A Marine at Gallipoli on the Western Front Page 4

  Passed the day again sniping and digging. I cleaned my rifle a bit, oiled it and pulled it through. I was sick of digging; my hands were raw and my back nearly breaking. It was terribly hot all day with not a bit of cover from the sun and not a drop of water to drink. It was impossible to eat bully; it was just like salt. The smell from the dead bodies got sickening as the sun got stronger and when one of them got hit again by a shell or bullet the smell got worse. We got one or two guns into position during the day but as soon as they opened up the Turk replied and put them out of action.

  We were relieved about 5.30pm by B Company, but only went back about a hundred yards to the top of the gully. There we had to start digging holes to sleep in, all loose and sandy earth, and as soon as one got a nice hole someone else would walk by and fill it in. I went to the bottom for some water but it was a long job, first digging down about two feet and then waiting for the water to come.

  Turned in and had a sleep but was rudely awakened at 4.00am by shrapnel. Shells were bursting four at a time and, very often, right amongst us. Everybody dashed for cover, but there wasn’t any. Fellows were dropping all around and others getting hit as they crouched down in their holes. Corporal Street got killed outright. Half a shell case hit him in the ribs, a nasty sight. An order was shouted out during the shelling ‘Reinforce B Company in the line’. I made a dash with Sergeant Bob Chadwick to the little communication trench leading to the front line. My rifle and equipment were still in the hole, but I picked up another set and carried it so far then dropped it. The communication trench was full of our men taking cover from the shells. They had passed the order for reinforcements down the trench but were making no signs of moving. Bob Chadwick shouted to us to walk over the b******s. We did and what with the shells and curses the air was fairly blue. What a state the line was in when we reached it! The trench battered level in places, the dead and wounded lying two and three deep. Blood was all over and as we passed along to the right we had to crawl over these poor devils who had got hit and others were getting hit even as we passed. Some were groaning and crying, others were silent in their pain. One poor chap got hit just as I reached him; he never spoke when I asked him where he was hit, just pointed to the bottom of his back. I could tell by the colour of his face and his expression that he was dying fast. I was covered with blood and the taste of it was in my mouth. The smell of burning explosives and the smell and taste of blood was horrid. I picked a pair of field-glasses as I thought they might come in useful, but the chap they belonged to spotted me and told me to drop them. He was a colour sergeant, and, poor chap, he might have let me keep them; before I had gone two more yards he was killed outright. We ought never to have reinforced the line. It was too full already, with no cover for the men who were already in it. I finished up with Bob Chadwick and a few more men on the extreme right of our battalion sector with Deal Battalion on our right. It was a bit quieter there, with the trench in a better state. We had Lieutenant Erskine with us, one of our company officers and a real decent chap. He’s the only officer I’d seen with the exception of the doctor since leaving old Clark.

  I went shares with a rifle until the owner got sniped while using it, then I claimed it. He got shot through the head, just a tiny blue hole where the bullet entered but all the back of his head was blown away. His chum who was next to him went clean daft as soon as it happened and started dashing up and down the trench screaming. We had to sit on him till he had quietened down a bit. We threw a waterproof sheet on the dead fellow. I carried on sniping after that and spotted the Turk who I reckoned had caused the mischief and who kept throwing up showers of earth from our parapet. He was lying flat behind a bush and, as I watched, I saw the flash of his rifle and instantly a shower of dirt came into my face. Of course I ducked but got a good aim on the bush and fired. Another shower of earth and I fired again. This time the return bullet zipped wickedly by my ear, but I was on aim and pressed the trigger straight off. I saw a movement in the bush and had no reply, so concluded that I’d won.

