Anzac Day
April 25 is Anzac Day in Australia and New Zealand, marking the landings at Gallipoli in 1915 and the disastrous campaign there. Churchill’s idea for a second front went badly wrong, and he ended up resigning as First Lord of the Admiralty. The deaths of thousands of diggers at Gallipoli became a galvanizing event that helped establish a sense of nationhood for Australia, which until recently had been a British colony. A controversial event in which some see Australia as the victim of imperial Britain and others as an early example of Australian spirit in the face of adversity and a willingness to act in the world, at a time when Australia’s security and economy were in large part linked to great powers elsewhere, as they are today.
Today, this small nation of 20 million on the other side of the world, with total air, land and sea forces of about 50,000, has put many nations to shame with its willingness to engage. Korea, Vietnam, Iraq, Afghanistan, Iraq again. Timor and the Marshalls.
The day now commemorates all of Australia’s war veterans and war dead, which include several from my own family, notably Flt. Sgt. Philip Crittenden, RAAF, killed in flying battle over Belgium, Oct. 21, 1941 and the late Rear Adm. Bryn Mussared, RAN, wounded in action at Savo Island as a lieutenant aboard HMAS Canberra, August 9, 1942.
Blair with some current art and Anzac Day news.
What follows are some firsthand accounts of Gallipoli, reposted from prior Anzac Days.
Col. Joseph Lievesley Beeston, 4th Field Ambulance, Australian Imperial Force:
Just about dawn on Sunday the 25th I came on deck and could see the forms of a number of warships in close proximity to us … Suddenly one ship fired a gun, and then they were all at it, the Turks replying in quick time from the forts on Seddul Bahr … Meanwhile destroyers were passing us loaded with troops, and barges filled with grim and determined-looking men were being towed towards the shore.
One could not help wondering how many of them would be alive in an hour’s time. Slowly they neared the cliffs; as the first barge appeared to ground, a burst of fire broke out along the beach, alternately rifles and machine guns. The men leaped out of the barges— almost at once the firing on the beach ceased, and more came from halfway up the cliff. The troops had obviously landed, and were driving the Turks back. After a couple of hours the top of the cliff was gained; there the troops became exposed to a very heavy fire from some batteries of artillery placed well in the rear, to which the warships attended as soon as they could locate them.
… The horse-boats having been got overboard, we continued our voyage towards what is now know as Anzac. Troops—Australians and New Zealanders—were being taken ashore in barges. Warships were firing apparently as fast as they could load, the Turks replying with equal cordiality. In fact, as Captain Dawson remarked to me, it was quite the most “willing” Sunday he had ever seen.
We had to climb down the ship rope ladder into our boat. There were about 10 boats and 25 men in each boat. A tug took us within 100 yards of the beach and we had to row the rest of the way. The shrapnel was bursting all round us, also machine guns, rifle shot.
We lost a lot of men before we landed, but our boat got ashore safely. The Naval Officer in our boat - a big fat chap - when a shrapnel burst within a yard of us laughed and said “Oh never mind them, the beggars couldn’t hit a hay stack.
I believe the first lot to arrive fixed bayonets in the water and did not wait for any orders but simply charged the Turks. Some of them dropped the guns and cried for mercy, which they didn’t get, and the rest went for their lives to the trenches.
Col. Beeston:
Our troops were ascending the hills through a dwarf scrub, just low enough to let us see the men’s heads, though sometimes we could only locate them by the glint of the bayonets in the sunshine. Everywhere they were pushing on in extended order, but many falling. The Turks appeared to have the range pretty accurately. About mid-day our men seemed to be held up, the Turkish shrapnel appearing to be too much for them. It was now that there occurred what I think one of the finest incidents of the campaign.
This was the landing of the Australian Artillery. They got two of their guns ashore, and over very rough country dragged them up the hills with what looked like a hundred men to each. Up they went, through a wheat-field, covered and plastered with shrapnel, but with never a stop until the crest of the hill on the right was reached. Very little time was wasted in getting into action, and from this time it became evident that we were there to stay.
