Safe Road to Beach"Safe Road to Beach."
"Safe Road to Beach."
At Suvla where there was more room than at Anzac, an inner position was prepared by the erection of a strong barbed wire fence eight feet high, with great gates across the roads. At Anzac, barricades were made in all the principal deres and communication trenches. A final covering position, manned by machine gunners, wasprepared. Its left flank was on No. 1 Post, and ran by way of Walker's Ridge, across to Plugge's Plateau and so down Maclagan's Ridge to the sea, very much the line decided on when the re-embarkation after the April landing was momentarily considered. Oh! the what-might-have-beens of those eight tragic months!
There were now only two nights to go, Saturday night and Sunday night. The 20,000 troops remaining at Anzac and Suvla were to be evacuated at the rate of 10,000 per night. The numbers from our division were 3491 on the second last night, and the final 3000 on the last night.
The line from Suvla to Chatham's Post was held as follows:
9th Army Corps—The Suvla front up to and including, Hill 60;N.Z. & A. Division—from the right of Hill 60 to the Apex;1st and 2nd Australian Divisions—from Walker's Ridge to Chatham's Post.
9th Army Corps—The Suvla front up to and including, Hill 60;
N.Z. & A. Division—from the right of Hill 60 to the Apex;
1st and 2nd Australian Divisions—from Walker's Ridge to Chatham's Post.
The Suvla Army embarked from the piers in Suvla Bay and on the Ocean Beach. The New Zealanders and Australians on the left of Anzac had to come down the three principal deres to the piers on Ocean Beach. The Australians from the centre and right of Anzac naturally moved down Shrapnel Gully and along the beach from the extreme right towards the piers at Anzac Cove.
The New Zealand Brigades were now disposed as follows:
The Mounted Rifles would come down the Aghyl Dere, and the N.Z. Infantry down the Chailak Dere to the Williams Pier on North Beach.
A divisional rendezvous was formed at No. 2 Post. Here the troops paraded according to a timetable, and were drafted into groups of 400—the capacity of those big motor lighters that the men had christened "beetles."
All through the night of that last Saturday at Anzac the little groups assembled, and were packed into the lighters. By 4.30 a.m. on December 19, the last beetle cleared from the shore leaving the "Diehards" of the Division, only 3,000 strong, to hold the line against a mighty army.
It was an anxious day, but there was much to do. Men devised all sorts of mechanism to keep rifles going mechanically after the last party had left. The favourite method was as follows: It takes a certain amount of pressure to pull the trigger of a rifle. After many experiments a device was perfected whereby an empty tin was suspended by a piece of string to the trigger of a loaded rifle. Another tin full of water, but with a small hole in it, was placed above the empty one, so that the water leaked into the bottom one, thus gradually increasing the weight until it was sufficient to pull the trigger!
Actors at Anzac.
In an endeavour to mystify the Turk observers, the few men left at Anzac became very energetic. With packs up they marched uphill wherever the Turk might see them. Like actors impersonating a crowd in a moving picture studio, these small bodies of men passed ostentatiously backwards and forwards until they were tired.
Reinforcement drafts always went in reserve for a time after their arrival, so down in Reserve Gully and Waterfall Gully enthusiastic parties entertained themselves and mystified the enemy by spreading out blankets to dry even as the new arrivals did! The innumerable small fires that smoked incessantly were made to smoke more copiously than ever, for the Turks must fully understand that the great new army was now arriving in strength.
Every man ate as much as he could of the tinned goods now so plentiful. Pennies were tossed freely in the air—"Heads for Constantinople; tails for Cairo!" Everybody was in great spirits and betrayed no anxiety. There was little departure from the normal, except that at the Apex there was heavier shelling than usual.
A, B, and C Parties.
The 3,000 men of the Division still to be withdrawn were divided into three: A, parties totalling 1,300; B, parties totalling 1,100; and C, parties totalling 600. All of A and B were to withdraw and embark as the parties of the preceding night—they came to the divisional rendezvous and embarked in their groups of 400. It was quickly decided that if A parties were for Alexandria, B parties must be for the Beach, and C for Constantinople.
