A Marine at Gallipoli on the Western Front Read online

  We turned in after that, but not for long. They were soon out. ‘Hospital ship party, make your way down to the beach.’ More hopping for about 500 yards, and it was no joke hopping with a game leg and an empty stomach. I was hungry, and it seemed ages since I’d had anything to eat.

  We were taken to the hospital ship Rewa and given three straw biscuits1 and two blankets and told to find a place somewhere on the top decks. The ship was about full. There must have been hundreds on board. All the wards below were full of serious cases and the covered-in places on the decks were hung with cradle cots, which were nearly all full of rather less serious cases, and then there were about 200 walking cases, hanging about just anywhere. I thought I ought not to grumble at being a walking case with a bullet through the knee, as there were some on board (walking cases) who had been shot through both legs. Heard scraps of news regarding our little stunt. It appears that only our battalion and Nelson Battalion took part in the advance and Nelson lost even more heavily than we did. We went up the line on the 12th about 300 strong (or weak) with ten officers, and by the end of the 13th had lost nine officers and about 200 men. Four officers, including the Colonel, were killed and five wounded. Only old Dave Gowney is left and he’ll be like a dog with two tails now that he’s got a battalion, even if it is a skeleton. The Colonel and his servant were killed together. They were wounded together by the same sniper at Gaba Tepe on 3 May and now had both been killed together by the same shell. I heard how Mr Dougherty died too. He had got over the first Turk trench, finding it practically empty but when about fifty yards from the next found it full of Turks, with a couple of German officers standing on top urging the Turks to get out and charge. Mr Dougherty dropped down, took aim with a rifle that he had carried with him and put out one of the Germans. Then he got sniped through the head and died almost at once. He was a game little chap.

  Cases were coming on all day and as night came on they brought a lot more serious stretcher cases on board.

  Captain Gowney came on board, wounded. He was having the Colonel buried, when a shell burst over the party and the wonderful thing, or part of it, hit Dave.

  Thursday morning a Taube came over and dropped three bombs on the beach, with what effect I couldn’t say as I wasn’t a little bit interested.

  Chapter Six

  15 July – Hopes For England

  Just before noon 240 minor cases were sorted out and transferred to another boat which took them straight away to Mudros. They were to get better in the hospitals there. I stayed on the Rewa, thank God! And we steamed off about 3.30pm. What a relief to see Achi Baba fade away with the distance and with it the noise of battle and the fear of death. There was plenty of death knocking about though; most of the cot cases were in frightful agony and kept crying out in their pain. I got into conversation with one of the ship’s company. ‘Oh yes,’ he said, ‘we are straight for England.’ Their contract was up, or something of the sort.

  However at 7.00pm we sighted the entrance to Mudros and steamed straight in. The bay looked more full of shipping than I’d seen it before. Perhaps the size of the ships had something to do with that though. The Aquitania, Mauritania and Franconia were all in, full to the top with fresh troops from home. Three new divisions were out for a fresh stunt.

  Left harbour on Friday afternoon but only to bury about a dozen dead, then back again. Left Mudros on the Saturday about 6.00pm and, after a quick smooth journey, took up our berth at Alex on the Monday. My wound had healed well but was still painful. The sea voyage had bucked me up wonderfully though and I felt more like going back again than going to hospital. We had an old chaplain on board and he had set us all hoping for England. He knew for certain that the ship was going straight there. Perhaps so, but not with us. However, some of us might get sent home from hospital and, in any case, our division was to be withdrawn from the peninsula because we’d lost so heavily. So the latest ‘buzz’ went. As it had been buzzing round ever since 3 May, it was hardly worth taking notice of.

  Entrained about 1.00pm, arrived at Cairo at 7.00pm and were then taken by motor to Kasr-el-Aini hospital, on the banks of the Nile, the same old river that watered the bull rushes where they found Moses a few generations ago. My word! Weren’t things happening these days? And weren’t we seeing things? And to think, that the most exciting thing that happened to me before the war was to get in the same smoke room as ‘Mooney’s’ and ‘Mad Jack’s’ gangs. I was soon rigged out again as a native and told off to a decent bed, of which I took an immediate advantage. A strange bed never kept me awake those days.

