Chapter 12

Gully Ravine

In October a start was made with the construction of winter quarters, in the lower end of the ravine, for the Brigade in reserve, the R.A.M.C., etc. The supply of sandbags had improved and a minute quantity of corrugated iron sheets was rationed out to units.

The Divisional Commander naturally took an interest in the construction of his own quarters, and, among other questions to the sapper employed thereon, he rashly asked about the composition of the mortar used. It is here necessary to disclose a trade secret and state that the mortar depended upon the horse-lines for one of its components. This secret was revealed without any attempt at concealment, and thenceforward the sapper worked unhindered, while the General in the distance wondered what other horrid secrets had been hidden from him.

A certain corporal of the R.E. who was engaged on D.H.Q., had achieved an enviable reputation as one who could deal effectively with both officers and men. To him infantry officers—not merely second-lieutenants, but even field officers—were as clay in the hands of the potter, but when confronted with the Divisional Staff he met his Waterloo. He found that the Staff Officers’ Union demanded—

(a) That each officer’s hut should be completely rebuilt without any inconvenience to the officer concerned.(b) That each officer should be treated better than any other officer.(c) That every one’s hut should be begun at once and finished forthwith.

(a) That each officer’s hut should be completely rebuilt without any inconvenience to the officer concerned.

(b) That each officer should be treated better than any other officer.

Reluctantly he admitted defeat, and applied to be transferred to work as close as possible to the firing line, “for the sake”—as he put it—“of peace.”

The Staff Officers of the Division could relish a joke at their own expense, and they were as much tickled as any one by the libellous report that the following official scale of rewards paid to Turkish snipers had been discovered: For killing a private, 5 piastres; N.C.O., 10; lieutenant, 25; captain, 50; field officer, 100; Red Tab, court-martial and execution for “assisting the enemy.”

In August there had been a fair supply of vegetables and raisins, but as a general rule the onion was the only vegetable obtainable. A small consignment of strawberry jam actually reached the trenches. By one of those lucky accidents that occur all too rarely the labels had been removed from the tins, and as the happy warrior enjoyed the unaccustomed treat his fancy toyed with the picture of the anguish and indignation of the profiteer and the conscientious objector on learning that their strawberry jam had been sent in error to the brutal soldier, and on being asked if they would take “plum-and-apple” instead. Plum-and-apple was now anathema. No longer would thepoiluproffer his delicacies in barter, and even the Senegalese declined to trade. The flies were less fastidious.Cookhouses were now established in Gully Ravine; the battalionchefsmade the most of the ingredients at their disposal; and as the nights grew chilly the hot, well-cooked meals were more and more appreciated. Improvization was the crowning art of that weird-looking soldier, the cook, and one essential qualification for the job was the ability to “win” wood. In justice to him it must be admitted that he generally possessed this qualification, and he did good work. Cookhouses were no safer than other spots behind the line, and the cook’s job was not a cushy one. In one cookhouse in the ravine a shell exploded when some dixies of rice were on the fire. The cook, uninjured in body but indignant at the mess made, gazed disgustedly at the debris. His only comment was: “Might have been a b⸺ wedding here!”

Sickness diminished with the coming of the cooler weather, and as health improved moods of depression abated, and the irresponsible cheeriness of the British soldier, in spite of all he had gone through and all that lay before him, shone forth under conditions the reverse of exhilarating. Perhaps the rum-punch had some slight share of responsibility on one occasion. A party of transport men, howling a chorus on their way down the ravine in a drizzling and depressing rain, on being challenged by a sentry at the Eski Line, proceeded to serenade him. The sentry, whose job gave little scope for hilarity, inquired in disgusted tones: “What the ⸺ are you so happy about? Is the war over?”