Up the deres, great wire gates had been erected so that if the force was attacked the gates would be shut down and the garrison left to its own resource—to fight where it stood and cover the retirement until 2 a.m., and then retire down the ridges to the beach. It would not be possible to come down the ordinary communication trenches in the deres, for on the sign of an attack, the great barbed gates were to be dropped into place in the entanglements and the deres themselves heavily shelled by the warships. The "last ditchers" were to be sacrificed for the army. There was no lack of volunteers. Australians and New Zealanders; New Army men and Yeomanry; men who had been there since the landing, and men who had recently arrived as reinforcements; men of Anzac and Suvla alike—vied with each other in the endeavour to become included in the "Diehards." These men—whether they came from Midlothian or Yorkshire, Queensland or far Taranaki—were all volunteers, proud of their race and the Empire, and convinced of their personal superiority over the seemingly victorious foe. Messages were left warning the Turk he was on the wrong side, exhorting him to look after our scattered graves and the unburied dead of No Man's Land, and promising to return again and punish all the allies of the Germans.
A rear party of the No. 1 Field Ambulance was detailed to look after the wounded should disaster overtake the rearguard. They were each equipped with a surgical haversack containing field dressing and morphia. The dressing stations were left equipped with the necessary instruments, so that if the Turk did appreciate the situation and comeover in force, the wounded might be tended by our own men. It was thought that life-boats from the Hospital Ships might be allowed to approach the shore and take away the serious cases. Luckily there were no casualties in the division, nor, in fact, in the Army Corps.
Watching for the TurkWatching for the Turk.
Watching for the Turk.
The day was fairly quiet, but at about 11 o'clock in the morning the kinema actors had so impressed the Turks that much heavy shell was dropped into the communication trenches leading from the beach, and into the gullies where the reserves usually bivouacked. Thanks to the great dugouts constructed for the winter, there were no casualties.
At 4 o'clock that afternoon, the Turkish shelling increased very much in intensity. Was this a preliminary bombardment before the attack? But the shelling ceased with the sunset, and everything became normal once more.
The Last Night.
The sun went down that evening on a wondrously peaceful scene. The peaks of Samothrace and Imbros were bathed in the glow of a glorious golden sunset. The sea was unruffled by the faintest breeze. Faint wisps of clouds floated lazily across the sky, fitfully obscuring the moon. As soon as it was dark men became very busy.
At ten minutes past six the last gun fired its last shot from Russell's Top, and its removal to the beach commenced over the temporary bridges, down through the wider trenches, past much barbed wire entanglement—over cliff-sides and down Walker's Ridge the proud gunners triumphantly brought their charge, and before eight o'clock were safely embarked on their waiting transports.
Two much-worn guns—not New Zealand ones, but attached to our division—were rendered useless and abandoned. One was a 5-inch howitzer in Australian Valley, the other a 3-pounder Hotchkiss in the Aghyl Dere.
All the men were travelling very light. Previous parties had taken the "Diehards" kits and impedimenta. With a rifle and bayonet and a stock of hand grenades the men of the rearguards took up their positions in the front line. Machine guns were carefully looked to. Ammunition was plentiful. If the Turk did come over he would pay a big price. As one of the normal smells of Anzac was that of tobacco smoke, men smoked packet after packet, and pipe upon pipe. Out to sea, the traffic was quite noticeable to the anxious watchers on the hillside.
A and B Parties Leave.
Soon after dusk the men of the A parties at Anzac and Suvla said goodbye to their comrades of B and C, marched to their respective divisional rendezvous, and passed down the sandbag-muffled piers to the waiting "beetles."
Early on that last night many were confident that the Turk was completely fooled. If he had wanted to attack he would have attacked before dark; if he attacked at dawn he would be too late. If he had known, as some clever people say, that we were leaving, would it not have been a"tremendous victory" if he had come boldly on and overwhelmed the "Diehards?" He certainly would have taken no prisoners—the men of Anzac would have attended to that. But the fact is: the Turk helped us at the evacuation in the same degree as he helped us at the landing!
