Gallipoli

by Peter Hart

  Regimental Sergeant Major David Hepburn, Royal Garrison Artillery attached to HMS Prince George

  It was a dreadful sight, immortalised in a few smudgy photographs that, as Hepburn implies, can never convey the horror of what happened in the bowels of the Bouvet as water flooded her with breakneck speed. Seaman Sauveur Payro had been sent to fetch more ammunition when the explosions happened.

  The boat immediately listed to starboard. I was completely covered in the coal dust which came from the bunkers. I went to the signal ladder and with the second mate we climbed up. From the bridge I got myself on to the funnel which was entering the water. Then I climbed on to the hull. I believe that the second mate was trapped and he fell into a hatch way. From the keel I threw myself into the water.21

  Seaman Sauveur Payro, Bouvet

  Luckily he was a good swimmer, but it was still touch and go whether he would survive.

  I couldn’t rise to the surface because of the tug of the water. I was in the water for some time, then, when the bottom of the ship touched the bottom of the sea, I came straight up, either because the ship touched bottom or the boilers exploded. I couldn’t breathe; blood was coming out of my mouth, my ears. When I was on the surface again, if I hadn’t found this piece of wood I would have been finished. I managed to grab one of the hammocks and held it between my knees. I saw another chap crying out to me to save him and I told him to come closer to me so that he could be on one end of the plank and me on the other. But when the English came to fish us out of the water I saw that both his legs had been cut off. He died three days later.22

  Seaman Sauveur Payro, Bouvet

  The Bouvet’s crew had scant chance of escape. As she disappeared she took with her Captain Rageot de la Touche and 638 of his crew. The few that did survive were picked up by the British.

  As she disappeared, a few men could be seen getting out of the tops, also one man who ran along a gun muzzle and who went into the sea off that. Our picket boat went in and picked up seven survivors and also sank a mine fairly close. The Turks ceased fire as she went and, for a while, the boats were not molested in their errand of saving life. But before many minutes were up the Turks started bursting shrapnel over the place.23

  Commander George More, HMS Lord Nelson

  The Prince George picket boat picked up nearly forty swimmers in the pandemonium. It seems that in total sixty-six survived.

  Our picket boat was there. All at once these few survivors that were rescued sent up a cheer and sang their national anthem. The water all around where the ship had foundered was a mass of wreckage of all descriptions, there was a huge upheaval of water caused by air escaping from the sunken ship. These Frenchmen did not seem a bit downhearted over their ducking, they were all more or less joking and laughing, but I expect that they thought themselves lucky to escape with their lives.24

  Able Seaman Daniel Cemm, HMS Prince George

  Still the duel carried on as the Allies’ shells crashed down on the forts, which reserved their fire for targets that were properly within range. Then they could really strike back. Deep down inside the 12-inch magazine on the Ocean in Line ‘C’ was Petty Officer George Morgan.

  We soon began to ‘pay our respects’ to the forts ashore, giving and taking as fast as we could send up ammunition. No thoughts of anything now but charges and shells. ‘What the Dickens was that?’ said one to me, as a monster shell must have struck the armoured belting. ‘Oh! Someone’s false teeth have fallen in the shell room,’ said another. It was like being in a huge tank, with a party outside, with different size hammers belting away. Every now and then the ship would heel over, trembling, the thump of the propellers going now hard, now soft. The news came down that we were doing good work.25

  Petty Officer George Morgan, HMS Ocean

  When the shells hit home the results could be petrifying, as Midshipman Langley discovered when the Lord Nelson was hit.