  I felt A1 after a good night’s sleep and decent breakfast. Kasr-el-Aini is a pleasant hospital, a great big place with large lofty wards and great open windows and, all day through, pretty birds would fly in and out. The view from some of the windows was lovely, a large stretch of the Nile was visible, and the banks on either side were covered with palms of various descriptions with, here and there, beautiful houses and mosques. The river itself was dotted with all manner of boats. A few miles away on the bank of the river were three huge pyramids.

  The doctors and attendants were Egyptian, but there were several English nurses who seemed to put a more homely air on the place. On the Wednesday about 11.00am a score or so of local medical students were let loose on us and treated us as so much material to practise on, not taking the slightest interest in us personally; if our wounds were nothing new or strange to them they would just treat that with indifference, slap a bandage on and walk away.

  One fastened on to me and found something in my wound to interest him. He opened it back and front and, after much prodding and poking about, fished a few bits of lead from where I’d had it taken out on Gallipoli. It felt much easier after that and healed up fine so that by the 26th I was convalescent.

  A big clearance was made from Kasr-el-Aini then, and a crowd of us moved to a big school about five minutes’ walk nearer the city. They were just converting it into a hospital. Nasrich was the name of the place. The feeding was good but the medical and comforts departments were rotten. I was there from 26 July to 7 August and in that time had my wound dressed twice. The thing started discharging and I thought it was going to turn awkward. There was absolutely nothing there with which to occupy our minds; no visitors, no books or papers and just one concert which was decent.

  They must have been making us fed-up so that we should be glad to get back to our battalions. They succeeded with me. I couldn’t but envy the fellows who were wounded in France, their quick journey home to Blighty and the splendid time in hospital that they had.

  We were not allowed to put our noses outside the place and used to spend hours sitting on the wall overlooking the main road into Cairo. We watched the cars and the people as they passed by. Our dress consisted of pyjamas and a bright red tie, not very conventional dress for walking out, but I went out on two occasions with three more of the fellows. We dropped over the wall after tea one day and wandered into one of the suburbs, and felt lucky when we got out of it. At one time we must have had a hundred kiddies yelling and screeching at us, some flying round and round, some spitting, some throwing mud or worse, and others just being mildly curious. We jumped on a car once to avoid them but about a score stuck. As we neared the hospital again, each of us darted at one of the imps and they received sufficient beating to go round the whole lot who had followed us.

  The next time out we stuck to more civilised parts, watching the Arab men, women and kiddies bathing in the Nile. It was a treat to see them until an Egyptian policeman came on the scene. They dashed out of the water, picked up their small bundles of clothing and ran as fast as they could for cover. It was hard lines for whoever the policeman caught. He asked for no names and addresses but just laid about them with a big stick.

  I saw several local funerals and found them awfully amusing. If it was a man getting buried, all his wives would follow behind carrying on most alarmingly, tearing their hair and dresses and letting off the most weird cries. Th
e men friends and relations went on in front, letting off a terribly monotonous chant. The corpse was well stowed away in an orange-box coffin, carried by four hefty villains.

  We could smell burning very strongly on the night of the 31st. It appeared to come from the city and we heard afterwards that the Australians had run amok in the Wazza, setting fire to some of the houses as they did before. One or two were killed and a few Red Caps who interfered were badly mauled by the Aussies. No wonder troops run amok. I felt like doing the same. I was never so fed up before in all my life. Our next move was to Abbassia Barracks but before leaving Nasrich we were fitted out with a khaki suit. I said fitted, but they were just thrown at us. My tunic measured forty inches round the chest and the trousers had been made for a guardsman. It took me hours at Abbassia to ensure that it wouldn’t fit me about three times. Conditions in barracks were even worse than at Nasrich. Attention to our wounds or various ailments was minus. We used to draw our food in bulk from the IM and take it to the cookhouse. After that it was a fight as to who got any.

  Two or three of us saw the MO on Monday about some pay, and he told us to go to Hell. We said that was where we had come from.