The unhappy experience of a quartermaster’s storeman provides a moral—or even more than one. He had noticed two delectable rum-jars in the orchard by Pink Farm, with a Scottish sentry posted over them. After profound meditation he decided upon a frontal attack, and, accompanied by a fellow-conspirator, walked up to the sentry and said: “I’ve been sent for the rum for the puir laddies in the trenches. They’ll be awfu’ glaad to get it, and it’ll do them guid.” He then told his colleague—incidentally addressing him as “Jock”—to take one jar while he took the other, and off they went towards the nullah, the sentry appearing quite satisfied, and curiously lacking in that nasty suspicious spirit so prevalent among persons in charge of valuables, and so discouraging to enterprises of this sort. Half-way to the nullah they entered a deep ditch, with the intention of working their way round to the dump, where water was already boiling in anticipation. But the jars were heavy and temptation could no longer be resisted. A cork was pulled out with great care and some difficulty—and they found themselves in possession of two bottles of creosol. Their remarks are unprintable.

GULLY BEACH. DIVISIONAL HEADQUARTERS.

GULLY BEACH. INDIAN A.T. CARTS.

GULLY BEACH. QUARTERS OF THE 2ND AND 3RD FIELD AMBULANCES.

GULLY RAVINE. THE “ROAD” OR RIVER BED.

GULLY RAVINE. A “DUMP.”

GULLY RAVINE. HEADQUARTERS 1ST FIELD CO. AND WAY UP TO THE ESKI LINES.

A new subaltern arrived about this period, and was handed over at the Battalion Dump to the post-corporal, who was on his way to H.Q. in the line. Presently a shell passed overhead, and the corporal explained that “it’s not addressed to us; it’s addressed to t’ beach,” some miles away. The sub., being a bit on his dignity, thought fit to tell the corporal—an ancient member of his battalion,and more in the nature of a family friend than anything else at Battalion H.Q.—that he need not be funny. A little later, probably within range of a deceased mule, the sub. unbent, and said: “Rather queer smell here, corporal?” “Yes, sir,” was the reply, “this is where we bury uz officers.”

Mining Operations

Instruction in sinking shafts and making galleries had already been given by expert miners. A Mining Company was now formed, extra pay being granted to the men, and it was reasonably expected that this would be filled from the many colliers in the Division. A Staff Officer who was wont to boast that experts could be produced for any kind of job, inspected the company and proceeded to question the men. To the first he said—

“Well, my man, how do you like your task?”

“Oh, it’s not so bad, sir.”

“Extra pay all right, eh?”

“Yes, but you can’t spend it, sir.”

“I suppose the work comes quite naturally to you?”

“No, sir, I’m a solicitor’s clerk.”

The second man was a music-hall artiste, and the third a barber. Much discouraged, the officer ceased to interrogate.

The enemy exploded mines on the 3rd, 15th, 18th, 21st, 22nd and 29th of September, all opposite their trench in front of our right, known as “The Gridiron.” Three of these damaged our parapet, and all caused interference with our field of fire. The repairing of the damage done on September 22 was made possible by the enterprise of bombing parties of the 6th Manchesters under Lieutenant Collier, who kept up a steady hail of bombs from the lip of the crater, where they had little shelter. On the left, at Fusilier Bluff, the Mining Company had got out protective galleries in time to baffle the Turco-German miners.

At first our mining policy had been defensive, but on this same day one of our shafts reached the barricade of a favourite Turkish bombing station. A mine was exploded, the barricade levelled, and a crater forty feet in diameter formed. The sky was darkened by the earth thrown up, and men in support and reserve trenches were covered with the falling clods. Brisk rifle fire from the enemy showed that the trenches were thickly occupied at the time, and their losses must have been considerable. A rush was at once made to the crater and a barricade built across it. Captain Cawley, 6th Manchesters, M.P. for Prestwich, was shot at night by a Turkish sniper, when shooting over the parapet with his revolver, and the crater became known as “Cawley’s Crater.”