  In the middle of the afternoon my own turret was directly struck by an enemy shell. Two sightsetters were wounded and one of the 9.2″ guns damaged. This did indeed give us a very exciting moment. To the din and fumes inside the turret were added the deafening crash of the shell bursting outside, the cries of the injured men, the pungent smell of the smoke drifting in through the gun ports. A minute later, when we cautiously opened the armoured hatch in the turret roof to evacuate the sightsetters, a volume of salt water poured into the turret. A cry of, ‘She’s sinking!’ was quickly suppressed, but it was indeed an excusable cry from the wounded men who had been cooped up in a dim armoured dungeon full to the brim with fumes and smoke, reverberating intolerably with the clang of machinery, the roaring of the guns, the bursting of shells, and shuddering bodily like some huge wounded animal when struck by the enemy’s fire. The deluge of water puzzled us considerably, but it was soon traced to a water pipe, running along the superstructure behind the turret, which had been severed by a fragment of the same shell that directly struck us.26

  Midshipman Alfred Langley, HMS Lord Nelson

  The trawlers had been ordered forward to sweep ahead of the fleet but the Nusrat line of mines remained undetected. At 16.11 the Inflexible, which had already been hit by several shells, ran on to a mine on the starboard bow causing severe damage which forced her to retreat, taking in considerable water as she limped away out of the Straits. She would ultimately only survive by dint of beaching herself on Tenedos Island. Just three minutes later, at 16.14, the Irresistible detonated a mine and began to slowly settle while the Turks redoubled their efforts to finish her off as she began to drift further into Eren Keui Bay.

  A great shock was felt which lifted the whole ship up. She at once listed to starboard, having been struck in the starboard engine room, which filled up very quickly – a warrant officer and three men being drowned. The bulkhead between the two engine rooms gave way and she righted a bit. The order was given for everyone to come on deck. Everybody came up from below and started throwing everything that would float overboard, as we thought that we should have to swim as there were not any destroyers or anything near. We were subjected to heavy fire from the forts. We were hit twice by shells, one lyddite on the after conning tower and another which entered the Commander’s upper deck cabin after passing through the officers’ WCs.27

  Midshipman Owen Ommanney, HMS Irresistible

  Fortunately, most of her crew were evacuated by the destroyer Wear. As soon as they were safe, de Robeck commanded the leading ships to fall back before ordering a ‘General Recall’ at 17.50. Too many ships had been lost to accept with any equanimity. Unaware of the existence of the rogue line of Turkish mines, de Robeck and many other senior officers leapt to the natural conclusion that the Turks were deploying a deadly form of floating mine, drifting down on the prevailing current to create havoc. As the retreat began, the Ocean, which had been attempting without success to take the Irresistible in tow, was circling round and it was no surprise to observers when she too hit a mine at 18.05. Petty Officer George Morgan was still far below the waterline in the magazines; he knew he had little time to escape.

  I was about to hand out a half-charge on the loading tray, when ‘Bang!!’ The force of the blow picked me off the floor with the 85lb half-charge in my arms. We didn’t need ask what that was. The order came, ‘Close magazines and shell rooms!’ The men all went up the trunk from the magazine. Before I could leave it was my duty to see all ventilators and bunker plates fastened and water tight, doors shut and voice pipes shut off in case they wanted to flood the magazine to avoid explosion. It only took a few minutes, but it seemed such a time to me – at last it was finished. There was only one way for me to escape and that was through the shell-room escape hatch. I only had a few minutes – I had to retrace my steps and undo and refasten all I had done. I hurried – any moment they may flood the magazine. As I opened the shell room door I heard a faint hissing and a rumbling noise. It was dark now, the electric lights were smashed. It was the swishing water and lumps of coal rolling abo
ut in the bottom of the ship. Then the danger I was in dawned upon me. I had to think and act quickly. I crossed to the shell-rack and scrambled up on the shells. Up I went and groped for the hatch. To my joy it was opened. I was soon through and closed it behind me. My troubles were not over. Supposing the other hatch was closed? Anyone seeing it open in passing would close it. I lost no time but rushed towards it. Just as I reached the ladder I heard someone raising the catch to let it down. I yelled, and whoever it was didn’t stop to argue. I was soon through!28

  Petty Officer George Morgan, HMS Ocean

  Again there were not many casualties as the shepherding destroyers flocked round to rescue the crew. The Ocean was finally abandoned at 19.30.