  I was strolling across the parade one morning minus my hat and tunic and was pulled up by a big fat officer. ‘Where’s your hat?’ and ‘Don’t you usually salute an officer when you pass him?’ he said. I told him they taught us in the Royal Marines not to salute an officer if we were improperly dressed. Things like that just helped make us more and more fed up and anxious to get back to the fighting. All hopes of England had fled. We saw nearly everybody about some pay and at last the garrison adjutant roused himself and said he’d see us on Saturday morning. He did, and we drew 8/- (40p). We were allowed out in town but it wasn’t much use going without any money.

  On the Saturday night I went for a stroll round Heliopolis, one of the swell suburbs of Cairo, and found it awfully interesting. Several lovely buildings and one huge palace that was being used as a hospital. I found very few chances of spending my 8/- there.

  I saw the doctor next morning and volunteered to go back to duty. He said my leg wasn’t better yet, but would be before I got back to Gallipoli, so, seeing that I wanted to go, he marked me for the base. Left Cairo at 9.30am on Monday 16 August and arrived once more in Alex. What a treat to smell the sea again. Joined up with RMLI details at Mustapha and fitted out again with all the clothes and gear necessary for another spell of fighting. Saw the doctor on Tuesday morning who put me on seven days’ light duty. That made no difference because when I got back to camp my name was being read out for the next draft.

  About 500 survivors had just arrived from the Royal Edward, a big troopship that was torpedoed about twelve hours’ sail from Mudros. She went down in three minutes with more than 800 onboard.

  We were roused out every morning at 5.30 for bathing parade and it was lovely in the sea. I have never seen anything so lovely as the sea and sky at Alex. I was paid 30 piastres (6/2d/31p) on the Wednesday. I put in for more but had my request refused. Some of the chaps had been getting too drunk in town, so they had stopped paying so much money out.

  I had a couple of nights down in town, but was quite ready for the draft on Friday morning. Found out that Captain Gowney was in charge of all RND details. We went straight to the docks in electric cars, to within 500 yards of our ship. No one knew that, of course, least of all Gowney who marched us for at least two miles before he thought of enquiring for the ship. Full marching order, rifle and 220 rounds of the best, under a tropical sun, then all the way to march back again. He ought never to have left Pompey parade and canteen.

  The ship was the Derfflinger, a big German prize-boat and a fine-looking thing. Hundreds of all kinds of troops were on board, including a lot of the survivors from the Royal Edward. The OC Troops was a colonel who had survived and we knew it. He made Gowney ship’s adjutant and a more dizzy pair it would be impossible to imagine. They had submarine guards all over the ship and everybody had to eat and sleep in lifebelts.

  We left Alex at 5.00pm Friday and had it awfully rough until the Sunday afternoon. We arrived in Lemnos harbour just on sunset and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so grand and lovely as the hills and rugged cliffs of Mudros. They were just like piles of soft velvet in every conceivable shade of brown. It turned awfully cold at night and I had to move between decks to sleep.

  Transferred to the Hythe, a big minesweeper, on the 26th and cleared off for Gallipoli about 4.30. The battalion was still there but about to be withdrawn to Imbros for a rest. We had a forty-mile voyage of rough sea, wind, thunder and lightning and arrived at W Beach Gallipoli at 10.30pm.

  Chapter Seven

  August 1915 – Dragging On

  Stayed on board the Hythe all night and of course I touched unlucky. Did a seven-hour watch on the ship while a working party of Egyptians unloaded a few thousand bombs. We landed at 5.30 on the Friday morning and marched up to the new dugouts where I joined up with A Company 2nd Battalion RM. Deal and Chatham Battalions had been amalgamated and called the 1st Battalion, and Plymouth and Portsmouth called the 2nd Battalion. The four battalions only numbered about 800 men in total. Very few of the Pompey boys were left. Bob Heston still hung on. I pigged in with Mick Smith, a North Country lad, and a friend of Billy Georges, who died in May. Sergeant Owen was in charge of our platoon (No. 1). He was an old Pompey man and pretty easygoing.