On the 17th of October General Sir Ian Hamilton relinquished the command of the Mediterranean Expeditionary Force amid universal regret, and left for England. He had won the respect, and indeed the affection, of all ranks of his army, by whom he was regarded as a true friend and comrade, prompt in appreciation and unfailing in sympathy. To General Douglas he wrote: “Youand your Division have always been consoling thoughts in the anxious moments we have lived through in common, and I want you to have all the luck in the world.” On Sir Ian’s departure, Lieut.-General Sir William Birdwood assumed temporary command in the peninsula until the arrival of General Sir C. Monro.

During October the South-Eastern Mounted Brigade (dismounted) was attached to the 42nd Division. The Brigade consisted of the East Kent, the West Kent and the Sussex Yeomanry, under Brig.-General Clifton-Browne. It remained attached to the Division until the evacuation, and officers and men proved the best of comrades. A system of fortnightly reliefs was now instituted, the 125th and 127th Brigades holding the right sub-sector, with H.Q. at the zigzag in the Gully; the 126th Brigade and the S.E. Mounted Brigade the left, or coastal, sub-sector, with H.Q. at Gurkha Bluff.

On the west of Gully Ravine the line was advanced by an average of forty yards on a front of 300 yards. In no place was the enemy’s line more than 125 yards from the Division’s trenches, and in places it was less than ten. On the 29th and 30th of October the Turks exploded mines near the Gridiron, blowing in fifteen yards of fire trench, killing two men, and burying six. Three of these were soon extricated, but, in spite of continued efforts, the other three—all miners—were given up for lost. As the Divisional Commander was passing along the trench three days later, he saw to his great delight two of the missing men being brought from the mine-shaft on stretchers. The third, Private Grimes, 5th Manchesters, though obviously on the border of collapse, stoutly refused to be carried. These men had had no food for three days and only one bottle of water between the three. It was largely due to the determination and grit of Private Grimes that they had had the dogged persistence to dig through twelve feet of earth with the aid of one pocket-knife, and so win to safety.

The month of November was not marked by military events of special importance, our constant activity having chastened the enemy’s offensive spirit. Reports from Turkish prisoners indicated that the thorough training that had been given in the bombing school had contributed largely to this result. Mining was very active, and the divisional miners now held the upper hand. On the 25th the enemy injected through a hole in one of the galleries an aromatic gas, which affected the eyes, but not the lungs. Parties of three or four hundred officers and men from each Brigade were sent, in relief, to a newly formed Training School at Mudros for two or three weeks at a time, and derived much benefit therefrom.

Y RAVINE. LOOKING DOWN TO THE SEA.IN THE FRONT LINE. MAN USING A PERISCOPE.

Y RAVINE. LOOKING DOWN TO THE SEA.

IN THE FRONT LINE. MAN USING A PERISCOPE.

IN THE TRENCHES. AN ENTRANCE TO A MINE SHAFT.SHELTERS TO PROTECT HORSES FROM SHELL FIRE.

IN THE TRENCHES. AN ENTRANCE TO A MINE SHAFT.

SHELTERS TO PROTECT HORSES FROM SHELL FIRE.

IN THE FRONT LINE. LOOKING DOWN FUSILIER BLUFF TO THE SEA.

IN THE TRENCHES. MAKING TEA.

GULLY RAVINE.

GULLY RAVINE. STRETCHER BEARERS.