  As the Allied ships withdrew from the Straits, their crews began to come up on deck and take stock. Many of them had been stuck at their action stations far below decks with little or no idea of what had been going on other than vague noises off.

  Everyone crowded out on to the upper deck to get a breath of fresh air. By looking at a man’s face you could tell if he had been stationed below as ammunition supply, or engine room, or stokehole, or in opposition, those who had been at the guns. The latter were full of fight, whereas those who had been below were white-faced and showed their nerve-wracking experience. They had not the excitement of fighting, or the knowledge of what was going on. From 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. they had heard nothing but the crash of shells striking our ship and the sound of our own guns firing. Rumour passed from one to another often enlarged on the damage done by the enemy fire.29

  Corporal Fred Brookes, Royal Marines, HMS Triumph

  After the excitement of the battle there came the sober assessment of what had been achieved. With three of their sixteen capital ships sunk and three more severely damaged the Allies had effectively lost a third of their available force. But what, if anything, had been achieved for these grievous losses? One, somewhat sardonic officer, Lieutenant Geoffrey Ryland of the Ark Royal, put it succinctly.

  There is considerable uncertainty though as to how much damage the forts suffered. It is true one cannot make omelettes without breaking eggs, but it is bad if the eggs are broken and the omelette is not made. The question is have we done three ships’ worth of damage to the forts?30

  Lieutenant Geoffrey Ryland, HMS Ark Royal

  Apologists ever since have tried to recast the stunning success of the Turks on 18 March as an Allied victory that was only thrown away by a refusal to push on hard the next day. They have claimed that the Turks were teetering on the edge of defeat, their batteries beaten into submission and all but denuded of shells. This despite the torrents of shells that lashed the sinking Irresistible as night fell. The reputed shortage of shells is a classic example of hope masquerading as fact. Research in Turkish archives has revealed that they had plenty of shells left – not as many as they may have wanted, perhaps, but enough to face a renewed Allied attack. The forts were battered but still standing, the main Narrows minefield had not been reached, the howitzers were still plying their trade, the torpedo tubes were undisturbed and the Goeben still waited for any ship lucky enough to have broken through – her designated conqueror the Inflexible already run aground and out of action. There was surely no hope here for a naval attack on 19 March.

  GATHERING OF THE FORCES

  I am being most reluctantly driven to the conclusion that the Straits are not likely to be forced by battleships as at one time seemed probable and that, if my troops are to take part, it will not take the subsidiary form anticipated. The Army’s part will be more than mere landings of parties to destroy Forts, it must be a deliberate and progressive military operation carried out at full strength so as to open a passage for the Navy.1

  General Sir Ian Hamilton, Headquarters, MEF

  WITH THE FAILURE of the attack on the Dardanelles on 18 March, the Royal Navy had well and truly shot its bolt. Although the initial reaction of Vice Admiral John de Robeck had been to try again, his ardour soon cooled off and at a conference aboard the Queen Elizabeth on 22 March he took the decision to switch to combined operations with the army. He duly informed the Admiralty. Although his Chief of Staff, the energetic Commodore Roger Keyes, was still convinced that the Straits were there for the taking he was an increasingly isolated figure. Older, wiser, more pragmatic officers were conscious that the eternal disadvantages of ships combating forts and mines had been demonstrated with rather too much clarity to allow another attempt. Still scared by the perceived threat of floating mines, they were all too aware of the untouched lines of mines that lay in wait for them in the Narrows. Even if they were able to rush the Straits with their destroyers modified to carry minesweeping equipment, they feared being cut off if they advanced into the Sea of Marmara. After the events of 18 March few believed that the Turks would necessarily surrender on the arrival of an Allied fleet off Constantinople. There seemed no point in pursuing such desperate measures when, thanks to the change of heart in the War Council, there was already a sizeable number of troops arriving in the eastern Mediterranean who would be ready for possible military operations in support of the navy by mid-April 1915. Churchill was still keen to push on but found that his professional advisers in the Admiralty War Staff Group sided with de Robeck. The navy would try again, with their destroyer minesweepers, once the army had seized Kilid Bahr Plateau behind the forts on the European side of the Straits. This was a postponement, not a cancellation; no one considered that the army might fail. Yet there were plenty of professional observers who were already seriously concerned, especially among the High Command watching askance from the Western Front.