  Very little fighting was going on. The chaps said that Johnny never shelled now. He was too occupied with the new landing at Suvla Bay, where those three new divisions landed. Orders on Monday for the trenches and we moved at 1.00pm. Went up the gully ravine on the left, which ran from Y beach to the left of Krithia and was about 200 feet deep in places. It was a hot and dusty journey and our Lance Corporal Bill Love seemed to think that our legs were as long and as fresh as his. We had some rare lads in our platoon, all nationalities: Jock Baird from Motherwell, Cooper from Wales, very entertaining when he sang in Welsh, Jimmy Rimmer from Ireland, and real Irish, and Tommy Bolan, a corner boy from Middlesbrough. All ‘birds’ and they soon shouted if Bill Love opened out.

  The gully twisted and turned so that it appeared never ending and had it not been for the little springs of fresh water trickling out of the rocks, the journey would have been absolute torture. We came to a zigzag path at the finish that led right up the face of the gully and at the top was the CT leading to the firing line.

  We relieved the Hawkes and were in the firing line until Wednesday. Very little firing but plenty of work. I was attached to some miners and did six hours on and eighteen off. The work consisted of dragging bags of chalk along the bottom of an underground sap that two miners were making, and this thing was a foot deep in water. The eighteen hours off consisted of doing odd watches, fetching rations and SAA from the zigzag and clearing up the trench. When we could we slept. The RGA1 were very busy just then, bringing up some heavy trench mortars and land torpedoes that the French had lent us. The torpedoes are great things with fins on and have about 60lbs of high explosive in them. Thoughts and visions of another stunt flashed across my mind. We moved down into support about 4.00pm on the Wednesday and, about that time, our guns opened up on the Turks’ trenches in front of our position. I was on a sapping party from 1.00 to 4.00am, digging a little sap from our front lines towards the Turks’ trench. We were just about forty yards from the Turk and it was awfully lonely. Just Mick Smith and I with not a scrap of wire in front of us and a Turkish wiring party only thirty yards away. Mick and I took it in turns to dig and while one was on his knees digging the other would be filling sandbags with the loose earth and lifting them up on top to form a parapet. All at once someone dashed up the sap (on hands and knees) and told us to keep down as our chaps in the line were going to give Johnny’s party five rounds rapid. They did but I don’t think they did much damage beyond scaring them back into their trench. I was jolly glad when our four hours were up. About 250 reinforcements joined the battalion on
2 September with several new officers. Our company got a new OC, a Captain Cordnor, and two subs, Weeks and McCready. Captain Cordnor appeared dizzy, but I suppose that was only natural and to be expected.

  Our ships and guns bombarded in the morning and the Turk replied with a few guns on our trenches. We moved up into the firing line at 3.00pm but received orders soon after to stand by to leave again at 5.00pm. There was to be a big strafe with the trench mortars, bombs and field guns from 5.30 to 6.30pm and we had to move down the CT, with the exception of two men in each bay who would keep watch. It was a strafe, and if Johnny Turk got it worse than we did, then I’m sorry for him. Great lumps of those torpedoes came flying back, bombs dropped short and the Turk opened up with whizz-bangs on the CT, where we were all crouched. Two or three fellows were killed about ten yards below me and when the order came at 6.30 to fix bayonets and man the firing line at the double several more chaps got stuck with bayonets. Our trench was in a shocking condition when we arrived there, sandbags knocked in and torn, all the parapet battered in and the whole place littered with lumps of iron, pieces of bombs and lumps of earth.

  There was a chap called Shackleton grovelling about on the floor of the trench, moaning and groaning out that he was hit. No wound could be seen and only a small bruise on his hip told us that a stone or a splinter had caught him. It caused a laugh and relieved the tension which was pretty high just then. Poor old Shackleton, he was a funny little fellow and I often thought about the times I’d hammered him into a state of sleep in our room at Forton Barracks. He came from decent people, had had a decent education but something was wrong in his mental box. He used to get frightfully drunk every night at Forton and after ‘lights out’ would start tormenting the other chaps. I used to get first attention from him as my bed was next to his and as soon as he got to my bed I would knock him back into his own. He was then under a suspended sentence of two years for cowardice at Gaba Tepe. Somebody found him wandering about on the beach when he should have been in the trenches.