… The wounded now began to come back, and the one hospital ship there was filled in a very short time. Every available transport was then utilised for the reception of casualties, and as each was filled she steamed off to the base at Alexandria.
… We embarked in a trawler, and steamed towards the shore in the growing dusk as far as the depth of water would allow. The night was bitterly cold, it was raining, and all felt this was real soldiering. None of us could understand what occasioned the noise we heard at times, of something hitting the iron deck houses behind us; at last one of the men exclaimed: “Those are bullets, sir,” so that we were having our baptism of fire.
… As soon as the barge grounded, we jumped out into the water (which was about waist deep) and got to dry land. Colonel Manders, the A.D.M. S. of our Division, was there, and directed us up a gully where we were to stay in reserve for the time being, meantime to take lightly-wounded cases.
… There were scores of casualties awaiting treatment, some of them horribly knocked about. It was my first experience of such a number of cases. In civil practice, if an accident took place in which three or four men were injured, the occurrence would be deemed out of the ordinary: but here there were almost as many hundreds, and all the flower of Australia. It made one feel really that, in the words of General Sherman, “War is hell,” and it seemed damnable that it should be in the power of one man, even if be he the German Emperor, to decree that all these men should be mutilated or killed.
The great majority were just coming into manhood with all their life before them. The stoicism and fortitude with which they bore their pain was truly remarkable. Every one of them was cheery and optimistic; there was not a murmur; the only requests were for a cigarette or a drink of water. One felt very proud of these Australians, each waiting his turn to be dressed without complaining. It really quite unnerved me for a time. However, it was no time to allow the sentimental side of one’s nature to come uppermost.
… One never ceased admiring our men, and their cheeriness under these circumstances and their droll remarks caused us many a laugh. One man, just blown up by a shell, informed us that it was a —— of a place—’no place to take a lady.’ Another told of the mishap to his “cobber,” who picked up a bomb and blew on it to make it light; “all at once it blew his —— head off— Gorblime! you would have laughed!” For lurid and perfervid language commend me to the Australian Tommy. Profanity oozes from him like music from a barrel organ. At the same time, he will give you his idea of the situation, almost without exception in an optimistic strain, generally concluding his observation with the intimation that “We gave them hell.” I have seen scores of them lying wounded and yet chatting one to another while waiting their turn to be dressed. The stretcher bearers were a fine body of men. Prior to this campaign, the Army Medical Corps was always looked upon as a soft job. In peacetime we had to submit to all sorts of flippant remarks, and were called Linseed Lancers, Body-snatchers, and other cheery and jovial names; but, thanks to Abdul and the cordiality of his reception, the A.A.M.C. can hold up their heads with any of the fighting troops.
It was a common thing to hear men say: “This beach is a hell of a place! The trenches are better than this.” The praises of the stretcher-bearers were in all the men’s mouths; enough could not be said in their favour. Owing to the impossibility of landing the transport, all the wounded had to be carried; often for a distance of a mile and a half, in a blazing sun, and through shrapnel and machine-gun fire. But there was never a flinch; through it all they went, and performed their duty. Of our Ambulance 185 men and officers landed, and when I relinquished command, 43 remained. At one time we were losing so many bearers, that carrying during the day-time was abandoned, and orders were given that it should only be undertaken after night-fall.
On one occasion a man was being sent off to the hospital ship from our tent in the gully. He was not very bad, but he felt like being carried down. As the party went along the beach, Beachy Bill became active; one of the bearers lost his leg, the other was wounded, but the man who was being carried down got up and ran! All the remarks I have made regarding the intrepidity and valour of the stretcher-bearers apply also to the regimental bearers. These are made up from the bandsmen. Very few people think, when they see the band leading the battalion in parade through the streets, what happens to them on active service. Here bands are not thought of; the instruments are left at the base, and the men become bearers, and carry the wounded out of the front line for the Ambulance men to care for. Many a stretcher-bearer has deserved the V.C.
