It is topping being on board a nice ship again and back once more to civilization. I row round with the skipper in the morning to one or two ships in harbour, and after lunch go over in a pinnace with some officers to the shore, calling on the Aragon on the way, where General de Lisle and Colonel O’Hara join us. Firth, O’Hara, and I, on reaching the land, walk up to a village inshore and buy eggs. It is delightful being able to stretch one’s legs without having to carry one’s ears at the “right engage” in expectancy of the whistle of the enemy shell. We have great fun purchasing eggs from old Greek ladies—six from one, twelve from another, and so on. When loaded up with them we get back to the pier, on to a waiting pinnace, and so out to the Aragon, where O’Hara entertains us to tea. We learn that we are not to be on the Peninsula long—only a matter of three weeks—and then we and the R.N.D. will be relieved and taken to Egypt. And so the sooner we are back there, to get it over, the better. We get back to the Southland and have a cheery dinner, which we make the most of. To-night is “Z” night, and as we sit talking after dinner we wonder how the work is proceeding. Last night everything went satisfactorily—no shelling—and news this morning shows the Turks have spotted no change.
December 20th.
Suvla is Turkish once more. All troops left without a casualty. The evacuation proceeded all day yesterday. The scenes on the beaches appeared as normal as ever. At nightfall all stores that had been intended to be evacuated had been safely shipped. All that were left were the skeleton stacks of supplies, waiting to be set alight, useless ordnance, and the supply of emergency ammunition. The beaches were shelled as usual in the day. Night fell, and those left on the beaches, except the Evacuation Staff, were hastened on to the waiting ships. At dusk a few Monitors and destroyers quietly slipped into the Bay, standing by in readiness for a Turkish attack.
The ration carts that were left were promptly shipped, not a mule being left—in fact, every hoof was safely embarked. Then began the last stage. In succeeding waves the remaining troops fell back in perfect order to the forming-up posts. In a steady stream they were hastened off on to the waiting ships, until at last the supreme moment arrived. The message was telephoned to the line that all troops behind those few men who were waiting a few yards from the unsuspecting Turk had left Suvla for good and all. Here and there a man fired his rifle as a farewell salute to our gallant enemy, but no man was permitted to fire without an order. With their boots wrapped in sand-bags they crept back, down the communication trenches, out on to the roads, past the first gate, which was immediately locked, the news of their passing being telephoned to the beaches. Past the second likewise, then the third, and then straight to the beaches; finally on board, and hurried off with great dispatch when the Evacuation Staff knew from their statistics that Suvla Bay was free of every Britisher but themselves. Hastily A.S.C. officers run round the frameworks of the Supply stacks in the depot with lighted torches, and quickly the supplies are ablaze. Then a rush is made to the waiting pinnaces, which merrily puff out to the battleships. Meanwhile the officers detailed to wait at the casualty clearing station are picked up by pinnaces, for no rearguard action has been necessary: the Turk was lying ignorant of it all in his trenches, crack-crack-cracking his rifle. If he had only known! At last not a living Britisher was left on Suvla or Anzac; every dugout, nook, and cranny was searched, and it was with great interest that the Evacuation Staff viewed the scene from the battleships as daylight broke. The fires burnt fiercely and quickly; Turkish shells came over as if to hasten the destruction of the fire. Complete success had been the reward of the excellent work of the Staff.
Still the Turk did not know that we had left. He saw the tents of our hospitals standing, but the deserted appearance of the beaches must have made him wonder. The morning wore on. Puzzled, a few venturesome Turks peeped over the parapets of the trenches. Nothing happened. They climbed over the top, walked over No-man’s-land into the deserted trenches, and the secret was discovered. We had evacuated—lock, stock, and barrel—under their very noses. Down the roads they came in small parties. A few muffled noises were heard, by which the watchers of this strange drama from the battleships knew that the bombs that we had laid cunningly were claiming victims, fighting our battles for us without our being on the field. And so they came to Lala Baba, and some German officers, with a characteristic insult to their brave ally, hoisted the German flag as a token of a German “victory,” though the honours of the day were with the Turk. He, however, had won not by beating us, but by our being beaten by Nature—the impregnable fastnesses of the mountains of Suvla Bay and the Gallipoli winter storms. How a Turk could allow a German flag to be hoisted is beyond comprehension. One day Germany will fall shamefully to the dust in the eyes of her Oriental ally, and Turkey must beware of that day, on which she can expect no mercy.