Floods and Frost

During the first half of November there had been occasional heavy showers and some frost. On the 15th-17th a violent storm, accompanied by a deluge of rain, drove the sea higher and higher up the shore, swamping the bivouacs on the beach. In the Gully conditions were even worse. Bales of hay, sacks of bread, drowned mules, were washed down the ravine into the sea. On the night of the 26th a still fiercer storm raged in the peninsula, a storm asdisastrous to the combatants as any that ever affected armies in the field. The flood-gates of heaven indeed opened, and at Anzac and Suvla the trenches were quickly waist deep, and the current swept down like a mill-race—kit, equipment, rations, even men, being washed away. In places the trenches filled, and the troops must drown or stand on the top, a sure target for the Turk had he not been in a like predicament. As in a prairie fire or other of Nature’s more appalling manifestations, the beast of prey and its natural victim flee side by side, or cower together, so Briton and Turk regarded one another as fellow-sufferers rather than as implacable enemies. The gale became a hurricane; the crash of thunder, the blinding flashes of lightning, heightened the sense of catastrophe, and the bitter cold made it the more unbearable. Piers and landing-stages were destroyed and the beaches strewn with wreckage. During the 27th the rain came down steadily; then the wind veered to the north and brought snow and cruel blizzards. A hard frost followed, and at Anzac and Suvla men were frozen to death; others lost their limbs—some their reason—and cases of frost-bite were very numerous. In the south the conditions were less disastrous than further north, but the suffering of the troops was intense. Altogether about 10,000 sick had to be removed from the peninsula as an outcome of the four days’ tragedy. When the floods subsided Gully Ravine was a bed of deep mud, and its passage—a vital matter to the Division—could only be accomplished with infinite labour.

The activity of the hostile artillery increased as superior guns and munitions of war arrived from Germany, and the bombardments became more accurate and deadly. On December 14 Lieutenant W. R. Hartley, 7th Lancashire Fusiliers, led a patrol with great boldness and judgment close up to the Turkish trenches and located the entrance of a mine-shaft in the Gridiron, only six yards from a crater occupied by our men. Captain A. W. Boyd, of the same battalion, accompanied by Corporal W. Downton and Privates F. Mottershead and C. Bent, volunteered to carry out the destruction of this mine-head on the night of the 15th. Unobserved by the enemy they succeeded in placing a charge of forty pounds of gelignite in position in the Turkish trench, the charge being laid by Mottershead, who had originally discovered the mine-shaft. In addition to the electric wire a thin rope was attached so that a slight jerk would cause the charge to fall into the shaft; and as it was essential that the rope should be laid in a straight line Mottershead had to return to his trenchoverthe Turkish barbed wire and in full view of the enemy. This was successfully accomplished; the rope was jerked, and the charge fired. On the following night Lieutenant Hartley (killed three days later) ascertained that the entrance to the shaft had been completely filled. Mottershead was awarded the D.C.M., and the gallant act was specially mentioned in 8th Corps Orders, the last paragraph of which stated that: “This enterprise is only part of the good work that has been done recently by this battalionunder the command of Major W.J. Law, and the keenness and energy displayed are deserving of all praise.”

Lord Kitchener had visited the peninsula in the middle of November, and on his return to England had reported in favour of evacuation. On December 8 General Monro issued orders to evacuate Suvla and Anzac, and on the 16th the withdrawal of 80,000 men, nearly 5000 animals, 2000 vehicles and 200 guns began. The highest estimate of probable loss that might be incurred in this most difficult and critical of operations was fifty per cent.; the lowest, fifteen per cent. Preparation was made at Mudros to accommodate from 5000 to 10,000 wounded, yet the evacuation was carried out without loss. It was one of the finest and most wonderful achievements of this or any other war, and all ranks shared the credit—though in very different degrees—from General Birdwood down to the humblest Indian mule driver.