One of ours told me they had reached a man severely wounded in the leg, in close proximity to his dug-out. After he had been placed on the stretcher and made comfortable, he was asked whether there was anything he would like to take with him. He pondered a bit, and then said: “Oh! you might give me my diary—I would like to make a note of this before I forget it!”
… One man arriving at the hospital ship was describing, with the usual picturesque invective, how the bullet had got into his shoulder. One of the officers, who apparently was unacquainted with the Australian vocabulary, said: “What was that you said, my man?” The reply came, “A blightah ovah theah put a bullet in heah.”
(On his unit’s gully:) The men christened this “Shrapnel Avenue.” They called my dug-out “The Nut,” because it held the “Kernel.” I offer this with every apology. It’s not my joke. The new dug-outs were not too safe. Murphy was killed there one afternoon, and Claude Grime badly wounded later on. Claude caused a good deal of amusement. He had a rooted objection to putting on clothes and wore only a hat, pants, boots and his smile. Consequently his body became quite mahogany-coloured. When he was wounded he was put under an anæsthetic so that I could search for the bullet. As the anæsthetic began to take effect, Claude talked the usual unintelligible gibberish. Now, we happened to have a Turkish prisoner at the time, and in the midst of Claude’s struggles and shouts in rushed an interpreter. He looked round, and promptly came over to Claude, uttering words which I suppose were calculated to soothe a wounded Turk; and we had some difficulty in assuring him that the other man, not Claude, was the Turk he was in quest of.
We saw a good many Turkish prisoners at one time or another, and invariably fraternised with them. They were kept inside a barbed-wire enclosure with a guard over them; but there was no need to prevent their escape—they would not leave if they got the chance. On one occasion twelve of them were told to go some distance into the scrub and bring in some firewood. No one was sent with them, the idea being to encourage them to go to their lines and persuade some of the Turks to desert to us.
But they were like the cat; they all came back—with the firewood. I saw two of our men on one occasion bringing in a prisoner. They halted on the hill opposite us, and one of them went to headquarters to ascertain how the prisoner was to be disposed of. In a very short time he was surrounded by fourteen or fifteen of our soldiers, trying to carry on a conversation, and giving him cigarettes and in fact anything he would accept. An hour before they had been trying their best to shoot one another. In one of the attacks on our left the Turks were badly beaten off and left a lot of their dead close up to our trenches. As it was not safe to get over and remove the bodies, a number of boathooks were obtained, and with them the bodies were pulled in to our trenches. One of the “bodies” proved to be a live Turk who had been unable to get back to his line for fear of being shot by our men. He was blindfolded and sent down to the compound with the other prisoners.
Cpl. Lucas on the death of Lt. Brock:
Dear Mrs Brock,
I wonder if you will forgive this intrusion by a perfect stranger into a happening so sacred to you & your family.
I have hesitated writing before as I considered the subject too delicate for me to deal with - but of late I have considered it would do no harm.
To proceed then - it has reference to your son Halcombe, who met his death in such a glorious manner in Gallipoli on Wednesday 2nd June.
I keep a diary & of course made a record of his death as I happened to be the last person he spoke to: hence the date. No doubt you have heard from other officers something about how he was killed, but I hope I can give you (in the hope that I am not treading upon too delicate ground), his last words.
Mr Brock was the leader of our troop, of which I am a Corporal & had endeared himself so much to all the men that there were many throats with lumps in them when they heard of his being shot.
His batman (orderly) cried in his dugout & had not looked cheerful again up to the day he was hit by shrapnel. We all swore by your son as he was a soldier & a gentleman to the backbone.
We had just gone into the trenches on Pope’s Hill that afternoon (’twas a perfect day in June) & Mr Brock was telling me where he should like the men placed in the trenches (on Pope’s Hill). His last words were ‘I should like you to remain here Lucas & see that a good lookout is kept - will you see…’ & I received an awful shock as he was sniped by a bullet through the brain. Needless to say how I felt, as I had esteemed him a personal friend of mine - more especially since we had been on the Peninsula & all parade ground formalities had been dispensed with.
