The "Anzac" Front.
The water-courses shown on the map are mostly dry in summer.
Find on the map (page [275]) Azmak Dere, a ravine which lies to the south of Chocolate Hill. From this ravine northwards stretches a series of hills and flats on which there are farms and patches of dwarf oaks, and, on the seaward fall of the hills, thick scrub. Everywhere the plain is cracked by water-courses, which are simply deep, dry gullies in summer. Just north of the upper course of the Azmak Dere is one of the two Anafarta villages; the other stands two miles farther north. Between the south village and the foothills of the Karakol Dagh lie the Anafarta Hills.
At the points marked A, B, and C on the diagram (page [278]), Sir Ian Hamilton proposed to make new landings; but, as a matter of fact, his troops were put ashore only at B and C. They were to try to carry the Anafarta Hills, and their right was to link up with the left of the Anzacs, who would advance at the same time. If this were done, the central crest of the spine of uplands which runs through the western end of the peninsula would be in our hands. We should then be able to command the one land route to Maidos on the Narrows; the communications of the Turks would be cut, Achi Baba would fall, and in due course we should reach the plateau on which all our hopes were centred. Such was the plan. It was a bold plan, and it had a very fair chance of succeeding.
Of course, if the Turks got wind of what we proposed to do they would make preparations to resist us, and the conditions in the south of the peninsula would be repeated. The landing on Suvla Bay was to be a surprise. We knew that the Turks had made no preparations in this region, and we hoped to take them unawares. If the landing could be made speedily, if the troops could push forward without delay, and if they and the Anzacs, working together, could join hands and gain the crest of the spine of uplands, all would be well; but if there were delays, if any of the various columns were not up to time, or failed to do the work assigned to them, the whole movement would end in failure.
Suvla Bay and the Neighbourhood. By permission of The Sphere.
The landing took place on August 6-7, 1915. A beach where a landing was attempted was later abandoned, and the troops were put ashore at B and C. Notice the causeway across the Salt Lake, Lala Baba, Chocolate Hill, and Lone Pine Plateau to the south-east of Shrapnel Valley.
Before the great venture began Sir Ian Hamilton had to throw the enemy off the scent. It would never do to let him know where the new landing was to be made. At all costs he must be surprised. So on 6th August a general attack was made on the Turkish position at Achi Baba. This was done to make the enemy believe that we still hoped to carry the ridge from the south. In the early afternoon, after the guns had prepared the way, the 88th Brigade advanced across open ground against a part of the enemy's front, which so far we had been unable to win. The attack was boldly made, but our men were held up, and suffered heavy losses. East of the Krithia road the Lancashire Territorials fared better, and gained 200 yards. Next morning the Turks, with heavy reinforcements, began their counter-attacks, and fighting raged for two days round a vineyard west of the Krithia road, where, as you will learn later, Lieutenant Forshaw of the 1/9th Manchesters won the Victoria Cross. All this fighting, you must remember, was for the purpose of making the Turks believe that we were going to "carry on" in the old way.
Now we must turn to the Anzac territory, which, as we know, was to be the scene of a great effort. On the nights of the 4th, 5th, and 6th August reinforcements were slipped into Anzac very silently during the darkest hours, and were tucked away in prepared hiding-places, quite invisible to the aeroplanes or the telescopes of the Turks. Probably never before have so many men been landed under the very eyes of the enemy, and kept concealed for three days without being discovered.
On the afternoon of the 6th, while the fighting was in progress round Krithia, a frontal attack was made on the Lone Pine plateau.[50] It was a feint to cover the advance of a division which was to move up the coast and work up three ravines in order to assault Koja Chemen,[51] the commanding summit of the Sari Bair. As soon as the bombardment ceased the Australians—every man with a white band on his sleeve—leaped forward with that magnificent dash which has given them a leading place amongst the finest soldiers of the world, and flung themselves on the deep and roofed-in trenches at Lone Pine, which you see to the south-east of Shrapnel Valley. After a deadly struggle in the dim galleries they won the whole position. It was a magnificent feat of arms, and Sir Ian Hamilton thus sums it up: "One weak Australian brigade, numbering at the outset but 2,000 rifles, and supported only by two weak battalions, carried the work under the eyes of a whole enemy division, and maintained their grip upon it like a vice during six days of counter-attacks. . . . After the first violence of the counter-attacks had abated, 1,100 corpses—our own and Turkish—were dragged out of the trenches." Seven Victoria Crosses were awarded to the victors of Lone Pine.