  Bob Chadwick was our next casualty. He came down to me and asked me to put a bandage on him. A shrapnel ball had gone through his left shoulder and I could see the thing halfway down his back under the skin. I wrapped him up as well as I could and he went down towards the CT [communication trench]. About 3.00pm we got the following message: ‘From Colonel Luard, cease fire; Portsmouth Battalion will charge at 5 o’clock.’ Five minutes later another order: ‘Rapid fire; stand by to charge.’ Lieutenant Erskine told us to blaze away and changed tunics with the daft chap, took his rifle and bayonet and told him that if he didn’t come back he could have the few pounds in the pocket,

  When the next order came ‘From Colonel Luard, Charge’, Erskine was over the top like a flash and so was Company Sergeant Major Joe Broster. There they stood on top yelling to everybody to get out and charge. I managed to get out, although it was a steep bit of trench and I wasn’t very big. As far as I could see, instead of Portsmouth Battalion getting out to charge, there were about twenty of us, certainly no more. But we didn’t wait, just chased off in the approved manner, yelling and cursing our breath away, so by the time we had gone fifty yards we were all exhausted and dropped down in a rough line. I dropped next to Erskine and we had a look round. There were no more than twenty of us and the rest of the battalion was in the trench behind, firing like mad and the Turk was in front blazing away like mad. Erskine observed, ‘That must have been a fake message, nobody seems to be coming.’ Then he yelled ‘Get back to the trench lads’, and we got back and even quicker than we came out. I jumped in at exactly the same spot that I’d got out and dropped with both feet on the dead fellow. Just as we reached the trench the Turk opened up with a machine gun and poor old Broster and another chap got killed. Broster was shot through the head and chest and died almost immediately. They were the only two that that mad dash cost us. We made enquiries down the trench as to who sent the message to charge but no one knew. We could only trace it about twenty or thirty yards down the trench; there, the only message they had had was ‘From Colonel Luard, Portsmouth Battalion will be relieved at 5.00pm.’ Either a Turk or a German had got in the trench or else one of our chaps had hashed the message up. We’d been back about twenty minutes when Lance Corporal Robinson struggled along the trench with what had been one of those big cans of water. He’d had about three bullets through it. We just managed a taste and no more, and we could all have drunk quarts.

  We took things easy after that, letting one man look out for about every twenty yards. I was sitting down on the trench bottom having a nap when I was awakened by several of our chaps yelling and dashing past me. There were cries of ‘They’re here’ and I saw a Turk jump into our trench about ten yards away from me. He made a jab at one man with his bayonet, but missed, then fired at another and nearly shot half his face off. A lance corporal of A [Company] then came up behind the Turk and shot him from about six yards, then rushed him with his bayonet as he was dropping. I was just an onlooker at the scene. I had only managed to scramble to my feet when the whole thing was over. I couldn’t find a rifle anywhere. Someone had taken mine in the rush. The Turk was dead alright. He was only young, but tall and well-built, and his cap and clothing were adorned with grass and small branches of trees, no doubt a sniper who had been lying out in front of our trench and had lost his way. He was unlucky in his choice of direction, although he caused a panic. I heard after that the first one to bolt was Dolly Gray, the old soldier who used to give us such glowing accounts of his deeds at Antwerp. Heard that Captain Teague of A Company had been killed. I never used to think much of him during the time he had our company at Fareham but it seems he turned out trumps. He was walking along the top of the trench cheering his men when we got sniped. Lieutenant Erpson and heaps more got killed too. Mr Compton Dunville couldn’t be found anywhere; I guess he’s down at the beach or in some deep hole that someone else has dug. Had a walk to the extreme right again and found an officer of ours in a hole unde
r the trench. The chaps said he’d been there since Thursday morning and wouldn’t come out. It was the same officer who burst into tears and said his prayers when the old Gloucester Castle went ashore outside Mudros. Mr Erskine was away during the incident of the Turk. Major Clark sent for him to report on what had happened at our end and why we had charged.

  Shrapnel and still more shrapnel. That big chap Smith got hit in the mouth with a nose cap. He always had his mouth wide open. Poor chap! It knocked his head right off. He was only a few yards from me when it happened.