We had innumerable confidential chats in his dugout or in the trenches & I admired his manliness & stamina. The boys had always thought him effeminate & that he would not withstand the rigours of the trenches, but he was as fit as anyone & keen. They altered their minds when we reached Gallipoli & he mixed with us all as one of ourselves. They worshipped him.
I’ve been often told that I should get these things off my chest because when you go to bed of a night time, no matter how you close you eyes, you can’t shut out the scenes that you know…
We had just arrived on the peninsula , it was a matter of fact the next morning at daybreak we had to attack a trench which was only about eleven yards away, ten yards away and during it we occupied it at one time and were driven out of it and we as if we owned it with our own trench which was a small set about ten yards long and this thing was the cause of a lot of trouble because we had to have a sentry at both ends and it was so open to any attack and I don’t know, there were hundreds of lives lost trying to fill it in. On the trench you’ve no idea of the intensity and volume of fire that used to go on particularly when things were very early in the piece and everybody was jumpy and they kept on erratic firing, rapid firing, all hours of the day and night to prevent the other people from attacking and this trench had to be filled in.
We were given… one or two others had tried, battalions had tried, the 13th and the 15th had tried to fill it in and being the worst occupied for a while we were sent out just after arriving on the peninsula as a matter of fact, we hadn’t been there more than… we arrived at daybreak, or just about daybreak, it was the next morning that we were sent out to occupy the enemy’s trenches working party to fill in this set between the two trenches to make our position more secure, you see.
Anyhow, it couldn’t be done, we were badly knocked back and lost a lot of people and between our two trenches it was just literally thick with dead people, dead bodies and they were blown to bits with erratic shells and firing and one thing and the other and in all states of decomposition and after this attack by the Turks, after our attack, they attacked after we did, sort of business, and the place was just, oh, worse than a butcher’s slaughtering place and we were all on the windward side and the wind from the sea used to blow into their trenches and of course it was very nauseating with the result that they asked for an armistice.
An armistice was given and we had to go out and help bury our own dead, you see, and the place was just an awful mess.
Anyhow, what I’m leading up to is that Sol Green [ Reverend George Green, M.A.] was our padre at the time. He came from Brisbane and we nicknamed him Sol Green because there was a very big bookmaker in Brisbane at the time named Sol Green, so he was always Sol Green to everybody. I can remember that he and Best and Macartney [Captain G.W. Macartney, the Regiment's first medical officer ] and one or two others were very thick friends you know they all had a keen sense of humour. Any of our people killed, of course, Green gave them a few short words. But while everybody wasn’t looking - the enemy, and the German officers in charge of Turks - he filled in a trench with a lot of our bodies, our dead people, and once they came along and they saw what had happened they were very very upset about it because it was a disadvantage to them, they had all the background, we were just on the way down hill, otherwise if we were pushed out of our trenches we were done for. There was a big noise kicked up about it and even the head of the Turks he complained bitterly to our headquarters about it and there was going to be a big smell over it. But Sol Green got out of it by, I remember him. Glasgow [ Major T.W. Glasgow] who was our second-in-command, priming him up for the inquiry that was going to be held over it all.. and Sol just replied by saying, “Well”, he said “I don’t know, but I did a simple thing without any trouble at all which you people lost hundreds of lives doing”, which is quite right too.
‘With the last rays of the sun, I was staring through the periscope for any sign of the living among the bodies.
Within a few yards of my periscope lay a tale telling how furiously both sides died.
The Australian’s bayonet is sticking, rusty and black, six inches out of the Turk’s back.
One hand is gripping the Turk’s throat, while even now you can see the Turk’s teeth fastened through what was the boy’s wrist.
