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(The Landing at Anzac, 25th April, 1915.)

This entry to my diary I am making in a small dugout on the hills of Gallipoli, with shrapnel bursting overhead every few minutes. The baptism of fire—and now we know what that means—came very suddenly after so many months of inaction. Sunday morning saw us in sight of the Gallipoli heads; the far-off roar of the big guns was audible at intervals and even in the bright sunlight the gun-flashes were visible. Gradually we came up and joined a huddled fleet of transports off the west coast. We could see the battleships and destroyers close in to the cliffs; a ballon ship and the sea-plane ship were near by; the naval guns spoke voluminously and from the lulls came the malignant coughing of the rifles. At 9 a.m., word having come aboard that the Australians had landed safely and captured some guns, we descended on to barges and transferred without delay into a pinnace and half a dozen tow boats that came alongside. The boats contained several equipments belonging to those wounded while landing earlier in the morning. We were more fortunate and although a little shrapnel burst in the sea near by we were not hit. The boats grounded, we filed over the bows, jumped into the sea and formed up on the beach, where there was a large number of Australians, Indians, mules and guns.

[I obtained a fine series of photos of this landing, and as I have ascertained that we were absolutely the first batch of New Zealanders to land on Gallipoli the series is probably unique. West was the 3rd New Zealander ashore, and other V.U.C. boys in the detachment included F. E. Mackenzie, S. T. Seddon, Holger Randrup.]

With full packs, rifles, spades, water skins and three days' rations, we climbed a low ridge and awaited orders. From here we had a splendid view of the scene. Far off, out of range of the shells from the Narrows, lay the transports; destroyers, pinnaces and tows came up to the beach; there the throng of soldiers formed up after disembarking; by the water lay an Australian strangely oblivious of it all. To the left was a small knoll entrenched by the Turks; to the right was a gun emplacement; below, the swiftly stablished wireless droned away like an energetic bluebottle buzzing against the window pane; page 62 bullets zipped over our heads with startling viciousness; behind, the rifles coughed and snapped in the hills and valleys.

[Let it be understood that the actual landing at Anzac was nothing terrible: our battalion suffered only one casualty. All the fighting was done about half a mile inland, where the casualties among both the Australians and New Zealanders were enormous.

From here Ave moved round to the left, returned and climbed the steep heights to Plugge's Plateau right over Anzac Cove.]

At the top we came under an increasing shrapnel fire: personally I was too tired with the climb to notice it. We got a breather, scrambled through the barrage of fire and found ourselves on the edge of a bluff looking down into the main valley. Stray bullets whistled over us in swarms but the principal feature of the entertainment was the shrapnel which played on us like a watering can. There were three of us together; we paused to see where the others had gone; a shrapnel shell shattered the atmosphere around us; I discovered I was quite whole and decided that the best thing for a target to do was the disappearing trick. We went down and over the cliff; a bullet to the right, another to the left, a slide, a jump and a slither and we were at the bottom, watching the bullets rattling against the rocks and cliff in angry showers.

[Here Vince Hall was mortally wounded.]

We passed by a concealed Turkish tent, avoided a minefield and threaded up the valley to the firing line. Wounded men were coming down in scores (shall I ever forget them?) and pleading for reinforcements for their mates..........

[We were now at the most advanced point of the line beyond Quinn's Post. I doubt the truth of the story that isolated bodies of Australians got nearly across the Peninsula as the main Turkish Army was encamped between us and that town. The country was rugged, and the more level parts were covered with scrub about three feet high.]

We crept out through the scrub and lined a cart track: bullets were coming fast and we could see nothing to fire at: to have stood up would have been suicide. I took the place of a man badly wounded in the back; the man to page 63 my left was killed, and one directly behind me was wounded; an Australian officer giving orders fell dead. I experienced a puny rage at being unable to do anything and— went to sleep. Soon after we crawled back some ten yards and lined a weak defensive position with our bayonets. Nothing happened. The expected charge did not arrive and the Turks in ignorance of our weak un-flanked position continued to pour lead over our heads as we waited grimly with our rifles. Mac. (Frank Mackenzie) had had a warm time: the men by his side had both been wounded, one fatally.

Then came night and a cessation of fire. We advanced and brought in our wounded: our idea was still to get across the peninsula. We poured heavy fire into the darkness where we knew the enemy were advancing. But they outflanked us and again we retired to where we had left our wounded, and there we dug in. The Turks came up to within twenty yards and did likewise.

