That the war had not destroyed the humane instincts of the soldiers was evidenced by an incident which occurred near the beach and was witnessed from Happy Valley. Two mules, secured together by neck chains, were being led northwards by a native attendant. Inadvertently, it would seem, the man left the cover of the excavated road, which was used for traffic and took his charges out into the open. Here they came into full view of the enemy snipers, who promptly killed one of the animals. The attendant immediately took to his heels and left the live mule anchored by the chain to his dead companion. Bullets began to throw up the dust around him—and it seemed to be only a matter of seconds before he would go too—when a Light Horseman ran out from cover, some 50 yards away, undid the chain, and, under an increasingly rapid fire, led the second animal to safety.
At the head of Malone Gully there was a small projecting cliff, which was in the possession of "Jacko." This and the ground behind it gave a command over a limited portion of the beach, which was only a few hundred yards away. In order to clear out the Turk and strengthen the hold on Russell's Top, a plan for an advance in this direction was considered during the month of November. It was proposed that the 28th Battalion should carry out the operation and, with that object in view, a preliminary reconnaissance was made. This, however, revealed that the enemy had so placed his machine guns as to sweep the whole of the area concerned. It was, therefore, decided to abandon the idea, as the probable losses would be quite out of proportion to the benefit to be gained.
The policy of the Anzac Corps, as given out at this time, was, in view of the strength of the defences, to invite the Turk to attack. It was anticipated that the losses inflicted on him would be so heavy that he would be compelled to remain quiescent for the whole of the winter. During that period the Australians would be able to hold their ground with a greatly reduced garrison; thus simplifying the question of supply and enabling the surplus troops to be sent away for rest and refit. On the 22nd November, a Divisional Order was received directing that as little firing as possible should take place and that no offensive on our part was to be attempted. A further Order laid down that from 6 p.m. on the 24th the Australians should not only hold their fire, but should also refrain from displaying periscopes above the parapets. Proceeding, it stipulated that the enemy was to be allowed to show himself, but this latter provision subsequently gave way to an imperative injunction that no opportunity of killing a Turk was to be missed.
This period of inactivity was continued until midnight on the 27th November, and was facetiously termed the "close season for Turkey." In the early portion, the unusual quietness on our side had a weird effect. The enemy continued his ordinary activity for a time and then audibly slackened, only to resume again later on. At night time he sent over patrols to investigate, but these were not allowed to return. A story was told of a solitary individual crossing over from the opposite lines and quietly removing some filled sandbags from our parapet in order to repair his own. The Turk was very short of this useful article and his trenches always presented a spectacle of many materials and colours.
The ruse having failed in its expressed purpose, the normal defensive was resumed.
On the 24th November, the 25th Battalion, then in Reserve Gully, was ordered to be in readiness to embark for Lemnos Island for a rest. The following day the 27th Battalion, at Mule Gully, received a similar order. Both these orders were subsequently countermanded—much to the disgust of the units concerned, who were employed in heavy pick and shovel work and were far from being in a healthy condition.
Running from the bottom of Happy Valley to the main traffic trench, the Battalion had excavated a new roadway. In honour of the first officer casualty, this was named the "Jensen Sap" (Division took this as a compliment to the then Minister for the Navy). In this was found, one morning, the remains of a labour company of the Army Service Corps. It was composed of men, recruited in England, too old for ordinary line service and intended for work on the beach and piers. It was quickly proved that they were quite unable to withstand the rigors of the local climate. After losing many from the ranks through shell fire near Hell Spit, they had been moved to the north. There at first they wandered helplessly about, apparently quite unable to do anything for themselves. The 28th men, who dubbed them "the Old and Bold," took pity and assisted them to make their little bivouacs in protected places. The old gentlemen were very grateful. One of them was the originator of a now well known story. Seeing a Light Horseman passing along the main sap, and wearing the distinctive head-dress, he hailed him—"Say, choom, be them kangaroo feathers in your 'at?"
A few days of sunshine had followed the storm of the 17th November. Then came cold and colder winds, which chilled to the bone. The sea was rough and the landing of stores became impossible. Rations were cut down to biscuits and bully beef, and water to ¼ gallon per diem. In spite of these privations, Battalion Headquarters had fresh "lamb" chops for breakfast on one day. Having on the previous day seen the meat ration of the Native Labour Corps browsing on the slope of Walker's Ridge, the staff asked no questions, but made a mental note of a very self-conscious batman and an imperturbable quartermaster.
