by Alan Tucker
He laughed. ‘And we’re probably not his favourite guests.’
Sometime before midnight we said our goodbyes to Lone Pine and made our way slowly and quietly to the beach. An hour or so later we had had our names ticked off by an officer with a clipboard and climbed into a lighter.
As we pulled away from the shore I gazed along the silhouettes of the dimly moonlit ridges. If I could see the ridge tops, I couldn’t understand why Jacko couldn’t see us. We were leaving with very little hindrance from the Turks. Even Beachy Bill, who’d roared at us since day one, was eerily silent.
I looked for Lone Pine and thought I located it. My eyes moved directly down to the beach where the cemetery was located. Either the night air on the water created a mist or my eyes fogged for other reasons, but as I gazed I thought I saw the ghostly figures of hundreds of Australian dead, standing silently, watching us depart.
A distant hand lifted one finger in a bushman’s wave. I blinked and the image was gone.
Friday, 24 December
It’s Christmas Eve and I am on Lemnos but I find no joy in my situation. Robbo is in hospital here. I have visited him every day. His condition has been downgraded from critical to serious but that means nothing to me because he has not regained consciousness.
The nurses are as angelic now as when I was a patient. They look beautiful, they speak so softly and they even smell divine. I have been in the company of men too long: noisy, foul-mouthed, smelly men.
The weather is miserable. It adds to my dismal mood. It has rained continuously since the two nights of the evacuation. I should be grateful that the Greek gods of the sea and the heavens smiled on us as we left the peninsula. If Robbo was conscious, he’d know their names.
On my daily visit to Fish’s grave, I’ve felt lonely and sad. I should be joyous to be on a peaceful island but I’m not. Something’s missing: my friends.
Late yesterday, despite the rain, I stood on the shore closest to Gallipoli and looked for the peninsula’s silhouette just as I’d done from Lone Pine looking towards the Greek islands.
I wondered what Johnny Turk is doing? And what he thought when he found out he was firing on empty trenches? Several of the lads apparently left friendly notes and photographs for him. One lot left a cooked meal and a set table in their little dugout.
There was no love lost between Jacko and our boys when we first arrived but over time we developed a grudging respect for each other.
‘He’s not a bad lot,’ was the popular opinion.
I looked until it was dark. The rain clouds obscured any chance of seeing the peninsula. No matter: it was a place I’d never forget.
The Brass Hats have given us time to recuperate and organised battalion sports for those still with energy to burn. That’s certainly not me: I’m physically drained and mentally exhausted. There are many other lads in my boat. Some are worse: some have been hospitalised to speed up their recovery.
We have broken off the fight with the Turks but we are still in the army and the war against Germany is raging. The Empire urgently needs men with our battle experience. Our days as frontline troops are far from over.
Later
We received a special Christmas mail delivery. I hastily opened Mother’s letter.
Dear Victor,
Every day I pray that you are safe and healthy. Please write and tell me you are. Christmas is coming and Father and I could have received no better present than a letter from you (dated 6 October).
We were shocked to read you were in hospital but relieved to know the injuries were only scratches. Father smiled at your names for the various health conditions and hopes you can defeat the lice. So do I—I don’t like to think of my son as dirty with lice.
Again I have responded immediately to your letter in the hope that you will receive our letter around Christmas time. Oh how we wish we could talk to you and finish some of the conversations we have started in writing. And how I wish I could hold my boy in my arms.
As you can see I wish, I pray, I hope that someday, you will come back to us. Which brings me to my wonderful news: Hans is living with us. The authorities released him back into our care. Even they could see that at his age he would not recover while living in the camp.
There were many tears when I collected him from the station—but they were beautiful tears of joy. Even Father wept. Hans’ health has a long way to go but he looks stronger than he did and at times he beams with such happiness. He thanks us continuously. Despite his memory lapses he has never forgotten you. He misses you so much, Victor, and asks after you every day.