Meanwhile the columns on the left had occupied the ridge named Bauchop's Hill, and had climbed and seized Big Table Top, a mushroom-shaped mountain with such steep sides that it was believed no infantry could scale them. "But just as faith moves mountains, so valour can carry them." The heights were scaled, and the plateau was carried by midnight. The attacks were made with bayonet and bomb only; hardly a rifle shot was fired. Meanwhile the ridge which you see just south of Azmak Dere had also been captured, and the whole left rear of the Anzac position had been safeguarded. The grand attack on Koja Chemen could now proceed.
I must break off my story for a moment to tell you that, at dawn on the 7th, the 3rd Australian Light Horse and the 1st Light Horse Brigade pushed forward against the Turkish trenches in their front. These magnificent troopers, men of great physical strength and of the highest courage, advanced only to be mown down. Line after line of them left their parapets, but were met by a storm of fire which no mortal could face and live. For a few moments the flag of the Light Horse fluttered from a corner of the Turkish position. Soon, however, it disappeared, and of the 750 men who attacked that morning only about 100 returned. The sacrifice, however, was not in vain. The Turks in this part of the line were penned to their trenches while the great attack which I am now about to describe went forward.
If you look at the map on page [275], you will see that, in order to get from Big Table Top to Koja Chemen, our troops had to cross Rhododendron Ridge. All night the left column struggled up the two "deres" which you see to the east of Bauchop's Hill, and by a quarter to six in the morning it was on the lower slopes of Rhododendron Ridge. It then moved up the hill, and gained touch by means of the 10th Gurkhas with a column on the right, which had worked up the ravines between Rhododendron Ridge and Chunuk Bair in the face of very heavy fire and by means of frequent bayonet charges. Before nightfall our men were entrenched on the top of Rhododendron Ridge, "a quarter of a mile short of Chunuk Bair—that is, of victory!"
Now for the last push. The attack on Koja Chemen was timed to begin at 4.15 on the morning of the 8th. The right column was to climb up the Chunuk Bair ridge, while the left was to make for the ridge directly south-east of Koja Chemen. "At the first faint glimmer of dawn observers saw figures moving against the sky-line of Chunuk Bair. Were they our own men, or were they the Turks? Telescopes were anxiously adjusted; the light grew stronger; men were seen climbing up from our side of the ridge; they were our own fellows—the topmost summit was ours!" Yes, it was true—New Zealanders and Maoris had fixed themselves firmly on the main knoll of Chunuk Bair, and victory was in sight. The position, however, had not been won without great losses. The 7th Gloucesters, for example, lost every single officer; yet they fought on from midday to sunset, commanded only by corporals and privates.
Next morning, the 9th, the attack was renewed by three columns. The whole of Chunuk Bair was to be gained, and while No. 1 column held the ground, Nos. 2 and 3 columns were to carry Hill Q. It was a day of pitiless heat, and the men suffered torments of thirst. The 6th Gurkhas of the second column scaled the summit of the ridge between Chunuk Bair and Hill Q, and for half an hour looked down upon the gleaming waters of the straits. Not only did they and some of the 6th South Lancashires reach the crest, but they began to attack down the far side of it, firing as they went at the fast-retreating enemy. But at this supreme moment, when the last obstacle had been passed and the Promised Land was in sight, the fortune of war deserted us. No. 3 column should by this time have been sweeping out towards Hill Q along the whole ridge of the mountain, but it was nowhere to be seen. It had lost its way in the darkness. There was no support for the men on the summit, who were now suddenly assailed by a salvo of heavy shells. The Gurkhas and South Lancashires were forced back from the crest and on to the lower slopes from which they had started. When at last No. 3 column appeared, the Turks had come up in overwhelming numbers, and all hope of regaining the summit had vanished.
That evening our line ran along Rhododendron Ridge up to the crest of Chunuk Bair, where some 800 New Zealanders and Maoris were holding about two hundred yards of shallow trenches unprotected by wire. During the night of the 9th-10th these troops were relieved, after they had been fighting without pause for three days and three nights. Two battalions of the New Army took the place of these devoted men, who were now half dead with fatigue. Early on the morning of the 10th the Turks made a furious attack upon them. They came on again and again, calling upon the name of God, determined to drive our men into the sea. Desperate fighting followed. The men of the New Army were simply overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers, and were driven from the crest. At the foot of the hill they were rallied, and plunged into a deadly fray in which "generals fought in the ranks, and men caught each other by the throat. . . . Our men stood to it, and maintained, by many a deed of daring, the old traditions of their race. There was no flinching. They died in the ranks where they stood."
