In our camp now we have the two Supply Sections of the 86th and 88th Brigades and representatives of each regiment in the Brigades, consisting of a Quartermaster or his sergeant, and a corporal and three privates. They look after the interests of their respective regiments on the beach, drawing supplies, ordnance, R.E. stores, letters, and baggage, which they escort up to the regiment each night by the mule-carts. New officers arriving and officers returning from hospital use our camp as a half-way house to the trenches. All drafts arriving are met by these battalions’ representatives and “looked after” generally by day and guided to their units by night.
Had a lovely bathe this morning with McDougall, Tooth, Carver, and Way at the foot of the cliffs. Very peaceful and beautiful, and it was hard to realize that there was a war on. In the far distance, across the Gulf of Saros could just be discerned the coast of Bulgaria, the country on which the eyes of all the world are turned at the moment. In a day or two we shall know whether she has joined our enemies or not.
October 6th.
Woke up at seven by a shell whistling over our dugout, but no more follow. Curious how, when one is sleepy, shells do not strike fear in one. A perfect summer morning. Artillery on our side very active. Go on board Swiftsure for lunch with Carver. Guest of Fleet-Surgeon Jeans, a charming little man. Had a glass of beer! And the lunch! Nice white tablecloth, attentive stewards, excellent food, and cheery society. Topping fellows. Half an hour after lunch have a “pukka” hot bath. The luxury thereof! And then take snapshots of the ship and of a group of officers. We get a good view of Suvla from the deck: the sandy beach, and to the left the three landing-places, crowded with lighters, launches, etc., and with khaki figures. Further to the left, the rocky part with its fringe of surf, and the frowning crags above towering away in masses into the blue distance. Behind the landing-places the ground slopes abruptly up to the gorges, crowded with dugouts and transport lines. To the right, Lala Baba with its sandy cliffs and the low plateau beyond, with the Salt Lake, stand out clearly. Further to the right one catches a glimpse of “C” Beach, with its white hospital tents along the sea’s rim, and in the offing, silent and slim, loom the three hospital ships taking in their freight of broken humanity. There are never less than three such ships of mercy here, which gives one some idea of the daily human wastage, when one remembers that they are big P. & O. and B. I. liners. We are told by one of the Gunnery Lieutenants that at 4 p.m. ship is going to fire on a blockhouse just by the Pimple, on the left of our line. While on board, the ship’s guns “loose” off. It is a curious sensation. We watch their shells bursting inland, and realize for the first time the difference between shelling and being shelled. Get back on smart pinnace at 2.30. Get shelled a bit at 3.30. Go up to British H.Q. to watch the Pimple bombardment. At four precisely Swiftsure poops off with 12-inch and 6-inch guns. Also Prince George and a Monitor, and the shore batteries. Up the Gulf of Saros a torpedo-boat destroyer and Monitor are firing in flank. Poor old Pimple! Can’t see it for dust and smoke. Prince George has a premature burst, splinters doing ducks and drakes across the bay. Hear machine guns at five. Cease fire at six, and we go back home. The little coves at end of point are now absolutely altered from their original geographical formation by the Engineers during the past months. Breakwaters, piers, dugout offices, stores depots, landing-stages, etc., have come into being, and they are now hives of industry, never slacking night and day. As at Helles, star shells sail up and down gently all night along our line. In the darkness of the sky over Sari Bair, the reflection of the rays of Chanak searchlight plays, but not so brightly as seen from Helles.
October 7th.
Ships firing very early this morning. Swiftsure left last night. Soon after ten this morning Turkish 8·2 gun opens fire on the Prince George, and at the third shot hit her. Prince George and the other ship open fire. Later the Prince George is hit again, this time just beneath the funnels, causing wreckage among boats. She alters her position, the duel still continuing. She is hit twice again, and then moves further out. Turkish gun then shuts up. Soon after 11 a.m. the 5·9 shrapnel comes whistling over to us, and nine of them, one after the other, at short intervals of two or three minutes, burst over our camp and the beaches, causing casualties. A beautiful summer day again, but flies as bad as ever.
I walk with Way to Brigade, his Brigade H.Q. having moved just in front of ours. As we go up we hear a whopping big shell go over to the beach, and looking back, we see it burst, kicking up a great deal of dust. Have tea with Thomson and General Percival. Afterwards call in at 88th, and walk back at dark. A bullet hits a bush at Way’s feet just as we are walking over the little bit of hillock after leaving 88th H.Q. A few others drop near by. Way tells me that when bullets are about his head always feels ten times as big as it really is. Yet he never worries at all when shells are about. It is curious, but shells make me feel very uneasy and limp, while bullets don’t bother me at all now. The ways of nerves are difficult to understand. When we arrive back we find that the beaches have been strafed a lot in our absence.
9 p.m.
A bit of a strafe is taking place at Anzac, heavy rifle fire and shells bursting. Very fine sight, seeing the white flashes of flame bursting out of the black night.