Two minor operations were arranged for December 19 to take place simultaneously with an advance of the 52nd Division by the Krithia Nullah and the evacuation of Suvla and Anzac. Mines were laid at the Gridiron and at the east end of Fusilier Bluff. The intention was to take advantage of the explosions to establish bombing stations in the craters formed. The “jam-tin” bombs were now obsolete, and those used were the Mills and “cricket-ball” types. The task at the Gridiron was assigned to the 125th Brigade, the troops attacking being drawn from the 7th Lancashire Fusiliers, with some of the 1/2nd (West Lancashire) Field Company, R.E. The 6th Battalion held the original line and supplied catapult parties to fire from behind. Major Law was to have directed operations, but this able and gallant officer was killed two hours before the time fixed for the attack, and Captain Gledhill assumed temporary command of the 7th Battalion, Captain Boyd being in charge of the attacking party. The artillery gave strong support. The mine was exploded on the far side of a great crater which had a Turkish and English trench on either side. The explosion blew in the enemy trench and extended the crater, which the attacking party crossed, and then pressed down the horns of the Turkish trench and constructed barricades. By 6 p.m. the new line was well established in spite of rifle fire and enfilade fire from machine-guns. A Turkish attack at 9.40 p.m. succeeded in driving our men out, but Captain Boyd with great resource and promptness organized a counter-attack, and within fifteen minutes the lost ground had been retaken and a further gain made. In fact, the bombing parties had to be restrained from going too far down the enemy trenches in pursuit. A lot of work had to be done to make the crater tenable, and assistance was sent. A bomb team of the Sussex Yeomanry did remarkably good work in consolidating the left trench under heavy machine-gun fire, which continued all night. By daylight they had succeeded in deepening and sandbagging the trenches and in digging through from Cawley’s Crater into the new one. Of two mines laid only one had exploded at first, but after the counter-attack our menwere withdrawn into safety and the second mine was fired. It caught a number of Turks who were seen pressing up a sap, probably with the intention of counter-attacking again. Lieut.-General Sir Francis Davies, the Corps Commander, telegraphed his congratulations and gave permission for the new crater to be called officially “Boyd’s Crater.”

GULLY RAVINE. THROUGH THE MUD.

LIEUT. SMITH, V.C., 1/5 BN. EAST LANCASHIRE REGT.

Similar operations at Fusilier Bluff were not, however, successful. Parties of the 9th and 10th Manchesters, supported by bombers of the 5th East Lancashires and the W. Lancs. Field Company, R.E., went forward pluckily, and several got within a yard or two of the enemy trench, but had to be withdrawn. The retirement was effected with coolness and judgment by Lieutenant Simpson, R.E., who, though wounded, checked a bayonet rush of the enemy. The casualties in both places amounted to one officer and twelve men killed and four officers and eighty-seven men wounded. The artillery and trench mortars gave valuable assistance throughout. The following message from General Birdwood, Commanding the Dardanelles Army, was received on the morning of the 20th December: “Well done, 42nd Division!”

The second V.C.

On the 22nd December Lieutenant Alfred Victor Smith, 5th Battalion East Lancashire Regiment, dropped a bomb when in the act of throwing it. It fell to the bottom of the trench in which were a number of men. He shouted a warning, and he himself got into safety, but, seeing that the others could not, he returned and threw himself on the bomb just as it exploded. He was killed instantly, but his comrades were saved. It is not too much to say that the account of this act of heroic devotion sent a thrill through the Empire, and there was general satisfaction with the decision to confer the V.C. after death. The 126th Brigade was justly proud of the fact that both V.C.’s so far gained by the division had been won by officers of its battalions.

Christmas festivities were held on different dates by the various units according to their positions in the line or in reserve. Taking into consideration the adverse conditions that prevailed, an excellent bill of fare was provided—roast beef, plum-pudding with rum sauce, a pint of beer for each man, and various delicacies from canteen stores. Christmas day was bright and frosty, and the Divisional Band turned Gully Ravine into a pleasure resort by playing Christmas carols at appointed spots in the ravine. One battalion thought that greater delicacy might have been shown in the choice of carols. They had been relieved from the front line on Christmas Eve, and had just settled down in “rest” bivouacs near Gully Beach to a much-needed sleep, when, in the early hours of Christmas morning, they were ordered to turn out and move to a distant bivouac far up the ravine. As they put on their equipment in a most unchristian frame of mind, the band started to serenade Divisional Headquarters with “Christians Awake!” and as the men prepared to move off the tune changed to a less familiar air. “What are they playingnow?” asked an officer. “‘God rest you, merry gentlemen,’” came the reply in a voice choked with emotion. With twilight a silence fell. No gun fired, no rifle cracked, until the moon showed over the shoulder of Achi Baba, when missiles of destruction of every kind, from the cricket-ball bomb to the giant shells from monitors out at sea, pitched into the enemy lines.