But where were the men from Suvla? Where were they at this supreme crisis, when they were so desperately needed? The New Zealanders on the crest of Chunuk Bair had seen them landing, but had lost sight of them. What had happened? Something must have gone seriously wrong.
The landing at Suvla Bay was made on the night of 6th August, under very favourable conditions. The moon did not rise until 2 a.m., and by this time our men were ashore. Except for a little rifle fire, they were quite unopposed. As you know, the Turks had their hands full elsewhere, and had no inkling of what was afoot. The men who landed at the points B and C carried Lala Baba with the bayonet during the night, and also an outpost to the north of the Salt Lake. By the time the moon rose two divisions were ashore, and were holding a line east of the lake running from Karakol Dagh to near Chocolate Hill. So far everything had gone well; but then came a fatal delay. It was essential that we should push on if we were to surprise the Turks, but no attempt was made to proceed. The men, most of whom had never been in action before, were very weary, and were tormented by thirst. The transports, containing water, stores, mules, and carts, were still sixty miles away, and no doubt the general in command of the expedition hesitated to send men forward in an arid land without a proper water supply. Further, he had but little artillery. Late that night the right carried Chocolate Hill. The New Zealanders, as you know, were now struggling to maintain their foothold on Chunuk Bair, and every moment was priceless. Unhappily, the general at Suvla Bay does not seem to have realized that the whole success of the movement depended on pushing his men forward at all costs. By this time Sir Ian Hamilton had arrived. He tried to persuade the general to advance, but in vain. By the morning of Monday, 9th August, our chance of success had almost vanished. Ever-growing numbers of the enemy had come up, and no surprise was now possible.
On the morning of the 9th a gallant endeavour was made to carry the main Anafarta ridge; but though the crest was won, the effort was too late. The Turks had now arrived in full force. About midday they fired the scrub on the hills, and the flames which were swept across our front by the wind drove us back. Nothing more of importance was done that day, and next morning our chance of succeeding had gone for ever.
During the next ten days we tried to push forward, and the famous 29th Division was brought up; but even it could not snatch victory out of defeat. On 21st August repeated but unavailing efforts were made to carry a hill to the north and another to the south of Chocolate Hill. About five o'clock the mounted division, which had been held in reserve below Lala Baba, made a splendid advance. For two miles the gallant yeomen moved forward as if on parade through country where there was not enough cover to conceal a mouse, and amidst a rain of Turkish shrapnel. These men, from Bucks, Berks, and Dorset, charged the hill to the south of Chocolate Hill and leaped into the Turkish trenches. The Turks, however, on a higher hill brought machine guns to bear on them, and by daylight they were forced back to their old lines.
The same day the Anzacs, under their famous leader, General Birdwood, brilliantly carried one side of the topmost knoll of Hill 60, which you see by the side of the upper course of Azma Dere, the southern fork of Azmak Dere.[52] After desperate hand-to-hand fighting, nine-tenths of the summit was won. Some 250 men of the 5th Connaught Rangers distinguished themselves that day by a superb charge, and finally the whole hill passed into our hands. With this success our efforts to make headway on the peninsula practically came to an end.
"Thus was a likely plan turned into a tragedy of missed opportunity." We failed for the same reason that we failed in the whole campaign—we were "too late," and we gave time for strong forces of the enemy to take up positions of such strength that all the valour of our men could not carry them. The whole enterprise was wrecked when our troops were held in check for a whole day on the flats of Suvla Bay.
"Last scene of all, that ends this strange eventful history," on 11th October Sir Ian Hamilton was asked to say what he supposed would be the extent of our losses if we tried to get off the peninsula. He cabled back that he could not even think of such a thing. On the 16th he was recalled, and another general, Sir Charles Monro, who had already advised that we should withdraw from Gallipoli, was appointed in his place. The task of the new general was to carry out the delicate and difficult operation of withdrawal. During the next two months he was busily engaged in making his preparations.
Of course, it was all-important that the Turks should be kept in ignorance of what we proposed to do. Our losses in getting on to the peninsula were very heavy, but they would be as nothing compared with those which we might suffer in getting off should the Turks be enabled to attack us while men, guns, horses, and stores were being transferred to the ships. Some generals gloomily told us that we should lose half, or at least one-third, of our troops in the process. We therefore made no sign, but carried on as though we had no thought of leaving the peninsula at all.
Local fighting still went on; mines were laid and exploded, and a trench warfare similar to that in North France and Flanders was in full swing. The storms of November broke over our men, and torrents roared down the gullies. Sickness was rife, but still "carry on" was the order of the day. On 21st December Lord Kitchener visited Anzac, and satisfied himself that the men could be withdrawn without undue loss. The hour of departure was drawing very near.
