and 2nd Regiments of the 1st Light Horse Brigade have arrived, followed by the New Zealand Mounted Rifles the next day. The 2nd Light Horse will be stationed at Pope's Hill – ‘a long, razor-backed hill forming an isolated post between two gullies which form the head of Monash Gully'
⁵²
– while to the 1st falls the dubious honour of assisting in the defence of Quinn's Post. As the 2nd LHR climb in worried wonderment, wending towards their lofty post, they cross paths with the weary forms of the descending soldiers of the 15th, who are clearly so exhausted they can barely speak.

‘What was it like up there?' a goggle-eyed greenhorn asks.

‘You may,' replies a vague veteran, ‘get a few bombs …'
⁵³

13 MAY 1915, DARDANELLES AND LONDON, TOO HOT IN THE KITCHENER

One minute the 17-year-old battleship
Goliath
is there, moored just inside the mouth of the Dardanelles on the European side, and the next – after a Turkish destroyer creeps out of the Straits in the wee hours and successfully launches three torpedoes straight at it – well, the next it is heading to the bottom, taking 570 sailors with it.

Following the disaster, Sir John Fisher in London has an urgent meeting with Winston Churchill, where he expresses his very strong view that he is in total agreement with a request just received from Admiral de Robeck that
Queen Elizabeth
must come home. For the consequences of losing the pride of the fleet are unimaginable.

To add to their worry, a German submarine has been spotted off Gibraltar heading east, and there is a strong suspicion it is on its way to the Dardanelles.

As Churchill would recount, First Sea Lord Sir John Fisher ‘wished at all costs to cut the loss and come away from the hated scene. I was bound not only by every conviction, but by every call of honour, to press the enterprise and sustain our struggling army to the full.'
⁵⁴

And yet, outnumbered and outflanked, Churchill reluctantly agrees to bring the mighty warship back to British waters. After all, two 14-inch-gun ‘monitors' – shallow-draft armoured shore-bombardment vessels –
Stonewall Jackson
and
Admiral Farragut
, have just been commissioned and it is the view of the First Lord of the Admiralty that if they are sent with two other battleships out to the Dardanelles, they will be sufficient to replace
Queen Elizabeth
.