Hostile aircraft, both bombing and observation planes, had greatly increased in number since the evacuation of Suvla and Anzac, the Turks being naturally anxious to learn what was happening at Helles. A note attached to an old bomb was thrown from the enemy trenches into the trenches occupied by the Sussex Yeomanry. It contained this message: “Good-bye, Sussex Yeomanry. Sorry you can’t stay, but we’ll meet again on the Canal.”

The Turk was not looked upon with the blend of amusement (at his egregiousness) and detestation (of his manners and brutality) with which the Boche was regarded by all who came in contact with him. Rather was he respected as a brave foeman and esteemed as a sportsman. Among other things to his credit, he had treated wounded prisoners well and had respected the Red Cross flag. The flag of the Advanced Dressing Station at “Y” Beach was in full view of the Turks for three months, but there was no shelling and no casualty from shells. When the Field Ambulance of the South Eastern Mounted Brigade took over in December, the Union Jack was hoistedin addition tothe Red Cross flag. The change was made at midnight, and promptly at dawn the Turks opened fire. The first two shells were short; then came three “overs,” and the sixth—and last—brought down the flag-pole. The Medical Officer who records the above also testifies that during a long and heavy bombardment of “Y” Ravine hostile shells were dropping all along the tracks in the vicinity of the Advanced Dressing Station, the shooting being “dead accurate,” but not one shell came within sixty yards of the Red Cross flag that flew over the Dressing Station.

The Evacuation

Rumour had had little rest since August, 1914, yet she remained very vigorous and active. She had been particularly busy in Helles since the evacuation of the northern landings. To obtain ready credence, the rumour-monger must support his theory with convincing circumstantial evidence, as, for example, that he had been told by a friend, whose platoon-sergeant’s brother was a batman at Divisional Headquarters, that there had been a terrible increase in the slaughter of the staff chickens. The 8th Army Corps Special Order of the Day, issued on December 20, reassured those who regarded evacuation as an admission of defeat, and, it must be confessed, disappointed those who felt that the object of the landings on Gallipoli had already been defeated and that they could therefore serve a more useful purpose elsewhere. The Order indicated that there was no intention to abandon Helles. Confirmation of a resolve to retain a hold on the peninsula appeared in the shape of the arrival off Helles of transports carrying fresh troops, the 13th and the veteran 29th Divisions; and now Rumour whispered of still anotherattempt to march across Achi Baba. But on December 27 and 28 innumerable fatigue parties were detailed to collect all stores and baggage at dumps for transport to the beaches, as the 42nd Division was to be relieved at once by the 13th Division under Major-General Stanley Maude. With much labour the baggage was taken to “V” Beach, only to be ordered to “W” Beach.

At 5 p.m. on the 29th the remnants that were left of the once proud battalions of East Lancashire Territorials moved off on their last march in Gallipoli—a sorry procession. The distance to “V” Beach from which most of the men embarked was about five miles, much of it through deep mud, and it was sheer grit that pulled them through, for their frames were wasted and enfeebled through sickness, exposure and unceasing strain; their feet, sodden through weeks of standing in muddy and water-logged trenches, were tender and painful; they were, it is true, quitting the scene of much misery and suffering, but they were not leaving as victors. Though they had done and endured all that was possible their object remained unachieved, and they were depressed by the sense of failure. Not unreasonably they felt that the Territorials had been neglected by the authorities at home—that had drafts been supplied in full measure from their second line they might have won through. At the date of the first landing, again on June 4, and again in August when the ambitious advance was made from Anzac and Suvla, victory had been in sight, and the lack of reserves had robbed the Dardanelles army of the triumph for which they had paid so heavy a price.

