November 9th.
Usual visit to Brigade H.Q. with Hunt, and after, inspect the forward reserve rations at C.R.E. dump. Men busy digging trenches back near beaches now. Another beautiful cool summer day, cold at night. Turks busy shelling batteries and shrapnelling trenches.
There is only one possible game for the Turk to play, and he is playing it well. That is to say, he must keep us at bay at all costs. Therein lies his only chance, for once we can get across the Peninsula to Maidos, his game is up, for we cut his main line of communications, so he shells us continually to keep us occupied. The shelling is so effective that elaborate dugouts have to be built. These are made as strong as possible, the inner walls being strengthened with sand-bags, the roof formed with strong cross-beams, on which rest, first, iron sheets or wire netting, then two layers of sand-bags, then soil. These dugouts are perfectly secure against shrapnel or high explosive splinters, but, of course, could not stand against a direct hit. But that would not worry the occupants much, as it would be all over in a few minutes. Inside such houses we have lounges cut out of the earth and covered with sacks. Our furniture is rough-and-ready, and made on the spot. It is marvellous what can be done with any ordinary wooden box, if you know how to deal with it. Out of our wooden boxes chairs and tables appear like magic—chairs with arms and adjustable backs; strong tables, and various other bits of furniture. Some of them are really quite good, and show clearly the ingenuity of their makers. We also have candlesticks, recesses for books, and toilet articles, all from the same source. Fireplaces are made out of home-made bricks—for there is a good deal of clay on the Peninsula. They are good fireplaces too, complete with mantelpiece, bars, and hob. So we sit round of an evening reading periodicals a month old with the same zest and interest as we read the latest editions at home.
By the papers, England sounds depressing.
So we would rather be here. We do know the truth of Gallipoli here. Man likes to know what he is up against. Seven Divisions at the start would have fixed this job, no ships would have been lost, and our little friend Bulgaria would have thought twice of coming in against us. All night outside we hear the crack-crack-crack of the rifles in the trenches. Worcesters did a good bit of work the other night, capturing a sniper’s post three hundred yards in front. Only two casualties over that little job; they expected more. Turks in front of the 29th have fairly “got the wind up.” We bomb and shell their nerves away.
General Cayley says he is quite happy and does not want to go to Salonica, as he is looking forward to sitting round his fire of a winter’s night. General Percival says bother General Cayley’s fireplace; he wants to go to Salonica and get a move on. And so they live their lives, these men—lives full of danger, yet joking about their fireplaces.
November 10th.
Another fairly quiet day. Ships firing a bit against Turkish batteries, which are sending back shrapnel. Take up Elphinstone to Brigade and have tea at the 86th. Have some excellent rock-cakes, made by their cook. General Cayley calls in. We walk round with him to the 88th. I get awfully fed up at times, but every time I see General Cayley he gives me a spurt for a few days. I had jaundice badly about two weeks ago, and they were going to send me off, and that meant England. I got a spurt, and soon felt fit again, and have never felt so well in all my life. Morris, Machine Gun Officer of the 88th, seriously ill with rheumatism, but he is trying to hang on. Destroyers and Monitors make a practice of shelling the Pimple from the Gulf of Saros now. Amusing watching destroyers. They fire, then emit a cloud of smoke, sail round behind it, then fire again, and so on. Old Turk can’t hit back. Shelling Pimple much in fashion just now. Poor old Turk! fancy trying to get to sleep on the Pimple with big guns throwing great shrieking shells at him all night.
November 11th.
Lovely summer day. Are moving camp to IX Corps Gully. Busy arranging the necessary digging. Turks very busy with shrapnel this morning around Chocolate Hill and to the left. Battleships very angry and fire back, making a fearful noise. Old Turk sticks at it, though. General de Lisle, riding with A.D.C. and orderly, nearly gets hit. He takes too much risk and seems to have no nerves.