  Relieved at dusk by the Australians. As I came to the bottom of the CT there was a hold up. We couldn’t move down and the Aussies couldn’t get on. Everybody was talking to one another and I heard one Australian officer giving his men some final orders; ‘Dig like hell,’ he said, ‘and not a shot to be fired until the Turks are twenty yards away, then let them have it hot.’ If they dug much more they’d soon be back in Australia. All at once everybody went silent; somebody was creeping about in the bushes just on our right. Who was it and who would get the bullet if it was a Turk? No one moved except two Australians who were nearest the noise. They slipped their safety catches forward. Then someone stumbled out of the bushes and a sorrier-looking spectacle of a man I never saw. He was dressed in Australian clothes, torn and covered with mud and with a week’s growth of beard. ‘Shall I shoot him?’ one of the Aussies asked. ‘No, ask him some questions,’ one of their officers said. Poor devil, he could hardly answer; he was speechless through fright and exhaustion. He just managed to mumble a name and the number of his battalion, so somebody took him down the gully to his battalion. We moved down to the bottom of the gully where I joined up with my own platoon, the first time since leaving the ship. What an age it seemed. We had a roll call as well as we could: Willoughby and Beechey dead, Senior, George, Robinson, Evans and Cooke wounded; Bob Hestor, old Seymour and myself alone left out of our section. The platoon was down to twelve instead of forty. Mr Dougherty was alright. More of the company officers were missing except Domville.

  Our first issue of rum came along. What a Godsend! I don’t think anybody refused it. I faded away a little later under a shallow bank with Bob Hestor for a bedmate and the song of a nightingale for a lullaby.

  Breakfast at six on Sunday morning on Maconachie’s and bully. Just got some water boiling for a drink of tea when a shrapnel burst plugged the tin. We had breakfast dry. The battalion moved nearer the beach about 10.00am to the sheltered side of a hill where we once more dug in. According to Major Clark the battalion had lost close on 500 men since landing. I shaved again, then had a wash in a pool of water, mud and dead men. Felt heaps better after it and had a walk to the beach to fill my bottle and, while at the pumping station, nearly got pipped with shrapnel. One chap got hit and another fell in the water through fright. Had to dash for cover several times on the way back. Found everybody dizzy when I got back to the battalion, standing to, ready to move. The Turk was making a big attack and already some Australian machine gunners were taking up fresh positions just on our left. It looked as though we were going to get chased off. B Company under Major Armstrong was told off to reinforce a weak part of the line, but came back after about two hours. They had not been wanted and the attack had fizzled out. It had been a near thing though. Went scrounging and fitted myself out with another set of equipment, rifle and shaving gear.

  Volunteers were asked for at dusk to bury some dead and double tots of rum were offered as an inducement. A gallon wouldn’t have tempted me. Some of the chaps said when they got back that very little burying had been possible. The smell was too awful for anything and some bodies fell to pieces when they tried to lift them.

  Turned in and tried to sleep but it was too cold and I’d neither greatcoat nor waterproof sheet. We weren’t given much opportunity for sleep though. Roused out by an order about 2.00am: ‘Turn out, get rigged everybody.’ We forgot everything we’d been taught about night operations and the first essential, quietness. What a din! Everybody cursing and picking up gear belonging to someone else. We got sorted out at the finish and filed down towards the beach, then made a turn to the right up another gully. What a tramp! Pace about half a mile an hour. Tripping over ground telephone wires, getting our rifles entangled in overhead wires and trees. We soon came upon signs of a stiff fight going on up the gully. Scores of wounded passed us going down to the beach. We appeared to be marching for miles, but it was the pace and the climb more than the distance. We heard we had to reinforce the Aussies and our Nelson Battalion, who had suffered heavily on the extreme left of the line. They had made an attack during the night but were hard pressed and found it difficult to hang on.