B party commenced to leave at nine o'clock. It was very hard to go. What might happen to the waiting men of C? However, the barges were waiting and the timing could not be arranged otherwise. So, with a "Goodbye, boys! see you in Cairo!" on their lips, but with misgivings in their hearts, the second last parties left their posts and made for the rendezvous. By 11.25 all of A and B parties were safely embarked without a casualty.
Those left moved quickly from place to place, firing their rifles in order to preserve the "normality" of things. The old trench mortars coughed spasmodically, and the Turks returned the compliment. Away on Walker's Ridge several very heavy bursts of firing broke out. Men could not help questioning themselves. Was Quinn's Post holding out with so numerically weak a garrison? Quinn's that had cost so much to hold all those weary months. It was hard to give up Quinn's!
And Lone Pine! Where the glorious men of those veteran battalions made such a sacrifice for the sake of Anzac—and for the sake of Suvla. These last men, with their boots muffled in sandbags, crept back and meditated at Brown's Dip with its rows of silent eloquent graves. The dead men took Lone Pine from the Turks, the survivors held it against angry hordes, to-night the rearguard was to hand it quietly back!
The men of the New Zealand Infantry Brigade looked out towards The Farm and the fatal crest above it, and thought of those boys who in August went straight for the ridge of Chunuk and doggedly waited for the help from the left, the help that never came. Here the last New Zealanders stood fingering their trigger guards—holding the line at the Apex, only 2,000 yards from the sea. Eight months of incessant striving, a gain of 2,000 yards of bare clay hillside, a loss of so many valuable lives!
And Hill 60! Where the New Zealand Mounted Rifles had refused to be worsted when others fell back! Hill 60! Now honeycombed with galleries hewn out with such an expenditure of blood and sweat. These men of the C parties could not help feeling that the dead deserved a better fate than this. Yet what could be done? No men could have achieved more. If the men of Anzac had failed, they certainly had been faithful failures.
No pains were spared to make everything appear normal. Some men went round lighting candles in the empty dugouts, others concocted placards to welcome the Turks. The soldiers bore no malice. "Goodbye Johnnie, see you soon in the Suez Canal;" and "Remember you didn't push us off, we simply went," are typical. Others were more amusing if not quite so polite! Men wandered up and down firing occasional shots, and at 11.30 the message came round to the men in the line that everywhere the plans were working without a hitch and well up to time. In front of the Apex and near Hill 60 the Turks were putting out more wire in anticipation of the big attack on Christmas Day. They evidently interpreted the shipping off the coast as the prelude to a big attack.
The Last Anxious Moments.
Midnight came and the firing died down as was the normal custom. Slowly the minutes crept by. One o'clock! Still there was no alarm. Some men began to feel the tension very keenly. Everybody else was safe. Would C party get away? At 1.30 the first of the C parties commenced to come in. At 1.45 the duty machine gun at the Apex fired three shots three times in rapid succession. This was the signal for all the machine guns of our infantry brigade to withdraw. With a quarter of the remaining infantry, the gunners marched down the gullies and joined up with the other detachments. The organization worked like clockwork. One party was two minutes early in the Chailak Dere and was halted by its captain until, to the second, the little party resumed its march and dovetailed into the long column now winding down the gully towards the muffled piers.
At two o'clock another party left. The men of the last group were now looking anxiously at their wristlet watches, which had been carefully synchronized. At about 2.15 each man in the trenches quietly walked out into the nearest communication trench. There was little time to lose. The gate in the Chailak Dere was to be closed at 2.25. Here a staff officer carefully checked the numbers and made sure that all were accounted for.
Off Anzac: A Gun of the 6th Howitzer Battery[Photo by Capt. Wilding, N.Z.F.A.Off Anzac: A Gun of the 6th Howitzer Battery.
[Photo by Capt. Wilding, N.Z.F.A.
Off Anzac: A Gun of the 6th Howitzer Battery.
The New Zealand Mounted Rifles.
Between the 4th Australian Brigade on Cheshire Ridge and the Welsh Horse at Hill 60, were the New Zealand Mounted Rifles. They had the farthest to march from the left flank. But officers had stepped it out and carefully timed the journey from their front line trench to the pier. With careful timing of watches, they got away their A and B parties to the minute.