The last crowded ships arrive at Mudros Harbour. The shore becomes thronged with Australian troops, who, more fortunate than ourselves, are bound for Egypt, while we, after lunch, embark on the Partridge, and sail off with our General once more for the Peninsula. It is a chilling, depressing voyage to Helles, a journey made by me now for the third time. I hope it will be my luck to make it yet a fourth time, for that will be after the war. We have a meal off rations that we have brought with us. The boat is crowded with troops, and they do not seem very cheery. Night falls. At eight o’clock we see in the distance the starlights sailing up and down inland, on the Peninsula, though it is hard to discern the outline of the shore. Soon the lights of a hospital ship are discernible ahead. Suddenly, two flashes are seen, one after the other, from the Asiatic side; two booms of guns are heard, about fifteen seconds after, followed by two piercing shrieks, and the shells burst with a bright flash of flame on “W” Beach. And so we are in it once more. Shortly after, we see the dim outline of the shore. We heave to and anchor off “V” Beach. After a wait of half an hour, lighters come alongside, on which we get and are towed to a pier running out from “V” Beach, which now, in addition to being protected from the strong currents of the Dardanelles by the River Clyde, is protected from the outer sea by a sunken French battleship, the Massena. In consequence, the water inside the pier is like a millpond, while outside a heavy swell washes against the sides of the two ships. I am on “V” Beach once more. It does not seem to have altered much since I left on August 20th last, but appears perhaps more orderly than it was then. More light railways are about.
Foley is there to meet us, and it is good to see him safe and well. Up to a fortnight ago, he tells me, it was very quiet on the Peninsula—in fact, they have been playing football matches in the aerodrome, and on shore, in a large dugout, the band of the R.N.D. have been giving concerts. But lately two guns from Asia have been throwing over at odd intervals of the day 8-inch Naval shells, and life on the beaches is becoming jumpy again. Also some new guns have been placed in position on the slopes of Achi Baba, which have been worrying the rest camps further inland. He tells me that the Turkish ammunition had improved in quality. This was what we had found at Suvla, due to Bulgaria’s entry into the war as our enemies and the opening of the road from Germany to Constantinople. The war will not end before this road is cut by the Allies. We shall never succeed now in forcing the Straits, and so this road will never be cut in this manner. We must, however, hang on to this end of the Peninsula, and I pity the troops who will be detailed for duty to do so through this winter. It will not be the 29th, for shortly we shall again be leaving, and this time for good. Three weeks, I think. Three weeks only on “W” Beach, the bull’s-eye of a target. C’est la guerre! As we march up on to the Helles Plateau we notice fires burning in the distance up the coast of Suvla—the Suvla Supply depot and other stacks still burning.
On arrival on the high ground on the left of “W” Beach looking inland, I turn into the same dugout which used to be our home in the early days of this “round in circles” campaign. Matthews is there to welcome me, and a new officer named Harris. As I turn in, I think of our old dugout at Suvla, now occupied in all probability by sleeping Turks. How strange! During the night I am awakened at intervals by loud explosions. Only Asia firing on “W” Beach at intervals. One bursts on the slopes of our cliff, and large lumps of earth fall on our tarpaulin roof.
December 21st.
I am awakened by a few shells bursting on the beach. After breakfast I meet our new C.O., Colonel Huskisson. I dined with him in Ritchie’s dugout in May last, when he was O.C. Main Supply depot. I learn that the beaches get shelled now heavier than they were ever shelled before. During the morning I walk inland with Bell along the light railway system, which runs from the beaches and branches in several directions over the Helles Plateau, for a distance of about a mile. Mules pull small trucks up from the beach to the high ground behind the beach, where the mules are unhitched and the trucks, with their own momentum, run down the plateau, which is on a gentle slope. Bell’s idea is to have a Supply depot at the end of the railway on the plateau, and to issue from there to Horse Transport, which will come up one wagon at a time. Should transport collect in any spot on this plateau it immediately draws shell fire. I am struck by the way transport goes about in daylight and under observation from the enemy, certainly not in long convoys, but in single wagons or two or three together. Achi Baba looks more formidable than ever, and bleaker. In fact, the whole tip of the Peninsula looks far more cheerless than when I was here last.