On arrival at the crowded beach they awaited their turn to board the “beetles.” The French had a number of haystacks on the shore, and had posted a sentry to give warning of the coming of the shells by blowing a horn the instant that he saw the flash from an “Asiatic Annie” across the Straits. The bursting of the shell had been timed to follow the flash by twenty-three seconds, so the sounding of the horn was the signal for a rush to the haystacks or other available cover. These were seconds of extreme tension until the crash came and men realized that they at any rate had respite for a time; though in the dark it was impossible to know what damage had been done elsewhere. Piers were struck and great gaps made as parties were about to cross. Throughout the long night the embarkation proceeded, most of the men crossing the hulk of theRiver Clyde.[6]The wind was rising, and the transfer from the lighters to the larger transports was made dangerous by the roll of both vessels, and much argument ensued between the Royal Navy and the Mercantile Marine. In due course it was accomplished and, as the dawn showed pink in the east, the convoy steamed away towards Mudros. Eight monthsago nearly 14,000 Lancashire Territorials had disembarked on the inhospitable shores which were now receding. The Division that left Gallipoli barely numbered 5000, though every battalion and unit had received drafts from the second and third lines in England, or from Egypt, and thousands of casualties had rejoined from hospital. Few of the 14,000 who had landed in May with such high hopes and in such good spirits, took part in the last melancholy parade to the beaches, or sailed on this December day to Mudros, but those few thought of what might have been, and of the great-hearted comrades and brothers-in-arms whom they had left behind. Many now lay in the cemetery above Lancashire Landing, a glorious resting-place from which, when alive, they had looked out upon the intense blue of the Ægean Sea, with the peaks of Imbros and Samothrace to the west, to the south and east the coast of Asia Minor and the straits, and direful Achi Baba to the north; others had been buried where they fell. Soon the lovely blossoms of the rock-rose and the gorgeous poppy would be covering their graves.

Perhaps to none of the survivors would these memories be more poignant than to two of the padres, the Rev. E. T. Kerby, M.C.,[7]and the Rev. F. W. Welbon, M.C., who had been untiring and absolutely fearless in giving comfort to the dying, in performing the last rites under fire, and in sharing the dangers and privations of the men in the front line.

The Divisional Artillery remained behind, and also a small detachment of Engineers and the 1st and 3rd Field Ambulances, all attached for duty to the 13th Division. The more modern guns must first be saved, and as each battery was withdrawn a battery of the old 15-pounders of the 42nd Division was substituted, so there was no cessation of fire during the day. For several nights no artillery fire was permitted between 9 p.m. and 2 a.m., in order to accustom the Turk to quiet nights with little or no firing. When the final evacuation took place three of the old guns were taken away successfully and the remainder destroyed. Some of the gunners and the greater part of the R.A.M.C. left a few days before the curtain fell on the final scene of the great tragedy of Gallipoli. The last men of the 42nd Division—and among the very last of the allied forces—to leave the peninsula were detachments of artillery and R.A.M.C. and a small party of Engineers.

On the 7th of January the last fight was fought on Gallipoli. After seven hours’ heavy bombardment the Turks attacked, but they found the front line more heavily manned than it had been for months past, and the attack failed. Probably they were surprised by the vigour of their repulse, as they must have been convinced by now that the Helles force was in process of evacuation. It is likely that the strong opposition encountered led the Turk to believe that the British departure was less imminent than he had hoped, and that he would have to wait a little longer before he could catchhis enemy on the run. If his suspicions were lulled in this way it was fortunate that he chose for his attack the day immediately preceding the final evacuation. Heavy casualties were inflicted on both sides, and the East Lancs R.A.M.C. men were hard at work without a pause from 5.30 p.m. to 3.30 a.m. on the 8th. Their good work in attending to the wounded of the 13th Division brought them the personal thanks of General Maude, who also sent a letter of appreciation to the Divisional Commander. Lieutenant R. Hartley, R.F.A., distinguished himself and upheld the Division’s reputation, by putting out a fire, which had started in a wagon full of ammunition, at great personal risk.

LANCASHIRE LANDING SHORTLY BEFORE THE EVACUATION.