Everything depended on the weather. The small boats in which the troops were to be conveyed to the transports could not work in a rough sea, nor could the guns and animals be got off during storms. Happily, when the work of withdrawal began on 29th December a spell of light wind and smooth seas set in.
Before the men could depart the Turks had to be attacked, so as to keep them at a distance. On 29th December a British division advanced against the enemy with as much dash as if the campaign was only beginning, and next day the Turkish lines were fiercely bombarded. Meanwhile the first troops had got away. All sorts of ruses were invented to deceive the Turks. It is said, for example, that while 2,000 men were silently embarked at night, 500 were landed with great show the next morning, in order to make the Turks believe that we were actually being reinforced. For weeks guides were trained to bring down companies of men from the trenches to the beaches during the night, and so well was everything planned that every man, every animal, and every gun, with the exception of six, was safely embarked. The landing was a feat; the departure was a miracle.
The Turkish Attack on our Troops at the foot of Chunuk Bair. By permission of The Sphere.
The Turks "came on again and again, calling upon the name of God, determined to drive our men into the sea. . . . Our men stood to it, and maintained by many a deed of daring the old traditions of their race. There was no flinching. They died in the ranks where they stood." (See page [280].)
A correspondent tells us that the Anzacs came down the hillside with steady, slouching gait. Except for the moonlight shimmering on the Salt Lake and the smooth waters of the bay, and the fires burning in the deserted camps, all was dark. Suddenly, four great fires sprang up, leaped into flames, and grew into one mighty bonfire. The deserted stores of the Anzacs were blazing furiously. Then, as a finale, a giant mine was exploded by electricity under the Turkish trenches. It was the Australians' "Good-bye" to the Turks. An Anzac corporal thus described the departure:—
"On the last night we kept up the usual firing, until finally there were only sixty men from each battalion scattered along the firing-line, and through a ruse—due to the inventive faculties of Corporal Scurry, of our battalion—these last men were able to get away.
"Scurry invented an apparatus by fixing a kerosene can full of water, which was allowed to drip into a large jam tin. This latter was tied on to the trigger of a rifle fully cocked and in position on the parapet. When a sufficient amount of water was in the jam tin off went the gun.
"Hundreds of these were fixed all along the line, timed to go off at different intervals, so that the usual firing was kept up for two hours after the last man had left the trenches.
"Some ruse—eh, what?"
"I hope, sir," said a New Zealander to his officer, as he crept down Shrapnel Gully for the last time, "that those fellows who lie buried along the 'Dere' will be soundly sleeping and not hear us as we march away." Many of his comrades, however, put aside such sad thoughts.
As the last transport steamed away early on the morning of 9th January 1916, the enemy's guns began to pour shells on our deserted trenches and on our burning beaches. A day or two later the Turks announced that they had driven the British into the sea. Constantinople blazed with illuminations, and Germany broke forth into loud rejoicings. So ended the ill-starred adventure. For more than nine months we had fought not only the Turks and the Germans in their strongholds, but disease and thirst, the droughts of summer, and the blizzards of winter. We had been foiled, and the British Empire was the poorer by the loss of tens of thousands of bright and gallant lives; yet there was no murmuring. The nation set its teeth and turned to the next task. It recognized that there must be failures in every great war, and that one set-back does not spell defeat.
The following officers and men were awarded the Victoria Cross during the fighting in Gallipoli between 7th August and 22nd December 1915:
Lieutenant William Thomas Forshaw, 1/9th Battalion, Manchester Regiment, Territorial Force.
On page [276] I mentioned the heavy fighting which took place from 17th to 19th August around a vineyard to the west of the Krithia road. Lieutenant Forshaw and his detachment held the north-west angle of the vineyard. The Turks advanced upon them time after time by way of three trenches which all met at this point, but they could make no headway. For forty-one hours Lieutenant Forshaw not only directed and encouraged his men, but continued to fling bombs on the enemy. Eye-witnesses say that he treated bomb-throwing as though it were snowballing, and that he was happy all the time, though every moment he was in the direst peril. When his detachment was relieved he volunteered to stay on and direct operations. Three times during the night of 8th-9th August he was again heavily attacked, and once the Turks got over his barricade; but after shooting three of them with his revolver, he led his men forward and drove the enemy out. When at last he rejoined his battalion he was choked and sickened by bomb fumes, badly bruised by fragments of shrapnel, and could scarcely lift his arm, which was stiff with continuous bomb-throwing. Thanks to his inspiring example and splendid tenacity, an important position was held. Before joining the army he was a teacher in a Manchester Secondary school.