Last of all came the Canterbury Mounted Rifles, who were steadily sticking to their schedule time of 2 miles per hour. Hand-grenades were tossed into the sea. The motor barges were quickly crowded. As the loaded "beetles" moved slowly out from Anzac a deafening roar and a blinding explosion occurred. Our great mine on the Nek had been detonated. The Turk trenches instantly burst into flame. Fires broke out among the piles of stores. The bay seemed crowded with motor barges and flotillas of trawlers.
Once on the warships the men were hurried below to a meal of hot cocoa, steaming pea soup, and every delicacy the ships' stores could offer.
By 3.40 a.m. the embarkation was complete. Men could, hardly realize that the work was accomplished without a terrible disaster. Restraint was thrown aside. New Zealanders from the Apex and the Lone Pine rearguard of Australians danced wild measures with the sailors on the iron decks.
As the ships moved over towards Imbros, Suvla and Anzac burst into flame. All the stores were afire now and the great tongues of flame seemed to reach to the very heavens. Right along the line Turkish rifles and machine guns opened, but caused no casualties, as most of the bullets plopped harmlessly in the water.
So we said good-bye to Anzac. Next morning the Turk rubbed his eyes and proclaimed a great victory.
The Evacuation of Helles.
It was thought that we might hold Helles as we hold Gibraltar, but Mudros was considered an easier base for a naval power. The poor souls of the 29th Division,after being withdrawn from Suvla, hardly had time to rest a day at Mudros before they were ordered to return and hold the line at Helles. They were bitterly disappointed, but were they not tried and trusted Regulars? The Territorials they relieved went back to Egypt for a New Year's dinner in peace; the brigades of the 29th went back to the firing line. This perhaps was the greatest test of the 29th, for the men were sure that the bluff of Anzac and Suvla could not be repeated. They made ready for a heavy rearguard action to cover their retirement. During the days of waiting, it rained and blew until they were perhaps the most miserable men on earth. At least they should have been—but they were British regular soldiers, and there was nothing to do but stick it. So the troops who bore the brunt of the bloodiest landing were to bear the brunt of the evacuation. But a miracle again happened! The Turk could not make up his mind when we were going, and he could not make up his mind to attack. On the night of January 9, the coup came off. There was much heavy shelling of piers and landing places, but the casualties were infinitesimal, though much equipment was lost. The enemy was again baulked of his prey!
The Wastage of War[Lent by Lieut. Lockyer, W.M.R.The Wastage of War.Boots dumped on the wharf at Alexandria after the evacuation.
[Lent by Lieut. Lockyer, W.M.R.
The Wastage of War.
Boots dumped on the wharf at Alexandria after the evacuation.
The illustrations in this Chapter are by Col. Findlay, C.B. and Capt. Douglas Deans of the C.M.R.
The Return to Anzac.
Three years in succession the valleys of Anzac were flooded with the crimson poppies of the Aegean Spring. During these three years the New Zealanders in France and Palestine shared in the vicissitudes and the dearly-bought victories of the Allied Armies.
The Great Turkish Victory Monument on the NekThe Great Turkish Victory Monument on the Nek.
The Great Turkish Victory Monument on the Nek.
While the soldiers were fighting, some of the politicians of England—a few of whom had been prominent in reducing Army and Navy expenditure before the war—enquired with great deliberation into the rights and wrongs of theGallipoli campaign. Money that would have been better spent in hand grenades in 1915 was lavishly poured out in trying to discover who was to blame for this and who should be censured for that. It may be said with pride that the people of New Zealand—and the people of Australia, too—did not indulge in recrimination. They knew that the armies were not to blame, and were content to leave it at that.
While commissions investigated ancient history the triumphant Turks erected great monuments on the Peninsula—monuments to commemorate the defeat of the infidels.
But the months slipped by, and nearer and nearer crept the forces enveloping the Central Powers. The Bulgars felt the pressure first. When they finally broke and fled up the Seres Road, our airmen bombed them unmercifully. Caught in their mountain passes, they were killed in thousands by our low-flying planes. So was Bulgaria finally bombed out of the war by British airmen.
