This morning the General and I went round Colonel Anthill’s trenches. Billy H. was there, as independent and casual as ever. He came out here as a sergeant and is now Acting Brigade Major. I am giving him a shirt.
Billy H. was not the only member of his family who was independent. His father, a well-known Australian doctor, on one occasion gave one of the chiefs of the British R.A.M.C. his sincere opinion about the treatment of the sick and wounded. After a while the chief of the R.A.M.C. said: “You don’t seem to understand that it is I who am responsible for these things.” “Oh yes, I do,” said the Australian doctor, “but it’s not you I’m getting at; it’s the fool who put you there.”
Diary. Thursday, September 28, 1915. No. 2 Outpost. Last night I dined with S. B. and H. Woods. Walked back through a still, moonlit night, with the sea and the air just breathing. Very bright stars. We sent up flares. The General was ill this morning, so did not go out. The Greek interpreters have been called up for mobilization. This Greek mobilization ought to do some good about the German submarines. Last night at Anzac they had iron needles dropped from aeroplanes. I always objected to this. This morning over our heads there was a Taube firing hard at something with a machine-gun. It produces an unpleasant impression, I suppose because it is unfamiliar, to hear the noise straight above one. Two bombs were dropped—at least, I suppose they were. They fell with a progressive whistle, but not close to us; another big one, however, an 8-inch one, I believe, from the Dardanelles, fell with a tired and sensuous thud just over the ridge.
Wednesday, September 29, 1915. No. 2 Outpost. The General went out at nine this morning, P. and I with him. He went to the Apex and round. In the evening Kettle and I talked in the fort.
Friday, October 1, 1915. No. 2 Outpost. Yesterday morning General Godley, General Birdwood, de Crespigny and I went round the trenches, Apex, Anthill’s, etc., from 9.30 until 3. A very hot day; I wish that Generals were a hungrier, thirstier race. We had some light shelling, into which the Generals walked without winking or reason, though they made us take intervals.
G. L. has gone home. Ross turned up last night; glad to see him again. He said that a statement was to be made almost at once, and that we weren’t going to be here for the winter. He had a notion that the Italians were going to take our place....
This morning there was a very heavy mist; the hills and the sea were curtained in it. My clothes were wringing wet. The Greek interpreters have been called up by the Greek mobilization and have gone to Imbros, some of them to try to avoid going. They have, says Christo, “kria kardia” (cold feet.) Xenophon, in a moment of enthusiasm, changed Turkish for Greek nationality. He now speaks of the days of his Ottoman nationality with a solemn and mournful affection, as of a golden age. He envies his cousin, Pericles, who was not so carried away. Kyriakidis is too old to go, thank goodness.
Going into Anzac with the General, and glad to be quit of the trenches. It’s a weary business walking through these narrow mountain trenches, hearing the perpetual iteration of the same commands. The trenches are curiously personal. Some are so tidy as to be almost red-tape—the names of the streets, notices, etc., everywhere—and others slums. (Later.) I went into Anzac with the General to see General Birdwood, but he had gone out to see the bombardment from the sea. The General went off to the New Zealand hospital ship, Mahino. I went to get P. off, who was ill. The General and I had a very philosophical talk coming back. There was a radiance over Anzac; the sunken timbership shone against the sunset, with the crew half of them naked. Shells screamed over us, and in the Headquarters hollow parts of them came whimpering down.