About noon on January 8 orders were received to destroy everything that could be of use to the enemy, and an orgy of destruction began. Huge dumps were made, or added to, the largest of these being at “W” and “V” Beaches. Hundreds of cases of bully beef, condensed milk, biscuits, and other rations, ammunition that could not be taken away, limbers, wheels, and anything else that would burn, were piled up, and the mass soaked in paraffin. Many horses and mules had to be shot, to the bitter grief of their drivers.

Preparations were made for the firing of the dumps at daybreak on the 9th, some hours after the hour fixed for the embarkation of the last batch of troops. As in the case of so many of the “innovations” of the Great War—steel helmets, breastplates, catapults, darts, hand-grenades, for instance—a time-honoured device was resorted to. Candles were left burning in tins, their rate of burning having been carefully timed, so that when the flame should reach a certain point it would ignite a train of oil and waste, which led to a mass of combustible material placed around and among the wooden cases. By means of a similar artifice fixed rifles in the firing-line continued to pop off at irregular intervals in order to delude the Turk into the belief that the trenches were still occupied.

A walk up Gully Ravine and the Mule Trench to the front line in the afternoon of January 8 provided new and strange sensations. Practically all the fighting troops were in or close up to the firing-line, the support and reserve lines and the usually crowded billets at Geoghegan’s Bluff, the Eski lines, and similar spots being completely deserted. One could walk half a mile without meeting anything other than one of the limbers told off to trundle up and down the tracks in order to give the enemy the impression that traffic was still normal.

The Last to Leave Gallipoli

Late at night the troops began to leave the firing-line. When they had passed, the men in the second line filed out, and after them followed the small parties—each of one officer and four men—of the East Lancashire R.A.M.C. to pick up stragglers and assist any sick or injured. Last of all came the handful of sappers who had charge of the closing of the gaps in the entanglements of Gully Ravine. In places the enemy trenches were only fifteen yards from the British line, and it seemed too much to expect that the Turks should remain in ignorance of the complete departure of the opposing army.

The night was pitch dark. The men moved along the communication ways and passed through the gaps with a seeming deliberation and slowness that was most irritating to the more imaginative, whose nerves were on edge. There is some comfort in a crowd, though it may be more liable to panic. The handful of R.A.M.C. and R.E. who toiled in the rear were dominated by one thought—how many hours or minutes would go by before the Turk would discover that the British trenches had been deserted, and that he would simply have to follow swiftly to cut off all stragglers and perhaps capture or destroy the greater part of the retreating army? These were the most trying hours that the Lancashire men had ever known. “If ever man knew terror, I knew it that night,” said one of the officers, and the others admitted that his experience was theirs no less. It cost them a real effort to appear calm and collected, and to talk to their men in tones of apparent unconcern. No sound pierced the stillness of the night save the occasional crack of a Turkish rifle, or of one of the fixed rifles left in the trenches, and now and then the bursting of a shell on one of the southern beaches.

The last party to arrive at Gully Beach found that the lighter which should have taken them off, was on a reef. “Saturday night, and we’ve missed the last train home!” sighed one of the men, as, in the small hours of the morning of the 9th, they set off along the shore road to “W” Beach, where the last two lighters, already packed like tins of sardines, awaited them. R.A.M.C. men and sappers got on board—one of the former complaining that the night had passed without the promised excitement—and as they steamed away the dump on the beach went off with a most appalling din. As a spectacle it was magnificent, the entire stretch of coast being lit up; and immediately the Turks awoke to the situation, “went mad,” and began to shell the whole of the Helles portion of the peninsula furiously and indiscriminately.

Thus, on the 9th of January, 1916, the last men of the 42nd Division left Gallipoli. Yet is much of the ground in the south-western extremity of that peninsula still held for Lancashire by thousands of her best and bravest, who, in the bloom of youth or prime of manhood, died fighting cleanly and without hatred for love of country, faith in her cause, and the honour of their corps.

List of Gallipoli Casualties, M.E.F. (Land Forces, not including French)

Casualties of the 42nd Division in Gallipoli: 395 officers, 8152 other ranks, killed, wounded, and missing.

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