On October 26, 1918, British cavalry and armoured cars entered Aleppo and cut the Constantinople-Baghdad railway. On October 29, General Marshall's forces on the Tigris severed the Turkish communications at Mosul. The Turkish armies were everywhere helpless.
One day at the end of October a little launch with General Townshend on board slipped out from Chios down near Smyrna, carrying a white flag. A representative of Vice-Admiral Calthorpe, the British naval commander in the Aegean, conducted the liberated hero of Kut-el-Amara and the fully-accredited representatives of the Turkish Government to Mudros—the Mudros of our rendezvous and of our Rest Camp—where the Turkish representatives signed the Armistice terms, preparatory to an unconditional surrender. This was on the evening of October 30. The Armistice came into effect at noon on the following day.
The end of 1918 saw British and French warships lying off the Golden Horn and British soldiers on guard at the forts of Chanak and Kilid Bahr.
Was it not prophesied that one day a New Zealander would sit on London Bridge and survey the ruins of themetropolis? In the year of grace, 1918, the real modern New Zealanders—with the dust of the desert still on their faded tunics, complete with their wristlet watches and folding kodaks—stand on the famous Galata Bridge and snapshot the imperturbable Turkish boatman who seem but faintly interested in the doom of the Ottoman Empire. There in their old slouch hats stand the war-worn troopers—young crusaders who have contributed their full share to the humbling of those despots who for centuries have been the curse of Western Europe.
Going ashore at MaidosGoing ashore at Maidos.
Going ashore at Maidos.
Among the troops to re-occupy Gallipoli were the Canterbury Mounted Rifles, who, in December, disembarked at Maidos, and with their comrades of the 7th Australian Light Horse, did not hesitate to sit as conquerors on the giant guns of Kilid Bahr.
The Triumph of AnzacThe Triumph of Anzac.Men of the Canterbury Mounted Rifles sitting on a 14-inch gun at Kilid Bahr.
The Triumph of Anzac.
Men of the Canterbury Mounted Rifles sitting on a 14-inch gun at Kilid Bahr.
Up the valley towards Lone Pine they rode, until they came to the Turkish victory monument erected on the site of the famous Australian salient. Then over to Koja Chemen Tepe, to stand in silence where British soldiers had never stood before. This was the moment of triumph: this was the prize for which we had striven in 1915, and now, after all these years, the prize was ours—on the one hand the great forts and Point Nagara running out into the rushing waters of the Narrows; on the other side the greatpanorama of the Aegean Sea—Samothrace and Imbros in the distance; the Salt Lake and the fatal plains of Suvla; away South, the forbidding hump of Achi Baba; and closer in, the Anzac beaches, Russell's Top, the tangled steeps of Walker's Ridge, The Farm, and the ridge of Chunuk. These men of the Canterbury Mounted Rifles were thetriumphant victors, but slowly they rode down the winding ways of dry watercourses looking for the last resting places of brothers and comrades-in-arms. Never a yard but somebody stopped and silently searched for an identification disc.
Rhododendron Spur from the ApexRhododendron Spur from the Apex.Notice the luxuriant growth of thistle in the old trench lines.
Rhododendron Spur from the Apex.
Notice the luxuriant growth of thistle in the old trench lines.
The Promised Land: The Country behind Koja Chemen TepeThe Promised Land: The Country behind Koja Chemen Tepe.
The Promised Land: The Country behind Koja Chemen Tepe.
And here on the Nek was the great monument erected by the Turks in honour of their victory in December, 1915!
Down the Aghyl Dere where the gallant Overton rests under the shade of the Turkish trees; out to Hill 60 where the white bones lie in heaps; along to Ari Burnu where the graves are thickly crowded; and so to Anzac Cove itself. Here, pathetic beyond words, were the skeletons of old barges and boats—rotting in the smooth white sand once pockmarked by thousands of hurrying feet; here on the sandy beaches the Turk paid the men of Anzac the greatest compliment, for they had wired the beach against another landing! Did not the daredevils say they would come back? Was it not wise to prepare for possibilities? But the soldiers who went so quietly away in December, 1915, chose to come another way as victors.
This is the end of the Gallipoli campaign. The men of New Zealand were there at the start—here they are as the victors at the end.