The Turk’s bayonet is jammed through the boy’s stomach and one hand is clenched, claw-like, across the Australian’s face.
I wonder will they fight if there is an after world.’
Cpl. Edgar Worrell on the evacuation of Gallipoli:
My Dear Father,
You want some more detailed account of the Evacuation. Well here it is - for private consumption.
Early in December, about the 10th I think, rumour had it that we would be off before Christmas. Few believed that Evacuation could be carried out without enormous loses (sic). Things then began to happen rapidly. Down on the Beach a big Condenser was taken to pieces and disappeared. Big mines and earthworks were left uncompleted and what was more important, gift foodstuffs that were being hoarded up for Christmas were given out plentifully so we had for once ample and variety. The last few days big guns were taken away but all machine guns left. Then ammunition bombs and stores that could not be taken away were dumped. Then began arguements (sic) as to whom were to be left in the last party.
Sick and weak men were got away. And then battalions not actively occupied. At last each of the remaining men were given a clip of paper - at least this was carried out in nearly all Battalions - with his name on it and a Cryptic sign ranging from A1 to C3. The A parties were to leave on the Saturday in order, A1, first A2 and it there were such a party A3. B parties left on Saturday at about 11.30. This left 3 only three parties left C1, C2, C3. C1 left early Monday morning; C 2 about 2.15 and then only 32 men were left in Lone Pine.
The garrison of which normally was a Battalion with another company in support. I tell you there was some rivalry as to staying with the C3 party. Round on our right Warne Smith & Gamble, my two best pals through Wesley kept vigil until the C (?) party left. The early hours of Monday morning were quiet and tense and the Turk could be heard strengthening his barbed wire. At last our time to go had come and with blankets tied round our feet to muffle the noise we made our way along the blanket covered trenches out to the communication trench and then down to the beach.
Parties from other parts of the line all converged at the pier and moved quietly aboard. At this juncture Russell Top a prominent part of the line rose up in flame and a roll of thunder reverberated through the gullies, the result of a gigantic mine. The Turks opened up a terrific fire on the Top but there was no one there of course. Quietly the big tug moved out with us to the larger transport and in a few moments we were underway for Mudros where we spent Christmas. Really nothing exciting happened and these tall stories of a last rush to the beach lead (sic) by a tall fair boy etc etc are a beautiful piece of fabrication. An engineer or two were left behind until dawn but all got of (sic) O.K.
I see in Harry’s letter you said you told Senator Pearce about my firing the last shot in the Evacuation. I hope you didn’t; I probably fired the last shot at Lone Pine - I said - but that is a vastly different thing. Imagine my surprise when I saw something concerning me in the Spectator. I rather It hadn’t appeared.
Many ingenious contrivances came to light during the last hours to deceive the Turks. Automatically constructed rifles etc. I want this to be posted in England so must close at once as someone in just going on leave.
Five of my platoon have already been wounded in France. We are near Ypres and expect to join up the Canadians in a few days.
Love to all
Edgar
Sydney Morning Herald correspondent Charles Edwin Woodrow Bean on the evacuation:
… the uppermost thought in the mind of every man I have spoken to was regret at leaving the little mountain cemeteries which every valley and hillside contains. For weeks past, at any time of the day, you saw small parties of men carefully lettering in the half-obliterated name of some comrade on a rough wooden cross, or carefully raking a mound, and bordering it neatly with fuse caps from fallen shells … I notice some chaplains sowing wattle and manuka on graves.
Topics: Australia, history, military
Posted by Jules Crittenden at 11:51 pm on Saturday, April 25, 2009
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April 26th, 2009 at 11:11 am
And I also remember my grandfather, Eugene O’Keefe, Australian Expeditionary Force, who served as a machine-gunner in France in the Great War. A gentleman farmer who left his station to serve in the ranks, to do his duty as he saw it, and uphold the proud traditions of the Australian Forces.
He survived, but suffered from the lingering effects of Chlorine Gas for the rest of his life. God bless them all.