  Colonel Hankey, Secretary of the Committee of Imperial Defence, arrived to see me. He is over in France for three days. He states Lord Kitchener is more hopeful as regards the ammunition. As to the Dardanelles operations I asked why the naval bombardment had taken place before the military part of the expedition was on the spot (to take advantage of it and co-operate). He quite agreed with my view, and said the ‘operation had been run like an American cinema show’ – meaning the wide advertisement which had been given to every step long before anything had actually been done.2

  General Sir Douglas Haig, Headquarters, First Army

  The designated commander of the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force (MEF), General Sir Ian Hamilton, had arrived on 17 March, just in time to see the navy fail the next day. He was polite about the navy’s performance, but he too was of the opinion that a military landing in strength would be essential to suppress the fire of the forts, and in particular the mobile batteries.

  Born on 16 January 1853, Hamilton was a Scottish soldier who had seen much active service during his distinguished career. A trim, slightly effete figure, he had already fought in the Second Afghan War of 1878–80, the First Boer War of 1880–81 and the Nile Expedition of 1884–5, before a period of service in Burma and India during which he was involved in the Chitral Expedition of 1895 and became a brigade commander in the Tirah Expedition of 1897–8. Unlike many British generals he had had a ‘good’ Boer War (of 1899–1902), managing to maintain his reputation despite being involved in much fighting before his appointment as Kitchener’s Chief of Staff and promotion to lieutenant general. A stream of senior appointments followed, including: Quartermaster General, 1903–4; British observer during the Russo-Japanese War, 1904; Southern Command, 1905–9; Adjutant General, 1909–10; and finally Mediterranean Command and Inspector General of Overseas Forces from 1910 to 1914. In a sense the war had come a little too late for him as he was already sixty-one in 1914, and although appointed as Commander of the Home Forces he had been hitherto sidelined from the action. Hamilton was widely respected for his stream of well-written and thoughtful publications, but his quite dreadful habit of dabbling in poetry and slightly dilettante manner meant that he was considered a little unconventional by many of his peers. Now Kitchener had recalled him from the wilderness, trusting in his old Chief of Staff and wanting to capitalise on his relatively recent experience i
n the Mediterranean theatre.

  As soon as he arrived, Hamilton was locked in conference with Lieutenant General Sir William Birdwood, the commander of the ANZAC Corps. Birdwood was born in 1865 and had served as a subaltern with the cavalry in India, seeing some degree of action on the North-west Frontier. On promotion he had had the good fortune to serve as the military secretary on Kitchener’s staff during the Boer War, after which he continued to pursue his career within the Indian Army. Promotion was rapid and he became a major general in 1911, whereupon he took on the role of Secretary of the Indian Army Department. Then, in December 1914, his old benefactor Kitchener selected him to command the newly formed ANZAC Corps, made up of the Australian Imperial Force (AIF) and the New Zealanders Expeditionary Force (NZEF). Soon Hamilton was given the chance to examine the widely disparate divisions that made up the MEF.

  The 1st Division and the 1st Light Horse Brigade of the AIF were both volunteer formations that have attained a legendary status. These men were widely pictured as being of a superior breed to the allegedly decadent products of the British industrial towns. Contemporary observers and popular historians have made much of their manly stature and tough outback origins. This romantic image seems little affected by claims that 27 per cent of the volunteers in the first contingent of the AIF had actually been born in Britain.3 Furthermore, a fair proportion of them hailed from cities as well as the outback of legend. Motivations for the massed Australian recruitment covered the usual spectrum ranging from a desire to serve King and Country, support for poor little Belgium and perhaps, most potent of all, the simple lust for adventure. As the first to volunteer they had excellent potential as soldiers.