And now that the struggle is over, now that the great guns of Chanak are silent, and the hillsides once peopled with busy men are again given over to the song birds and the wandering Turkish shepherds—what is the gain to the world? What is the gain to New Zealand?
For assuredly there is some gain? Our eight months struggle—even if it grievously tried us—undoubtedly weakened the military power of the Turks. But it did more. It taught the New Zealander many things. It taught him lessons that stood him in excellent stead on the battlefields of the world. It taught him to respect his own strength and capabilities. For before the war we were an untried and insular people; after Anzac, we were tried and trusted. Before Anzac we had few standards; after Anzac, we knew that, come what may, if it were humanly possible—and often when it seemed almost impossible—New Zealanderswould not be found wanting, but would prove irresistible in attack, steadfast and stubborn in defence—and what more can anyone ask of soldiers?
Even as in the war we lost our insularity and found our national spirit, so at Anzac we found our brothers-in-arms, the gallant sons of Australia; and we did our work together—for if the initial "A" stands for Australia, New Zealand furnished the very necessary pivotal consonants. So in the future we must stand together and carry the white man's burden in these Southern Seas.
A Turkish Victory Monument behind No. 1 Post.A Turkish Victory Monument behind No. 1 Post.The design is carried out with shell-cases. The monument itself was knocked down by our troops.
A Turkish Victory Monument behind No. 1 Post.
The design is carried out with shell-cases. The monument itself was knocked down by our troops.
And if Anzac means suffering, a hopeless longing, aching hearts and a keen sense of loss to many in this land of ours, the gain cannot be measured—for the miner at Quinn's Post did not sweat at the tunnel face in the interests of self; the middies of the picket boats and the men of the trawlers were not working for dividends; the nurses on those hospital ships did not toil the long nights through for praise or notoriety; the women who waited so bravely and patiently at home in hourly dread of the telegraph boy, thought nothing of themselves. One and all made their willing sacrifices for the common good. And that is the message of Anzac to thepeople of New Zealand: Place the interests of the community before the interests of self, follow in the footsteps of the early pioneers, and make New Zealand a sweeter place for the little children.
Anzac Cove To-dayAnzac Cove To-day.
Anzac Cove To-day.
Anzac Cove.
(From Leon Gellert's "Songs of a Campaign")
There's a lonely stretch of hillocks:There's a beach asleep and drear.There's a battered broken fort beside the sea.There are sunken trampled graves:And a little rotting pier:And winding paths that wind unceasingly.There's a torn and silent valley:There's a tiny rivuletWith some blood upon the stones beside its mouthThere are lines of buried bones:There's an unpaid waiting debt:There's a sound of gentle sobbing in the South.January. 1916.
There's a lonely stretch of hillocks:There's a beach asleep and drear.There's a battered broken fort beside the sea.There are sunken trampled graves:And a little rotting pier:And winding paths that wind unceasingly.There's a torn and silent valley:There's a tiny rivuletWith some blood upon the stones beside its mouthThere are lines of buried bones:There's an unpaid waiting debt:There's a sound of gentle sobbing in the South.January. 1916.
There's a lonely stretch of hillocks:There's a beach asleep and drear.There's a battered broken fort beside the sea.There are sunken trampled graves:And a little rotting pier:And winding paths that wind unceasingly.
There's a torn and silent valley:There's a tiny rivuletWith some blood upon the stones beside its mouthThere are lines of buried bones:There's an unpaid waiting debt:There's a sound of gentle sobbing in the South.January. 1916.
New Zealand Transports of the Main Body.
In addition to the units mentioned each transport carried the usual details—Naval Transport Officer, Medical Officers, Chaplains, etc. N.Z.T. No. 1 (s.s. "Moeraki") and N.Z.T. No. 2 (s.s. "Monowai") took the Samoan Force in August, 1914.
Transports Carrying the New Zealand and Australian Division from Alexandria to Gallipoli, April 1915.
Establishment of Main Body, N.Z.E.F.
New Units Raised during Gallipoli Campaign.
Additional Units Formed in New Zealand.
Additional Units Formed by N.Z.E.F. (Egypt).