We poured streams of lead into the moving Turks, or in the direction of their voices or their rifle flashes. By their jabbering they must have outnumbered us by 6 to 1. No reinforcements came up; the wounded died slowly behind and among us. Our blood was fired with a cold desperate resolution to sell ourselves as dearly as possible —Bullets tore the air into ribbons above us, or snapped the twigs before us or licked the earth into flame beside us. We knelt amidst a chaos of wounded, with the earth for a breastwork, and rifles to the right and left of us flashing their gleaming portents through the darkness. Crouching in the cold wet earth, damp from the drizzling rain we yearned for a hot-blooded charge, but Major Dawson, the hero of the situation, wisely restrained us. [I think that even through the worst of that long night the idea of getting forward was uppermost in our minds.] We sent forward occasional scouts: the Turks did the same. They pretended at times to be Indians, come from the Cape; at any moment we expected the English forces to link up with our right; Incessantly we fought through to the cold grey dawn which we expected would herald a Turkish charge. Then, in the morning light the "Lizzie" commenced to belch the vials of her wrath over our heads. The huge 1,950-lb. shells page 64 passing to their unknown destination, cleared the ridge just above us. They were a nightmare, and their fearful whirring vibration sent the blood flying away from one's heart, leaving it flutter a few seconds before resuming its normal action. Smaller shells passed over us into the Turkish positions causing a brief darkening of the atmosphere .......

A Turkish machine gun presently began to enfilade our position. Poor old— fell a couple of yards beside me, gasped and lay still, his wonted smile still on his face. Two or three others went down, and in a few seconds the major, acting with incredibly swift judgment, had us out of the position and crawling up a couple of slight gullies where the machine gun could not harm us........ Towards noon the Australians reinforced us and our men were withdrawn. We tumbled into the nearest ditch or gulch, with stray bullets pattering above us, and slept....... We could not lay claim to that traditional lack of downheartedness which is the vociferous heritage of the British soldier. After twenty-four hours of hard, desperate fighting against huge odds the laws of reaction left us jaded and jagged. By nighttime (of the 26th) we found that one third of our platoon was out of action, and that seemed typical of the battalion....

Worthy of the highest praise was the work of the Army Medical Corps............

The Turks were undoubtedly courageous and tenacious, except when it came to charging of facing the bayonets......... But it is of the Australians that one can wax enthusiastic. Their charge into that rough country will become historical. Absolutely reckless of danger they drove the Turks with cries of "Yalla" Imshee!" (Get out!) and cheerfully jested of "getting to Constantinople before the pubs close"!

* * * * *

May 2. A short service was held to-day "just as we sat" in our dug-outs. The rattle of the musketry and the bass notes of the shrapnel served for an organ as we sang "Lead Kindly Light." One heart-felt prayer at least page 65 was joined in with everyone,—a prayer for those of our comrades who had given up their lives on the hills above. I do not think that any who survive will forget this service. A hale-fellow-well-met is the New Zealand soldier, and a careless man in his talk; he has broad views of right and wrong, and he treats life with a happy levity. But the deep undercurrent flows within none the less deeply for being concealed from the light of day............

It is hard to grasp in one's mind that this is not a picnic. Hereby are glades where satyrs and fairies might dance at noontide; below is an ideal bathing place except for a machine gun that plays on one corner. In the offing lie forty transports and a few warships,—a glorious naval display in the early morning light. Then the blood-red sunset over Imbros! A benevolent. Government sends along a goodly stock of provisions to our picnic party, and these we cook as we boil our billy. "And the price we pay is a man per day" sent off to the hospital-ship with a stray bullet. The Gods have the matter in their hands, so why worry?

Well, dear Spike, though I have trespassed unduly on your space, I have told you only very little of what took place on Gallipoli. I must mention that Holger Randrup met his death on the daisy patch at Cape Helles, and that Tom Seddon and Frank West were wounded in the same locality. Frank Mackenzie and I were wounded on the same day (June 4) and Inder on the previous day. Lionel Hall, Delamore, George Seddon, Cash, Elder, Howard and several others were going strong when I left, and at times we had quite a little re-union of V.U.C. boys in Rest Gully. I saw Barnard, Dundon and Jackson on Gallipoli before they were killed. Gallipoli was a failure, but it is not the only failure that the earth has seen. A failure that ended in a cross some 2,000 years ago produced the greatest religion that mankind has possessed, and I am convinced that the life-blood that appears so fruitlessly shed on Gallipoli will be the greatest factor we have yet seen in the consolidation of our Empire.