We all miss you, Victor. Please write soon and please come home safely.
Your loving family, Mother, Father and Hans
Christmas Day, Saturday, 25 December 1915
We were allowed to rise late. I lay snug under my blankets and pictured my parents back home sitting down to Christmas dinner under a blue Australian sky. I looked forward to the day when I could once again share a meal with them.
I visited Robbo before our special lunch. There was no change in him apart from some tinsel a nurse had wound around his head.
‘He looks very sweet, don’t you think?’ she said.
‘He’s a good man,’ I replied. ‘He almost got through unscathed. He only had to stay out of harm’s way another couple of days and he would be enjoying Christmas with us.’
‘I often hear that,’ she replied. ‘Men say, “If I’d only been an inch to the left,” or, “If only I hadn’t swapped fatigues with my mate.’”
‘Too true. There’s a fine line between life and death.’
Christmas lunch with the battalion cheered me up or maybe it was the glass of watered-down rum I drank to toast everyone’s good health. At lunch our commanding officer passed on a message from the Chief of General Staff.
‘Men, the Commander in Chief of the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force has issued a Special Order of the Day expressing his unreserved appreciation of the way in which the recent operations ending in the evacuation of the Anzac and Suvla positions have been carried out successfully. It is an achievement without parallel.’
There was moderate applause.
Many of the men in my battalion were no doubt thinking what I was thinking! This is just one set of Brass Hats praising another set. Where’s the acknowledgement that it was probably those same Brass Hats who got every other aspect of the Gallipoli campaign wrong in the 237 days leading up to the two days of evacuation? Where’s the praise for the fighting man’s efforts to dig in and hold on against all odds? And where’s the acknowledgement of the 8,709 Australian lads who will never leave the peninsula?
I stopped myself from becoming mean-spirited. I joined in the festivities and cheery chat with ‘old-’ and ‘new-hands’ alike. After the hearty meal and several small toasts I returned to my tent and napped.
Late in the day I roused myself.
The sun unexpectedly appeared low in the western sky as I made my way to the hospital. Its rays shone strongly under the storm clouds and created a powerful light. Birds responded to the break in the weather and sang their hearts out. My spirits rose and my sadness lifted. I felt more peaceful than I had for many months.
‘You can’t bring that in here,’ the nurse told me firmly when she saw the tumbler of rum I was carrying.
‘It’s not for me, Miss, it’s for my mate.’
She smiled gently and said, ‘That’s all right then. It is Christmas.’
‘I forgot my manners,’ I replied. ‘Merry Christmas, Miss.’
‘Thank you. Same to you.’
I sat on the side of Robbo’s bed.
‘I brought you some Christmas cheer,’ I said softly and placed the tumbler on his small bedside cupboard.
He had not moved since this morning.
‘The Brass Hats are toasting each other on the success of the evacuation,’ I told him, ‘but I thought you’d prefer to toast our mates.’
He remained motionless.
‘To Needle,’ I said and held up an imaginary glass. ‘And to Fish,’ I added and lifted the imaginary glass again. ‘And a toast to your health, Robbo,’ I concluded with a quavering voice.
I bowed my head, closed my eyes and sat there for several minutes. Another shower of rain blew in. The raindrops on the tent top and the wind buffeting the sides created a comforting backdrop to my thoughts.
‘I’m sorry it had to end this way, Robbo. I had such high hopes when I enlisted. I was younger and more naïve than you blokes but you accepted and protected me.’ I paused. ‘And I let you down… one by one.’
I opened my eyes and put my hand on his.
‘I’m sorry, cobber,’ I said through tears.
I sat holding his hand for several minutes then released it and stood to go. The nurse was standing alongside me.
‘Look,’ she said.
I turned.
Robbo’s eyelids were ever so slightly moving.
Thunder crashed overhead and they flickered even more quickly.
‘He’s going to make it,’ she said quietly and smiled so beautifully at him.
The intensity of the wind and rain picked up but inside the tent we were warm and safe and at peace.