  It seemed one continual climb from the beach and the farther we went the steeper it got until in places it resembled mountaineering and we had to help one another over the hard places. I found myself in front of the company again with old Clark. He did look a cut with a raincoat, Australian slouch hat and walking stick. (I heard after that while he was walking about in that attire the day following our attack, he was collared by some Australians who took him down to the beach and were going to shoot him straightaway but he prevailed on them to fetch somebody from the battalion to recognise him.) We came up with a part company of great massive Australians whose few remaining officers were vainly trying to urge them to reinforce the line in front. They wouldn’t budge. ‘Had enough of the blurry fighting,’ they said, ‘Let someone else have a go’, meaning us of course. They thought we were straight off a big ship. There’s a lot of truth in the remark that one of our chaps made, ‘There’s many a big potato rotten’. We passed them by and climbed, still some more. The noise from the front was getting deafening and the wounded more numerous; dawn had come and with it the shrapnel.

  Evidence of the last night’s advance was plain too. We passed partly-dug trenches, with lots of dead in them, then Turk trenches with even more dead. Rifles and equipment were littered all over the place. It was getting hot for us too. Shrapnel was getting unpleasantly close and bullets were whizzing just overhead. We came up to a trench full of Australians about thirty to forty yards from the top of the gully which spread out in the shape of a wide V. It was hot there. Major Clark shoved me into a hole and got in himself. ‘It’s pretty hot,’ he said, ‘We’d better wait here and see what’s going to happen.’ Things soon happened. Several Aussies left the trench and started going back down the hill. They’d had enough too, they said. Colonel Luard and their own colonel, a chap called Pope, tried to persuade them to go back to the trench but they wouldn’t. They were the same sort of chaps we had passed below. Colonel Pope was a queer looking little chap, and had neither hat, equipment nor revolver, just a stick, and was walking about as though he didn’t care what happened. He was certainly made of better stuff than his men. When our chaps saw these Aussies running back, they got the wind up and there was a general backward movement down the gully. It was easier I suppose than going up. Colonel Luard soon put a stop to that, though. He yelled out in his best parade voice (and he had a voice) ‘Royal Marines, fix bayonets and charge’. And we charged. A Company under Captain Stockley was on our left, all bunched up anyhow, and the other two companies in rear. I dashed out of the hole with old Clark, yelling like mad. I got up to a smashed machine gun with its crew of Australians lying dead round it, and had a look round. I’d no idea where to charge to and I was pretty well in front. I could see our chaps dropping down all over the place and observed the expressions of pain and surprise on some as they got hit. Our battalion sergeant major got hit and rolled past me down the hill, then an officer who looked like Micky Sanders did the same thing, and they both went down as though they had been shot from a gun. Mr Erskine dashed past me to the front. I was just trying to decide where to go, when something hit me in the stomach.

  Chapter Three

  3 May – Out Of Action

  Something hit me jolly hard too, right in the pit of the stomach, and I went down and gave myself up for dead.
I daren’t look at the place for a time as I was quite sure my bowels were scattered all over the machine gun. It wasn’t as bad though; a bullet must have glanced off somewhere and hit me. There was a huge black lump and a nasty graze but I felt sure that nothing had gone in. I got up and staggered on a few more yards. All desire to get anywhere in particular had left me and I staggered on half dazed. Zonk! I received something else and down I went again.

  I thought my left shoulder had been blown away and I also thought that two hits in one day was quite enough for anybody, so turned about and shuffled back down the hill. I don’t know how I managed to get down. It was just hell there. The Turk was pitching shrapnel and bombs over the head of the gully and blazing away at us point-blank with his rifles and MGs. To help matters a bit, our ships were sending shrapnel and bursting it short, so it’s really a wonder anybody came out alive at all. The place was just like a shambles, dead and dying all over. And chaps like me getting out of it as fast as ever they could. I scrambled down a bit to where it wasn’t quite so bloody and came across Daisy Bell, one of our company stretcher-bearers. He asked me where I was hit and if I intended taking my equipment home as a souvenir, so I chucked it off and let him bandage me up. He cut the sleeve out of my tunic to begin with. A bullet had gone in at the front but had hardly managed to get right through. He could see it sticking up under the skin at the other side of my shoulder. Bell told me to get down to the beach dressing station, so I set off, and straightaway took the wrong way. I got into a riverbed or a pool with the water gone, but with about two feet of thick mud.