‘Are we downhearted?’ I whispered then gave the reply.
‘Never.’
GLOSSARY
Ablutions washing oneself
Beachy Bill a Turkish gun that regularly shelled the beach at Anzac Cove
Bully beef corned beef (tinned), staple ration in the Australian armed forces
Battalion a military unit consisting of several companies
Bivouac a temporary encampment in an unsheltered area
Bivouacked to camp in a bivouac
Brigade a group of several battalions. Also known as a regiment
Cobber mate or friend
Company a military unit of between 80 to 225 soldiers, commanded by a Captain, Major or Commandant. A company consists of several platoons.
Drongo slang for someone stupid
Fatigue manual or menial task
Greybacks lice
Kero colloquial term for kerosene, a petroleum product, also known as paraffin
Jacko a collective term for Turkish soldiers, also Johnnie, Johnno, Johnny Turk and Abdul
Offensive a military attack to gain territory or achieve a strategic goal
Last Post a bugle or trumpet call, used in war to signal the end of the day. It is played as a memorial to those who have been killed in war.
Maneoevres tactical, strategic actions aimed to improve a situation
Pannikin small metal pan or cup
Pickey-boy young boys (from age 11) employed for mining surface work, sorting the ore into rich ore, low grade, and waste
Provosts military police
Platoon a military unit composed of two to four sections consisting of 26 to 50 soldiers. A platoon is led by a commissioned officer, usually a lieutenant, assisted by a platoon sergeant.
Regiment see brigade
Section a small military unit of 7 to 12 soldiers
Sniper a trained shooter who works alone and concealed, so that the he or she cannot be detected
Tommy term for British soldier(s)
HISTORICAL NOTES
The First World War started on 28 July 1914, and soon involved all the great European powers: Great Britain, France and Russia formed an alliance to oppose the German-Austrian alliance.
Britain entered the war on 4 August and Australia one day later. The first contingent of the Australian Imperial Force, in convoy with troops from New Zealand, sailed from Australia on 1 November 1914, and disembarked in Egypt on 3 December 1914. They became known as the ANZACs—the Australian and New Zealand Army Corps.
By February 1915, armies from the two opposing European alliances occupied hundreds of miles of trenches across France and Belgium and the war had developed into a stalemate. This line of trenches was known as the Western Front. Britain and her allies were keen to supply Russia with improved weapons so her forces could fight more effectively. An improved Russian army would compel the German-Austrian alliance to fight a war on two fronts: east and west.
The most reliable sea route to Russia was via two narrow Turkish seaways, the Dardanelles and the Bosporus. Germany needed to block this supply route and persuaded Turkey to fight with the German-Austrian Alliance.
A fleet of British and French naval vessels first attacked the Dardanelles on 19 February 1915. Turkish forces successfully defended the waterways and inflicted heavy damage on the Allied fleet. The losses prompted the Allies to cease any further attempts to force their way through the Dardanelles by naval power alone.
They decided ground forces were necessary and the Gallipoli peninsula was the obvious place to land them. Once ashore troops could attack Turkish defences along the Dardanelles and the Bosporus from behind and free the waterways for supply ships.
The Australian and New Zealand soldiers were training in Egypt. British commanders chose to deploy them as part of the Gallipoli landing force—along with troops from Britain, France and a range of British Empire nations. The Gallipoli Campaign took place between 25 April 1915, and 9 January 1916. The small cove in and around which the ANZAC forces landed became known as the ANZAC sector: the area further south where the British and French forces landed became known as the Helles sector.
Turkish forces successfully resisted the invasion. Their biggest attempt to drive the Australians off the peninsula occurred on the morning of 19 May. It was unsuccessful and cost thousands of Turkish lives. The Australian attacks at Lone Pine and The Nek in August also failed to force a break-through. A stalemate continued for the remainder of 1915 until the order was given to evacuate. The ANZACs were shipped off the peninsula overnight on 18 and 19 December 1915. The last British troops evacuated the Helles sector on 9 January 1916.
My Gallipoli story is based on the war diaries of the 10th Battalion, 1st AIF. The 10th were among the ‘Originals’ (part of the landing force who went ashore at dawn on Sunday 25 April 1915). The 10th were evacuated from the Gallipoli peninsula on 22 November 1915, and did not return. In my story, however, they do return so the main character can be one of the last to leave ANZAC Cove and tell the story of the campaign from beginning to end. The 10th did not fight at Lone Pine as recorded in my story. They fought at nearby Leane’s Trench.
Men who went ashore the first morning were known as the Originals. If those same men were amongst the last groups of men to be evacuated, they were referred to as Diehards.
The 10th were shipped from Gallipoli to Lemnos then Egypt. On 16 March 1916, they sailed for Europe and the Western Front. They fought battles in France and Belgium at Pozieres, Ypres, the Somme, Polygon Wood and Amiens. They continued in active service until September 1918. At 11 am on 11 November 1918, the Armistice took effect and the fighting ceased. The last men from the 10th Battalion arrived back in Adelaide on 5 September 1919.
Letters posted between Australia, Egypt and Gallipoli took many weeks, if not months, to be delivered. In my story I have sped the delivery process up to add to the drama of the story.
The Australian army’s enlistment age was twenty-one years or eighteen years with the permission of a parent or guardian. Boys gave false ages in order to join up. The number of ‘boy soldiers’ who served at Gallipoli is impossible to determine but records on the Australian War Memorial website show that four underage soldiers died while serving with the AIF at Gallipoli.
• Private James Charles (‘Jim’) Martin* was the youngest soldier killed. He died of disease while being transported from the peninsula, aged 14 years 9 months. (* Soldier Boy, The true story of Jim Martin the youngest Anzac, by Anthony Hill)
• Private John Auguste Emile Harris John died at Lone Pine, aged 15 years 10 months.
• Private Roy Henderson Robertson was killed in action at Russell’s Top, aged 16 years 4 months.
• Private Alexander Joseph Hearn died of bullet wounds rec
eived at Gallipoli, aged 16 years and 8 months.
At least eight other ‘boy soldiers’ later died on the Western Front. Many more died at sea serving in the Royal Australian Navy. The enlistment age was lower for the navy.
The Australian War Memorial is an informative and emotional place to visit. Their website is an invaluable source of primary and secondary facts, figures and photographs (www.awm.gov.au).
The ANZACs’ graves suffered some initial damage after the evacuation of Gallipoli: returning villagers took many of the crosses for firewood and jackals and dogs dug up some of the graves.
In late December 1918, Australian officers returned to Gallipoli to join the British War Graves team to register burial sites. They designed and constructed a series of cemeteries.
There are thirty-one Allied cemeteries on the Gallipoli peninsula: six at Helles, four at Suvla and twenty-one at Anzac. Men who died on hospital ships were buried at sea and have no known grave. There are two cemeteries on the Greek island of Lemnos. Men who died of wounds while being nursed in the large hospital base, are buried on the island.
There are no large Turkish military cemeteries on the peninsula but there are numerous monuments and memorials.
The 1923 Treaty of Lausanne was a peace treaty that ended the state of war that had existed between Turkey and the Allies since 1914. The treaty obliged the Turkish Republic to grant the land in and around Anzac Cove to the Allies in perpetuity. This included graves, cemeteries and memorials. In 1996 the boundaries of the Gallipoli Peninsula Peace Park were expanded to include Turkish battle sites and memorials as well as the Allied sites and cemeteries.
There were nearly half a million casualties during the Gallipoli campaign: of those, more than 135,000 men died. Not all died from battle wounds: a large number died of disease (eg. enteric fever, dysentery and diarrhoea). I found it difficult to collect exact statistics for the number of dead. Approximate numbers are listed below.
• 80,000 Turkish
